#if youre wondering where ch 5 is i did post it

[disastermages]

Draped in Black and Dripping With Love Ch. 6

[read it on ao3]

Lan Zhan’s ears prick against the sound of shouting, however distant the echoes are as he stares at himself, or rather, someone who looks like him. Anxiety grips around him like a fist ever tightening as those voices draw closer. The version of himself in front of him is down on his knees, the blue glow of his spiritual energy catching the shadows on his face.

The blue glow illuminates the other person too, but Lan Zhan refuses to let himself take a step back as his eyes meet the unseeing, blank gaze of the Yiling Patriarch.

“Wei Ying,” The other Lan Zhan pleads, his voice raspy and worn with use, “please. Come back to Gusu with me.” It’s the desperation that makes Lan Zhan want to choke, it’s the knowing that he’s felt it before, but he never had the nerve to ask Wei Ying to return with him. Pressing a hand against his throat, Lan Zhan forces himself forward, until he stands next to the other version of himself. He doesn’t have to guess what the Yiling Patriarch is saying, he can tell from the moving of his lips, even if not a sound slips from between them.

The shouting grows nearer still, the voices growing angrier and angrier. Lan Zhan and his doppelganger both turn at the same time, their eyes wide, but only the double makes a movement. He stands and gathers the Yiling Patriarch into his arms, his breath coming hard and heavy as he draws his sword.

“Help him.” Lan Zhan’s double says, seemingly to no one at all, until Lan Zhan feels his own eyes burning into him. The doppelganger is still pointing his sword, but Lan Zhan can see that it isn’t meant for him, not at all.

The voices are almost upon them and the Yiling Patriarch is still murmuring wordlessly, but for the first time, Lan Zhan notices how bloody his double is, how robes that should’ve been flawless and white are damaged and sullied, and how the Patriarch himself is worn. His cheeks are hollow, his hair rough and lusterless, and how he lacks the shine his Wei Ying has. As if someone has dulled him to the point of looking as if he’s been lingering on death’s door for some time now.

The Yiling Patriarch’s eyes roll between Lan Zhan and the other version of himself like that of a doll’s, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Help him,” Lan Zhan’s double commands again, dread setting in as a voice, too similar to that of Lan Zhan’s uncle, bears down upon them, “You must. I cannot.” The words are an admission of guilt, one that makes Lan Zhan’s throat feel tight, even as coldness creeps up his back and over his shoulders. He pulls his arms in around himself without meaning to, throwing a glance over his shoulder as the Yiling Patriarch starts to push and shove against the other Lan Zhan. The blows never seem to land, they don’t even seem to matter to Lan Zhan. 

“How?” Lan Zhan asks, raising his voice against the din that finally hangs at the mouth of the cave, but when he looks, Lan Zhan can see no one. He can feel them, though, he can feel his uncle’s glare. He feels himself move closer to the other version of himself and the Yiling Patriarch for it, a chill ringing out against his arm as he brushes against the sword. If it draws blood, just below his shoulder, Lan Zhan can’t bring himself to look at it, his chest heaving.

“Wangji!” Lan Qiren’s voice rings out, harsh and clear in the cave and Lan Zhan’s eyes fly open as he sits up, panting while his arm aches and burns with something cold. The sheets are tangled around him, nearly tying him to the bed as Lan Zhan drags his knees forward and hangs his head between them. His fingers curl into something hot and thick as Lan Zhan clings to his own arms. He doesn’t need to look to know that it’s blood, he can feel the cut that’s split his skin apart, he only needs to cover it with his hand so he doesn’t ruin another set of Wei Ying’s sheets.

What had that other version of himself been trying to do for the Yiling Patriarch? Why was he trying to feed him spiritual energy? Why hadn’t it done a single thing to improve the Patriarch’s condition? The room spins around Lan Zhan while he tries to think, his stomach lurching and clenching around nothing. How was he meant to help if the Yiling Patriarch seemed so unwilling?

Lan Zhan only stands when the room stills, when it doesn’t feel as though the floor will drop out from underneath him, his body feeling heavy. “Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan calls, hanging in the doorway as he waits for an answer. He’d woken up alone, and he’s grateful for it, but it isn’t like Wei Ying to wake up before him, and it isn’t like Lan Zhan to sleep so late. 

He knows he should take care of the cut on his arm first, however deep or shallow it actually is, but Lan Zhan needs to see Wei Ying first. He needs to see him and know that he isn’t somewhere unreachable. 

Forcing himself to stop, Lan Zhan listens, trying to hear if Wei Ying was working in some part of the house, if he was continuing to work on the mural like he planned to, or if he’d abandoned it again for another project, however big or small. Instead, Lan Zhan hears Wei Ying’s voice, not very close, but not very far away either. Lan Zhan swallows thickly as he forces himself to move, following the sound of Wei Ying’s voice.

The mumble of it is too soft for Lan Zhan to understand the words, but he doesn’t miss the scolding tone, the way Wei Ying chastises whoever it is he’s speaking with. He begs the floorboards not to give him away as he creeps closer, squinting into the darkness of the room. Wei Ying sits on the floor, shielded from the shadows by a block of pale light creeping in despite the storm outside.

Lan Zhan watches as Wei Ying leans back on his hands, looking all too casual while he listens to voices Lan Zhan can’t hear himself. “Lan Zhan’s never once hurt me, I told you that before.” Wei Ying insists, his tone flattening. Wei Ying is talking about him? But to whom? It’s been almost three weeks since the Yiling Patriarch has been seen by either of them, or at least, Lan Zhan thought so. 

Dropping into a crouch by the door, Lan Zhan strains his ears to listen, trying to hear who or what Wei Ying was speaking with, his hands braced against the wall for balance. At first, he can only hear the whirling of the wind, the humming that always seemed to be present in the walls of houses, modern and old, but slowly, the words come. They run into each other, rising and fading with the wind, the voice behind them sounding high and then low, never once do they press themselves into Lan Wangij’s mind to be understood.

“Well, my Lan Zhan is different from your Lan Zhan, then. He’d never drag me all the way to Gusu just to punish me.” Lan Zhan wants to sigh at the childish tone Wei Ying takes on. He knows Wei Ying can argue better than that, they’ve had better arguments than that with each other. 

Lightning flashes outside the window and Lan Zhan cranes his neck to see into the shadows, his eyes widening as the Yiling Patriarch, pale and gaunt, sits across from Wei Ying, one arm up on his knee. The sight only lasts for a second, maybe half as much, but Lan Zhan still uses an explosion of thunder to get up, hoping to muffle the sound of the creaking floor. He isn’t sure what he means to do next, whether he means to scurry back to the bedroom and pretend to still be asleep, or if he means to do something else entirely, but he’s betrayed by the house yet again.

A draft rushes past Lan Zhan, quick and cold as it pushes the door open and slams another shut, giving him away to Wei Ying and the Yiling Patriarch all at once. Wei Ying’s mouth opens and closes a few times, questions or excuses, Lan Zhan doesn’t know which, trying to bubble up, but before they can come, Lan Zhan is moving. He walks with speed and with purpose, uncaring if Wei Ying is following after him, and unlistening to the way Wei Ying calls his name.

Lan Zhan tells himself that he isn’t angry, that he just needs to think. Thinking is the only reason he locks the bathroom door behind him and leans against it. He isn’t sure if Wei Ying stands on the other side of it, he isn’t even sure if Wei Ying is the one who rattles the doorknob, but just to cover himself, Lan Zhan makes a point of turning on the lights. If he cannot handle Wei Ying right now, he’s sure that he can’t handle the version of him that doesn’t like him even half as much. 

Only when the doorknob ceases to shake does Lan Zhan peel himself away from the door. If he were working, he would have to push everything aside and ask Wei Ying how long he’s been communicating with the spirit, if the Patriarch had permission to speak to him or use his body, but the mere thought of it makes Lan Zhan shake his head as he sits down on the closed toilet. Wei Ying wouldn’t. Wei Ying knows better. Doesn’t he?

If he asked his uncle, Lan Qiren would scoff and say that any cultivator willing to let themselves get possessed so simply should’ve never been considered for certification, but his uncle has never truly had patience for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan has to remind himself of that.

His family would be no help if he brought this issue to them, even if he phrased it as a hypothetical question. Lans did not deal in hypotheticals, every case was to be taken with severity and seriousness. Lan Zhan was meant to do that, the fact that he didn’t condemn Wei Ying and his path earned his uncle and brother looks of sympathy. Ones that were usually reserved for children and their tantrums and phases. Lan Zhan doesn’t have to guess to know that his uncle still hopes that Wei Ying is nothing more than a phase, that one day Lan Zhan will come to his senses and follow after someone who might follow the orthodox path, someone who doesn’t shine as brightly.

Lan Zhan doesn’t remember the cut on his arm until the whirring of Wei Ying’s circular saw downstairs startles him and he leans against it by pure accident, reopening the wound. He’d even forgotten about his own blood on his hand. He’s already in the bathroom, he already knows where Wei Ying keeps his first-aid kit, so cleaning and putting a bandage on the cut is easy enough, but Lan Zhan still lingers in the bathroom. Wei Ying is still downstairs, the sounds of the circular saw have turned into the banging of a hammer on something.

Lan Zhan tries to think of what he might be working on, his eyes burning into the door. Garden boxes. He remembers now. They were going to work on them together, but Wei Ying has started on his own and Lan Zhan tries to ignore the sting of it. He’s the one who locked himself in the bathroom. Staying in here any longer would be just as childish as he thought Wei Ying’s earlier arguing was, but Lan Zhan’s hand still sits on the doorknob, refusing to turn it and step out until an unseen hand drives him forward, out into the dark hallway.

There’s nothing. No one to pounce on him and screech in his face, not even a cold breeze to acknowledge his presence. Lan Zhan isn’t sure if he should be grateful or ashamed for it.

He returns to the bedroom and dresses in a hurry, nearly skipping over the buttons of his shirt more than once. If he were anything but a coward, he might go down and confront Wei Ying, he might demand answers, but isn’t he just as wrong as Wei Ying? He’d been listening in on a conversation that wasn’t his own. But the conversation was about him, does that count for anything? It wouldn’t if he’d been caught at home. He would’ve been lectured and sent to copy down rules while standing on one hand. 

Shaking his head, Lan Zhan forces himself to take the stairs slowly, his eyes on the steps in front of him. He doesn’t see Wei Ying until he’s knocked the both of them over, his own long hair blinding the both of them in the tangle of limbs. At least some of it gets into Wei Ying’s mouth until he spits it out and Lan Zhan hurries to pull it back, wishing he’d taken the time to braid it or tie it up now.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying starts and reaches for Lan Zhan, his voice deliberately calm. Panic overrides every one of Lan Zhan’s movements as he stands and realizes that Wei Ying means to explain right here and right now. The storm had faded away, but it had left heat and humidity in its wake, a sheen of sweat clings to Wei Ying’s exposed skin as Lan Zhan finally looks at him. He hasn’t taken a single step outside yet, but the damp air is already prickling at Lan Zhan’s skin. That’s all it is, humidity and nothing else.

“Is Wei Ying hurt?” Lan Zhan asks, cutting off any attempt Wei Ying could make at explanation and not knowing why. Wei Ying climbs to his feet without assistance, his eyes never leaving Lan Zhan’s face, even as Lan Zhan tries to hide whatever Wei Ying may or may not see. He’s always been better at seeing him than anyone else, but Lan Zhan does not want to be seen right now, not by Wei Ying, not by himself, either.

“I’m alright, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying answers, his voice careful and soft. He’s chewing on more, the words sitting in his mouth and getting gnawed into smaller and smaller pieces while he pins Lan Zhan in place, both by standing in his way and with his eyes. He doesn’t ask if Lan Zhan is alright, if he’s unhurt, he knows better, but he doesn’t stop himself from putting his too warm hand on Lan Zhan’s wrist, adding another degree of holding him in place. “You’re all dressed like you’re going somewhere.” The effort to sound casual is there and the real question is buried underneath half-chewed words.

“I was going to the store,” Lan Zhan doesn’t lie, it was on his list of things to do, “Wei Ying mentioned that he did not want to go to the grocery store, so I will go instead.” Another truth, Wei Ying had been bemoaning it last night while they made dinner. Neither of them relax with it, though, the tension holding them both stiff as Lan Zhan clenches his fist.

“Let me drive you.” Wei Ying says, but Lan Zhan knows that it’s an appeasement, or worse, another way to keep him from moving too far beyond Wei Ying’s reach. 

“No room.” Lan Zhan reminds Wei Ying with a shake of his head. The bed of Wei Ying’s truck was occupied by a tarp covered armoire that Wei Ying found and wanted to restore. “I do not mind walking.” A half truth, Lan Zhan loathed walking in this heat, but compared to his other option, it felt preferable. If he bought too much, he would simply call a taxi or a rideshare service, though he doesn’t say as much to Wei Ying. It would only keep the argument going.

Carefully, without shaking off Wei Ying’s hold too urgently or too reluctantly, Lan Zhan nudges past him. It takes more effort than Lan Zhan thought it would not to look at Wei Ying, to not fall into the trap of the kicked puppy look on his face. There’d be no saving him if he did. If he looked at Wei Ying now, he would let Wei Ying drive him to the grocery store, he would listen to whatever rationalization Wei Ying had come up with and he would force himself to believe that Wei Ying had it all under control.

Lan Zhan can’t do that to himself.

Not right now.

“Will you let me help you carry the bags in when you get back?” Wei Ying asks weakly, his fingers closing around nothing. This request isn’t for Lan Zhan, it’s for Wei Ying himself.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan gives in, just that little bit, “I will let Wei Ying know when I am on my way back.” If he had a hand to spare. If he didn’t call for a ride. If he could allow Wei Ying to come that close to him again.

Lan Zhan leaves Wei Ying to watch him go from the porch, his eyes bearing into him with every step, until Wei Ying can’t see him anymore, until Lan Zhan can feel himself sag with the weight of it. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Wei Ying he was going to the grocery store, but he’d never said he wouldn’t stop. He never said he wouldn’t call his younger cousin.

“Jingyi,” Lan Zhan tries to keep his voice measured. If he betrayed anything, Lan Jingyi wouldn’t outright tell on him, he would never, Lan Zhan is his favorite cousin, but he might let something slip to Lan Huan. Lan Zhan can’t risk it. “Could you research something with my credentials and send me the files?”

Lan Zhan spins a story made up of half truths and half promises made to ensure his cousin’s help. He left his work laptop behind when he left last month. A truth. He needed to access the private database on behalf of a friend. A lie, but one that Lan Jingyi accepts as truth and promises to forward the files on both the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun to Lan Zhan’s work email. All of it in exchange for Lan Zhan’s agreement to talk their uncle down the next time Lan Jingyi made a mistake, however big or small it was. 

And then Lan Zhan goes grocery shopping, though his mind still buzzes with questions and a hurt that he refuses to acknowledge. It drives him to distraction, giving all the aunties their chances to push past him for the best pieces of fresh fruit and vegetables, for the choicest cuts of meat, for first pickings over things that don’t matter.

Lan Zhan doesn’t pay any of them a moment of mind as he pushes through the list he and Wei Ying made together last night. This is another thing they were supposed to do together, but Wei Ying built the garden boxes on his own, so now Lan Zhan is grocery shopping by himself. He doesn’t have to think about Wei Ying sneaking alcohol or other treats into the cart while he isn’t looking. Lan Zhan wishes it didn’t make him feel lonely.

Another storm has rolled in by the time Lan Zhan is finished, the clouds looking darker and the rain coming down heavier than before as Lan Zhan lingers under the awning of the store. The bags cut into his fingers, but he doesn’t set them down, not for a minute.

At first, he’d thought the storm would throw its tantrum and then blow over, leaving the street and sidewalk steaming whenever the sun came out to beam down on them again, but the rain only comes down harder and harder. Lan Zhan doesn’t have a free hand to call for a ride, or to call Wei Ying, not that he wants to, but he doesn’t even have the choice of it now.

He’s just accepted his fate to walk home drenched with his bags filling up with water with every step when a set of headlights nearly blinds him as they sweep across his face. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to see to know that Wei Ying has come to collect him, he can still hear the unique sound of Wei Ying’s truck over the rain and the thunder. He’s still blinking the blindness from his eyes when Wei Ying comes running over, an umbrella stretched out for Lan Zhan while his own head and shoulders get soaked. 

Without a word, Lan Zhan allows himself and the groceries to be put into the passenger seat of Wei Ying’s truck, as if he’s nothing more than another piece of antique furniture that Wei Ying found languishing on the side of one road or another. He doesn’t have to say a single word if he doesn’t want to, his mother had told him that once when he was still small. She’d held him in her arms, against her chest, rocking him to comfort him after he’d been descended upon by an older, pushier relative.

Lan Zhan doesn’t buckle Wei Ying’s seatbelt for him this time, nor does Wei Ying tease him like Lan Zhan is sure he wants to. Everything feels too breakable for that, but even so, they don’t move, the truck simply idles while they sit in silence.

“Wei Ying,”

“Lan Zhan,”

They both start and stop at the same time, looking at each other expectantly but neither willing to start whatever argument they have sitting between them. After another moment of nothing, Wei Ying looks away first, one hand resting on the steering wheel and his head thumping back against the headrest. His eyes close and Lan Zhan curls his fingers against his palms.

“Wei Ying used to have a motorcycle when we were younger.” Lan Zhan starts, his quiet voice sounding too loud for the cab of the truck. “What happened to it?” Lan Zhan can still remember it. He can remember the sleek black of it between Wei Ying’s legs. He can remember Wei Ying’s helmet and his bike jacket. He can remember blustering when Wei Ying offered him a ride on it once.

He can remember the seed of envy in his heart as he watched someone else wrap their arms around Wei Ying’s middle while they sat on the back of the bike.

Lan Zhan doesn’t expect Wei Ying to snort, his eyes still shut. “I wrecked it.” Wei Ying says simply, his head rolling to face Lan Zhan before he opens his eyes, “A few months after Uncle Jiang kicked me out, I was leaving a bartending job I had and I crashed into a tree in the middle of the night.”

“And then?” Lan Zhan makes himself ask, turning his whole body towards Wei Ying now.

“And then I woke up in the hospital.” Despite everything, there’s a smile on Wei Ying’s face when he says it, but Lan Zhan knows that it isn’t meant for him, “I guess, when they called Uncle Jiang to tell him, he must’ve given the hospital my grandmother’s number, or I guess Aunt Yu could’ve done it. When I woke up, Bao-popo was leaning over me. I thought she was a doctor until she told me I looked like my dad, but I have to be my mom’s son if I think running headfirst into a tree with a motorcycle is how you cut them down.”

It’s more information than Lan Zhan had asked for, but he doesn’t regret hearing it, not when it melts some of the too hot air between them.

“She took me back to the farm after the hospital released me, she didn’t really give me a choice about it. She said it was to help me get better without getting distracted. When I was getting ready to leave she gave me the truck she brought me home in and told me not to bring it back to her until I’d fixed it up.”

“Wei Ying’s grandmother sounds… Stubborn. Like Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan says too honestly, his shoulders relaxing back against the seat. Wave after wave of rain beats down on the roof of the truck as Wei Ying snorts again.

Wei Ying doesn’t have to say it, Lan Zhan knows that he’s just as stubborn as Wei Ying, if not more, but Wei Ying didn’t get to ask his question first, Lan Zhan did. 

“What about you? What did you do while I was gone?” Wei Ying asks, his arms folding over his stomach as a jolt of panic rings through Lan Zhan.

“Six months of probation for defying my uncle.” Lan Zhan says it honestly. Not only had he defied his uncle, he’d defended Wei Ying, he’d argued against the stripping of Wei Ying’s cultivation certification. He’d defended Wei Ying’s methods and his path as a viable one. “A year of confinement.” Lan Zhan purposefully lowers his voice as he utters the words. The year of confinement had come before his six months of probation, but in ways, the six months had been worse. Lan Zhan had found ways to communicate without his uncle ever finding out. 

During his six months, every move he made was scrutinized, every ruling of intelligent versus residual haunt questioned, every paltry, low level case thrown his way with a dismissive wave of his uncle’s hand. 

Lan Zhan had endured all of it, and then he’d fled to Wei Ying the first chance he got. 

He doesn’t regret it, but he doesn’t expect Wei Ying to reach over and take his hand. Not his wrist, not his fingers, his hand. It makes Lan Zhan start and look at him again.

“Huaisang told me that you were the reason they didn’t strip my certification, but I didn’t believe him at first. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I didn’t-”

“Don’t.” Lan Zhan says quickly, shaking his head, “No apologies.” He doesn’t shake away Wei Ying’s hand, not even when he holds onto him with both. “I would have defended Wei Ying’s methods even if I did not care for him the way I do.” The confession tumbles from Lan Zhan’s lips and he cannot take it back, but he can look away from Wei Ying. He can turn his eyes onto the groceries in the floorboard. They need to get home. He needs to put away everything that needs to be refrigerated. It’s too late to bother with lunch, but it’s far too early for dinner.

“Wei Ying, I’d like to go home now.”

“Home?” Wei Ying asks, his hands tightening for just a moment before they loosen reluctantly and then let go entirely. “Home to Gusu?” Wei Ying’s eyebrows are knit together, hurt ready to blossom at a moment’s notice.

“Not home to Gusu.” Lan Zhan answers, shaking his head, “The popsicles will melt long before we get there. Home to Wei Ying’s house.”

The popsicles might’ve already melted for all Lan Zhan knows, but they’re an easy way to soothe Wei Ying’s worries, an easy way to hear him laugh so lightly, the sound of it ringing in Lan Zhan’s ears. It doesn’t soothe Lan Zhan the way he wants it to, but it does tuck a few fraying ends away as well as it can.

The truck groans with relief as Wei Ying finally takes it out of park and puts it into reverse, his hand against the back of Lan Zhan’s headrest as he backs out of the parking space. Lightning still flashes, and another roar of thunder rings out above them, but Lan Zhan forces himself to relax. 

They’re nearly halfway home when Wei Ying speaks again.

“Lan Zhan, I heard that there’s gonna be a meteor shower in a couple days,” Wei Ying says with faux flippancy, but Lan Zhan can hear the undercurrent of his words, the nervousness laying just underneath the surface, “and I thought I could find a good spot for us to watch it together. If you’re up for it.” Wei Ying doesn’t phrase it like a question, he doesn’t even look at Lan Zhan as he speaks, but it still hangs between them, unanswered and skittish.

Too many answers crowd at the front of Lan Zhan’s throat, threatening to choke him as they trip over each other. Parts of him beg and plead with him to say yes, that he’s wanted it for this long, that he’s been waiting for Wei Ying to ask him just like this, but other parts of him, the hurt parts of him, ache and burn for him to say no, to throw Wei Ying’s non-question in his face. 

“If the weather is clear enough to see it,” Lan Zhan answers noncommittally, his hands folding on top of each other in his lap.

It isn’t the answer that he should have given, but it’s enough of a yes for Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan doesn’t have to look at him to know it.

[bokutosbiceps]

so much fun

gear five!monkey d luffy x afab!reader | smut | ~1k words

warnings: smut. it’s smut. also mild cursing LOL

a/n: okay, i wrote this impromptu smut as soon as i saw the gif @ the end of this post from one of @meeplaws posts. it was just so gorgeous i had to write something about it. wrote half of this on the toilet.

luffy had you backed into the corner of your shared quarters, pink irises trained on your heaving chest. his hair was glowing white and whipping wildly around his face, while yours lay still against the nape of your neck. there was no wind.

he’s grinning and giggling at you, and you’re unable to tear your attention away from the way his pink tongue hangs out of his mouth. or the way his adam’s apple is bobbing up and down, strained against the skin of his throat. you gulp.

“where do ya think you're goin’, sugar?” he bounced closer to you and took you by your waist, pressing your abdomen against his and leaning forward to effectively fold you backwards. “don’t’cha wanna have some fun with your captain?”

“l-luffy, you're…”

“so what?” luffy knew you were going to mention how he was currently using gear 5. how he was currently sending things around him flying and billowing without a second thought. how dangerous and completely inviting the glint in his eye was. “s’gonna make it so much more fun, right?”

in an instant you were laying on your back with luffy’s hand still wrapped around your waist, his hips digging into yours while he sat so radiantly in between your thighs.

“hey, y/n…” he giggled, seeing the mixture of apprehension and desire etched into your features. “you love me, don’t’cha?”

you could only nod, feeling the delicious pressure of something pressing against your clothed cunt. you'll indulge your lover, you decided. even in this state. it was just that he was normally rough and unbound, never hurting you, but always leaving you breathless.

you wondered what would happen if gear 5 was added to the mix.

and you kinda wanted to find out.

“then play with me, sugar!” he giggled again, taking this opportunity to rut his hips down against yours. you moan, earning a satisfied whine from him.

“okay, lu, what do you wanna—oh, shit…” all luffy needed to hear from you was your “okay” and he let himself loose. his palms, warm and sweaty immediately pressed against the curve of your ass, gripping and pulling your shorts down in one fell swoop, giggling wildly while he did this. he pushed your shirt up to your chin, irises turning into little pink hearts at the sight of your pillowy tits, wanting nothing more than to bury his face in between them.

the warmth radiating from in between your thighs called to him, though, and he looked down at your cunt, licking his lips and smiling.

“ahh, you were just playin’ with me earlier, huh?” luffy took two fingers and swiped up from your vagina to your clit, gathering the slick that had been leaking out in a steady stream since he first approached you. “you’re wantin’ me real bad right now, ain’t’cha?”

“y-yeah…” you managed to huff out, arching your back as he continued to toy with your cunt. he was fascinated with how your slick stretched and hung in a silvery line between his two fingers. he caught the string of your arousal with his tongue, staring at you with wild eyes as he sucked his fingers clean. once he’d finished, he closed his eyes and grinned, as if he'd just ascended into bliss.

“you always taste so good, sugar. my favorite treat.” his eyes snap open and in one swift movement, he hikes your thighs over his shoulders and presses his face to your pussy. his nose prodded at your clit while he stretched his tongue inside you, as far as your anatomy would allow, and then some. his tongue lapped at your soaking wet walls, toying with the gummy spots, the ridged spots, and the spots that made you tangle your hands in his hair and pull.

after you had cum on his tongue nearly three times, luffy abruptly left your pussy aching and cold, clenching around nothing. you chanced a glance at him between your thighs. he was leaning back on his heels with his shorts unbuttoned and unzipped, stroking his cock and staring at you. he was shuddering and shimmering at his own touch, though his eyes were focused on you and you can tell he's thinking.

“m’ gonna fuck you now, ‘kay?” he breathed, shimmying out of his shorts and leaning over you, pressing you into the bed with his weight. you swore you had seen stars in his eyes before he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

he panted heavily as he teethed at your neck, scraping your skin and then soothing it with a quick swipe of tongue. you could feel the remnants of your slick still on his cheeks, rubbing onto yours. you're covered in his drool and your cum, but you're happy. blissful. it feels like the sun’s rays are reaching out to you, warming you, soaking through you. 

finally, he bit down on your shoulder and let out a loud, strained whine as he reached down to grip his cock and try to shove it inside of you. he missed, feeling his cock stretch and bend to the side against your cunt. he laughed out loud, trying over and over again to just get it in and babbling about he’s just so excited to get inside of you. the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing against your clit over and over drove you into a spluttering stupor, ripping another orgasm from you. 

“okay, okay, here we go, sugar, here we go…” he calms down long enough to completely focus on burying himself within you. he lets out a mixture between a growl and a cackle as he finally plunges his cock into you and almost immediately bottoms out.

“oh, sugar, this is gonna be so so so fun. we're gonna have so much fun.” he digs his fingers into the plush of your hips as he fully hilts his cock deep within you, eliciting another delicious mewl to fall from your lips. he arches his back and pushes his chest to the sky as you clench around him, letting out a full belly laugh as he snaps his hips forward, indulging in the way you squeeze him. 

once he had gotten his fill of laughter, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours. “soooo much fun.” he grinned.

a/n: i need this man in my life. and i want him to call me sugar.

taglist: @kingofthe-egirls

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them. 

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air. 

You envied them. 

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia. 

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before. 

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse. 

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation. 

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it. 

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last. 

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively. 

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word. 

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether. 

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward. 

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded. 

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing. 

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you. 

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver. 

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway. 

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud. 

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went. 

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done. 

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living. 

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door. 

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no.  A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them. 

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you. 

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not. 

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close. 

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food. 

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction. 

There was nothing. 

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[penkura]

knowing [8/8]

Summary: Sanji knew you were the one the moment he met you.

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

Warnings: None really. Normal One Piece stuff I guess.

Note: I changed my mind, I'm posting this today because I loved this and just can't wait any longer. Thank you all for reading this little fanfic!! I wrote this before I fully finished reading Wano, so it's not 100% accurate at first, but that's fine, this is a fanfic of course. I hope you all enjoy, and I do have another two one-shots connected to this series!

Taglist:

@jzkeisuke | @arcanumlaw

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7]

With Big Mom and Kaido defeated, Wano freed from the Animal Kingdom Pirates reign, you were beyond relieved when you'd heard you could all rest. Luffy and Zoro seemed near death, both had just woken up when you'd snuck out with Sanji to another area. He still needed rest more than you, and Chopper had followed along to make sure neither of you did anything to upset your wounds. You'd made it out with a few small burns, some scrapes and cuts, a slightly deeper wound on your abdomen, but Chopper had taken great care of you and gotten you as close to 100% as he could. Sanji too of course, he suffered slightly worse wounds than you did, but the geishas had taken great care of him and he had nowhere near the same battle damage as the other two members of your monster trio. Chopper had instructed him to lay down and rest, which Sanji did, trusting your doctor that he knew what was best, despite his wanting to join in whatever party was being started in the other room. You knew there was no way the people of Wano would let you leave without a large celebration, Sanji would just have to wait for that.

After Chopper left the infirmary you'd walked off to, you gave Sanji a smile while saying something about changing your own bandages real quick. Despite your insistence that it was fine, he looked away while you stripped off your shirt to change your bandages, instead quietly pulling something small out of his pocket to occupy his eyes, wondering if now was the best time or if he should wait.

"What's that you've got there, Sanji?"

Your voice brought him out of his millions of thoughts, making him decide that yes now's the time, before he smiled softly and held it up, making your eyes widen and your mouth open just a bit.

There's no way…no way, right?

"I picked this up in Dressrosa."

"Sanji, you did not."

Sanji grinned at you, nodding happily. "I did! I saw it and…I thought of you instantly."

It was a small ring he held in his hand, a thin silver band with some blue gem on it, perhaps a small sapphire, you weren't sure, but it was very pretty to you anyway. You didn't care for gaudy, showy jewelry anyway, so if this really was an engagement ring, you were all too ready to accept.

Even without a ring you'd accept. You loved Sanji, more than anything. If he had shown up to the women's bunks in his pajamas without a ring at 3am and asked you to marry him, you would accept even then. The middle of battle, though not his style, you'd say yes. An evening after dinner where you'd both drank a little too much and were giggly messes, if he said 'marry me' you'd accept instantly, whether you remembered it the next morning or not.

It didn't matter. You'd marry Sanji no matter how he proposed.

"Maybe I'm crazy, or all that wedding talk because of them got to me, or even us playing husband and wife for the time we did here, but…I'm certain of this." His voice was quiet, even though it was just the two of you at the moment, and it made you start to tear up.

It definitely was crazy. The fight with Kaido and Big Mom had ended just two days ago, you were still surprised Sanji was even capable of walking and sitting up right after his fight against Queen. You half wondered if he suffered a blow to the head that knocked something loose that was making him do this right now.

But really, you knew he hadn't. He was mentally sound, he knew what he was doing.

"Sanji…"

"I'm probably the worst mess of a man you've ever met, I'm worthless really, but I know I love you," Sanji smiled softly while you cried and gladly held your hand out for him to take when he reached out for it, "I don't want to ever again look at another woman the way I look at you. I can't imagine myself with anyone else, married to anyone else, becoming a parent with anyone else, if we're so blessed. Everything that's happened recently just made me more aware of that."

Sanji moved more towards the edge of the bed while gently pulling you closer to him. You couldn't have cared less if he was on one knee or not, it didn't matter to you.

What mattered was that it was Sanji.

You wished you weren't crying, especially when he pulled you down beside him, just to place his forehead against yours and wipe your happy tears away.

"I love you so much, [Y/N]. You mean the world to me and I just want to be with you forever. I wanted to ask you weeks ago now, even when we all met up again in Sabaody…but now feels like the perfect time. Please, [Y/N], will you marry me?"

Trying your hardest to stop crying, you nodded and kissed him, hoping he didn't mind your salty, teary kisses.

"Yes! Yes, a million times yes, my dear!"

Sanji pulled you into a tight hug that you returned, telling you again that he loved you and you responded in kind. You took a few minutes to fully calm down, and once you did, you let Sanji put the ring he'd bought all the way back in Dressrosa on your finger, not at all surprised it was a perfect fit. Of course he knew your ring size, either that or he borrowed one of your rings you wore for fun and took it with him to get the right size.

"A perfect fit."

"Just like us." You smiled brightly at Sanji, which he returned before kissing you again.

Your sweet moment was interrupted when the door to the infirmary almost flew open, and you jumped back up a bit, only to be relieved when you saw it was Zoro, who looked like he didn't know what he was even doing there.

"What do you want, moss head??"

"...looking for Chopper." Zoro's eye wandered over to you, noticing you'd been crying and he looked almost ready to cut down Sanji, until he took in the fact you now had a ring on your finger.

That same ring he'd watched Sanji pick out in Dressrosa.

"Oh!" You nodded, giving a smile. "He left a while ago, said he was going to go check on the Samurai and Luffy!"

Zoro nodded, turning to leave before he stopped and looked over his shoulder at you. "Congrats. If he hurts you, let me know and I'll kill him."

"Zoro!"

"As if you could, moss head!!"

"Sanji, stay in bed!" You pushed him back down when he went to get up, a scowl on his face while Zoro left and closed the door behind him. Sanji started complaining to you about the "stupid moss head" and how he couldn't touch him, but it made you laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh…it's just…it's like a little brother protecting his big sister…that's all Zoro means by it."

Somehow, Sanji understood what you meant when you said that. If his family had been different, he probably would have been the same with Reiju, protective of her when any potential boyfriends or suitors would come to see her, if they ever did considering how their father was. If your lives were different, if you had met under different circumstances, he was sure your biological brothers would be the same.

While he was thinking about it, Sanji barely realized you had crawled into bed with him, until you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him close. He did the same, kissing the top of your head as well.

"I love you, Sanji."

"I love you too."

I can't wait to marry you.

+!+

Once the Thousand Sunny had taken off from Wano, your next destination decided by the log pose, you were determined to be married with your found family as the witnesses. While in Wano, you and Sanji had slipped away to find something like a courthouse, whatever their equivalent was, to get a marriage certificate so you could have a small ceremony on the Sunny. It took a bit of time, but you found a place that processed marriage certificates and got one printed immediately, knowing that technically, as soon as you signed and dated it, you'd be husband and wife.

You hadn't told anyone yet, Zoro would never, you knew that, but you had told Sanji you wanted everyone there and to be married on the ship you called home. He quickly agreed, telling you that he'd do whatever you wanted for the wedding, while thinking it was the best place for you two to get married. You were both absolutely sure your crewmates would be happy for you, they'd all be glad to participate in the wedding and help you two tie the knot.

You also made Sanji promise not to spend so much time on the cake or to make it too big, though you had to give some leeway there due to Luffy. But he promised he wouldn't work on it so much that he was doing last minute touches when he was supposed to be saying his vows to you. You didn't want the wedding to be an extravagant, fancy affair. Just something small and simple with everyone you loved there.

Sanji didn't tell you, though, that he'd talked to Nami and told her you two were engaged and wanting to get married as soon as possible. She was so happy for the two of you that she burst into tears and hugged him, about to run off to find you when he stopped her. He wanted to surprise you with your parents and siblings at the ceremony, and knew your home was an island in the New World, so Nami put the ship on a detour there in the middle of the night when Sanji had a night watch, so no one would have any idea. There were no questions about where the ship was heading the next morning, and Nami was constantly talking about romance and things like that to you, trying to get you to spill your engagement to her. Anything she said you related back to Sanji with a smile, annoying her that you were acting so dense.

It was about two days before your unknown arrival to your home island that Sanji convinced you to tell everyone. You had gone over it multiple times in your head, wondering if it was a good time, before he told you that you'd probably never be ready to tell them, so might as well do so now. When he said that, you ended up agreeing and when everyone was on the deck that night, Sanji told them all you two had an announcement to make.

"You guys aren't gonna leave, are you??" Luffy was so terribly concerned that you and Sanji had chosen to leave the crew, but you quickly reassured him it wasn't anything like that.

"No, no, not at all! We," you took a breath and smiled at Sanji, taking his hand, "We've decided to get married."

"Ahh!"

"And we want the ceremony to be on Sunny in a few days."

"AHH!!"

Everyone was so excited for the two of you! Nami immediately ran over and hugged you, Robin joining her after a moment and both asking to see your ring, where Sanji got it, and what you were going to wear. Luffy laughed a bit and threw himself on Sanji, saying he was glad for the two of you. Brook said something weird about marriage; Franky was crying but patting Sanji on the back; Usopp wanted to know when and how you'd be married without a priest; Chopper said he was very excited for the two of you; Jimbei also gave his congratulations, saying he may not have known you both very long, but you seemed like quite the loving couple, and Zoro, who still viewed you as his sister, reiterated his previous statement of being willing to kill Sanji if he ever hurt you. Before Sanji could argue back at him, Zoro put a hand on his shoulder and congratulated him, causing everyone that heard him to be shocked, and then even more surprised when Sanji thanked him.

The Straw Hats threw a celebration party for the two of you the rest of the night, almost like an engagement party. There was a point where Sanji had slipped away, knowing you were in good hands with Nami and Robin, who were trying to help you decide on a few things for the wedding. He went back to your shared room, picking up the transponder snail you'd bought a while back, and made a call to the Baratie. He didn't let whoever picked up know it was him, requesting to speak to Zeff personally.

"Hey, old man, it's me."

"Sanji? What's this about, calling after heading off two years ago?"

"I…I had some news I wanted to tell you, that's all."

He couldn't see him, but Zeff was a slight bit concerned with how calm Sanji sounded, to the point he made him hold on while he transferred the call over to his personal snail.

"Sanji, you in here?" You had gone searching for your fiance once you noticed he was missing and found him in your room, he waved you over to sit beside him on the bed while he waited for Zeff to get back on the phone. "Who'd you call?"

"Zeff."

"Ooooh." You nodded and took his free hand in yours, Sanji gripping it tightly, nervously waiting.

"All right, what'd you wanna tell me, kid?"

"I'm…getting married in a few days. I just…I wanted you to know."

It was quiet for a bit, and you worried that maybe Zeff was angry that this was the first thing he'd heard from Sanji in over two years, but then heard laughter.

"So! You finally found a girl willing to put up with you, huh?"

You giggled and Sanji smiled.

"I found a girl that's done more than just put up with me."

The two of you stayed on the line with Zeff for a while longer, Sanji's tight grip on your hand loosening after he realized Zeff was truly happy for him. Eventually you decided to let him have his privacy with his true father, kissing his cheek and returning to the party your crewmates were still throwing.

You finally decided you'd get married four days later, the two of you were ready for this step and didn't want anything to interfere, not the Marines or another pirate, nothing.

However, when Nami had said you'd all reached an island to dock at, your breath caught in your throat and you started to tear up when you recognized the pier, despite it being nearly seven years since you'd last been there.

"This…this is my home."

"Yeah," Sanji held your hand and gave you a smile, "I…figured you'd want your family there when we got married, so I asked Nami if we could take a detour. Is…is this okay?"

You looked up at him and smiled brightly, despite the tears threatening to fall down your face. "Of course!!"

Once the Sunny was fully docked, you didn't bother waiting for your allowance from Nami, grabbing Sanji by the arm and dragging him in the direction of your childhood home. None of your crewmates bothered to stop you, they did stop Luffy from following and getting in the way of you introducing your fiance to your family.

To your surprise, your family already knew you were on the way, you figured Sanji had something to do with that as well (you'd be correct if you asked him). Your mom was the first to hug you, telling you how much she missed you and how beautiful you'd become in the last few years. Your dad told you the same, before he and your mom introduced themselves to Sanji, you weren't at all surprised at how easily he won them over despite not being able to ask their permission to marry you.

All your siblings ended up running at you when they knew you were there, and it made you beyond happy to see you had a new sister after all. She was a little more shy around you, but Sanji speaking to her convinced her that everything was all right. Everyone ended up mentioning how they had copies of your wanted poster, your brothers would brag to their friends that their big sister was a badass pirate while your sisters would use that as leverage against the boys in town they didn't like, and it all made you blush and become flustered.

Your parents insisted the two of you and the rest of your crewmates join them for dinner, which you happily accepted and so did Luffy when he heard. Your family gladly accepted your found family, sharing stories and having a lovely time with everyone around.

It got to be a little much for you, you had to step out on the porch for a bit so you didn't get too overwhelmed, Sanji following you a moment later to make sure you were okay.

"You know, sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't left."

"Oh yeah?"  Sanji smiled a bit while lighting a cigarette and watching you.

You nodded, sitting down with your legs dangling off the edge of the porch, your youngest sister having followed you and Sanji out the door and now cuddling next to you. She'd opened up quickly and became attached to you and Sanji.

"I wonder if we ever would have met."

"I still would've found you."

"You're sure about that?" You laughed a bit, but Sanji sat down beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders.

"Luffy still would have come to the Baratie and convinced me to join him. We'd still have all the same adventures, and eventually end up here…where I'd find you. And I'd still be attracted to you, and try to get you to come with us, and we'd still end up together."

Humming a bit, you nodded.

"I know you'd still find me."

+!+

The next day was your wedding. You'd woken up early with a bit of happy anxiety, Nami and Robin were already up and ready to help you get dressed and do your hair. You'd ended up buying a white sundress with a [f/c] colored sash around the waist and white flats to make it simple, you never really wanted a fancy wedding dress anyway. Nami took a curling iron to your hair and added some soft curls, while Robin brought you a flower crown your sisters had made overnight for you to wear in place of a veil. Both girls were still beyond excited for you, and Nami kept giving you hugs through the morning. You and her were like sisters at this point, she'd already called being aunt to any kids you and Sanji may have in the future. Having her and Robin with you helped calm your nerves, and you were more than ready to get married to the love of your life.

Sanji, though, was almost a nervous wreck. He'd already gone through half a pack of cigarettes, before he even got dressed for your wedding. You'd told him during the events at Whole Cake Island that you really preferred black suits on him, so he gladly got one specifically for your wedding, choosing a [f/c] colored tie to match with you. He didn't know why he was so nervous, probably the fears that he wasn't good enough for you and wouldn't be able to make you happy were the cause, but he couldn't stop his racing mind. He tried everything but went back to smoking as his stress reliever, worried you'd change your mind at the last second and leave him.

"She's not gonna leave you."

Surprisingly, Zoro was the one to get Sanji to calm down.

"And what if she does?"

"She won't. She wouldn't have agreed to marry you and plan a wedding so quickly if she wasn't sure about it. If she didn't want to be with you she would've rejected your ass all the way back at Alabasta."

"What. How do you know about that?! I thought you didn’t know until Skypiea!"

Zoro rolled his visible eye and smirked.

"You guys weren't exactly subtle back then. Freaking weirdos making out in the kitchen."

Despite Zoro being amused, Sanji knew he was right. If you really didn't love him and were going to leave, you probably would have done so after everything that happened with his family and that attempted arranged marriage. Instead you had stuck by him, giving him a smile and hug when he first told you how much he loved you, repeating it to him every day since you all had left Thriller Bark, telling him even more so after you'd retrieved him from his screwed up family, giving him the time he needed before showering him in hugs, kisses, and constant 'I love you's so he knew you'd never leave him or let him go again, and that you understood what he was doing when he fought with Luffy and 'broke up' with you in front of his brothers and sister. When he told you everything about his childhood, despite your crying and wishing you'd been born in the North Blue so you could have been his friend, you accepted every bit of it, telling him how much his mother must have loved him and you would have loved to have met her. He'd never felt more relieved than when you said his past didn't matter, the things his father said didn't matter. What mattered was that he was Sanji and you loved him. That was the first time he'd cried to you, hugging you and letting you stroke his hair, while he thanked you for loving a “failure” like him.

"You're not a failure. You're Sanji, and you're perfect as you are."

Sanji knew Zoro was right, you'd never leave him. If you did he'd fight to get you back, but he was sure that wouldn't be necessary.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

"No problem. …don't tell anyone about this."

"Wouldn't dare."

+!+

Your wedding ceremony went off without a hitch, several hours ago now, and you and Sanji were finally married. While you were being wed, you couldn't stop smiling and crying lightly, Sanji giving you soft sweet smiles while he held your hands. Your mother, Nami, Franky, and Brook were all blubbering messes, you wondered if they'd actually heard anything the whole time. Your dad was slightly teary, but he'd never fully admit that to you. All your siblings were excited, more so that they were on a pirate ship but your wedding was a nice excuse to be on the ship. Luffy couldn't stop grinning, he was beyond happy for the two of you. Usopp was also slightly teary, mostly because he couldn't believe you two were actually getting married. Chopper was anxiously waiting for when he could have cake, but he had told you when he saw you earlier that day that he thought you looked pretty. Robin smiled, looking at you like you were her baby sister who was getting married and she couldn't have been happier for you both. Jimbei acted as your priest, after you learned he actually could legally perform marriages, you practically begged him to be the one to marry you. He agreed quickly and you were grateful for it. Zoro, always the quiet one, watched without much emotion visible on his face, but those of you who knew him well enough could see he was happy for you.

Of course, you and Sanji were the happiest ones there. Your ceremony wasn't long, it didn't need to be really, just something small to show you were committed to each other, now and forever. When Jimbei pronounced you husband and wife, and said Sanji could kiss you, you had to keep yourself from almost bouncing out of your shoes in excitement. Once he did kiss you, everyone cheered for you, which made you giggle after breaking the kiss and giving Sanji a smile that he returned.

"We're married!"

He couldn't help it, Sanji picked you up and spun you around, he was so happy! You two had gone from awkwardly facing your feelings for each other, to now being deeply in love, and married finally. He set you back down, only to kiss you again, laying his forehead against yours afterwards.

"I love you, ma femme."

"I love you too, my husband!"

"Come on you lovebirds, let's start the reception!"

The reception, which was really just a normal Straw Hat party, went on for several hours. You had to step away at one point to bid farewell to your family, none of whom wanted to see you go but they understood you couldn't stay on your island for more than a few days, and the Sunny would be taking off in the morning.

Sanji noticed quickly you'd disappeared from his side while he was fighting to keep Luffy from finishing off your piece of cake, and when he saw where you were, he put Zoro in charge of keeping Luffy at bay so he could go stay with you.

Your family had already walked off the dock and back into town when you felt Sanji wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on the top of your head.

"We'll come back someday."

"I know we will."

"And you can always call or write."

You nod, looking up at Sanji with a smile. "This was a wonderful surprise, thank you. It meant a lot to have them here."

Sanji returned your smile, kissing your forehead. "Anything for you, mon amour."

You were about to suggest the two of you slip out and go off to bed, before Luffy shouted your names.

"Come oooonnnn!! The party's for you guys!" Really he just wanted more cake, but Sanji and Zoro had stopped him from having anything more until you had what you wanted.

Grumbling a bit, Sanji pulled away but still held your waist, causing you to giggle a bit and turn around in his hold, putting your arms around his shoulders.

"A bit longer, then we'll go to bed." You whispered before kissing him with a smile.

He sighed but still nodded. "Fine, fine."

Your reception continued well into the night, you avoided drinking too much so you'd remember it not only in the morning but in years to come. Eventually everyone had either passed out or was calmed down enough to start cleaning, refusing any help from you or Sanji and telling you to both go on to bed, with a kind a smile from Robin or Nami but a sly smirk from Franky.

Once you did, you both simply admired each other's ring and how right it felt to have them now. Within a few more minutes your exhaustion was taking over and you took Sanji's hand in yours, snuggling right up next to him, causing him to do the same with you. You'd consummate your marriage another night, but for tonight, all you wanted was to bask in the fact you were married to the love of your life, and enjoy the warmth that came from knowing that you were his and he was yours. Sanji had tried to say something to you at one point, but you were so near sleep you didn't hear him, except for when he chuckled lightly and kissed the top of your head.

"I love you, [Y/N]...in every lifetime and every universe, I'll always love you."

[alice-angel12x]

Born of Unknown Stardust

Ch. 3

summary: The angles formed the world and all mortal life from dust. One day from the unknown the angels came across bizarre dust, that seemed to have a will of its own. It refused to be molded and shaped to the angel's will. So they cast it aside, till a certain angel got his creative hands on it.

(Long post)

(bittersweet story) (platonic) Lucifer x (???) Reader x Sera

<-Part 2/ Part 4-> (additional art here)

____________________________

"Lucifer... What Have you Done!" The elders shot in horror as the roots of Evil seeped into the earth.

The Apple of Knowledge of good and evil is eaten into rolls on the ground as the knowledge that Eve was not ready for rushes into her head. It was painful and overwhelming.

Lucifer stands before the court of the heavenly elders. Lilith stood not far behind Lucifer as she watched in worried anticipation.

"Not only have you gotten too involved with a human, but You let evil taint our creation. We told you your Ideas were too dangerous, and you have only proven our point," One of the elders glared.

Lucifer stood resolute as he tried to put on a bold face for Lilith Even if the angelic metal chains and cuffs were tight on his wrist and neck.

"We will look past this and forgive you if you apologize. And Leave the mortals alone," Another elder spoke up. "That also means leaving that mortal alone too."

They said as they pointed to Lilith who was cowering in front of some arch-angels keeping an eye on her. Lucifer looked at her with concern, all this happened so suddenly. As their eyes met, Lucifer made his decision.

"I... I do not regret what I have done," He said with a slight glare, even as the chain chafed at his skin.

The Elders gasped in Horror at Lucifer's answer, the elders quickly discussing amongst each other.

"Lucifer has not only let evil leak into the earth, but it seems to have taken him too. Fallling into the chains of lust," One elder said.

"We made it clear to him when we told him not to interfere. He only has himself to blame," Other scoffed.

As the Elders chatted, one was not paying attention to the conversation. The high seraphim Sera. Her mind was elsewhere, on the one who everyone seemed to have forgotten, Yuu. Her heart could only wonder what would happen to little Yuu now, one of the many victims of this. She started to think back when she noticed Lucifer sneaking off for days at a time.

___________________________

Sera flew up to the door and gave a light knock. The Door opened quickly, but instead of Lucifer, it was Little Yuu treating her.

"Hello Miss Sera," Yuu greeted happily.

"Hello Yuu, is your father home?" She asked as she knelt to Yuu's level

"Da? No, haven't seen him," Yuu shrugged.

"How long ago did you see him, I might be able to catch up with him," Sera asked.

"Umm... 5 days ago I think," Yuu said as they thought back.

"5 Days?! How often is this?" Sera asked in concern.

"Umm, more often know... And longer too... Where is Da going Sera?" Yuu asked her.

" I don't know sweety. Mind if I keep you company for a little bit?" Sera asked.

"Well Da said to not let people inside the house when he's not home," Yuu said as they thought, when. " But he never said anything about the garden!"

Sera chuckled at Yuu's enthusiasm, as Yuu told her to wait in the gardens. In the garden was a simple stone table, the flowers and plants surrounded the small set up. Soon the young tot came outside with Tea and snacks. It looked very childishly slapped together, but Sera appreciated the effort.

Sera just smiled and listened as Yuu childishly rambled on and on anything that came to mind. To hold a conversation with guests. As She listens, she notices one of Yuu's blueprints sticking out from their pocket.

"So what great invention are you working on now?" Sera asks as she points to the paper.

"Oh, this? This is for my dad," Yuu said as they pulled out the blueprints.

Sera looked it over. She was a bit confused to see a simple drawing of a jar. With notes scribbled all over that she really couldn't understand.

"What is it?" She asked with a confused expression on her face.

"A world in a bottle," Yuu smiled excitedly.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Sera said.

"I'm going to put a world inside the jar. Where my dad can make whatever he wants inside," Yuu explained. " I'm almost done putting everything together."

"Umm, how so?" Sera was beyond confused, how could a world fit in such a small container.

With an excited smile, Yuu opened the jar, and the two were sucked inside. Sera gasped as she closed her eyes, waiting for the worst.

"Miss Sera? You can't see anything with your eyes closed," Yuu said.

She slowly opened an eye, to see an unbelievable sight before her.

"I managed to finish the ocean, but I like the idea of an underwater house. So I'll add land later, and have a normal house," Yuu explained as they showed off the pocket world.

"Yuu this is beautiful, and this is almost done?" Sera asked in awe.

"Yeah, just want to add some land and mountains," Yuu nodded. "Do you think Da will like it? Then maybe he will spend more time with me?"

"Lucifer will love it," Sera reassured with a gentle smile. “But why did you make this for him?”

“So he can see I’m getting close to making his own earth,” Yuu said proudly.

“His own Earth?” Sera asked curiously

“So he has a place he can put all his ideas, so the elders don’t have to worry about their earth,” Yuu explained.

Sera smiled softly at Yuu’s kind heart. "You know making a world by yourself won't be easy. It could take a very long time," She says.

"I know, but Da promised he would wait for me and stay out of trouble," Yuu smiled, though it was a bit unsure.

"Your heart is so kind little one," Sera smiles as she pattes Yuu's head.

____________________________

"And that creature Yuu should go too. Who knows what that thing will do on its own. It could cause trouble, cast it to hell with its creator," another elder said, snapping Sera out of her thoughts.

"No," She said suddenly.

"What?!" The other elders gasped.

"Yuu is innocent and has nothing to do with this. Lucifer's choices and actions were all his own," She says sternly. " Yuu is a kind-hearted individual, and sending an innocent to hell is too cruel a fate."

"Are you going to Keep an eye on them?" They asked.

"I will. I'll make sure to guide them down the right path," Sera said with certainty.

-----------------------------------------------

The portal to The underworld ripped asunder as the archangels dragged and pushed Lucifer and Lilith closer to the edge.

"Lucifer!" Sera called out.

Lucifer looked at her with a slight glare as the chains held him still.

"I promise to take care of Yuu for you," Sera promised sincerely.

"Wait? What do you mean Sera?!" Lucifer asked, panic quickly filling his voice.

"Oh, know you remember your (Son/Daughter/Child). To put it simply, they will not be going with you Lucifer," Sera said. " They will be staying up here in heaven."

"Yuu? Y-You Can't Do That!" Lucifer shouted as he approached Sera, but the chain slacked short of her. "You Can't just take them from me! I know full well they're not safe in Heaven!"

"So leaving them alone for days on end, in heaven was safe?" Sera challenged. “Or letting them go to Hell with you is safer?”

"You know What I mean Sera. The Elders never accept them then, why know?!" Lucifer shouted back.

“Yuu will be under my care. I promise you they will be kept out of harms way,” Sera promised, as Lucifer continued to fight against his chains.

“Just let me see them. Let me hold them one last time!” Lucifer begged as the chains pulled him closer to the portal.

But before Sera could say anything, Lilith’s screams could be as she fell down into the portal.

“Lilith!!” Lucifer screamed, without hesitation jumped into the portal after her.

————————————

Sera sat nervesly in once’s Lucifer’s garden as Yuu brought tea and treats as they always did. As Yuu chatted on and one, the dreaded question finally arrived.

“Da hasn’t come back in a long while… Miss Sera, where is he?” Yuu asked with a worried smile.

With a deep breath, Sera gently explained to little Yuu what had happened. And what Lucifer had done on earth and how his actions had brought a horrible curse onto the earth.

“Are you Okay Yuu?” Sera asked gently.

“I-I think so. So Da is in time out? I can visit?” Yuu asked.

“I’m afraid not little one,” Sera said sadly.

“Oh, so I can see him again when his time-out is over?” Yuu asked again.

Sera slowly shook her head, as Yuu slowly started to crumble.

"So I'm never going to see him again?" Yuu asked shakily.

"I'm afraid so," Sera nodded.

"He promised me," Yuu whimpered to themselves. "Why would he lie to me. He Promised to stay out of trouble."

Sera looked on with sorrow in her eyes, as she slowly reached out to comfort them.

"Can... Can I be alone a bit?" Yuu sobs as they run back into the house.

Sera worried for the small child, quietly followed after them. Yuu ran into the house as they felt something within them. Something wanted to burst out, but it only intensified as more tears forced themselves to the surface.

This was a foreign feeling they had never felt before, and it was growing. Yuu didn't know what to do with this feeling and knowledge as they stomped about the house.

'Why did he lie? Why didn't he wait for me? Why did he leave me for the Earth?' questions flooded Yuu's mind. "Maybe because I wasn't enough."

With that though Yuu came to a halt. Was it because they couldn't give him the planet he wanted fast enough? They looked at Lucifer's once workbench. To see that the World Jar was still untouched, and most importantly. A framed Photo family of Lucifer and Yuu.

To be continued.

Tag-----------

littleladydemon

[twstwinnie]

Hello, i just discovered this blog and i really want to read your work more. If you don't mind can i request malleus x reader where reader feeling empty or brunedout due to study and overblots. You can edit it as you like or write as headcanon or one short it depends on you. Well have nice day/night.

♚ Tea for the Prefect : Malleus Draconia

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, burnout, reader is the prefect, gn! reader, ch.5 spoilers!

desc: upon noticing your growing distress, malleus takes matters into his own hands and bestows a gift of relaxation upon you. sleep well, dear prefect.

a/n: finally being more consistent with posts!! thank you for the request! I thought this was a lovely concept and a great opportunity for some lovely stress comfort fluff! also, I love writing for malleus! the reader in this is the prefect, but the reader is not explicitly yuu! with that, enjoy! — winnie <3

Time is fleeting, whether he likes it or not.

Such is a fact that Malleus is painfully aware of. Every day that passes is but a fraction of his extended lifespan.

That is until he met you.

Most people talk about time flying when one’s having fun, but for Malleus, time slows when he’s with you. Being in your presence reminds him of all the little things life has to offer. Despite his extended lifespan, he chooses to live in the present nowadays simply because you’re a part of it.

That being said, he’s still able to pick up on things when they happen so suddenly.

Like your fatigue.

Malleus is unaware if your fatigue slowly built up in terms of a human lifespan, but to a fae like him, it seemed almost immediate. However, he knows full well that it isn’t without reason.

After Ashengrotto’s overblot, he conversed with you out of curiosity, questioning how you used the advice he’d given you earlier. That’s when he learned that you’d been handling student overblots since your arrival on campus. Lilia further confirmed this fact, noting your involvement in Kingscholar’s overblot as well.

He didn’t realize how emotionally taxing it must’ve been until recently.

After Schoenheit was pulled from his overblotted state, Malleus appeared. He witnessed the aftermath firsthand.

More importantly, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. He noticed the way you tiredly limped backstage once he’d repaired the stadium, and saw the way you brushed off your situation.

When he asked you about it, you insisted that it was nothing.

After that conversation, many things clicked into place for him. Not only did you deal with these treacherous battles without the use of magic, but you did so in tandem with your studies and other responsibilities. You had an incredible amount on your plate and everyone seemed content to continuously pile more and more atop it. He had to wonder if you truly ever allowed yourself the opportunity to rest.

Malleus, in good conscience, cannot sit by and allow you to remain in a perpetual state of stress and exhaustion. You’re precious to him, his dearest treasure, and if he can prevent you from losing your luster, he will.

Given your mortal lifespan is already so limited, he refuses to watch you crash and burn out.

So, he decides he’ll lend you some much needed assistance.

After a week of testing and schoolwork, the weekend finally arrives. The first thing Malleus does is convince Grim to stay at Diasomnia for the weekend. Silver (and, begrudgingly, Sebek) agree to watch over the small feline. A promise of food is all it takes.

Then, Malleus gathers various things he remembers that you like from your various conversations: tea, biscuits, warm blankets, and a book about gargoyles that you’d wanted to borrow from him.

With that, he sets off to your dorm, announcing that he’ll return the following morning. The fae certainly hopes you won’t mind him spending the night. Either way, he merely wants you to relax. Surely, you won’t turn him away.

Upon arrival, he knocks curtly on the door. While he typically preferred strolls around the quiet forests of Ramshackle, he didn’t mind having a day in at your request. You seem to enjoy cozy things when stressed, so he hopes this is enough.

You soon answer the door, a panicked expression on your face. “Tsunotaro! Have you seen Grim? He ran off earlier, and he didn’t say anything!” you insist. Malleus gives you a simple smile.

“He’s spending time with Silver and Sebek at Diasomnia. My apologies, I thought he left you a message. He’ll be there for the weekend,” Malleus explains. You heave out a relieved sigh, leaning against the door frame.

“Thank the Seven! He really needs to tell me before he runs off… but wait. Really? He’s staying at Diasomnia? Are you sure you don’t mind…?” you ask nervously. Malleus chuckles and shakes his head.

“Lilia is in charge for the weekend. I assure you, he can handle a few unruly creatures. He quite likes the challenge, actually. He doesn’t mind,” Malleus starts. “Actually, I was hoping you’d allow me to stay with you. I’d enjoy your company.”

You regard him with wide eyes for a moment before stepping aside. “Sure, I don’t mind. Come in,” you say. “Ah, but it’s a bit of a mess. I’m sorry— it’s been a hectic week.”

Malleus walks in and glances around. Sure enough, it’s a bit disorganized. Papers are strewn across the floor and judging by the mess of blankets by the table, he’s certain that you’ve been sleeping while studying.

“No need to offer apologies to me, Prefect. Actually, it’s fitting for the topic of conversation I wanted to bring up.” Malleus continues, “from what I’ve noticed, you seem overwhelmed. I’ve even heard that you’ve been falling asleep in class. Are you resting properly?”

He watches as you deflate, walking over to the couch and sinking down into it. With a sigh, you respond.

“I’m glad someone noticed. I’m exhausted, Tsunotaro. Our useless Headmage doesn’t help with overblots or money, so I’ve been working at the Lounge on top of everything else—

“Not to mention, I need to help Grim study so he doesn’t get caught in any dealings with Azul again. With everything going on, I hardly have time to sleep! I’m so tired… I’m really sorry, Malleus. I’ve been so busy that I’ve hardly had time to spend talking with you,” you mumble sadly. Malleus walks over and seats himself next to you.

“Why apologize to me, dear Prefect?” he questions. You huff and lean against him, shutting your eyes.

“I actually enjoy your company, but I’ve been so busy. I’ve skipped so many of our usual late night walks. I miss spending time with you,” you express. Malleus can’t help but give a fond smile in response. He gently runs his fingers through your hair as he hums.

“I’ve felt deprived of your company, but I’ve never once blamed you for such a thing. Don’t you think you’re the last person who owes anyone else an apology? You’re an unwilling participant in all the messes you find yourself in,” Malleus mentions. You sigh quietly.

“That’s true, but if I don’t take care of the overblots, who will? We both know Crowley won’t do a thing,” you mutter, a tinge of bitterness in your tone. Malleus chuckles lightly.

“Forgive me if it came off in this manner, but I wasn’t suggesting that you change your ways. I quite like you the way you are now, even with your needless prying into dangerous trouble,” he teases lightly. “All I’m requesting is that, when you find it’s too much to bear on your own, you allow me to take care of you.”

You pause. Met with silence, Malleus turns to face you, shocked to find your face red with fluster. You let out a shaky breath and smile, looking down.

“Don’t say things so cryptically like that, Tsunotaro. If you do, someone might mistake it for a confession, y’know,” you mumble under your breath. Malleus regards you with a gentle expression, placing a finger on your chin and lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps I wish for it to be taken in such a way. Have you considered that? If you’d prefer me to properly court you in order to be convinced, I don’t mind. Though, I thought it’d be best to inform you of my intentions at the very least,” he says with a smirk. You find yourself speechless, unable to tear your eyes away from his gaze.

Malleus awaits your response patiently, and once you find your bearings, you sputter out a response.

“I-I’ve never considered that, but I’d be happy to accept your feelings,” you whisper. “Oh, but no courting— please, I can only handle so much embarrassment. I don’t wanna know how far you’d go if I let you court me.”

Malleus smiles, leaning in to peck your lips softly before pulling back. “I’d only go as far as fae tradition allows. Alas, I’ll respect your wishes. If you accept my feelings, will you allow me to take care of you?” he asks. You return his smile and nod.

“Please. I’d appreciate it, Tsunotaro,” you say. With your permission, Malleus quickly gets to work.

A quick spell organizes the disarray that was once your lounging area. Then, he steeps the tea and prepares the snacks that he brought. He refuses to let you lift a finger to assist, insisting that you remain seated.

Once he pours you a cup, he’s happy to see the way your tense frame relaxes as you take a sip. Your dull eyes regain their shine as you both chatter away about whatever you please.

When he notices you yawn one too many times, he carries you to bed, much to your embarrassment. After changing into more comfortable clothing, he joins you in bed.

Sitting up, he allows you to wrap your arms around his waist and lay in his lap. In one of his hands, he holds the book you’d wanted to borrow, reading the contents aloud to you. With his other free hand, he gently runs away the knots in your back.

Malleus glances down every couple of minutes. Your expression of bliss and comfort brings warmth to his heart. It’s a far cry from your exhaustion earlier, the bags beneath your eyes slowly fading away.

“Mm… Tsunotaro. ‘m gonna fall asleep soon,” you mumble tiredly. Malleus hums in acknowledgment, shutting the book and setting it on the nightstand.

“Then sleep, my dear,” he insists, idly running his fingers through your hair. You shift your body to look up at him.

“Will you stay here? Please?” you ask. Malleus smiles, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“As promised earlier, I’ll remain by your side. When you awaken, I will be here to greet you, so fret not,” he assured gently. You grin, leaning up to steal another kiss before laying back down.

“Alright then. Good night, Malleus. And thank you for helping me.”

Malleus smiles.

“Of course. You needn’t thank me. You’re my dearest treasure, and these simple things are merely proof of that,” he says. He watches quietly as you quietly drift off into slumber, your built up exhaustion finally catching up with you. Smiling, he leans down and kisses your forehead gently, whispering one last thing before falling asleep by your side.

“Good night, dear prefect.”

— fin.

[bibbykins]

Moonlight Reign Ch. 5

A/N: Lmao hi! I'm back and this chapter is sorta boring but trust the process! Hopefully next chapter will be much sooner! Basically I post a chapter once I have the following one or two done~ Please enjoy and send asks and all that! I keep meaning to make a banner for this series, and one day I will have one!! As usual everyone thank @rapline-heaux my wonderful beta reader who read this months ago lmaooo

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere Mafia! BTS x Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, poly relationship, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mafia activities, crime, manipulation, crying, trauma, sensory flashbacks, murder, pining, past abuse, past neglect, familial issues, academic neglect, Taehyung and Jimin being mean, abandonment

By the time Jungkook returned to his apartment, all six of his lovers were seated around his dining table, waiting for him. The men looked at the youngest with an aura of moderate annoyance. They hated tardiness, and Jungkook could only imagine the story he spun about you.

“How are you going to be late to the emergency meeting you called?” Jin asked, sighing as he checked his nails impatiently. 

“Go on, tell em where you were.” Taehyung snipped, but Yoongi clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Don’t bother, he already whined about it.” Namjoon sighed out.

Jungkook snorted, “Yeah, I can tell by the way Jimin looks pissed too.” The MMA fighter bristled at this but sighed, crossing his arms. 

“I’ll never understand what you guys have against her.” Hoseok rolled his eyes, “How is she, dare I ask?” He sarcastically spoke, “According to Tae she’s the Devil incarnate.” 

Jungkook rolled his eyes at this, landing on the man in question to send him a glare, “Did he tell you how much of an asshole he was?” 

“Funnily enough, he neglected to mention his behavior.” Yoongi spoke, not breaking his eye contact with Taehyung who shrunk in his seat a bit, “I also will never understand why she gets under both of your skin so much.” He looked to JImin who shifted in his seat, “None of our trysts have ever gotten to you both.” 

“She’s different.” Taehyung snarled bitterly. No one said it, but the sentiment was there. You were different because Jungkook kept going back to you. You were different because instead of making him worse and leaving them to pick up the pieces, you made him… better. You helped him come from the depths of rock bottom in a way none of them had been capable of doing due to their own internal battles, and it weighed on the two men in a way that guilt could never fully encapsulate. 

“Anyways.” Jungkook spoke, plopping down next to Yoongi who sat at the head of the table, “I’m sure everyone here wants to know why I called you here?” He asked, and the men looked on expectantly. It was rare for Jungkook to call these meetings, especially so close to the anniversary date. Truthfully, he was surprised that they were all even able to attend in the first place, but it was all fate after all, at least in his eyes, “Well, I have just given us the best anniversary gift yet.” The men in the room perked up noticeably. 

“Did Byungjoo seriously give you something useful?” Jimin asked curiously, “I thought I was supposed to go in tomorrow because he’s not talking about the old man’s whereabouts?” He looked to Namjoon whose gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook.

“Yeah… you told me he wasn’t squealing?” The CEO asked suspiciously.

“And he didn’t, not about Byungyeol.” Jungkook confirmed, “But he did mention something… about the girl.” Yoongi’s back was pin straight as the younger man spoke. 

“Isn’t she dead?” Hoseok asked, making Yoongi’s jaw set. 

“Hey, we don’t know that for sure,” Jin argued for the sake of the second oldest who waited for Jungkook to continue with bated breath.

“Oh come on.” Taehyung huffed out, “That fire–”

“Enough.” Yoongi grit out, “Let him finish.” 

Jungkook smiled a bit, all too eager to finally have you out in the open, “She’s alive.” The room went still as he continued, “He gave me her name, and I had to check it out to make sure he wasn’t lying but… I found her.” 

“No way.” Jimin gasped, turning to the older man who had a lump in his throat, “What did you wanna do with her, boss?” The title was a bit sarcastic, “She sharing the same fate as Byungjoo?” 

“No.” Jungkook and Yoongi spoke in unison, making the two look at each other curiously. Everyone in the room knew Yoongi had a certain fixation on finding the green girl, especially as they were preparing for the fall of the Moon group, but they weren’t sure why. The only person who really knew had been Jin who remained as tight-lipped as ever about the topic. 

Yoongi cleared his throat to break some of the tension, “No, I don’t think I plan to kill her.” He spoke cooly, but Jungkook’s jaw set at the mere possibility.

“None of us will be killing or harming her.” Jungkook proclaimed, making the two bosses in the room glared at him. 

“That’s not your call to make, JK.” Namjoon reminded him, but he shook his head in defiance.

“Why do you even care?” Jin asked curiously.

Taehyung watched with squinted eyes as he studied the scene before him. Jungkook never once cared about who lived or died. Hell, he hated attending most meetings. It didn’t make sense why he’d care about some random girl he didn’t know–

Oh. 

Rage bubbled in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach as the puzzle pieces clicked into place, “It’s because she’s been right next door this whole time, isn’t it?” He piped up, and Jungkook’s glare at him deepened, “She’s fucking dea–” Taehyung stood and Jimin followed suit.

“Sit down.” Yoongi hissed, and the men had no other choice but to listen as he turned to the maknae, “Is that true?” 

Jungkook pursed his lips and let out a short laugh, “And I had no fucking clue,” He admitted, and Namjoon wanted to bang his head on the table. All of the men knew that Jungkook wouldn’t lie about this kind of thing, not when it meant so much to Yoongi, but still–

“How could you be so careless–” 

“We all thought she was dead!” Jungkook defended himself, and Yoongi remained quiet, “None of us knew her name, how she looked, hell, we didn’t even know her real age, evidently.” He sighed, “She didn’t even know about me.” 

“What?” Hoseok chimed in, “You’re telling me this is all a coincidence?” He asked incredulously, but Jungkook stood his ground.

“The reason I’ve been so off these days?” He offered, and his boyfriends stiffened, “She saw Namjoon on the news as Bangtan Corp’s CEO, and she… I mean, she’s not an idiot. She added two and two together.” He bitterly admitted, “Our one rule was shattered, so we agreed to go our separate ways but…”

Jin scrunched his brows as he took it in, “You couldn’t let her go, could you?” He asked, and the implications made the men in the room feel ill. Jungkook, the man who could have multiple one-night stands in a night without feeling an ounce of affection for them, couldn’t let you, his friend, walk out of his life, “Jungkook you…”

“She was all I had during…” He trailed off, and the other men could fill in the blanks, “We found each other at our lowest, and now I see why she was so skittish at first it…” He sighed, “It was fate, I see that now.” 

“Fate?!” Taehyung guffawed, “She was playing you!” 

“How?!” He challenged, raising his voice back, “It’s been years and she’s never once asked me for anything!” 

“Everyone calm down, okay?” Hoseok tried to mediate, “Look, I agree with Jungkook, there’s no way she knew or was playing him.” He defended and Jimin scoffed, “I’m serious. I was the one who watched her those days, alright?”

“Byungjoo had no idea I even knew her.” Jungkook mentioned, “I didn’t tell him I did, obviously. He just… immediately gave me her name and her phone number.” He said, but sighed, “She got a new phone the day after she saw Namjoon on the news, you know.” He admitted, “I know now Byungjoo called her that day and she freaked out, now I know why.”

“Freaked out?” Yoongi asked, expression unreadable. 

“Why would she freak out if her uncle called?” Namjoon asked, the Moon family was supposed to be tight-knit.

“She’s…” Jungkook tried to find the word, “I don’t think she was raised how we thought at all, hyung.” He admitted, and it made the older man’s stomach churn, “I think we need to reevaluate everything we thought we knew about the Moon family.” Whispers in the Underworld spoke of a spoiled yet deadly princess who got everything she wanted at the snap of a finger. You were supposed to have been pampered to a nauseating degree. 

“Why don’t we ask her ourselves?” Jimin bitterly added, unbelieving that you could be anything other than what they’d been told.

“Fine.” Jungkook surprisingly agreed, “But not tonight.” 

“What are we even going to do with her?” Jin asked finally, “If we’re not going to kill her then what?” He felt the need to add, “We can’t let her run. Obviously, she was planning to.” 

“We hire her.” Yoongi announced and all of the men except Namjoon looked at him in surprise.

“Just like that?” Hoseok chuckled, “Very well then.” 

“What use do we have for her?” Jimin hissed just as Taehyung stood.

“You’re joking.” Taehyung seethed, “Hire her to what? Stab us in the back?” 

“I haven’t heard anything to suggest she has any allegiance to her family.” Namjoon reasoned, “And she is a nurse, has been Jungkook’s very own for a while now.” He added with a tinge of bitterness, “It only makes sense that–”

“No way in hell am I going to the green girl prodigy killer to heal me.” Taehyung scoffed.

“Then don’t.” Yoongi clipped, making the man scowl further, “But if you need to, she is our new nurse, effective immediately.”

Hoseok, utterly amused, beamed a bit at this, “And no more coming to me to patch you up anymore.” He added, making Taehyung click his tongue, “I’m no good at it and it makes me have to cut into our supply.” He defended. Hoseok had some medical training, he had to in order to be the knowledgeable pharmacist he was now, but he didn’t like using it. 

“And who’s going to tell her?” Jin asked, seemingly unphased by the night’s events, but he seldom was.

“I will.” Yoongi proclaimed, “I’ll speak with her tomorrow and lay out the terms after we hammer them out tonight.” Jungkook stiffened at the idea of the other members seeing you, but it was unavoidable. All he really cared about was the fact that your heart would remain beating and you would be relatively free. 

Jimin glared at Jungkook, “What did you two talk about over there?” He asked.

Jungkook stiffened at the memory of just moments ago before returning his lover’s harsh gaze, “Have something you wanna say?” 

“Interesting that Jungkook gets to keep his toy.” Taehyung spat, making the man in question snarl before Jimin had a chance to say anything. 

“She is not a toy.” Yoongi hissed to everyone’s surprise. He cleared his throat, letting the heat melt from his body, “She is now a vital member of the group and should be treated as such.” This made Jungkook smile.

—

“...And then you tie it like this.” Eunhwa explained, tying the know just above the tip of your gash, “These are poligecaprone sutures, best for general tissue repair, like this.” She was so dutiful in her words, you almost envied how well-spoken she was. Eunhwa was a new instructor since the last one stopped showing up, and you didn’t have it in you to worry when she was so rotten. So far, Eunhwa was quite kind, but she made a displeased face at your wound, and you wondered if she blamed you for it. Father did, after all. He always said you had no business being as clumsy as you were.

Nevertheless, you watched the needle enter your skin and the knot she tied carefully as you nodded, ten-year-old mouth trying to form the word in silence as you did the next suture, the pattern being interrupted, “Pol–” You cut yourself off, looking at Eunhwa with surprise at the fact that you made a noise. You knew the rules, you knew legacies don’t speak unless they have something useful to say. 

You gulped, waiting for admonishment or a behavior report to be made and handed to your uncle, but instead, she smiled, “Do you want help sounding it out?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” You whispered out. 

A brief moment of sadness, an emotion you couldn’t identify yet, flashed on her face before she dutifully guided you through the word. 

You completed the knot and she checked your work with a nod, “Very good.” She mused before her eyes flicked to yours, “Did it hurt? Your father suggested I not give you numbing cream, but if it hurt too bad I can try to convince him.” She offered, but you shook your head. She looked at you quizzically, “It didn’t hurt?” You shook your head again. It hadn’t hurt more than anything else you’d taken, “You don’t want me to talk to him?” 

You swallowed, left with no other choice but to talk, “I can take it. I must.” You echoed his words, “It’s my job.” You solemnly spoke and Eunhwa paused for a moment, before nodding. 

“Very well.” She spoke softly, “I won’t talk to him, then. Just, speak freely around me, okay?” She asked, “I won’t tell, I promise.” 

You nodded, unable to say that you didn’t know how to speak freely.

—

If sleep found you, it certainly didn’t feel like it. Your eyes opened, and it felt like a mere blink. Nevertheless, the sun was slowly beginning to light the sky. The world was still turning for you, for now. You wondered how long you could keep that up. 

It wasn’t going to be long now before the devil was coming to collect your soul in the form of one of the Bangtan men, so you decided to use your last moment to speak to the only other person who ever cared what you had to say. 

The line rang only twice before she picked up, and before she could say anything you spoke, “It’s over.” You breathed, “They found me.” 

“What?” Eunhwa asked, and you could hear a door close, “No, that can’t be–”

For the first time in your life, you cut her off, “It’s okay.” You breathed out shakily, “I lived a bit.” You wanted to say you were ready to die, but you weren’t. You weren’t and the fact made you envious of your past self. A puppet with no concept of a life to live can’t fear death.

“No you didn’t.” She seethed, making your jaw clench. She was right. Your life had just barely started. You still had so much to learn and so many things to do that were now evaporating right before your eyes, “Are you sure they’re going to kill you?” She asked, and your brows scrunched.

“They’ve been looking for me this long.” You pointed out, “Why would they keep me alive? Even if Jungkook were to plead my case.” 

“Why would they kill you though?” Her voice was too hopeful for you, but you let her speak anyway, “Why would they kill someone they’ve been pursuing this hard?” 

“Eunhwa–” You were cut off by a sharp knock on the door that made your stomach fall, “Thank you.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” She hissed, but you could hear the quiver in her voice, “I-I’m going to make a few calls and–” The knock on your door pounded louder this time, and you smiled sadly. 

“I have to go.” You simply said before hanging up. You took a deep breath before approaching the door. You figured death was best faced without thought. You had spoken to the one person from your past life that would miss you, and that was enough. 

The doorknob was unbelievably cold in your hand as you opened it. You didn’t realize you were looking down until you were left to stare at the fanciest pair of dress shoes you’d seen in a while. Finally, you looked up to face the man before you, and it was like time stopped for a moment. Something about his sharp eyes was eerily familiar, and it nearly gave you a headache trying to think about it. 

Yoongi on the other hand, found himself blown away by you. Finally, after years of searching and clawing his way through unwritten records of the underground, here you were. Right under his nose this whole time. How many times had he passed you in the elevator or in the mail room? You were beautiful, stunning even, so how could he have missed you for this long? He watched you drink him in with knitted brows and a brief flash of recognition nearly made him jump back. Could you truly recognize him, even after all you went through since? 

“Do… Do I know you?” You asked, and Yoongi smiled. You could see the melancholy dripping from the expression, making you feel even more uneased, “Are you here to kill me?” You asked, voice smaller than you hoped but you supposed it wasn’t going to matter much pretty soon. 

“Quite the opposite.” He quickly corrected you. Yoongi couldn’t kill you even if he wanted to. You may not be able to recognize him, but he’d know your face anywhere. It was his one comfort for a long time until it was ripped from him, “May I come in?” He raised a brow and you shrugged. 

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.” You mumbled under your breath before walking to your couch. 

Yoongi shut the door behind him, studying your form. Even in this despaired state, you were full of more life than he’d ever seen before. A smidge of jealousy boiled in his blood at the realization Jungkook got to see you laugh and act aloof like a friend would this whole time. He shook it off, sitting on the armchair next to the evidently second-hand furniture you sat on, “Needless to say, I am involved with Bangtan.” You nodded, eyes clouded with a million different emotions, “I am Min Yoongi, one of the seven bosses.” You sat on the couch next to the chair, never taking your eyes off of him.

“I don’t recognize you like I do Namjoon.” You spoke, studying his face further. 

He flashed you a tight smile, heart panging from hearing you say you don’t recognize him, “I’m in charge of running our underground operations and appearances.” He explained and your mouth formed a small O for a moment. 

“Wait.” You spoke, studying him further, “Min…” His surname stuck to your lips for a reason you couldn’t place, “I know that name I…” You bit your lip, you prided yourself on remembering faces and placing them just as well, but something about him clouded that ability, “Did I…” 

“No, I don’t have a vendetta against you.” He shook his head, and you scrunched your brows, “I do against your father and uncle, but you’ve done nothing to harm me.” He spoke, “It’s why we plan to let you live.” 

“And not them.” You finished for him, heart dropping a bit when he nodded. You knew you should’ve been more upset hearing that your father and uncle were to be murdered, but you didn’t care too much if you were being honest. It wasn’t as if they would’ve felt any different if the roles were reversed, even if the child in you was mourning them.

However, Yoongi was unnerved by your lack of reaction, “Does that upset you?” He asked, genuinely unable to tell. 

“Not really, no.” You spoke honestly, not wanting to nor trained in the art of lying all that well, “So I get to live?” The glimmer of hope in your eyes squeezed at his chest in a way that made him shift a bit.

“In exchange for something else.” He confirmed, and your body went stiff as you waited for him to continue, “Your time and knowledge.” 

You sighed. Fuck, you were screwed if he needed you to know anything of use, but most importantly, you were tired, “If you think I’m at all still connected to the Underworld…”

“No, no.” He stopped you short, and you looked at him quizzically, “I would’ve found you long ago if you were.” You nodded, and his confidence was all you needed in order to see him for what he was. He was the man who triggered the downfall of your family. You wanted to hate him for it, but you couldn’t, not really, “We all agreed to hire you on as our new nurse” Your breath hitched at his words, mind swimming with a million different things, “We will compensate you for your time and stock whatever supplies you need. You will also have our protection.”

You nodded, but you could hardly believe it, “Who will be my patients?” You asked.

“The seven of us.” He didn’t need to elaborate much further than that, “The lower echelons have their own designated medical services.” He explained, and you were a little impressed by it it all. Your father’s organization was not nearly this… well, organized. You and Eunhwa were the primary medical services for the upper echelons and the lower members had to fend for themselves.

“And can I still have my current job?” You asked, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded. 

“Yes, it’s best that way.” He confirmed, “If any of us need you during your work hours, we will make sure to tell you beforehand so we can coordinate that in a way that doesn’t look suspicious.” He said, but it all sounded too good to be true. 

You fixed a sharp look on him, “What else?” 

He sighed, “Tomorrow, we plan to have you come forward.” You had to grip the couch to stop your bones from turning to jelly at the fear that burned you from the inside, “Without revealing your identity fully, of course.” He quickly added, but it did nothing to ease you, and something about your evident panic made him feel sick, “We plan to have you announce your intent to bring your father and uncle to justice. It may draw the old man out.” He leaned forward, trying to catch your panicked gaze that’d been darting across the room, “All you have to do is record a voice line tonight, include something that only you would know, and send it to me.” He said, and it slowed your heart a mere fraction, “We will take care of the rest.” 

“How will you explain this to the public?” You asked, but he simply shook his head, “They’re going to demand my head I bet.” You were a cold-hearted killer. You knew that the few people that did hear of you firsthand had seldom good to say. Who even knew what your father publicized about you? You stayed away from the news because you didn’t need to know. 

“How scared you are right now tells me that the public will never have been so happy to be wrong about someone.” He mused, and your brows scrunched in confusion, “You were supposed to be some prissy spoiled heiress who killed when she bribed to.” 

“Bribed? Spoiled?” You balked, shaking your head, “That–” You didn’t even know what those words really meant until you met Jungkook, “How did–” 

“Your father controlled the narrative for a long time.” He spoke, words heavier than he knew, “He won’t now.” He spoke as if it were so simple, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but be honest about what kind of man he and Byungjoo were.” He chuckled, no amusement behind it, “Taehyung will be by in a bit to take your statement and give you the contract.” He stood, and you wanted to complain about Taehyung being the one to do it. However, you held your tongue, only nodding, obedient as ever and you hated it. But what choice did you have? 

“Yes, sir.” You sighed, and the silent submission made Yoongi feel disgusted with himself. 

“No need for that.” He shook his head, making you look up at him in confusion, “Please, just call me Yoongi.” His plea was a little too noticeable, but you nodded anyway, “I’m not your father nor your uncle.” He said softly, but that was only something you would believe when you saw it for yourself, “Were they…” He stopped, trying to think of how to ask such a thing, “You really weren’t spoiled or sheltered, were you?” He asked, already knowing just by how you looked away. 

“No, not in the way you think.” You breathed, “I was an employee more than anything.” You murmured, embarrassed for some reason, “I see that now more than ever.” 

“I see.” He simply said, “And Jungkook…” You stiffened at the mention, “Has he been good to you?” He asked against his better judgment. This wasn’t his business, no matter how much he wanted it to be. 

You nodded, and he felt his shoulders relax, “No one had ever been so kind to me.” You refrained from cursing him for bringing the Underworld back to your door. Not only were you unsure how angry you were, you doubted his boyfriend would fancy hearing it. 

“Good.” He simply said before taking his leave. 

—

“Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here,” Taehyung said when you opened the door to reveal him and Jungkook’s favorite MMA fighter, Park Jimin, at his side. You didn’t even have the energy to be surprised as he regarded you with as much hatred as Taehyung held, “So let’s get this over with.” He pushed past you to enter your apartment. Namjoon trailed behind them, at least having the decorum to nod at you.

You thought about introducing yourself to Jimin, but decided against it at his glare, “Right.” You simply breathed. 

“First, here’s the contract.” Jimin shoved the paper toward you as you read through it. You may not have been the best speaker or the best writer, but you could sure as hell read. Reading was all you could do for a long time. When you signed your name, his nose scrunched, “You write like a grade-schooler.” He spoke, and it pricked at your deepest shame. You had only been writing for the most part for five years.

The pen snapped in your hand, but you paid no attention to the ink that spilled onto your skin, “Fuck you.” You hissed, taking him aback for a moment. 

“Watch it.” Taehyung snapped, pausing as he set up the equipment. 

“I don’t talk back unless spoken to.” You snarled, moving to wash the ink off, “I don’t need this from either of you, especially not tonight.” You sat at the table, waiting for him to position the mic, “So let’s just get this over with, I have work tomorrow.” 

“Everyone relax.” Namjoon finally spoke, “We can be adults about this.” He glared at the three of you, before letting his gaze land on you, “I’m going to ask you questions, and you respond accordingly.” You nodded. 

“Okay, Ms. Moon, I say as this is not your real last name, please address your father Byungyeol.” He spoke into the mic. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. What the hell was there to say? You had laid it all out to him five years ago. You had shown true and genuine weakness, real desperation, and he didn’t hesitate in turning his back to you. 

You looked at Namjoon, expression totally lost and much more vulnerable than you wanted. Something about the way you looked like a puppy tugged at his heartstrings a bit in a way he didn’t understand, “What? Don’t wanna disparage your precious dad?” Taehyung taunted, snapping the CEO from his trance.

Your eyes snapped to him in a sharp glare, “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know one thing about me?” You seethed, but he looked less than convinced. 

“Look, just pretend he was rotten and mean and you’re scared of him.” Jimin spoke to you as if you were a child, and it only made you angrier, “You should be used to lying, come on princess.” 

“Enough!” Namjoon silenced the two men, “If you upset her it’ll show in her statement.” He spoke, as cold as ever, “Behave.” He ordered before looking to you, “Now, tell me is Byungyeol a good man?” 

“No.” You spoke, immediately, and you were both disappointed when he waited for you to elaborate and you had nothing to say. You didn’t know how to do this, and it pissed you off. Jungkook knew how to keep you talking all the time, and so did Eunhwa, but outside of them, you were a mere soundboard. Namjoon could see the frustration on your face, and it unsettled him. 

Why were you having such a hard time talking? He looked around the room to see his lovers glaring harshly down at you and figured maybe that was the reason. He sighed, “How is she supposed to feel comfortable saying anything with you two looking at her like that?” He asked, shaking his head, “Bring Jungkook or Hoseok in.” He waved them off with a sigh. 

“No, it’s fine.” You grit out, the pride in you swelling, “They can think what they want to.” You didn’t even dignify them with a glare, “Again.” You nodded at Namjoon who finally broke his disbelieving look at you with a sigh. 

“Okay.” He fixed his tie despite this whole thing only being audio, but you supposed it just made sense he was constantly aware of his appearance, “Let’s try a different approach.” He announced, “Just talk directly to your father.” He said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “Tell him to turn himself in and be sure to mention something only you would know. Do the same with your uncle for the sake of optics.” He ordered and you wanted to say you weren’t sure if your father committed his actions towards you to memory. Odds are many of those days and nights tattooed in your memory weren’t out of the ordinary for him, as mundane as brushing his teeth. However, you shut your mouth. It wasn’t your problem if it didn’t work. 

You nodded and he gestured for you to start after Taehyung clicked the record button, “Father, I…” You took a deep breath as you tapped on your thigh mindlessly, “I think it’s time to atone for your sins.” Your words were shaky, “Remember? We don’t show fear, and you shouldn’t now.” The words were heavy on your tongue, “You told me that you find me in three years… that we would be a normal family after I begged you not to leave me alone, all by myself in a world I never got to see.” You wanted to choke on your father’s false promise, “It’s been five years since that day, and I’ve grown up a lot since then. I understand now more than ever how wrong you were about so much, and I have solemnly accepted the consequences of my actions under your guidance.” Your leg began bouncing as you spoke, “It’s time for you and uncle to do the same.” You tried to think of anything else to say, but it was all you had, so you looked at Namjoon, “Good?” 

His eyes were clouded, and you were unable to make out how exactly he felt. However, one thing remained that was clear, he was undeniably skeptical of you. That was fine, you didn’t need his trust, you just needed your heart to be beating, “Yeah, that’ll do for now.” He nodded to Jimin and Taehyung, “If he doesn’t come forward, we may need more.” You nodded, and that was thankfully enough for him. 

“You can let yourselves out.” You sighed, “I’m exhausted, so goodnight.” You didn’t bother to wait for a response as you turned on your heel and shut your bedroom door behind you. 

Namjoon opened his mouth to mention that they didn’t have a key, but you didn’t seem to care anyway. He sighed, a mix of conflicting emotions swirling in his chest as Taehyung packed up. 

“She’s the worst.” Tarhyung grumbled under his breath as Jimin curtly nodded. Namjoon rolled his eyes, knowing the two men well enough to see when they felt a twinge of regret. It was obvious at least some of what they heard about you was incorrect– if your statement was to be believed, that is.

----------------------

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Masterlist

[anundyingfidelity]

MEMORIES LOST — Jareth x ofc/fem reader. Ch. 3.

Summary: A mysterious woman falls into the Underground, claiming she does not have memories and not knowing why she is there. Jareth, who's bored and taking slight pity on her, takes her under his wing to ease some of his own misery. Post Labyrinth (1986).

Warnings: nudity, masturbation, voyeurism, manipulation, corruption, smut in general.

Word count: 1,333.

Note: female character is named Leah, but no physical characteristics (such as skin color, hair, eyes, etc.) are described on this story. Feel free to imagine how she looks like.

I also think this might have 4 or 5 chapters in total, I'm still deciding on that lol.

In this chapter: dirty oral sex (m receiving), kinda manipulation, and corruption.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

This fanfiction is also posted in Ao3 under the name undyingfidelity.

Chapter 1. | Chapter 2. |Chapter 3.

The woman hummed a happy melody, walking around the aisles of the castle. Leah just finished her duties late that night, but she was still full of energy, so she didn't mind staying up until it was almost midnight.

As curious as she was, she found a great and magnificent door in the castle, she assumed it was the throne room. Leah did not recall ever getting in there, she was intrigued by how would it be. It was already late, and the door seemed not completely closed. The aisle was empty and there was no one around, so carefully she got inside the room.

Leah felt cold hitting her body for some reason as she closed slowly the door behind her. She observed the roof was very high and that Goblin stone heads decorated the place, making it a little intimidating. Leah looked at the throne at the back of the room, giving short steps and getting near the stairs of Jareth's empty seat.

She stopped right on the edge of the stairs, deciding whether or not to climb the stairs and sit down on the throne. Maybe she would feel powerful, just like he did. Leah swallowed thickly, thinking about the control Jareth started to have on her. Even if his orders and requests were mundane house chores, his voice and the way he managed to tell them made her feel chills and strange sensations in her body.

"I didn't expect a visitor," a familiar voice talked behind her.

She swallowed thickly and remained still. Jareth's steps got closer and closer until Leah felt the heat of his body near of her own.

"Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" Jareth questioned the woman, getting dangerously close to her, almost breathing into her neck.

"And how are you supposed to know that?"

Jareth smirked against her skin. "Oh, there are a lot of things I know about you, Leah."

Her name fell from his lips like the sweetest thing he ever heard, weirdly liking how it sounded with that deep voice of his. The Goblin king started to walk around Leah graciously and slowly. His presence was intimidating the lady, as he circled her, feeling just like his own prey without anywhere to go.

Maybe she did, but something inside of her was aching to remain right where she was standing, waiting for his next move. Jareth stopped right in front of Leah, standing face to face. He observed her from head to toe and she felt like he was eating her alive with his gaze at that moment.

"You're such a dirty girl," he teased. "And you have behaved badly, entering my throne room without permission."

"I- I didn't know it was your throne room, I'm sorry-"

Jareth interrupted her poor excuse and his hand moved steadily to her neck, applying a little of pressure around her delicate skin. He leaned down, almost touching her lips, feeling her pulse increasing.

"I wonder how you expected me to react," Jareth said darkly.

"I promise I won't do it again, just- can I leave?" Leah breathed out, her chest rising up and coming down due to her breathing and heartbeat increasing.

"I don't think I want to let you go tonight," he whispered and closed the gap between them, kissing her harshly. "You do think about me a lot at night," he said, remembering how she touched herself the past few days with him on his mind.

Jareth bit her bottom lip, searching for her tongue, and he savored the way she easily gave in, moaning against his mouth, letting the king lead the kiss they were now sharing. His hand slowly made its way to her neckline and breasts, feeling her hot skin with his fingertips. Jareth broke the kiss and whispered against her swollen lips.

"You will not escape from me, little dove, and that is an order."

Leah let a moan past her lips. Her mind was screaming for her to leave the room and run away, but her body was aching for him, for Jareth. For his touch. She desired to know what other things he could teach her, what other feelings and sensations her poor, inexperienced self would encounter. Her body was hurting by now; her body was yearning for him so deeply and she felt a pool starting to grow between her legs. And despite everything, she decided to stay. So she kissed him again, desperately, willing to obey his command.

As much as Jareth was enjoying the wet kiss they were sharing, he suddenly pulled away and walked upstairs, until he sat down carefully on the throne, looking at his prey from above. His pants were tight by now, his bulge prominent, aching to be freed. A smirk formed on his lips as Leah watched him with lustful eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Come here," he ordered harshly.

Leah followed his steps, climbing the stairs to stand in front of the Goblin king. Jareth took her hand, making her stand between his legs. The woman shivered with anticipation of what was going to happen and learned she loved the feeling of his skin on her own.

"On your knees."

Leah did as he ordered immediately, dropping her legs to the hard floor until she was facing his crotch. But her eyes never left his beautiful face. The king undid his own pants with fervor, releasing his hard cock, aching to be touched by the woman on his knees.

With a grin, Jareth read her naughty mind, realizing it was a mess and he, proudly, was the cause of that. Leah had nothing on her mind, but lust and longing for him. She felt strange sensations on her body and a weird feeling down her belly when he motioned her to come closer, breathing against his erection.

"I will guide you and you will do as I say, is that clear?"

She eagerly nodded, as submissive and innocent as she was.

"Suck."

He caressed her cheek with his hand, guiding his dick to her beautiful parted lips. She took his tip into her lips, tasting the salt on his sensitive skin. Leah started to give small licks on the tip and trace his veins with her tongue. She went slowly, making sure to keep the image of the powerful king shutting his eyes in pleasure as she went further with her lips parting around his cock and hollowing her cheeks.

Jareth's hand came around the nape of her neck, forcing her to take more of his cock inside her warm mouth. He guided her pace until she knew what he wanted from her. Leah continued, as he caressed her scalp and soft groans left his lips.

Jareth bucked his hips, just to tease, and he felt the back of her throat. She gagged a couple of times, and oh, how Jareth loved the sound of her choking with his dick repeatedly as he fucked her mouth so deliciously like he had dreamt of. He was close to the edge.

Her eyes began watering at the rapid pace he settled on her, taking him as deep as it was possible for her poor throat. The obscene sounds filled the throne room, Leah continuously gagged around his cock and low groans and moans escaped his mouth, until he finally felt the sweet release.

Leah felt him spill his seed inside her mouth, but she continued bobbing her head a couple of times, savoring the bitter taste of his release. Jareth pulled out of her mouth, groaning at the messy look in her eyes and saliva combined with his seed running down her chin. She looked even more exquisite like this.

The king leaned down, cleaning her bottom lip with his thumb and forcing the fluids into her mouth again.

"What a wonder you are," he praised.

She held back a moan, staring straight into his dark eyes. "Did I do well?"

"Yeah, and you're going to do better."

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

Cruel Summer Ch. 5

Donations | Thoughts & Feelings | Cruel Summer Series | Chapter 4

(Thank you all so much for being patient as I worked through personal issues!! I'm trying to write and get new chapters out for you guys. I'm still dealing with personal issues but for now, I'll push through, thank you all so much for always sending kind supportive messages. Love you guys! Enjoy!

P.S. you can find clues about future chapters if you read through the tags ;) )

-Chapter 5-

You stared at him before giggling, “Funny Chris, you know….. about us…now that we’re…ya know…gonna be public and all that.” you smiled as he chuckled. “Baby…you know we could never be public…I can't ditch the perfect, good girl next door, to go out with an old co star…besides, we’d never work out publicly, we're better this way. Private, just you and me, locked away in a bedroom somewhere.” he leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled back feeling bile rise in your throat. “You never planned on leaving her for me…did you?” you asked, staring at the bed. “Babygirl,” he walked around the bed to sit by you on your side of the bed. 

He pulled your chin up kissing your lips before you pulled back, he only had a moment to see your eyes before you slapped him as hard as you could. “Get out. Get the fuck out!” you glared at him before you moved quickly off the other side of the bed. “Sweethear-” “FUCK YOU!” you screamed. “GET OUT!!” you grabbed his clothes throwing them at him, he ducked as his shoes flew at his head. 

The door busted open, your security guards and Megan stood there. “Oh Y/N…” She said softly as Chris stood up after sliding his jeans on. “Y/N! Baby come on! Knock it off, let's talk about this!” he snapped back at you. You raced off into the bathroom, locking the door as the tears fell. You started the shower, a sob leaving your lips as you slid down to the floor crying. 

A few weeks later

“And in other news mega worldwide Popstar Y/N, has deleted all posts from her social media. Sources say, She’s “Blacking out any and all communication on tour, and while she loves sharing her life with her fans, touring has taken a toll on her, she’ll return eventually, but for now. She’s got to focus on herself.” wow, so no more thank you posts to all her concert goers? That’s gonna feel like a slap to the face.” the news reporter stated as her co-star started in on you and your reputation. You sat by the window staring out over the city, thankful that no one could see you all the way up here. “Turn it off.” you grumbled out, “You know it's interesting, one former Avenger star announces his wedding date with pictures of his fiance’ the same time another former Avenger star blacks out her social media? I smell drama!” he chuckled as she gasped. 

“I don’t need to hear how Lacey and Simon think I’m some big fuck up for not wanting to be on social media right now.” you said getting up and grabbing your phone. “I’m going down to the gym, maybe running will clear my head.” you said matter of factly before grabbing your headphones. “Maybe you shouldn’t go alone?” Megan asked as she stood up. Your phone had been blowing up from friends and family checking in on you, wondering why you’d gone radio silent. 

You felt your phone go off as you exited your room and felt the corners of your mouth turn up for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Hemsworthy: ‘This place is super boring without you here.’ 

Y/N: ‘Tell me about it. I wish you were here. Life fucking sucks right now.’ 

Hemsworthy: ‘Heard you went black out on socials….you doin okay? 

Y/N: ‘Yep…got a lot going on & I don’t want to see anything online…just, want to focus back on friends and myself for a while…’ 

You sighed as you sent the message, heading into the gym where you began to walk on the treadmill. You thought back over all your time with Chris lately, before he left for South America. The movie nights eating ice cream, playing new songs for him, talking him through his depression when it came to the divorce. You felt tears in your eyes, how could you have been so fucking stupid. 

Were you this desperate to fall in love and be with someone? You’d mistook your friendship with Chris, the things that friends did, as romantic interest and felt yourself developing feelings for him. He was just recently divorced…why would he even think about dating anyone; you needed serious help. 

Hemsworthy: ‘You know if you keep running on the treadmill, you’re gonna burn holes in those tennis shoes missy. :P’ 

You glanced at the message before you did a double take; you didn’t remember telling him you were going to work out to clear your head. “If I have to stand back here any longer I’m gonna go insane.” his thick Australian accent startled you, causing you to whip around as you pulled your headphones off. “Oh my god!” you dashed over to him jumping into his arms as he laughed and hugged you tight. “I missed you popstar,” he mumbled in your ear as you buried your face into his hoodie, breathing in his scent. “I missed you too,” you whispered against his shoulder. 

You jumped down smiling up at him, “Let’s go order some room service and catch up,” he chuckled and cleared his throat, “Uh…I wanted to see if you wanted to go to dinner tonight, with me?” he smiled softly. “Somewhere nice?” he asked as you grinned and nodded, “yeah! That sounds fun!” you said as you both walked to the Elevators. “I have this super cute outfit I’ve been wanting to wear anyways!” you grinned as he chuckled. “I’m sure you’re going to look as beautiful as you always do,” Chris smiled at you, his eyes twinkled softly as you talked about your upcoming show, which was a couple of nights away and Chris was thrilled he was going to attend it. 

When he was touring with you, he would stay back at the hotel, usually cooking a meal for the two of you and picking out a couple of movies for you guys to watch and relax after your shows. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to your shows, it was just easier to avoid the press. After the divorce, anytime they had the opportunity to print something about him or his ex wife, they jumped on it.  

Once you guys made it back up to the hotel suite, you got ready for the evening, excited to have a nice dinner with someone who didn’t give a shit how famous you were, or what was happening in your life. You looked in the mirror and smiled at the black sequinned dress, which looked like a night sky, with clouds and a half moon on it. You wore strappy black heels and a fur jacket; and paired it with a silver flashy purse with a diamond studded necklace. 

Chris grinned as he saw you come from your bedroom, “Whoa…you look…..incredible,” he held his hand out spinning you around as you giggled softly, “Thank you. My friend Kayleigh had this made for me, and I hadn't found the right occasion to wear it yet, but thought tonight was perfect.” you smiled as he smiled tenderly at you. “Well it’s perfect, come, I’ve made reservations for us.” he chuckled as you giggled excitedly. “Yay! It’s going to be so nice just…going to dinner and relaxing,” you said as you both headed to the car. 

Pulling up to your favorite restaurant you sighed softly, the paparazzi were covering the street and you looked at Chris. “I’m sorry…I know you want to avoid them, I can go first…maybe see if they have a back entrance you can come through?” you said as he reached over and grabbed your hand, smiling softly. “I think I can manage a few photos with a beautiful girl before we go to dinner.” 

The way he smiled at you, something felt different, you were starting to convince yourself that it was all in your head, but a small part of you wanted him to be into you. You knew you were developing feelings for him. “Y/N! Over here! Over here!” several voices shouted at you as you climbed out of the SUV and made your way around to the sidewalk. You smiled, waved at them, clearly not showing annoyance that you held toward them sometimes and even asked a few of them how they were doing this evening. 

You stopped and posed for a couple of photos, when the other door opened and Chris got out smiling and waving at them for a moment before he put his hand on the small of your back as he walked with you to the door. The camera clicks intensified as he placed his hand on your back and you could hear them shouting more questions as you walked in together.

Tag List:

@notebooks-of-nonsense @fdl305 @bval-1 @calimoi @syntheticavenger @mrsjenniferwinchester @chaneajoyyy @mommad @ellen-reincarnated1967 @adriellej @coffeebooksandfandom @patzammit @posiemax @auriel187 @ladybug05 @stoneyggirl2 @fallenoutofrose @mrspeacem1nusone @teamfreewill-imagine @inlovewith3 @auvisanspeur @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @leaveitbythewave @sleutherclaw @sandlee44 @aaqua-tofana @nohumanswereharmed @msgrandma49 @traceyaudette @cevansbaby-dove

[nocasdatsgay]

The Price You Pay For Power Ch. 5

Pairing: Neris | Chapter Rating: T | Word Count: 4493

Story Summary: Eris revises his bargain with Rhysand: Nesta for Autumn Healers. He agrees and Nesta is sent to Autumn under the guise as Eris’s new bride in order to assist with removing Beron for good. Now she has to navigate a new court and also decide just how much she will trust her new husband.

CW: None

Chapter Summary: Wedding Day!

Read it here on AO3| Previous Chapter| Masterpost

A/N: if the vows are icky that’s on purpose. Also I had to replace Áine because it copied over wrong and I wanted to die by the time this is posted. I don’t think the photo below is going to appear smaller so. Oh well I am attempting dividers. I apologize in advance.

Nesta awoke early to the sounds of movement in her room. For a moment she panicked; unfamiliar scents and the sounds of more than one person made her heart race. Then she remembered. She sat up to find the two servants from yesterday in her room.  

“Lady Nesta,” one noticed her first and curtsied by the bed. “Your fitting is in an hour. The dress is being set up in the sitting room. The Lady of Autumn requested she be present.”

The girl did not look her in the eyes. She felt guilty for already forgetting their names. The quiet one scurried off to the bathing room. She could hear water being run. 

“Thank you,” Nesta whispered. 

As she gained her senses, she remembered their names: Opal and Lynn. As yesterday, she bathed- they insisted despite her protests. They also insisted she wash her hair. Nesta sarcastically asked how she was supposed to let that much hair dry before the ceremony only to be informed there was a way to dry it with magic. Begrudgingly, she did as requested. 

She was given a soft amber colored robe to cover herself with. They indeed used magic to dry her hair; Lynn used her hands, hovering them over her hair until they dried in perfect curls. They said it was Autumn fashion to wear it down. She didn’t argue with them. Opal was the one who wove in pearl pins, with a golden rose clipped on the right side of her hair. Nesta hated that she liked it despite preferring her hair up. Magic was used to keep it styled. 

She was finally allowed out of her room and she entered the sitting room to see it rearranged. In the corner was a privacy divider. A small riser was where the table originally stood. Her eyes widened as she took in the stand behind it. The wedding dress was beautiful. The color like ivory minerals from the mountains she’d only seen in pictures in books. The top was modest with long sheer sleeves, with a corset bust and A-line skirts that flowed out. Near the bottom there was orange and gold stitching in the shape of vines and leaves.

“Do you like it?” A soft voice startled her. 

She turned and saw The Lady stood behind her. Nesta had never been this close to her before. She was beautiful, auburn hair in soft waves cascading down over her shoulders. Her russet eyes were bright despite the shadows under them. Nesta wasn’t this close last night to see there was a hollowness in her cheeks. She wondered if her appearance was the future that awaited her if she stayed in this court too long. 

“It’s beautiful,” Nesta replied honestly. 

“I wish Lord Rhysand had allowed you to come try it on,” she looked past Nesta at the gown. “I’m sure your sisters would have loved to see you in it. After.” She paused. “My son deserved an engagement period. However, his father was of the opinion this might be another trick of the Night Court. We’ve already had a tarnished betrothal. Beron does not want to risk another.” 

Mor. She had forgotten about her past with Autumn and Eris. Now the push to wed her off to Eris and keep her made sense. Nesta went to ask what happened with that engagement, to hear the Lady’s version of events but a knock interrupted her. A stout female entered with a covered basket. 

“Lady Áine, good to see you,” the female curtsyed. “Lady Nesta.”

This female did not lower her gaze like Opal and Lynn. Her hair was red with a touch of grey though she didn’t look much older than Nesta herself. It was the fine lines around her small russet eyes that gave any indication of her age. Nesta also realized she called the Lady of Autumn by her name: Áine. 

“This is my seamstress,” Lady Áine said with a soft smile. “Meri will help you into the dress and see if any changes are needed.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Meri,” Nesta nodded. 

“Pleasure’s mine dear,” she smiled back. “Any female willing to marry that rake of a boy has my utmost respect.”

Nesta’s eyes widened at her candor but Áine laughed. A true laugh she didn’t think was possible given the circumstances. 

“Now Meri, you’ll scare my new daughter in law into changing her mind,” Áine joked with a soft giggle. 

“If she’s half the female I’ve heard about, then it’ll take more than my nonsense to scare her off.” 

“And what have you heard of me,” Nesta furrowed her brows. 

Meri looked her over, as if she was debating with herself. 

“I heard you’re quite the dancer.” Nesta blinked, not expecting that. “Let’s get you in that dress, shall we?” 

Meri ushered her behind the screen and helped her into the dress. It fit. Almost too well, in Nesta’s opinion. There was a mirror behind the divider for her to see it first. She looked the part of a princess her mother envisioned for her so many decades ago. When she walked around the screen the Lady was sitting on the couch, legs crossed with a book in hand. She looked up and gasped, a grin forming. 

“Oh Nesta,” Áine placed the book down and watched her as Meri helped her onto the riser. “Oh it’s perfect. You’re beautiful.” 

Nesta pushed down the well of emotions building in her chest. Áine was looking up at her proudly. Like a mother should when seeing her daughter in a wedding gown. But Áine was not her mother. This wasn’t a real wedding. But maybe she could pretend selfishly. Just this once. She gave her a polite smile in return while Meri went to work and circled around her once to look her over. 

“Hold up your arm.” 

She did as instructed. Meri started pinning fabric along her forearm to tighten the fit. She then did the same with the other. Áine filled the silence by making small conversation and commentating every now and then on something Meri missed. That left Nesta to stand in relative silence which she didn’t mind. A few minutes passed and Meri stood up.

“Not too bad; a few quick changes- nothing drastic. I’ll return with it in a few hours.” Meri smiled at her.

She helped Nesta off the riser. Behind the screen she eased the dress off of Nesta, mindful of the pins she placed. Once Nesta was back in her robe, Meri bid them both a good morning and promised to return when it was time. That left her alone with Áine again. The older female must have sensed her unease, as she patted the seat on the couch next to her. Nesta sat down beside her and Áine placed a hand over her own. 

“You’re brave, Nesta Archeron.” She whispered, eyes pleading with Nesta to read between her words. “The walls have ears, so I shall not say more.”

“Thank you.” What else was there to say? Nesta decided to change the subject. “I am not familiar with fae weddings. Would you mind going over the ceremony with me?” 

Áine nodded. “I think we should have some tea first.” 

Without much effort, she used magic to make a tray appear. A tea pot, two cups, a cream pitcher and sugar. There was also more fruit and what looked like small sandwiches. Áine served the tea. Nesta looked away when the sleeve of her dress rose up her arm. She was too afraid of what she might accidentally see. 

“Sugar?” She asked, bringing Nesta’s attention back to her. 

“No thank you,” she replied politely. 

Nesta was given a look that she could only describe as a stern mother’s knowing look. However she did not add sugar as requested. She handed Nesta the cup and saucer and poured her own. 

“My husband will have to escort you, since you have no family here to present you.” 

Nesta leaned into her tea cup to keep from spitting out the carpet. Gods she would have to endure Beron again. She continued. 

“There will be a priestess. She will recite the vows in the Autumn tongue and bind your hand to my son’s with a silk ribbon. You’ll make your own vows to each other. Then we will hold a reception.” 

“Will I need to prepare vows?” Her anxiety tumbled in the pit of her stomach. 

Áine shook her head. “There is a standard vow of the Vanserra family. The priestess will speak it and ask you to repeat it.”

That felt like a weight removed from her shoulders. Though her anxiety didn’t fizzle. She at least didn’t have to worry about fumbling to remember, she still needed to make sure she didn’t mess up. Áine seemed to sense the whirling in her mind. She sat down her cup and sauce and gave her a soft smile. 

“Tell me Nesta, do you like to read?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A knock came. Nesta looked up from the Sellyn Drake book she’d been reading for the last few hours. It felt too early to be getting ready but she‘d been reading for some time. She placed the book Lady Áine had given her, opened and facedown to save her spot onto the table. She tightened her robe just in case and opened the door. Before her was one of the brothers. Asher. Up close, she could see he looked more like his mother than Beron. And while she had called him stalky, she realized it was simply that he was more broader in the shoulders than the Eris. He did not greet her with a smile. 

“I brought you a visitor.” 

He stepped to the side and Nesta inhaled sharply. 

“Elain?”

Her sister came up and embraced her tightly. Nesta was in too much of a shock to do much other than hug her in return. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Asher grumbled.

He left and Elain let her go, so Nesta stepped aside to let her in and shut the door. She stared at her sister as she looked around the room, eerily calm while she took in her surroundings. Nesta noted she wore a warm yellow dress- like the color of the leaves that littered the ground when she arrived. 

”What are you doing here?” Nesta finally found her voice. 

Elain turned to her, her expression neutral. “Rhys is with the High Lord. He will be joining us shortly.”

Nesta blinked. “Rhysand is here?”

“It would have looked poorly for your family to not be present. I believe that is the excuse he’s giving Beron. Really, we didn’t want you to do this alone.”

Nesta felt her heart harden, her features returning to the stony demeanor she so casually used her whole life. She saw the flash of fear in her sister’s eyes as she braced herself for the worst Nesta could offer. And yet Nesta could not force herself to be angry, she couldn’t even force herself to remain steady with a cool indifference. 

“Will it just be you and Rhys?” She asked instead and Elain nodded. “Cassian didn’t wish to attend?”

”He would have slaughtered everyone in attendance.” Elain whispered. “He wanted to come. Rhys talked him out of it. He asked him to stay with Feyre.” That did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. “Azriel has not returned yet. Feyre, well she’s with healers as we speak, not that she’s allowed to winnow.”

Right, the healers that Nesta was bargained for. She wondered how Eris snuck them out with the wedding. Maybe they would return in time to not even be missed. Elain sat down on the closest end of the couch. She looked up at her sister with her sad doe eyes. 

“Rhys has no idea the consequences of the decisions he is making.”

Nesta frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Elain didn’t answer her question. She stared at the empty dress holder. Instead, she asked another of her own. 

“Is your gown being tailored?” 

“It is.” 

Nesta went around and took her place back on the opposite end of the couch, curling up on it while ensuring the robe stayed in place. She thenpicked her book back up and opened it. It felt rude to ignore her sister but what else did she have to say? 

“Are these your permanent quarters?” Elain asked as if to spite her for trying to read. 

“I hope so. His are across the hall. I shutter to think about being forced to share a bed every night with him.” 

“He’s no worse than what you bedded in Valeris.” 

Nesta’s head jerked up and Elain bursted out with a laugh. Nesta kicked her which made Elain laugh harder. 

“I am not wrong,” she giggled. 

Surprisingly, Nesta laughed too. She couldn’t remember the last time her and Elain acted like true sisters. It was long before their mother passed. If Nesta was honest with herself, it was nice Elain wasn’t handling her with gloves. Or worse, for Nesta to be too defensive. 

“I suppose not,” she sighed, her laughter dying down.

They spent the next hour talking, Elain asking subtle questions about Nesta’s time at the house so far. She explained how dinner was interesting but didn’t go into detail beyond the brothers rude remarks. If the Lady was right and the walls had ears, she had to be careful. Even Eris had warned once already. 

“Your hair is beautiful. Do you do it yourself?” Elain’s gaze went to the rose clip. 

“Opal and Lynn did my hair. They’re a lot like Nuala and Cerridwen. They don’t really talk to me.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Opal talks the most. I think I only heard Lynn tell me her name.”

“They will open up to you, I’m sure.” Elain gave a polite smile. 

Another knock came. This time she didn’t have to wonder who it was. She put her book away, resigned to reading it later and answered the door. As expected Asher had once again came this time with Rhysand. 

“Rhys,” Nesta greeted him with no emotion, letting him into the room. 

“Nesta.” He nodded in return. 

They were silent, the three of them, once the door shut. So much it was almost deafening. Rhys sighed loudly and took a seat on the couch. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes. 

“Are you to walk me down the aisle?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms. “Or however the customs for weddings are in this realm?”

”Yes, Nesta.” He glanced up at her. He looked tired but not as tired as he did before she left. “I know that I haven’t been the kindest to you. But I am eternally grateful for what you’re doing.”

”I’m not doing it for you,” she hissed back. 

“I know. For that I am even more grateful.”

She bristled even if she didn’t understand why it bothered her so. She was certainly not sitting next to him. So she held her robe tight and grabbed the chair that had been pushed to the side and brought it forward. When she was seated, she looked over to him again. 

“Beron asked me to show him where Velaris was when I arrived. I told him I couldn’t read a map.”

Rhys and Elain both snorted a laugh. Nesta decided right then she may as well come clean and admit the other things she said. 

“I also told him I wasn’t allowed to leave the house as punishment, when he asked how the governing system worked for Velaris.” Their laughter stopped and she stared at the floor. “I- I said some things about Feyre I didn’t mean. I also said you were jumping at the chance to be rid of me.” 

“That’s why he was shocked to see us.” She could feel Rhys staring at her, probably glaring. His tone however was neutral when he said, “Thank you for protecting the city, Nesta.”

She looked up in shock. “You’re not angry with me?” 

“I’m too tired to be angry,” Rhy shrugged, picking at his suit. “Beron has already put forth his demands now that our courts are ‘better aligned’. I told him I was only here because my mate insisted someone be present. If he wanted to talk business, we would do it later.”  

Thankfully there was yet another knock. Nesta didn’t have to bother getting the door this time, even as she stood to answer it. Meri came in and abruptly halted as the door shut. 

“Oh,” Meri’s eyebrows rose on her forehead. She curtsyed deep in front of Rhys. “High Lord. I wasn’t expecting-“

“It’s alright,” Rhys waved a hand as Meri straightened herself back up. “I wanted to surprise my sister. No one knew we’re coming.” 

It didn’t seem to put her at ease. She glanced nervously at Nesta and Nesta nodded in return. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Made a few adjustments, but it should fit her just right.” Meri waved her hand and the dress appeared on the stand. 

Elain gasped, looking it over. “Oh Nesta, that’s beautiful.” 

“Wait until you see it on her,” Meri said proudly. 

Nesta wished Áine had returned with her, as she followed Meri behind the screen. She couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be in the same room as Rhys. Which made Nesta resent him just a little bit more. Meri helped her into the dress; the small changes made it so it fit her even better than before. She came around the screen while Meri held up the train and Elain gasped again. There were tears in her sister's eyes. Like this was the only wedding dress Nesta would ever be in. Even Rhys smiled. There was a scratch at her mental wall. She opened it and heard Feyre. 

Nesta, you’re beautiful. She could hear tears in her sister's voice. 

Thank you.

I love you Nesta. I love you so much. I need you to know that- 

Nesta shut the window in her mind. Any longer and hearing Feyre cry would leave her a sobbing mess as well. Besides, Nesta didn’t deserve that confession of love from Feyre. Not really. It would take more than marrying the enemy for Nesta to deserve an ounce of her love. So she held head high and pretended Rhys wasn’t frowning at her for shutting out Feyre.

“Everything appears to be in order,” Meri said and took one last walk around Nesta. Nesta forced a smile as she came back around. “The captain will escort you and your family to the temple, at the request of Lord Eris.”

“Captian?” Rhys asked, leaning his elbows onto his knees. As if it would make him less threatening. 

“Captain of the guard,” she replied curtly. “He’s outside the door.” If Rhys was offended by her response he didn’t show it. “Shall I let him in? The ceremony is soon.”

“Of course,” Rhys spoke for them.

It was a blessing she kept her eyes from rolling. Meri curtsyed before wishing Nesta the best of luck and left out the door. As promised a male entered. He had brown hair and deep brown eyes, though he was not as pale as the rest of those in Autumn. 

The male bowed. “I’m Captain Rowen Garlian, the general gave me the pleasure of escorting this beautiful female to the temple.” 

“General?” Nesta frowned, noting how her stomach flipped, immediately thinking of Cassian. 

“Lord Eris,” he replied. 

“Right, apologies,” she said. 

Eris was a general? The cauldron was surely making fun of her at this point. A scrap came against her mind walls. She wanted to ignore it but opened a window against her better judgment. 

You’re supposed to be happy, so maybe act like it. Rhys hissed into her mind. 

She slammed her walls shut. As if she had forgotten. If there were still gods they surely hated Nesta, for her to have to suffer these men- males, she corrected herself- like this. Elain stood, drawing her attention. She seemed worried but quickly schooled her features. 

“Shall we?” 

Politeness never sounded forced from her. 

Before they left Rhys threw some magic on her- to keep the dress clean or so he said. She opted to believe it when Elain nor the guard had any comments. It was a long and quiet walk. They saw no one in the halls as they passed, which Nesta found strange. They followed the captain out a different door than the main hall entrance. 

She was again struck by how beautiful the trees in autumn were. Just ahead across a wide path was the temple. It too, looked to be a large tree, the stones covered in moss and a grove in the back with the leaves casting a silhouette. There was a male at the door as they approached. It was Piran, she remembered. Unlike last night he was far more subdued, not looking any of them in the eyes. It made Nesta sick to her stomach. 

“High Lord,” he bowed. “If you will come wait in the foyer, I will escort Lady Elain to her seat.” 

Elain turned and came up to Nesta. She gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. She then followed Piran into the temple and behind them, her and Rhysand followed. The captain did not follow them in. It was a small closed off foyer, sconces all on the walls to illuminate where there were no windows. Piran held out his arm and together they slipped through the door. Nesta was standing too far to the left to see inside but heard the chatter. 

She wanted to vomit. 

“You can do this,” Rhys whispered. “I believe in you.” 

“I’m surprised,” Nesta whispered back. “Considering you think I fuck everything else up.” 

Rhys rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Piran came back out and wordlessly nodded to them. Rhys held out his arm and Nesta begrudgingly took it. They came to the door and the sanctuary was full, everyone silencing as she appeared in the doorway with Rhys. Only a soft piano played to fill the silence. Her stomach flipped again as all eyes went to her but she bit the inside of her cheek.

She held her head high and focused her gaze forward on the Priestess ahead. Her heart ached for Gwyn and Emerie, wishing they could be there for her. As she walked arm in arm with Rhysand, she dared to glance at Eris. She could admit he looked handsome. The outfit he adorned was different from his usual attire. A long, sleeveless burnt orange robe with what seemed to be red detailing. Under that was a long sleeved white shirt. The sleeves appeared puffy and were cuffed at the wrists. The sleeves also adorned the same threading details her dress had. In another life, this is the wedding she would have wanted. 

Maybe in another life, he would have been the groom she wanted too. 

She also admitted he was a good actor; in that moment he seemed stunned at her, like a real groom would. She watched his gaze run over her and when his soft amber eyes met hers, even at a distance he looked away. Like he wasn’t supposed to be staring at her. Like she had caught him even though his staring was technically warranted. She tried to not frown. When they reached the end, Eris gave Rhysand a nod and then held out his left hand to Nesta. 

For a split moment, she thought about not taking it. It felt too permanent. As if this was her choice to make and by doing so, would change everything. Elain’s voice rang in her mind from earlier about the consequences for the choices being made. But they were not hers to make. 

Without another thought she took his hand in her own. 

The time did not stop for her. The world did not flip in on itself. He helped her up onto the rise and she stood before him. The Priestess smiled at her, the stone on her forehead flashing from the lit sconces. Eris did not let her go as the Priestess started to speak in a language Nesta did not know. She tried to pull her hand away but Eris held a firm grip on it. 

The Priestess nodded and Eris lifted their hands up. She pulled a deep green ribbon from her pocket and began to wrap it around Nesta and Eris’s hands. She still was speaking what Nesta remembered Áine called the ancient Autumn language. She watched it as it was wound snug around their joined hands. She swore the ribbon glowed the more that was added. Finally a bow was tied and the Priestess let it go. 

She spoke normally. “I will ask you both to repeat the vow. This vow is not bound by magic but bound by duty and love you share with each other.” 

Nesta bit her tongue again. The priestess continued. 

“You, Eris Vanserra, promise to be a righteous and dutiful husband. You honor the Vanserra family and the Autumn Court through this marriage with Nesta Archeron. You ask the mother to bless this union between you, to guide you to be a pillar of support for herself and for the family you will create.”

Even Eris looked like he had been biting his tongue. He stared directly into Nesta’s eyes as he spoke, repeating what the priestess said. 

“You, Nesta Archeron, promise to be a righteous and dutiful wife. You honor your family, your former home in the Night Court, and your new home here in the Autumn Court through this marriage with Eris Vanserra. You ask the mother to bless this union, to guide you as you serve and support your new husband. You ask The Mother to bless your womb so you may honor her image through the children you will bear.”

Nesta tensed at the last part. Words felt heavy on her tongue though she did not show it as she repeated the words. She nearly stumbled on the ‘serve and support’ and her stomach churned again as she repeated the last bit. 

The ribbon glowed, glittering and in an instant lighting aflame. Nesta gasped; in the ribbon’s place were two solid rings. 

“It is my honor to be the vessel that pronounces you, by The Mother, husband and wife.” 

The Priestess smiled and the room erupted into applause. There was no romantic gesture on Eris’s part. He let go of her hand gently and offered his arm as he faced the aisle towards the door. In a daze, she took it. As they walked past her sister and Rhys she noticed Elain watched her while Rhys glowered at Eris. It was when they exited the door that the reality of the situation truly hit her. 

She entered that temple as an Archeron and walked out of it as a Vanserra. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Next Chapter

General Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @hieragalbatorixdottir If you want to be added, let me know.

[oftenderweapons]

Natural Connection | KNJ | Ch.6

A Small Town Swoons

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Plum)

Wordcount: 6.6k

Genre: stragers to lovers, fluff, mild angst; ranger/trainer!Namjoon, Chef!reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon has some skeletons in his closet. Plums helps him bury them in a way that makes him feel almost reborn.

Warnings: discussion of mature topics: sex, emotional abuse. A painful trip down memory lane, burnout, anxiety. Also heavy flirting, making out and loads of raunchy jokes. Mentions of depression, therapy and feeling out of chances to restart

A/N: I’m posting this in some sort of a rush while barely keeping my eyes open,it’s not edited or reviewed, I just want it out there for you to read 💜 I’ll review it in the morning and add links. Love ya 💖✨🥺

Here is my Masterlist, enjoy!

Navi: Part 1 – Part 2 — Part 3 – Part 4 - Part 5

“Lone wolf. That's not a cute way to spend the night.” Jackson's words were just mildly teasing. He was mostly compassionate as he sat beside Namjoon at the counter of the bar. “What's given you the blues?” 

Namjoon shook his head and took a sip of beer. He had never been much of a drinker, and he regretted not being able to hold his liquor properly, because tonight really called for some hard spirits. “Nothing really.” 

“It's her, isn't it? Your Tinkerbell lady.” 

Namjoon grumbled and groaned, letting his head fall to his wrists, current laying crossed on top of the counter. 

“Hey, dude, we thought we'd lost you,” said Christopher as he approached the other two men at the bar. “Oh. I see,” he said as he made himself comfortable on Namjoon's other side. “We all have a vague idea of what happened the other day when you followed her to the bathroom,” Christopher hinted, then rubbed Namjoon's shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?” 

He shook his head, than took a large sip of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put down the glass, quite loudly too. 

“I did something, but I don't know what. And today she said she needed a day off. And now I'm wondering if I did something wrong, whether it's my fault she cancelled on today, whether I made her uncomfortable and am now ruining her holiday — something she hadn't had in a very long time.”

“Namjoon—” 

“Maybe I'm not as good a friend with benefit as I thought’d been. Maybe I'm not an easy hot-girl-summer kind of thing. Maybe I suck in bed—” 

“Not unlikely,” muttered Jackson, at which both Namjoon and Christopher snapped in his direction, as if throwing daggers with their gazes. 

“Oh, come on, there's a possibility to it, you've been out of the market for a long while!” 

Christopher grabbed the tray of shots and started making his way to the table where the other guys were hanging out, while Jackson convinced Namjoon to join them. 

“Dude, we've found a way to make this party less about you!” Jackson hollered at Jaebeom, currently wearing a cute set of antlers and a sash that spelled “This dancing queen is getting married”. Very cute, and Namjoon appreciated the Mamma Mia reference. 

“Namjoon is having issues with Plum.” 

He rolled his eyes at your nickname being used by them. They always called you Tinkerbell anyways, why the sudden change? That was his own nickname for you, because of your cute, round face, and soft soft lineaments. And then also because of the taste of sun-dried plums in your mouth that time he kissed you in the pond, after that first, wondrous fuck. Maybe he hadn't satisfied you. Maybe his performance in the bathroom hadn't been as stellar. Maybe you'd already grown bored of him. 

“They're not issues,” Namjoon mumbled, vaguely grumpy. 

“Well, what are they, then? You fucked her and she's ghosting you?” Wooyoung asked bluntly. 

“Woo, no need to use that kind of language,” Christopher reprimanded. “Still, could that be the reason? She's maybe… Embarrassed about something that occurred the other day in the…” 

“You did it in the restroom!?” Mingi exclaimed. 

“A bit louder, Mingi, I think the guy in the corner over there didn't hear it clearly,” said Jaebeom with an eyeroll. 

“It was strange when we parted, yes, but… I guess there would have been other uhm… uncomfortable moments before. She would have bailed after the— uhm— the restroom. Not today? Why today? Why let so much time pass by?” 

Namjoon had always been an overthinker. He'd managed to control his tendencies through meditation and therapy, but once an overthinker, always an overthinker. Sure, you can put a damper on it, but it would be like putting a hyena in a clown costume: at the end of the day, it would still be a hyena. 

And he was struggling to find the words. He did not have the lingo for this. He did not have the nerves for this. He had not been mentally, emotionally engineered for this. 

“I know I fucked up. I'm sure I fucked up. I don't know where or how but—” 

“When I met my wife, I was a mess.” Jaebeom ran a hand through his hair and gave a weak chuckle. “I couldn't do without her. I spent weeks, months pining.” 

“It's your future wife, JB,” Jackson clarified.

“Fuck off, we're getting married, she's already my wife in my mind. One could argue she’s always been,” he snapped, a certain possessiveness taking over. “Anyways, I was saying, before this cold hearted snake interrupted—” 

“You were messing around, I made a move so you could feel the bitter bite of jealousy and realise you were wasting your time and your energies!” 

“As always, thank you for the lesson, but you didn't need to shove your tongue down her throat!” Jaebeom hissed at Jackson, then rolled his eyes. “Again, I was a mess. And I didn't know it, but she was a mess too. We only managed to fix it when we dragged our heads out of the sand and finally stated what we wanted.”

“Which, again, is something we told you to do cause you were a lowly little coward,” Christopher muttered. 

“Okay, whatever, just do what these two tell you to do,” Jaebeom said, exhausted, rubbing his face and picking up a glass shot. “Cheers to my wife, or whatever.”

“Poor woman,” Jackson whispered, which earned him a stormy look from the husband-to-be. “Anyways, what’s holding you back from going there and telling her what you want?”

“The fact that maybe I don’t even know what I want?” Namjoon but back, not without some exasperation. 

“What do you mean?” Christoper’s question was direct, firm. 

“I was… I haven’t been all that… active, lately.”

“By lately he means in the past eight years.” Everybody but Jackson turned to Namjoon, eyes wide, mouth gaping, the picture of disbelief. 

“What the fuck.” Wooyoung’s face was ashen before he shook his head lightly, “And why, for the love of holy smokes, did you punish yourself so?”

Namjoon stared at a glass shot, which Jackson noticed. He grabbed one shot for himself, one for his friend, then handed it over. 

Namjoon stared at it, but Jackson was already clinking their glasses together. “For the incredible woman who brought you back to life.”

“Life is fucking terrifying,” Namjoon whispered, anxiety bleeding out of him. But Jackson was tipping the glass over, the burning tang of tequila dribbling down his throat. 

“It really is, but you loved doing her, or you wouldn’t have done that twice.”

Namjoon’s brain promptly produced a supercut of every naked inch of your body, every curve, every movement, every flop of your hair, every gasp of your mouth, every droplet of moisture that your bodies shared in those moments. He recalled the feel of your breasts in his palms, the pressure of your behind as you ground against his groin. 

“Twice?” Mingi inquired, interested. 

“I’m not going to elaborate on that.”

Christopher respected the boundary, seeing Namjoon’s pained and tired expression. “What do you want from her?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I’ve got no idea. She’s leaving in a couple days. I mean, she’s lovely. But I’m not sure there’s enough time or space to build something more.”

“But you want more?”

“I do, eventually. But I thought it would happen with someone a bit more… Rooted. Here.” He was destroyed, Jackson could tell. Namjoon’s hair was all over the place with the way he’d tortured it with his hands. “But then she happened.”

“And it changed things, right?” Jaebeom asked. 

Namjoon stared at his feet. “The sex is so good. Just so, insanely, otherworldly, unbelievably good.”

“Let’s also say your terms of comparison were scarce,” Jackson added, teasing.

Namjoon smirked, then stared at Jackson for a long, loaded instant. “Both things can be true.” Then, he shrugged, toying with his fingers, smiling at himself. 

“He’s smitten,” Jaebeom said to no one in particular. 

“I guess I am,” he finally admitted. “Maybe it’s because the sex is good. That tends to alter your perception. I also think she’s attractive, and her energy is incredible. She’s also guarded, somehow, and delicate. It really makes me want to stand tall for her.”

“Knight in shining armour,” Wooyoung said with just a pinch of sarcasm in his tone.

“Which she doesn’t need,” Namjoon commented, puffing out his chest. “She’s just… She’s tough, but I just want her to know she doesn’t need to be when she’s around me. That’s what I like, I guess. And she’s unstoppable. She’s not the kind that would lie to you or put on an act to save her ass. She takes what she wants and she weathers the consequences of her own actions. And she’s a leader, she’s got backbone, she works great in a team, people see her, see how competent and hard-working she is, and they respect her for it.”

“Dude, you really are smitten.”

Namjoon grabbed another shot, and the other men quickly joined him. “To life-changing women,” said Jaebeom. 

Namjoon could happily toast to that. 

There… Just… there. 

So close. The lights were insulting his eyes, but his vision was clear. Oh so clear. 

The alcohol had made his eyes glossy and sensitive. And there. There, your door. 

He brought himself to climb the steps, then knock at the door. 

He wondered whether you were in bed. Maybe in the shower, maybe you were already asleep. Maybe you were… like that one time… 

His ears strained, searching for signs of you. 

He knocked again. He could call your phone, right? Did he have your number?

He could— 

The door opened before him, and you were standing there, an oversized white shirt covering your body all the way down to your knees. The fabric was thin and the chill night air was making your breasts peak. The sight of Namjoon right in front of you didn’t help at all. 

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless, and surprised too. 

“Hi.” The greeting was sharp, a little rushed. “I really would like to kiss you right now. Is that okay with you?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then nodded. 

He was upon you before you could even register him, or parse your agreement. His breath had the lightest taste of liquor, and his mouth was hot, as hot as his hands now cupping your face, gathering your face up close to his own. If he could have swallowed you, he would have. He dove for you and you soared for him and you met in between, perfectly, gentle but sure at first, and then it spiraled. 

This is what Icarus must have felt as he reached for the sun, you think, because you feel like burning and flying and falling. But isn't flying something like falling without ever hitting the ground? 

That's how you feel. 

Gravity isn't working where you and Namjoon kiss. It's not working as he wraps and links and loops his limbs through yours, legs and arms and wrists and ankles like ivy. Your thighs are around his waist, and he's holding you up by your hips, then your ass. 

“I'm coming in,” he says and you nod against his lips, waiting for him to come inside you, and you grind against him. Instead he chuckled against your throat, catching the double entendre. “I meant I'm entering your apartment.” 

You purred, heat warming your cheeks, but you were not sure whether it was embarrassment or pleasure. “But you could get inside me next.” 

“There's stuff I need to tell you,” he whispered close to your ear. 

“Can you tell me while you're inside me?” 

Namjoon's laugh was bright and glorious, perfectly rough and warm, the most tasteful combination of a scratch and a caress. “Plum, you're insatiable.” 

You looked at him with surprise, and just a pinch of innocence too. “I— Am I?” 

He closed the door with his foot, still holding you up in the entryway. “It's positively surprising. And very lovely.” 

You nodded to yourself in slow understanding. “Lovely…” you mused. “I never thought I would become something like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Insatiable. Obsessed. Weak and dependent.” 

“You're absolutely not weak. And maybe it's not too bad to depend on someone every now and then.” His nose traced the column of your neck. “And it feels nice, knowing that you're a bit hung up.” 

You cant your hips just right against his, which causes you both to moan, your frown disappearing. “‘A bit hung up’ doesn't even cover half of it, trust me.” 

Your short nails bite the nape of his neck and he gasps a little, his hips giving the lightest stroke.

“I'm a bit of all of that too,” Namjoon confesses. “Insatiable. And obsessed. And… And weak.” He shakes his head, then hides his face against the slope of your neck. “I…” 

You smiled as he lost his words again, his mouth focusing on sucking at your throat. 

Your chuckle came out lightheaded and euphoric. It stopped entirely as he fixed his grip on your hips, lifting you higher up with a little bounce, and then lowering you again, against his crotch. 

You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on anything but the burning need at your core. 

He nibbled at your collarbone, then whispered, “Fuck, you're so wet.” There was tension in his voice, conflict. “But I've gotta tell you all of that.” 

“We can do this, and then talk,” you suggested again, your voice coming out barely patient, and strained. Oh, and imploring too. 

He shook his head, then put you down. “Talk first, then I'll do anything you want, Plum.” 

You pouted, which almost broke his resolve, but he caressed your cheek and your frown disappeared like a spring cloud. 

“First, I just want to make sure you didn't stay in today because you were avoiding me.” His eyes betrayed a sliver of insecurity before he looked away, staring at the floor. 

You’re caught off guard by his statement, and you’re not sure how to reply. Did he really think—? “Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, hooking your pointer finger beneath his chin and bringing his eyes to yours. “No, Namjoon. Sure, I’ve been…” You searched for the right word for a couple seconds, “Confused. By some of the things I felt yesterday. But I am not avoiding you at all. I just needed to be off today, and rest. And maybe think about some stuff, but none of it had to do with you,” you stated, reassuringly and firmly, then reconsidered, a coy warmth creeping to your cheeks. “Well, maybe it had the tiniest bit something to do with you. But not in a bad way. Actually in a very good, very mature, very grown-up way.”

Namjoon almost startled at your statement, his head jerking back slightly. “Oh. Wow. Okay.” 

“Oh goodness, you thought I was avoiding you?” You asked him, a smile spreading all over your face. “Really!?” 

“No,” he said, the vowel stretching, his intonation absolutely hesitant, absolutely doubtful, and very, very embarrassed. 

You threw your arms around him, gluing your body to his. “Oh god. Joon, no.” You laid a couple kisses on his chest, then added, “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” he stated. “Still, I was absolutely sure you weren’t avoiding me. So this statement is totally unnecessary and it doesn’t calm my nerves at all, because they were already one hundred percent calm.”

You roll your eyes and place your forehead and nose in a way that aligns perfectly with the valley between his pectorals. “Good, now can you calm my own? Historically, someone telling you ‘I need to tell you something’ doesn’t end in a nice way.” The nervous chuckle you emit then is a clear testament to how much he has become to you. How much you have elaborated in the last hours, corroborating your decisions. 

This is not going to be forever, you think, but I wouldn’t mind if it lasted a bit more. 

Namjoon caressed your head, kissing the crown of it. “It’s nothing big, really. Just a tiny bit of backstory that I think you should know. It sorts of explains some parts of me that could be complicated to other people. Parts I would like you to know about.”

Summertime must be approaching, or maybe the heating came on: anyways you’re feeling hotter and hotter, and you’re pretty sure it’s a flock of tropical birds that is currently storming your stomach. 

“Okay.”

”Let’s get comfy, shall we?”

You agree, then lead him through the room. It’s not the first time he sees it, after all he did sleep here with you a couple nights ago, before he left at dawn for some reason, leaving you on the verge of insanity with desire and doubt both.

He sits at the edge of the bed and you stand before him, ready to climb astride him, except he shakes his head and smiles mischievously. “No way this is happening,” he teased, then slid slightly to his right, avoiding your other leg, letting you sit at his side rather than on top of him. “You’re too dangerous sitting on my lap, Plum.”

He says it in a way that makes it sound like a compliment, and you grin, eyeing him seductively. “Thank you.”

You both turn to each other, and he starts talking. “It’s been a while since I did this, you know. Being… Being intimate with someone.”

You nodded. “You mentioned something about a relationship you used to be in.”

He grabbed your hand, toying with your fingers, looking away, as if retracting within himself. “I’ve had one very long relationship. From fifteen, all the way to twenty years old circa.”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. “Wow.” 

“We were extremely close friends at first, then we sort of merged into the relationship until… I guess we just became too different to ever truly be one.”

You nodded encouragingly. 

“Her mom and mine were colleagues when we moved here. I was five or six.” His eyes connected to yours. “I was shy and she was very outgoing. We became friends. Or rather, she befriended me. I was one of those puffy, awkward kids, sort of a nerd too.”

He shrugged and blushed, his eyes gleaming. “In middle school she suddenly changed. She had one of those incredible glow ups. I guess puberty hit her like — I don’t know — suddenly she looked like Aphrodite’s favourite child. She was… She was like a goddess. Being attracted to her was inevitable. I liked her as a person, because she was my first friend here, and because I felt comfortable around her, and she didn’t make fun of me like other people, she didn’t act like I was weird and weak and chubby and awkward. And even though she became so beautiful, and so popular too, she was still kind to me, and treated me like a person.” Namjoon slumped, his stance turning self-protective.  

“Once we hit high school, she’d learned how to use the body genetics had gifted her. She filled it with confidence, and it rewarded her in return. Her attitude and her looks were the kind that spells trouble for a hormonal teenage boy. But despite that, I still cherished her the most as a friend, and the fact that she continued protecting me in front of popular kids making fun of me was really meaningful. I admired her for how she stood up in front of mean kids. She had the kind of influence that could make other kids respect me, or at least tolerate me.”

You held his hand fondly. “I get it.”

His eyes met yours with gratitude, and a pinch of hesitation. 

“And then I turned fifteen.”

You lick your lips, tip your head to the side and observe the smirk on his face. “In about three months, I grew taller than all the kids in my class, and though I wasn’t bulky like the football athletes, I played basketball with a friend of mine, and that kept me pretty fit, plus there was all the trekking and some climbing, and the canoeing too. I was also quite smart, and for some reason, some girls liked that. When we got back to school after summer break, I caught this girl’s eye. We were chatting, and things were getting personal and I ended up confiding in my friend, Aria.” His eyebrow quirked. “She didn’t take it well.”

You frowned, then waited for him to continue. 

“She gave me the silent treatment for three days straight. Meanwhile I was getting closer and closer to the other girl. One day I was talking to her by the lockers, and next thing I know, Aria is gripping my hand, gluing her body to my arm, and kissing my cheek. ‘Hi boyfriend,’ she said.” He shook his head. “The other girl didn’t take it well. She thought I was playing her.” He rubbed the hand across his face. “It took me years to make up for that.” He shook off the feeling, then continued, “By the end of the week, the entire school knew Aria and I were a thing. The week after that, we were making out pretty much anywhere, anytime. I guess it took us about a month before things got extremely serious, and Aria got on birth control because her mother was terrified at the thought of her getting pregnant, and teenage moms were so common back then, and she knew Aria was not really the religious type. She also had the kind of body that gets hyper sexualised because of pornography, you know. Of course any teenage boy would want to see it naked as soon as possible. And eventually do things with. Or have things done by. You get what I mean,” he concluded. 

You nodded. “Did you?” 

He laughed. “I was terrified. I wouldn’t have known where to start with it. And sure, I watched as much porn as any other dude my age, but it’s not like I was eager to reenact it in real life. It felt complicated, and loud, and dirty. So damn dirty.” He frowned and smiled at the same time. “It didn’t feel right.”

You study his face, the slight repulsion he seems to radiate from his body. 

“Then one night we were watching a movie — which actually means we were making out in my bed — and we were so damn close, and of course my body went haywire and… Let’s say she realised I was pretty interesting down there.”

You furrow your brow, trying to understand what he’s implying. “You mean…?” 

“She’d never felt me up, and that night she realised I was big.” The words didn’t come out with arrogance, but with a dry matter-of-factness. 

Your eyes widen suddenly, and he laughs a little, the sound deep and warm, and it sends tingles down your spine. “Oh.”

“That’s about what I said, too.” He smirked, blushing wildly. “Luckily I managed to hold her back that night, because I truly wasn’t ready, and I really wanted to get things right. So I bought condoms online, because I was too ashamed to buy them in person, and I kind of panicked for three days straight because I was terrified my mom or my dad would find out and get mad or make fun of me or whatever. And I did some research on… You know. The kind of stuff you have to erase from your browsing history.”

You chuckle, nodding. Hearing all of this is somehow fascinating. Knowing he was so clumsy, so embarrassed, and yet so committed to making it as safe and right and good as possible. It’s endearing somehow. Not only is he a good man now, but he was a good boy too, and it makes him shine even brighter to your eyes, this commitment to goodness.

“Still, I was not ready, emotionally. But she was impatient, and in the end I said, ‘screw it’ and I gave in. We were sixteen, we were two days into winter break, and this friend of mine has this little cottage by a small lake. He’d left me the keys to the cottage. We went there, and we had sex. I was terrified I was going to hurt her, because I’d read about first time sex being painful and all the fuss about hymens et cetera. But it went surprisingly well. I came in about fifteen seconds.”

You both laugh. “I guess I got lucky.”

He eyes you significantly. “You’ve got no idea how much.” 

“And then?” 

“And then we spend the entirety of winter break doing stuff.” He shrugs. “I could have done without, sometimes, but she was always trying to start trouble. And I wasn’t too strong about telling her no. But let’s be clear, it’s not like she was abusive or something, I was happy to have sex with her. I liked it a lot, and she had my consent, always, before doing things. But at the same time, I knew I was losing some of my connection with her. There was less talking, less quality time, less… We were having sex all the time. We didn’t watch movies, we didn’t read books, we didn’t hang out or you know, the stuff you actually share with someone. All we had was each other’s body and our own. There’s only so much a brain can feed off that. But we weathered it. And she was possessive, so it’s not like I had the chance of finding that with someone else. And the sex made me feel so lucky, knowing that I had someone who loved me so fiercely, someone so out of my league — it all made me feel like I should be grateful and I would be an idiot complaining, or looking for anything else, or trying to change the situation in any way.”

That’s when the pain starts to blossom in your chest. “So you start neglecting your emotional needs.” 

Namjoon nods slowly. “That. Precisely.” His eyes focus on your hands again, trying to avoid your face because he knows his expression might show too much now. “But we’re seventeen by this point. The sex starts to slow down, and we get some of the friendship back. I get a lot less awkward around eighteen, and my resumé is one of the brightest in my class. I’m in the debate team, and I’m in national competitions for writers. I write poetry, and short stories too; I win some prizes, I get published in a paper, then in a review.” 

“That’s impressive.” 

“I’m starting to live my dream life. I get selected in a summer programme for young writers. Aria is very proud of me. I get better at sex too, in the meanwhile.” He gives a boyish shrug. “I start planning my life with her at my side. By the time high school ends, I’ve managed to get a bit less awkward too, and Aria has fixed my haircut and my wardrobe. She gets selected by a university in California for a volleyball scholarship. It scares the shit out of me, but she accepts. She’s convinced we can make it long distance. I get into some niche writing academy on the east coast. 

It’s winter break when we see each other again.We’re all partying by the lake, me and her and some of our friends. We’re all so damn drunk, damn, I couldn’t even count the fingers of my hands. We’re all sitting by the fire when she leans against me and says, ‘You know why I’m sure we’re gonna make it?’ And I smile because I think she’s going to say something cheesy, something about the ring I bought with the money I made from the first short story I actually sold.”

You smile so bright at that, at his success, at such a huge milestone for someone who made writing his path, his vocation — and then it clicks.

Cuisine is your calling, you’ve always known, and that’s one of the first things you tell people when you introduce yourself. If he’s never mentioned writing then it means it never came true. Horror creeps in. 

“She said, ‘we’re gonna make it because I’ve fucked about twenty or so other people, but you still love me. And you’re the fucking best’.” He stops, snickers, and there’s so much self-loathing in the way he moves, the way he breathes. “I went stone cold sober in a millisecond. I asked her to repeat, to make sure I understood correctly. I laughed it off, excused myself to the bathroom, and cried my fucking eyes out. Threw up about three times or eight, then locked myself in a room. The following morning, I left before dawn, returned to my college with my mom. Returned the ring. And broke up with Aria through a text. Changed number. I detached myself from the entire world, disappeared for about a year, except for the people that truly mattered. I finished my programme in record time, mostly because Yoongi needed me back here, and well… I mostly finished school because I had to, but I never went back to writing. It’s like I’d been emptied, and to this day I’m not sure words will ever truly fill me again. I’m not sure they will ever spill from me again, or that I’ll find a way to make them flow like I used to.”

This is so wrong. You end up saying the words out loud. 

“I haven’t dated anyone since then. And I haven’t had sex with someone since the summer before I turned twenty.” 

“That’s seven years, isn’t it?” You ask, making sure you remember his age correctly. 

“It is.”

You whistle, impressed. “That’s… She really mess you up.” 

“I just changed lifestyle. No sex, no smoking, no heavy drinking. Just me, my plants, nature, my job. I love it. It fulfills me.” 

“And no writing? You don’t miss it?” 

He shrugs, and it looks like he’s trying very hard to act like he doesn’t care. But he so blatantly does care. “You can’t miss something you’ve never had.” 

“I think you had it, though. And I think it will come back for you.”

He sighs. “I won’t hold my breath.”

You shake your head. 

“She’s engaged to one of my high school classmates now.” His laugh is bitter. “He proposed last Christmas. Getting married this summer.”

You hesitate around his fingers. Is he still hung up on her?

His eyes meet yours. “And I get mad because I think a part of me still thinks it was supposed to be me. And I hate that part of me. I also hate the part of me that is still hurt over what she did. The part of me that remembers all that sex, and wonders whether it was ever real.” He bites his lip, and he looks mad, truly. “All of this means, I’ve been hurt before, ____, and that messes with my head sometimes. The day I met you, I was attracted to you almost instantly, and that made me trust myself less around you, and it made me doubt you too. I was terrified at how much I wanted you, and the way my body reacted to yours. The way I dreamt of you. And knowing you wanted me too— It terrified me and electrified me at the same time. You’ve been the first woman I’ve wanted, really wanted, in years. And I’m sorry if I’ve seemed hot and cold, but I don’t know what to do with myself. You’ve been nothing but transparent with me, and I know this thing with me and you can hardly go anywhere—”

You go impossibly still next to him and he notices, also in the way your fingers get rigid and seem to retract from his touch. 

“This is all to say, I really want to thank you for being so honest with me so far. And I’m sorry for any weird behaviour I’ve had. It’s just that her betrayal messed with me more than I’d like to admit. And I don’t like people getting too close, but I couldn’t help it with you, and I’m not too happy with the idea that this is temporary.”

You try to align your thoughts correctly, trying to make them make sense. “What do you mean?” 

Namjoon inches closer. “With what?” 

“You’re not okay with this being temporary?” You paraphrase. 

Namjoon grips both your hands, then gets even closer. “You’re here on holiday, we’ve known each other for days, and I’m scared that again it’s just sex pulling me to you. Just some infatuation. I mean, you can’t start having feelings for someone in days. Or maybe you can, maybe I do feel something for you, just the roughest draft of a feeling, but it’s okay if you don’t. I’ve always been pretty sensitive and impressionable, especially with emotions.” He stares at you, really does, like he’s trying to read your mind. “I don’t know whether there’s solid evidence that this could be something more than a holiday fling. I just think it’s precious that I found you, that I got to feel this with you. I’m grateful for it, were it to end, or were it to turn into something deeper, something more structured, more lasting.” 

“Namjoon,” you whisper. Silence hoovers heavily on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I… I exaggerated. I’m too much. Too fast.” He inched away from you, closing off, already hating himself for scaring you off. 

“No,” you murmur kindly, stretching to reach his face, pulling him back closer. “I want you. Want this. Letting go will hurt, but as you said, I’m grateful too for this. This will be bittersweet, but it can teach us something.” Does it make sense, wanting to let go of everything for three very excellent fucks? This must be the sex. It must be the very excellent sex. The orgasms, and the hormones, and the dopamine, and all the stress you’ve been collecting like star stickers from your working at the restaurant. Maybe the long overdue hours of sleep and fucking you need to catch up on. 

You can’t be thinking this while sober, go figure talking about it. “I’m considering making some changes in my life. Maybe this could be the beginning of something different.” 

“It feels unsafe that both of us are truly considering this.” Namjoon speaks like he’s pulling back, except his body is caving in, molding to yours. “If you don’t pull back, I’ll go all in.” 

“You know when we finished yesterday,” and then you add, cheeks hot with shame “in the restroom.”

He hums, his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, and you refuse to resist it. “I remember some bits of it, yes.” His leg slots deliciously between yours, and you follow his lead, purring at the pressure, delicious pressure where your core throbs. 

“It felt like you were taking care of me, for a second. At the pond in the woods too. You’re so caring, and it would be so easy to let myself lean in, get attached. It terrifies me. Because this is supposed to be just a fling, right?” 

“Except we could let it mean more. Invest more in this.” Your bodies are already doing that. Your brains too, because neither of you might be showing their cards, but you both are calculating how much adjusting would need to be done in order for this to work, doing the math of meeting halfway and spending one weekend here, one weekend there, and what’s a two hours drive when you can finally start using your paid leave days, the amount of which has turned insurmountable at this point. 

“Is it worth it? Or are we just high on hormones?” You wonder, but words are starting to come difficult on you, especially with the way his hand is tracing your spine under your shirt. 

“See, that’s what I was wondering too.” Namjoon has pinned your hands above your head, and you’re on your back now, his body strong above you, his heartbeat loud, his chest glued to yours, and his thigh firm between your core, hot and pulsing and wet. “So maybe we should sweat some of these hormones off and see if we still think about this once we’re a little more… sober.”

You nod, as if stunned and hypnotised at the same time. 

“Plum, tell me what you need,” he whispered. 

“Inside. I want you inside.” You lowered your hands to his shorts, undoing the ribbon there. “I never thought I’d be a sucker for being filled to the brim. But you, you…” you shake your head, frustration all over your face. “Clenching around you, squeezing you… I could come from that alone. I wake up from dreams of what we did in the woods. We do it here. We do it in the shower. We do it by the pool. By the lake. In the woods, again, and against the wall. I think about sex with you all the time.”

Namjoon slips two fingers in his mouth as you talk, wetting them, but also using his spit to roughly, rudimentarily get rid of some bacteria. 

He slides his fingers inside you effortlessly and you gasp, then grind on him immediately. He grins like a madman at your reaction and feels himself growing harder too. 

“Does sex with me make you feel dirty, like it did with her?” You ask him, the previous conversation making its comeback on your mind.

”Oh, Plum. Sex with you is the holiest thing I’ve ever done. Sex with her felt like a sin, but this? You said sex to you was like a naked handshake. You can’t go to hell for something like that. But for this? Plum, I’d go to hell for this, and still, I’d choose this on any fucking lifetime I get.”

You slam your lips to his, and there’s nothing kind, nothing polite, nothing romantic about it. Yet, it’s the most romantic kiss you’ve ever had. It’s frantic, and desperate and needy, and his fingers scissor inside you, stretching you as best and as quick as they can. He can’t wait to be inside you either. 

“That was poetry,” you tell him. “You just spoke in poetry. We had naked handshakes. Now we get this. We get naked poetry.” He sucks at your neck and you bloom even more open for him. “I’m going to make such good love to you that you won’t help writing fucking cheesy pop ballads about it.”

He laughed against you, the sound so beautiful you swore your heart could glow golden with joy. 

“Alright, bet.”

Navi: (comìng soon)

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 3

A response to the prompt: "You're staring." Thanks to my harem cohort @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally @powerofelvis and @whositmcwhatsit

Summary: Bess heads to the dance the Morale, Welfare and Recreation Committee for the 37th armored tank division is throwing, and manages to avoid dancing with the most notorious soldier on post, who cannot seem to take his eyes off her.

Warnings: None! Wait, kissing. Swear words. This may be the slowest burn yet. Probably typos, I wrote about 1K words over the last three days and then the rest in a fever dream. So.... may not make sense. Also I am pretty sure the first phase of basic training would not have them in tanks yet, but....I am playing fast and loose with Army life in this one.

Word Count: 5. 3 K

This is my newest WIP, please like, comment, reblog and tag and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading.

You can catch up on the previous chapters here

Basic Training Chapter 3: Just Kiss Me

Saturday, April 5, 1958

7:30 p.m.

The Schwartz Residence, Killeen

Just as her shoe hit the bottom stair, Bess realized she had left her lipstick in her room and was turning back around to grab it when she saw Kay sitting in the living room, dressed in a pink cocktail dress. Her puffy crinoline skirt was gathered in a heap around her as she shifted in place, adjusting her pearl necklace.

“Um, where do you think you are going?”

Kay looked up, tucking her brown hair behind her ear as she eyed the tight, fitted sheath dress Bess was wearing. She smiled at how the white sequins and embroidered red flowers glowed iridescent in the dim light and whistled low.

“Who are you dressing up for? The guy who you snuck in last weekend?”

“What makes you think there’s a guy, Katherine, honestly. I don’t sneak men into our house.”

“Uh huh,  so you’re all gussied up in your favorite dress just for a bunch of enlisted soldiers?”

Kay grabbed her purse and followed her sister to the door.

“Why are you being weird Bess, I always come with you? You’ve been going to army dances since you were sixteen. I’m about to graduate, plus, I told Dickey I’d meet him there.”

Bess sighed, thinking of Kay’s latest boyfriend. She supposed that she should be happy because he seemed like a harmless nerd, and, according to the files she had pulled on him, was not married, inbred or bankrupt.

“I just - we - I didn’t invite you to this dance because it’s an enlisted platoon. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Wow, you must really like who ever it is, if you don’t want me to see you with him. Too bad. Dori called earlier and told me to come. She’s been trying to reach you all day, by the way.”

Bess locked the door, and they got into her car.

“Can you believe her date?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Of course, then it all made sense why you guys would be messing around with an enlisted tank unit. How did Dori even get involved with their MWR Committee.”

Bess rolled up her skirt so she could comfortably drive, and shifted into reverse, arching her eye bow at her younger sister as she did.

“How do you think? She asked to be reassigned to it two weeks ago.”

“Man oh man, she really is lucky. I wonder if we’ll all get to dance with Elvis?”

“Look, Kay, they sent out a memo to everyone, do NOT make a spectacle over Private Presley. Just act like he’s any other solider”

“Of course Bessie bushka. I’m on my best behavior.”

Bess looked Kay in the eyes as they pulled through the base gate.

“I am just going because I told Dori I would, I don’t wanna stay too late. So maybe Dickey Rooney can drive you home if you wanna swing all night?”

“Yeah, sure, ja volt. You don’t have to be ein klafte, Elisabet.”

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

The tight cloth of her dress didn’t have much give, and Bess regretted her choice as she tried to keep up and hold on as she danced

“Look, this is tactical move that requires delicate maneuvers—”

“I’m not spiking the punch, Jim.”

Bess huffed and got into her rhythm as they kept up with the band’s rendition of “Tutti Fruity.”  If she let her self relax and swing into each step, it was almost like old times when she, Jim and Ben used to go out dancing in Austin or Killeen and she’d take turns dancing with her fiancee and his best friend all night. They had been the three musketeers. But that was last year, when she had a fiancee. And a different future peering back at her from her crystal ball.

The music brought her out of her silent reverie, and Bess looked to her where the band was performing on stage. The lead singer’s voice reverberated through the building, echoing up into the tin ceiling and back down again, making the room buzz with energy. There were six people in the all-Black Flapjacks: drums, guitar, bass, trumpet and then a male and female vocalist. The men wore matching silver dinner jackets and black bow ties, and the beautiful, Black woman had on a gorgeous silver dress with tulle flowers at the bust.

Bess took a deep breath, her attention shifted back to Jim, whose hands were always steady, but never needy. She was grateful he had agreed to come when she called last night and asked. A year ago they had spent almost all their free time together. Stalwart, an honorable prankster, Jim wasn’t shipping out to the Army Intelligence station in Heidelberg for another two months and Bess wondered if their friendship would end. If Ben’s new German wife would win him over and, like his friend before him, Jim would forget all about the last three years of shared adventures and promises of a lifelong friendship. Men mean it in the moment, Bess thought, I suppose women do to. Forever. What a meaningless word. How can we plan forever when we cannot know the future? The song ended and Jim escorted her off to the side. She looked for her sister, and found her swaying with her beau towards the back, hands clasped together between the lock-eyed look of first love.

“I forgot how good a dancer you are, Schwartz. And in that dress, whoowee! You’re a knock out tonight.”

“You can cut the flattery, Jameson, still not spiking the punch.”

“S’not flattery, how dare you insinuate that I would be disingenuous? You look good all dolled up, s'nice to see you this way. It’s almost like fun Bess is back, though a year ago she wudda helped me spike the punch.”

He took out his large, dark leather flask and handed it to her after taking a nip. Bess’ face scrunched up in distaste as the vodka burned down her throat, but she greedily held on and took another long drink.

“A year ago I didn’t work here, I was just hanging out with some of the reprobates from the German language division. Now it would be bad form for a Front Office secretary to spike the punch.”

“Look around, Bessie, this crowd needs to relax. They’re alllllll keyed up waiting for that Hound Dog.”

Jim was right, a heightened sense of anticipation pervaded the warehouse, even the strings of colorful paper lanterns seemed to sway with anxious excitement above them. Bess looked over at the big bowl of punch, next to the trays of deviled eggs, brisket sliders, the lime jello mold filled with seafood salad, pineapple upside down cake and more. She was sizing up the punch and checking her breath as they waited for the next song when she heard a wave of hushed murmurs ripple through the large room and turned to see Elvis, Dori and a few other soldiers in dress uniform enter the dance together. Bess’ eyes narrowed as Elvis’ looked at her.

Jim followed her gaze, then met Bess’ eyes.

“There he is, as handsome as he looks in the movies.”

Bess’ grimace could have cut through glass as she turned to her friend and elbowed him.

“Not you too?”

“What, art thou so high above us mere mortals that you don’t find Elvis Presley attractive, Schwartz? To gouache for a scholar like you?”

“It’s Private Presley now. And I’m not made of marble, Captain. Of course I recognize his attractive features. He just isn’t my type.”

She sniffed, and grabbed the flask from inside Jim’s uniform, the breath coming out of her nose forcefully as she drank a long draught.

“I’ve met him, actually, already. I was there.” Bess took another drink, tipping the flask back again and noticing that the liquid didn’t burn so much this time. “When he asked Dori out. I’m happy for her.”

Elvis and Dori began walking toward them, and Jim noticed how Bess’ stance changed as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, suggesting that she what felt was the opposite of 'happy for Dori.'

“Well, I was at the press conference his first day here, at least four reporters asked if he has a girlfriend. Said he was playing the field so many times, sounded like a broken record.”

Bess straightened as she watched Elvis’ hand tighten around Dori’s waist and push under her bust while the blonde leaned into it and introduced Elvis to some of the eager MWR committee members who had stopped them.

“Yeah, that would be the alternate version of Hound Dog, it’s on the B side.”

Jim chuckled at Bess’ joke, but she didn’t notice, she was busy watching the Hound Dog himself, and caught Elvis glance over at her and give a little nod before his lips bent into a smirk. She realized she was frowning and plastered a big smile on her face. Jim watched this exchange with interest as Bess turned back when he spoke.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Definitely not your type.”

Bess scowled and whispered for him to stop as Elvis, Dori and another soldier approached them.

“Why Captain Daniels, how nice to see ya over at this little ol’ dance for the 37th, are you Bess’ date ta night? Or sneaking in to try and meet you-know-who?”

Dori giggled and playfully tapped Elvis’ chest. In case, you know, they didn’t get whom she was referencing.

Jim nodded and shook his hand to stop Elvis and the other soldier from saluting him.

“Oh, neither, actually, I’m just here to make sure Schwartz doesn’t spike the punch.”

“Don’t believe a word the Captain here says. This is a great introduction, by the way. Captain Daniels, meet Private Presley, you know Doreen of course, and then, well, I cannot say we’re acquainted.”

The liquor had loosened Bess up and she giddily put out her hand to the other soldier, as Elvis fiddled with the blue dress uniform cap under his right arm and took charge of the conversation.

“This is Rexadus, I mean, uh, Private Mansfield, he’s in the 37th wit me, another Mephisss boy, we were inducted ta gather, actually." Now Elvis was turning his hat over and examining it, speaking with confidence, almost as if from a script he had rehearsed in his head. "He’s a solid, solid, guy. He really is. Guess I’m lucky, since he’s spending all his time stuck in a metal box with my ass - I mean stuck with my behind.”

Rex her shook their hands with tight, swift grip and a warm smile. Jim raised his eyebrows at Bess.

“And how do you find the Army, so far, Privates?”

“Well, it was easy ta find, just follow all the tanks.” Elvis  smiled and  looked down. “Nah, well, speaking’ jus for me, I mean, I was real honored when President Eisenhower sent me an invitation to this here costume party, and all the boys are real nice."

There was that scripted voice again, Bess mused. She had seen under the hood and Elvis' attitude toward being drafted had not struck her as honored and grateful.

"It’s not easy, golly, I tell you, it’s really whooping my - uh - caboose. But I never felt I earned my supper so well, that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Dori giggled like Elvis was the wittiest man in the world, but he barely noticed, his eyes were focused on Bess and she coughed, uncomfortably. It was hard not stare back. She almost forgot to breathe, and exhaled deeply as she forced herself to look over at the band.

Her eyes trailed over to the food, and she looked back at Elvis with concern, knowing he rarely actually went to the mess hall. He had been meeting her at her back stairwell every evening at 5:15, opening her car door and getting in without even asking. As if it were his own car and sliding across her seat was the most normal thing in the world. It actually did seem normal now, and had become part of her daily routine these last three days. They sat there in their own private enclave, and every time, as he laid his head between her thighs and rubbed her waist, she told him that they were just friends hanging out. Yesterday they’d talked past dinner hours and she’d ask him if he didn’t want to go to get food, prompting Elvis to share how someone had yelled out in line at him Monday, asking if he missed his teddy bears, and he hadn’t gone back since. Sergeant Norwood’s wife, apparently, was providing him with a loaf’s worth of peanut butter sandwiches every night. But that wouldn’t have happened this evening and Bess thoughtfully looked over at the food table.

“You must be hungry. All of you, I mean.” Bess stuttered, trying not to stare at Elvis, which, for some reason, backfired, because consciously trying not to made her think about him even more and she failed horribly at being able to stray from his blue eyes for very long. “Because you just got here. Of course.”

Dori smiled and took this as her cue to play hostess and lead Elvis away to the refreshments.

“Yes, of course, of course, y’all must be hungry, doing those tank exercises all day. I made the seafood dip over there in the jello mold, it’s a recipe from Ladies’ Home Journal, you simply must try it and tell me what you think.”

“Aw, darlin’, I don’t, don’t eat seafood.”

“The brisket is pretty good.” Bess chimed in.

Dori smiled even deeper.

“Hmm, well, I suppose it’s probably ok for a Yankee like ya self, Bess honey.”

She pulled her arm tighter around Elvis, leading him to to the brisket as Bess heard her say, “Personally, I find Millie’s brisket a little bland and dried out, but come on, you’re a growin’ boy, need to refresh ya energy.”

Dori’s giggle trilled back as she walked him away and Bess frowned again when Elvis turned back over his shoulder, clearly grinning deeper as he took in Bess’ eyes following him.

She made small talk with Rex, mentioning how the last time she had heard this band, The Flapjack’s, they had played all of Elvis’ big hits and there had been none tonight.

“He bribed them.”

Rex whispered, looking over at where Elvis and Dori stood, as she fed him a deviled egg and then a brisket slider, sticking her finger in his mouth to lick the barbecue sauce off. Her high laugh echoed all throughout he warehouse, prompting Bess to roll her eyes.

“Bribed them?”

“Yeah,” Rex continued. “Not to play ‘Hound Dog,’ not to play any of ‘em. And he bought cases of cigarettes for all the guys in our unit. He wants to make sure tonight is nice, smooth, and normal. As it can be for him, I suppose.”

Before she had the opportunity to inquire further Bess was distracted by the band as they started up a new song, a rendition of Johnny Mathis’ “Chances Are,” and she watched Dori squeal that she loved this song.

 Bess smiled at Rex.

“Well Private, want to cut a rug?”

He hesitated. “Uh, I think -" he looked over at Elvis, who was making his way to the corner of the dance floor. “Probably better if I don’t, gonna go check out the chow.”

“C’mon, you little Yankee, I’ll dance with you, even if you have no taste in brisket.” Jim took her hand and raised his eyebrow. “By the way, Elvis Presley is in love with you Bess.”

“Stop it, Jameson.”

“Did you see how his buddy hardly touched you?”

“How would he know? These boys don’t talk about their crushes in their bunks at night. ‘Sides,he is here with a date.”

“Oh fooey! Elvis doesn’t have to tell him anything, all Rexadus, or anyone need do, is clock how that boy looks at you and, man, that’s all she wrote. You don’t dance with another soldier’s girl, it’s the code. Dori doesn’t stand a chance, honey, he’s just too polite to turn her down. I bet his mama is just like her. Which is probably why he likes you.”

Bess gave him a stare.

“Ok, maybe not exactly like Dori. I cannot see the good Mrs. Presley making you go all the way to Dallas so she can dress shop at the boutiques. They were share croppers, right?”

Bess nodded at Jim as she swayed with him, attempting very hard not to look over at where Elvis and Dori slowly danced.

“Something like that. Very very poor. But Jim, you dance with me, and I was your friend’s girl for two years.”

“That’s different Bess, I hate most women.” Jim looked back over at Rex and his voice trailed off. "Most people, actually. You are saving me from all the eager beavers here looking to snag an officer as a husband.”

“Well, looking around, some of them would probably settle for snagging just a night with an officer.”

They laughed and Jim led her around the dance floor in perhaps the most chaste slow grip of any of any officer or gentleman that danced a slow dance that evening.

The song ended, and the band kept going with their version of Sam Cooke’s hit “You Send Me.”

Bess could not help herself, and found her eyes move to watch Dori press her cheek to Elvis’ and it made Bess’ stomach clench inadvertently. Elvis’ eyes locked on hers while he pulled Dori tighter to him, tilting his head with a smirk. Something in his eyes told Bess he could tell how much she envied her girlfriend, a fact she refused to even concede to herself as she looked away, scanning the room for her sister. To her dismay, Kay was now kissing her dweeby young lieutenant toward the back of the warehouse, not so much dancing as staggering back and forth in place.

Hitting someone’s shoulder, Bess turned to apologize until she saw Elvis had moved Dori right behind them. She stepped hard on Elvis’ foot, then apologized loudly and profusely. That didn’t get him to scout off and they remained dancing next to each other as Jim ignored Bess’s pinches at his wrists clearly signaling for him to lead her away.

“Why hello there, Moo Moo, fancy bumping into you here?”

Dori smiled big and pushed her hands further up around Elvis neck as she swayed to the rhythm.

“Moo Moo? Y’all are gonna havta tell me bout that” Dori giggled. “And look at you Bessie, honey, I just LOVE your dress.” Her eyes moved to Jim. “Y’all having fun?”

Bess stepped closer to Jim, nodding and avoiding the coy irreverence in Elvis’ dark blue eyes as she slyly tried to navigate her partner away from them. She kicked Jim’s shin to let him know that if he did not politely guide her away this very instant she would begin to kick harder.

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

Leaning against the wall during a ballad, Bess found herself making a mental note that Elvis’ seemed to avoid dancing to the faster songs. During this one, he had gone off to get some punch and then started walking in her direction only to be assaulted by a troop of MWR committee members, offering him samples of the desserts they had baked as a pretext to come and talk to him. Bess smiled as one asked him to dance, then turned at Mabel’s voice, observing the rosy glow of the other secretary’s cheeks.

“Mhmmm, the punch is good tonight.”

Bess smiled, then leaned in to smell Mabel’s glass.

“How many of these have you had, Mabel?”

The older woman replied without missing a beat. “Five.”

“I’m cutting you off, I think it’s been spiked.”

“Of course it has. By me.” Mabel took her glass back, gulping the rest down with a wink. “Someone needed to liven up this funeral. Hold this for me, won’t you?” She asked, and Bess’ jaw dropped a bit as she watched Mabel cut in on Dori.

Bess wondered if Mabel still preferred Burt Lancaster to the movie star she currently leaned her head against, happily watching her colleague cozily nuzzle into Elvis tall frame. He was a good sport, joking and swaying with Mabel for a second dance,  then stepping to the side and chatting with another swarm of woman who tried to contain their eagerness as they brought him another tribute of dessert platters.

Bess danced to The Flapjacks performance of “Jambalaya,” but quit as the music turned toward more and more ballads while the night went on. It was late, the people on the dance floor seemed to have coupled up and the decorum had slowly fallen to the wayside as the senior personnel disappeared. The air fell thick with a heady, hazy lust provoked by the swell of sweet, slow rhythm and blues and the release dancing provided from the stress of barracks life. Jim had ducked out, and Bess wished she had given Kay her keys and gone with him. She managed to stay as far away from Elvis as she could through he evening, which wasn’t hard. If Dori was not monopolizing him, he only made it a few feet before another woman tapped on his shoulder. During this time, Dori had cornered her and begun drilling Bess for information, asking why she didn’t pick up her phone anymore, and what the deal was with Elvis.

“Moo Moo? Is that a nick name? Are you sure y’all are just friends? Honey, say the word, and I will be on my way. I do not throw myself at men.”

Thinking of their double date last week, Bess restrained herself from explaining that this seemed to be Dori’s primary hobby.

“I promise, it’s a silly nick name, Moo Moo is what he called his childhood cow named, get this, Bess. I’m telling you, Doreen, we’ve just accidentally stumbled into a very casual friendship.” She rubbed her friend’s shoulder, and looked out at Elvis laughing with his dance partner.

“He's lonely, and just jives more with women. You saw him with Mabel in the office. I’m not saying I see wedding bells in your future either. But then again, Dori, you don’t want to get romantically involved with Elvis Presley, do you? I can only imagine the havoc he is going to wreak on the girls in this town once he gets his bearing and into phase two. That boy is a fast operator, so fast you don’t even know what happened and boom, you’re asking him out.”

Dori narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm. Well, honestly I don’t want to marry him, Bessie Boo. I just want to experience him. He is so soft, Bess. That jaw! And those eyes. Ufffff. And when he kisses you, oh, it’s like having lightening strike your cheek. I’m fixin’ to get more before the night is over, hopefully with my mouth.”

She winked as the song ended, and strode off to get him back. Bess had to giggle at the glare Dori shot a younger girl from the switchboard office who looked like she was about to ask Elvis to dance.

Lonely, awkward, and ready to be done, Bess rolled off the wall and told Kay she was ready to leave. Her sister politely told her to get bent, promising Dickey would drive her home. So Bess subtlety slipped out of the side door next to the stage and made her way towards her car, ambling slowly in the cool evening air. Bess found it a sweet respite from the crowded, stuffy ware house stuffy. Out here, it was peaceful, and she savored the darkness as she looked up into the black sky. The stars and moon were hidden by some clouds, and Bess tried to get lost in the murky shadows as she wandered away from the sounds of the dance. She begged the wind to tamp down the anxious buzzing in her head. It was then, when she paused in the passage way between two tall buildings, that she heard the sound of footsteps following her, and turned to see a tall, dark figure striding toward her with purposeful, swift steps. His shoulders were back and his hands were out and he slowed when he heard Bess speak.

“All dressed up and marching in a hurry, huh? Loose your parade, Tupelo?”

Elvis’ gait turned into a wide swagger and Bess stumbled into the building backing away from the force of Elvis’ magnetism. It was not a smart escape strategy because he followed in step, his hands on his waist as he looked her over.

“Al - al - always, the smart ass, huh?”

“I’ve been a smart ass my whole life, Tupelo. Try to keep up.”

Elvis shook his head, chuckling low.

“You’re staring. Stop it.”

“Honey, if you didn’t want me to stare at you, shoulda worn a different dress.”

She gasped, and Elvis stepped closer, his right arm up against the wall while his left moved over her waist and he whispered into her forehead, his voice was low, teasing, almost babyish.

“Be honest, Moo Moo, did you come out here cuz you wanted me to chase you?”

Bess looked at the eaves of the building above her, she could hear the faint sound of the band back at the dance playing “The Girl Can’t Help It” and Elvis hips swayed very slowly at half time with the beat.

“Nope, I, I was leaving, actually.”

“How could you leave without dancing with me, baby. Not even once. An ya hardly even talked to me all night. Every other girl in there is ready and rearin' ta pounce on me, but you make me come chase after you?”

“I’m - I’m not like very other girl, Elvis. I’m not trying - trying to ….”

The way his thumb trailed up her arm made Bess shudder and she lost her train of thought.

“Hmmm. Not tryin’ to what, Moo, huh?”

He leaned into her ear as he spoke, and the skin on her bare shoulder prickled as his thumb rubbed over it while he whispered softly.

His voice was warm on her neck, and it reminded her of the first summer Mama drove her and Kay down to Galveston spontaneously for a week. They had stayed in a cheap motel across from the beach and enjoyed the warm Gulf water while eating fried shrimp and hush puppies and getting sunburnt. There, in the golden sun of the Texas Gulf, Bess had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to move through the world. No, standing where the sun met the surf had set her free, and she had become a wild animal dancing in the water and screaming into the waves while the sand crabs tickled her feet.

Elvis’ breath on her neck had the same effect. She felt wild, relaxed, totally at the whim of her body as she bit her bottom lip and looked up at his half-lidded eyes. She wanted to pull him close and scream into his mouth, howl at the untamed force of nature that rippled beneath his cheeks. He tightened his hand at her waist and kissed her neck, but then stepped back at her shudder.

“Ya scared not scared of me, Moo Moo, are you?”

She shook her head, but trembled as Elvis fingers feathered lightly down her arm.

“You don’t never have to be scared of me, baby, I won’t ever hurt you.”

“Elvis, I -”

He kissed her neck again, murmuring into her skin. The top of his cap rubbed into her hair. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere we can jus… Talk?””

Just as Bess began to answer, she felt a light sprinkle of water on her nose and looked up as it started to drizzle down on them. The rain brought her wits back to her and she gently pushed Elvis away, feeling the water increase and her hair slip down over her face. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“You are here on a date with someone else, and I have to go home.” Squeezing him in a tight hug, she kissed his cheek one last time as he nodded, before removing her heels and sprinting off through the puddles to find her car.

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

Bess had managed to wash her face and get her dress off before she succumbed to the extreme need for a pot of hot tea. Now she stood in her kitchen, towel drying her hair and shivering as she waited for the kettle to boil. Hearing a knock at the door, she yelled out hurrying to the front of the house.

“Kay, the door is open! Or is numbnuts a catching disorder -  shit.”

There was Elvis, hat in hand, on her front doorstep.

“Numbnuts?”

She swayed to the side, watching the back of a white Studebaker whirl around the corner. A white Studebaker very much like the one Mabel owned.

“My sister’s boyfriend is not the sharpest shooter in his platoon.” She held her robe closed as she looked down at her thin, white silk night gown. The thin matching robe didn’t do much, but she felt more decorous pulling it over herself.

“Did Mabel sneak you off post?”

Elvis grinned mischievously and strode past her into the house

“Hello to you too, Bessie, whatcha cookin, good lookin'?”

Closing the door, she shoved him as he walked backwards down the hallway.

“Don’t you hello me, what are you doing here?”

Elvis unbuttoned his jacket, and draped it around her shivering body.

“Still cold honey?” He drew her in, rubbing her shoulders. “Let me see if I can warm ya up.”

His jacket was still cozy with the heat of his body as he drew Bess into him. Breathless, she let him enclose her in his embrace, folding her arms into his chest as she lifted her chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“There she is, there’s a good lil Moo Moo.”

Elvis leaned down to bundle her further into him, his hands moving inside her open robe to caress the sides of her body, his nose stroking hers as she closed her eyes and whispered into his jaw.

“Elvis, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know honey.” He pulled her closer, kissing her cheek at the fold of her earlobe as Bess crushed into his.

Her mind was racing, racing the with knowledge that at any moment her 17 year old sister would come home and probably know how to work the door knob. Racing with the knowledge that her father and mother were flying back to Waco tomorrow and she needed to be rested and alert when she drove to pick them up. Racing with the knowledge that Elvis Presley was the absolutely worst choice for a romantic entanglement or fling, not just because he was famous, handsome, rich and probably already dating any number of women in Los Angeles, Memphis and God knows where else. And therefore, an unimaginable person to be seen with publicly or explain to her family.

But it was worse than that, she could already tell, from the way her mind bent towards him all through the day when he wasn’t around, and directed itself to him with an intense, buzzing focus when he was. For these reasons, she knew he would be the worst kind of all-consuming distraction that she could possible let herself get involved with right now.

Her mouth had other plans. Namely, how could it find his mouth?

“Elvis.” She mumbled as her lips brushed the nape of his neck and her hands wrapped around his body.

“Yes Bess?”

He looked down at her as she tried to find the words she wanted to say.

“I - I - I”

“I know honey, you don’t date soldiers.”

She smiled a lazy, goofy half smile.

“Mmmhmmm.”

He gripped her tighter, pinching the flesh at her sides.

“Honey, dating is not the word on my mind right now. I am not interested in asking you on a date.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I do not have no intention of driving up to your house in my pink Cadillac.”

He kissed her nose.

“I don’ wanna have to come meet ya mama and shake your daddy’s hand.”

He kissed her cupid’s bow.

“And I definitely ain’t about to take you out to fancy restaurant and buy you dinner.”

He kissed her lightly on the top of her mouth, his teeth grating over her lip.

“I do not want to date you, Bess.”

“Good, because I don’t want to date you either.”

“So don’t date me, baby. Jus kiss me.”

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

Click here to read Chapter Four: Dance

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[wardenparker]

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 9

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨  

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.**  Summary: Paris may be tumultuous at first, but it’s the City of Love for a very good reason. Guys, I have no defense for this one. I just really love Paris and want to go there so fucking badly... Notes: Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who came along for this wonderful ride with us! Next week we’ll be posting the epilogue for this story and then rolling right into something new immediately. The wheels of chaos in our minds never stop rolling so the fics just keep on coming. 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

Thanks to the overnight flight and the comfort of being able to sleep in first class, when you and Marcus touch down in Paris at 8:30 the next morning, you pretty much manage to avoid the fuzzy feeling of jetlag. It's been years since you've been back here but everything feels just the same, giving you a satisfying feeling of homecoming as you set out through the airport toward the taxi stand to ride out to his colleague's office.

"Sorry." Marcus tosses you a small, apologetic look as the taxi drives erratically through the city. "I'll see what's up and then if you want to go to the hotel, we can see about checking in." He knows you might not be up for hitting the ground running and he can carry this alone if he needs to.

“No, no, it’s okay.” As the city passes by the taxi windows you sink back and allow yourself an indulgent smile. You might be working, but it’s nice to be back. “Let’s go and be briefed for the case and all of that. Find out what we’re working with.”

“Thank you.” Marcus picks up your hand and kisses the back of it. “For coming with me. Saves me from having to choose an agent to bring with me.”

“I hope I’m half as effective as any of your team members are.” You kiss the back of his hand in turn and give it a supportive squeeze. The people you’ve met from his department have all been friendly and kind, and his stories paint them to be very good at their jobs on top of being nice people. “Plus, I’m infinitely more fun to play dress up with.”

“And I won’t feel exceedingly guilty if I had to pretend to be romantic with a co-worker.” Marcus knows there will be a time, but he doesn’t want to do that so early in your renewed relationship.

“Work is work.” Of all the problems you ever did have, jealousy or worry about infidelity was never one of them. You and Marcus are both loyal people to the core.

“I know.” The fact that your belief in him doesn’t waver is incredible. “But right now, work has you playing my wife.” He winks at you. “You might be good at that role.”

"It's almost like method acting," you tease, briefly sticking your tongue out at him as the taxi winds its way toward the nondescript office where his colleagues are waiting.

Marcus helps you out and tips the driver, hauling the luggage up the stairs after shooting you a dirty look when you protest that you can get your own bag. “Get the door.” He huffs at you.

“Stubborn.” You chide him teasingly, and slip past him to open the door. The woman at the desk seems pleasantly surprised that you speak much better French than Marcus, but switches to English for ease. She directs you to the second floor and gives you an office number, assuring Marcus that he is expected.

“Monsieur Pike.” The Interpol agent immediately greets you at the elevator, obviously being given a heads up about your arrival. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Marcus nods, adjusting bags so he can shake hands. “Happy to help, this is Dr. Pike. She is a director at the Smithsonian.” He introduces you, looking at you with quiet pride.

“Pike?” Ducasse looks between you, at the suitcases Marcus won’t let you carry and how you stand close together, keeping each other in your line of sight despite not always being focused on the same thing. Confident but not showing off. “I did not know you had gotten married. Welcome, Madame. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

Marcus catches your eye, tilting his head to communicate that he will follow your lead on how to explain your relationship to these people. Not wanting to embarrass you or to make you feel as if you are pressed to answer dozens of questions.

“We are divorced, but reconciled. A story for another time, perhaps.” Honesty, above all, especially when dealing with his colleagues, and you shake the man’s hand politely before allowing yourself to be ushered into a nearby office. “I am happy to extend my expertise to the FBI and to INTERPOL.”

“That will be a story to hear.” Ducasse’s brows shoot up in intrigue but he doesn’t press, instead motioning to you towards a seat and taking one of the bags from Marcus to stack the luggage in the corner of a cluttered office.

“What can you tell us about this case?” Marcus ask, shifting the conversation to the matter at hand. “How did you come to know about the art and this auction?”

"We had a tip that one of the warehouses that the local police were monitoring has seen some substantial movement and pursued several leads before finding the location of the auction. There is a mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain currently owned by an alias of Jean-Luc Poitiers." The quick-speaking INTERPOL agent begins to point out photographs on the pin board lining one wall of the crowded room. "Poitiers has been underground long enough for any of the heat from his competition to die down, and it appears that this is where he has been suffering his isolation." Ducasse rolls his eyes as though considering a mansion in the gorgeous Seventh Arrdonissement a place to suffer is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. "The auction is extremely exclusive, by invitation only, but we have taken care of that while you were in the air."

“You got us an invite.” Marcus grins. “Who are we pretending to be?”

"A married couple, conveniently." Ducasse pulls a file out from under several other things on the desk beside him and hands it to Marcus to peruse. "Mr. and Mrs. Luke Martinez of New York City. Second house in the Hamptons, eight figure annual income from real estate holdings and investments. You will be asked to submit banking details upon your arrival, we will supply you with the numbers and the false funds." He leans back, half-sitting on the edge of his desk. "We will surround the building, ready to lock it down for arrests and to seize the stolen art, but we need you to actually put eyes on those paintings."

“What I wouldn’t give to have that be our lives.” Marcus jokes as he flips through the files and skims the background on the couple. “We will need to buy some clothes that reflect this.”

"You can attend to that this afternoon. There is some budget to be spared for it." Ducasse had made sure of it, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

"Does Mrs. Martinez have a listed career or am I a housewife?" You don't peak over Marcus's arm at the file in case there are things that aren't meant to be shared with civilians. You just want to have your story straight. "Or, um...a first name?"

“There’s nothing here you can’t see as a consultant on this case.” Marcus provides and grins at you. “Your name is Penelope.” He explains as he hands the file over.

"Well of course, why wouldn't it be?" The file has pages of background information and numbers that you hope you can memorize, but as you start to flip through the pages you practically feel your heart stop. There is a photograph of two men walking down the street side by side, one talking into a cell phone and the other checking his watch. The man on his phone is tall and lean, with curly brown hair and bright green eyes, and a jawline only slightly less defined than Marcus's. The crisp, blue suit is nothing like you remember, but his face is unmistakable. "Wh—who is this?" You ask, pointing at the image like you're afraid the man might jump out of the photograph and attack.

“That—” Ducasse snorts and taps the photo. “Is Henri Aubel.” He informs you. “He has been in Interpol’s sights for a long time, but we have been unable to pinpoint the crimes on him, unfortunately.”

"I..." Looking between Marcus and Ducasse, you can feel your stomach drop and a wave of nausea hits you out of nowhere. "I know him," you murmur, reaching for Marcus's hand like a security blanket. "I mean...we—we dated. While I was living here...years ago." The man you had known then was bright and seemingly sincere. Incredibly charming, yes, but you had never had any kind of inclination whatsoever that he was a criminal.

“Shit.” Marcus immediately frowns, aware that your cover won’t work. “Then we need a new game plan. Because if he recognizes her, ‘Penelope Martinez’ will be in danger.” The last thing he wants or is willing to do, it put you in danger for a case.

“Was it a close relationship?” Typically not a man to pry for personal information from new acquaintances, the rules have just changed for Ducasse since this is related to his case. He flies around to the other side of his desk to sit down, immediately tapping away at his keyboard to bring up the file on Henri Aubel. “What did you know of him then?”

The irony isn’t lost on you. To have just left a case with Marcus’s ex-fiancée behind only last night and for this one to now include your ex-boyfriend? The universe is having a nice laugh at your expense. “I met him at a gallery opening while I was a student at the Sorbonne. We…we were on and off for about two years, but I never had any idea that what he was involved in was criminal. I just thought he was an artist with a wealthy family.” Although, now that you know that he is wanted by INTERPOL, you’ll be combing back through every memory you have of him to see what you can glean. You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, feeling like a child who has been caught being naughty. “I’m sorry,” you murmur under your breath, knowing that you have made this all incredibly awkward.

Marcus frowns and shakes his head. “It was ten years ago.” He reminds you. “It’s hard to know who people will become when you are a college student.” The only thing he’s worried about is your safety. “But maybe this is better.” He offers. “We don’t go in as the Martinez’s, did— did Henri know about me? Or that Pike was your married name?”

“Yes.” Swallowing is harsh and almost painful, like the lump in your throat is very real. “But back then you were going to be in marketing. I never had any idea you would go into law enforcement.”

“Good.” Marcus flashes you a supportive smile, aware that your guilt is amplified right now. He turns towards Ducasse. “So we pose as ourselves, just— fictional images of them. Is that doable with the invitations?” He asks seriously. Neither one of you are on social media, so it wasn’t like accounts would have to be modified.

“It should be.” Ducasse is nodding as types rather furiously. “At the risk of being indelicate, Madame, this may work to our advantage. A surprise like this can throw off even the most careful of men.” He looks up at you, eyebrows raised slightly, and tilts his head. “Henri Aubel is a dangerous man. If you did not know that about him, then you did not know the real him.”

“Then I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.” There is an empty chair nearby, and you sit down in it with the case file still in your hands. “I think it will surprise him, though, to see me. We were…well, I thought we were very close. But obviously he was never entirely honest with me.”

Marcus takes the file from your hand, turning towards you and giving you his full attention. “Listen to me, baby,” he begs you softly, seeing the hurt and turmoil in your eyes. “Men like Aubel have been taught from a young age to hide who they truly are. He never had any intention of you finding out who he is. Took advantage of you being unfamiliar with his family, with France. That makes him manipulative, you did nothing wrong.”

“Thank you.” Even though your voice is quiet it’s clear, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders to squeeze tightly and murmur a soft “I love you” in his ear. It feels heavy, and wrong, and like you’re in trouble, but you know that’s just the shock of discovery.

“So we say that I’m— fuck, I was a hedge fund manager who made it big and wants to indulge in art?” Marcus tosses out, looking over at Ducasse. “How does that sound? New money, and my wife knows art?”

“That will work.” The INTERPOL agent nods, looking back at his screen before looking over at Marcus again. “Use New York City as your base, but use whatever details of your past suit you. The banking details are an offshore account in order not to raise any red flags, and I will simply change the name on the false account to reflect your real name. There is jewelry in the evidence lock up that you can use as props.” He sees nothing on either of your fingers now, so obviously it will be needed. “When you are out today getting your clothing for tomorrow night, please be as obviously affectionate as you feel comfortable with. On the off chance that Aubel has been watching to see if Dr. Pike will come back to Paris, we want your cover to hold up.”

Marcus nods, looking back at you again. “Are you okay with this?” He asks softly. “I can still find someone else if you don’t want to see him again.”

“It would be slightly hypocritical to back out when you just had to spend three weeks with a case with your ex.” You remind him. “And…and Monsieur Ducasse seems to think it could help.” You shake your head, offering Marcus a smile when you can summon it up. “I’ll be okay. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay.”

"I won't leave your side." Marcus promises, sure that he will stick to you like glue in the first undercover op you've ever participated in. His own need to make sure you are safe wouldn't allow it, even if he thought this Aubel wouldn't hurt you.

“We will do everything in our power to make sure no harm comes to you.” Ducasse assures you earnestly. “If I thought this would be more dangerous for you for knowing Aubel, I would not send you in. But I must ask, Madame. Do you know how to use a gun?”

The question makes you shiver a little, not being a big fan of firearms, but you nod. “Marcus has taken me to the firing range. We have one in the house, so I’ve learned.”

Ducasse nods and his eyes flicker over towards the FBI agent. He can tell that the man who had previously worked on a case with INTERPOL isn't exactly comfortable with his wife being in harm’s way. Not that he blames him, but this is a fortuitous situation and he will use everything in his power to get Aubel behind bars. He's wasted too many hours on chasing him to give up because your ex is the suspect. "I doubt you will need to, but we always send in our operatives armed." He allows.

“Why don’t you tell us more of what we’ll need to know for tomorrow?” With a whole day and night to prepare, you know that there will be plenty to learn and plenty of time to ask questions, but also plenty of time to build an alibi by being seen in the city. If what Ducasse says is true, people may be watching.

******

Hours later, Marcus sighs in relief when you are able to get to your rooms. With the knowledge that people might be watching, the bags had been delivered and you along with Marcus had started a very loving shopping trip along some of the more upscale stores in Paris. Now he's happy to just be alone with you and not worry about someone photographing you or approaching.

“I never thought shopping on the Champs-Élysées would be stressful.” Wrapped up in his arms in the exquisite suite, you and Marcus both sigh heavily and absorb the calm of being alone for a little while.

"It doesn't help when you are wondering when your ex is going to pop out from behind a bush." Marcus pulls you into his arms and sighs. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't know. I wouldn't have put you in the middle of this if I had."

“You didn’t know?” You huff at him, perching your chin on his chest to look up at him. “I didn’t know! I feel like such an idiot never realizing he was lying to me for two whole years. And honey…” Fingers gently tracing his face, you cup his cheek in your palm and offer him a smile. “I would never let you face this alone if there is even the tiniest possibility that I can help.”

“I appreciate that.” He sighs softly. “So much for romance in Paris.” He can’t help but chuckle. “Not exactly turning out how I wanted.”

“René suggested we spend some of tomorrow doing romantic or touristy things, so we can still have some fun.” The INTERPOL agent had turned out to be a very kind and likable man, and by the time lunch came you and he had been joking together over tartine. “I know it’s not perfect, but maybe we can squeeze an extra day of paperwork,” you say the word in air quotes, “out after this is over and have a day to ourselves?”

“That would work.” Marcus admits, “taking in the sights before we buy stolen artwork.”

“I could take you to my old neighborhood?” It’s something you wanted to do anyway, and might feel a little less like being on display. “Walk around, grab lunch, maybe go in and out of some shops?”

"Whatever you want to do." Marcus promises. Despite the curve ball, he wants this trip to be one of fond memories when you look back on it years from now. Especially since he will be able to propose in the city that you had always loved.

“I had a couple of places that I always thought you would love.” And that just makes you hug him a little tighter, knowing that something good will come out of this trip no matter what happens with the case - although you know Marcus will see it through to the best possible outcome.

"I will love them." Marcus promises. "Because I will be with you."

“I love you, too.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him down for a kiss and let it linger in the privacy of your quiet suite of rooms. “What do you want to do before dinner?” Ducasse had suggested a visible night on the town just in case Henri or his people were having you watched - either as his ex or as an attendee of the auction.

"I will leave it up to you." Marcus leans back and shoots you a grin. "This is your city, baby." He sends you a wink. "Show me the sights."

“Then we’re going to Harry’s after dinner.” Harry’s New York Bar is a legendary hangout of the Lost Generation, and given his love of all things F Scott Fitzgerald, it will be the perfect place for celebrating tonight. “You’ll love it. I mean, I hope you will.”

"Harry's?" Marcus looks at you skeptically. "That sounds like a nice place to drink." He hums and slides his hands down to caress your ass. "You want to get ready to go out?"

"You just want to get me into one of those slinky dresses we bought today." You wiggle your ass in his hand and grin, giggling when he raises an eyebrow at you like that should have been obvious. "Should we eat dinner someplace swanky to keep up appearances?"

"What is the swankiest place we can get reservations at the last minute?" He asks, smirking at you because there is nothing he wants more than you to put on a slinky dress and go have a fabulous meal before he proposes in one of the most romantic cities in the world. The ring in his pocket is burning a hole in it and he wants to see it on your finger.

“I bet if we had the concierge call it would do better than if one of us tried.” Your eyes flick up to his with mischief shining in them, wondering if you could even pull this idea off. “Madame Brasserie or Jules Verne? À la Tour Eiffel?”

"Whichever one you've never been too and always wanted to try." He tells you indulgently.

"Madame Brasserie is the newer of the two restaurants in the Eiffel Tower, so it might be harder. But I wouldn't mind eating at either one." There's something altogether too indulgent about the idea and you sigh a little dreamily. "I'll call down to the front desk and see what they can do."

"I'm going to jump in the shower." Marcus offers. "We've been going nonstop since we got here and I at least want to wash off the travel before dinner tonight."

"That sounds like a plan." You reach up to kiss him again before letting him out of your arms. "I'll shower after you. Otherwise we'll be having room service because we can't keep our hands off each other."

"You know that's exactly what would happen." Marcus winks at you and grabs his bag so he can get his toiletry kit out. "Make your calls and I'll be getting sudsy in there."

******

About an hour and a half later you're both finally ready and barely keeping your hands off of each other despite showering separately. The blue velvet dress you chose for tonight hugs all of Marcus's favourite parts of your body and the perfectly fitted charcoal gray suit he settled on is elegant and easy, making him look even more effortlessly handsome than usual. "The concierge said he would have a car waiting for us." You tell him, taking one step toward the door of your suite before he can pounce and trying to swallow down your nerves over the little blue box in the bottom of your purse. "Jules Verne had one reservation left for tonight and we got in just in time." And because you told the concierge about your plans, he had made sure to arrange for a few things to be waiting for you in your room when you returned tonight.

"Perfect." Marcus has heard of the restaurant and he wants nothing more than for this to be the perfect night. Regardless of what happens on the case, he wants you to have a night you can look back at dreamily. His first proposal had been sweet and earnest, not exactly fancy, but now the need for a grand gesture is almost compulsory. "We still have the elevator ride down to be handsy."

"Let's hope we get it to ourselves then." You throw him a wink over your shoulder before heading out the door, knowing Marcus will be close on your heels.

"Jesus, Paris you is saucy" Marcus chuckles as he hustles after you. "I like it."

"I've decided to enjoy the trip and make the most of it." The door clicks shut behind him and his arm slips around your waist as you walk down the hallway together, just a few feet to the corner and then the elevators, but still far enough for you to get cozy while you walk. "My favourite city in the world with my favourite person is not something to waste."

“Favorite person huh?” The proud grin stretches across his face and he edges closer when you reach the elevator, then he leans forward to call the car to your floor. “I am honored. Especially since you’re my favorite person.”

"I think honoured might be a stretch," you tease, leaning against the wall while you wait for the elevator together. "All I want is for you to be happy, baby. To be the one that makes you happy."

“Baby – you’ve always made me happy.” That is something that he can promise. Right up until you wanted out, Marcus had been the happiest he had ever been in his life. He reaches up and caresses your neck. “Always.”

"I love you so much." Wishing you could go back and erase the years apart won't change anything, but you lean up to kiss him now without hesitation. The future is what matters now. Your future together.

“I love you too.” The promise is simple, heartfelt and the look in your eyes has him wanting to drop down to his knee right now, but he knows it’s not time.

"Come on, love." The soft ding of the elevator interrupts you, but it doesn't matter. There will be plenty more sweet moments before the night is over.

Marcus allows you to pull him into the elevator and hums when he finds the car empty. “Should I wait to kiss you?” He asks, smirking slightly. “Don’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

The eyebrow you raise at him is incredulous, and you shake your head at him as the door closes to leave you alone for at least another minute. "Kiss proof," you inform him, as though it were ridiculous that you would wear anything else around him.

Thank God for whoever invented 'kiss proof' lipstick. Marcus has always loved you without makeup, straight out of the bed, but there is something so sexy when you are dressed up. Even if it's not technically for him, he feels like it is. Just like you love when he puts on cologne. Tugging you closer, he grins at you. "Well, we need to test that." He hums, "we haven't kissed with this lipstick color on."

“It’s a new brand, too.” He’s drawing you into him so easily you feel like a moth going to a spectacularly handsome flame. “How will know they’re telling the truth unless we test it?”

“Indeed.” Marcus makes it slow, gentle. Taking his time like the car isn’t slowing down as it reaches the ground floor.

It’s so easy to wrap up in each other. To let yourselves get carried away with affection and the romance of being in Paris together. The passionate kiss is intentionally and immediately intense – deep and luxurious and would probably be borderline pornographic if anyone was watching.

The doors open and there is a discreet cough before Marcus pulls away. Smiling apologetically as he finds a couple waiting to come onto the car. “Désolé pour ça.” Sorry about that. The apology is perfunctory, because he’s not sorry at all.

You can hear the woman muttering about Americans as you and Marcus stroll out through the lobby and it’s all you can do to contain your giggles. “Sorry not sorry.” You whisper, beaming at him. The concierge is waiting to load you into the car that he has ordered on your behalf, and you swear you feel like you’re in a movie. It might be a crime thriller, but it’s still elegant and passionate, and you love it.

"I'm not sorry either." Marcus keeps his hand on your back until you are sliding into the car and he is slipping in beside you. Allowing you to tell the driver where you are going since you are better familiar with the area.

Fortunately for tonight’s plans, you aren’t far from the Eiffel Tour. It’s an easy sight from the windows of your suite and a straightforward drive that only takes a few minutes - though the walk would be uncomfortable in heels. You’re grateful to have the driver and will certainly be tipping him at the end of the night even though it isn’t a necessity here the way it is in the US. When he lets you out at the edge of the park that surrounds the monument, Marcus slips out first and you happily accept his hand to maintain a little propriety while climbing out of the car in a skirt much shorter than your usual. “Now we go up,” you tell Marcus, practically sighing as you look up through the layers and layers of metal that compose the Eiffel Tower. Some people say they’re disappointed the first time they see it, but you’ve never understood why. It’s remarkable - an architectural triumph that stands out in the Paris skyline like a beacon.

“Did you know that the tower only took two years, two months and five days to build?” Marcus asks, nearly giddy as he climbs out of the car and offers you his hand. “Not bad for something that’s stood for over one hundred years.”

“I thought you might like to see it up close.” Yes, he has been to Paris for work, but you doubt he’s taken any extra leisure time for himself in all of that. “I came here my very first night in the city. I dropped off my bags at my little student apartment, and started walking across the city. Bought a crepe from a vendor on the street and sat on…” It takes you a second to find it, but as your eyes comb the area, they land on a bench a few yards away. “That bench, and looked up at the Tour Eiffel as I ate my dinner.”

“What did you think about while you were looking up at her?” Marcus asks curiously, wanting to know about your time here. Even if he wasn’t a part of it, you had history here.

"That she made me feel less lonely." You thread your fingers through his gently and give them a soft squeeze. It might sound like a sentimental answer, but you know that Marcus will understand. "If I was sitting here looking up at her, surely I wasn't the only one. So...it sort of became tradition. Any time I felt lonely I would come sit and spend time with her. And I knew that she was keeping other lonely people company. So I was automatically less alone."

“I understand that.” Marcus does, he had found plenty of little parks or monuments where he had been living to visit. Wanting to feel surrounded. It had always been that way since you had left.

"Come on, love." A small tug on his hand has both of you smiling at each other, but you nod toward the monument. "There's a special elevator for people having dinner at Jules Verne."

“How touristy is it that we are having dinner here?” He asks as you drag him closer to you. It might be incredibly cliché, but he’s thinking about proposing after dinner. Asking you if you will go up to the observation deck with him.

“Extremely.” And it doesn’t bother you in the least. In fact, it’s sweet. Sharing the city with Marcus means playing tourist in the best way possible. “But I think that’s a good thing. It’s a first for both of us and it’s going to be a beautiful meal.”

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” Marcus admits, staring at you like you hung the moon. “The last time I was here, I—I couldn’t make myself come here.”

You turn back to him after hitting the button for the elevator, a soft but serious expression drawn on your face as you reach to touch his cheek. “Neither of us ever has to face anything along again, Marc.” You can promise him that. Wholeheartedly and without hesitation. “From now on, each chapter of our lives will have two main characters.”

“I love you.” Marcus whispers, knowing that down to the very fiber of his being. He’s never stopped, never. Not even when he convinced himself that he had moved on. You were just ingrained in his being like the hair color on his head or the way he has to lay on his right side to really sleep.

“I love you too.” Through all the ups and downs, the hardest struggles and the clearest days, it’s always been him. “Always.”

The ride up to the restaurant is shared with a young couple who are obviously on their honeymoon, making Marcus grin at the display of young love. “Don’t act like that’s not exactly how we are,” you murmur under your breath to him once the other couple has moved ahead of you to the maître’d stand. The couple are probably barely older than you were the first time you got married and you’re all the exact same level of handsy.

“Exactly.” Marcus steps up to the maître’d stand once they are being led off to be seat. “The couple in front of us?” He gestures towards the couple. “Champagne? To their table? And I will pay their bill.” He decides, wanting them to have a magical night.

“Oui, monsieur…” The gentleman provides ample space for Marcus to say his last name, and smiles in polite acknowledgment at the name Pike. He knows this reservation. Took it himself barely two hours ago. “Right this way,” he says in clear English, gracefully motioning for you to follow.

“After you.” Marcus lets you walk in front of him, so he can help you sit and so he can glance down at your ass in the gorgeous dress you are wearing. Reminding himself of exactly what is underneath.

The indulgent mood you’re both in extends to deciding on the seven-course menu with all the recommended wine pairings, and settling in at your table in the corner with a perfect view of Paris below from the window beside you.

“This is probably better than anything we could have imagined when we were their age.” Marcus had seen the surprise and delight in the younger couple’s faces when the champagne had been delivered. Looking around to see who had gifted them such a thing, Marcus hadn’t let them know. Hoping that one day, they would do the same to another young couple starting out.

“I hope they’re so excited for everything to come.” You reach across the table to link your fingers together and run your thumb over the back of Marcus’s hand. “They’re starting a whole new chapter of their lives.”

“Yes, they are.” Marcus looks down at your joined hands and smiles. Fully aware that the same can be said for you. The ring in his pocket is making him eager for the dinner to be over. You are wearing a ring that is a part of the mission tomorrow, but tonight, he wants you to wear his.

“Speaking of which.” The smile you flash him is bright and bubbly, and you hang onto his hand like a lifeline. “I want to talk to you about a dream I had on the flight over last night.” It’s just a silly thing, but it’s about sharing those silly thoughts and future plans with him. Something that you had trouble with years ago.

“Oh?” Marcus ticks his brow up in curiosity. “What kind of dream is this? I promise I didn’t leave the toilet seat up or cheat on you with your non-existent cousin.”

“No, it was nothing like that.” Although the idea of being cross with him over a dream about leaving the toilet seat up makes you laugh. “It was a coming-home-from-work dream.”

“Oh yeah?” He shuffles closer, getting the hint that this is one of those ‘want to make this happen’ dreams. “Coming home to me, I hope?”

“And the kids.” When you nod it’s with heated cheeks and a shy smile. “In the dream it was some kind of holiday? I couldn’t tell what, but I came home and you had been decorating the house with the kids all day to surprise me.”

“Halloween.” Marcus guesses, knowing how much you love the spooky holiday.

“Maybe.” The fact that he’s playing along has you lighting up as you smile at him. “But I came home, and you told me that before we had dinner, that the kids had a surprise for me.” In the dream you remember being incredulous until Marcus had supported this surprise - a fact which reassured you that it wasn’t a brand new crayon mural on the living wall or something like that. “And that surprise was a very cute and tiny little kitten.”

“A kitten, huh?” Marcus grins and shakes his head in amusement. He’s had a mild cat allergy but luckily the medications had improved since he was a child. “A smokey grey one or a black cat?”

“I was thinking one of the breeds that’s kinder to allergies,” you admit sheepishly, knowing he would probably be a little extra sneezy when the dear cat sheds seasonally. “In the dream it was a Siamese, but I don’t know how they are for shedding.”

“We can always look into that. I think they are better?” He tilts his head. “But honestly...” he twists his fingers around and pulls your hand closer. “I like the idea of having to introduce the baby to the cat when we bring them home from the hospital? Give them a little guardian from the start?”

“So you’d rather have the cat first?” For some reason that thrills you - as if it were a validation that the steps you’ve been taking to solidify your relationship ship are working. “We can do that.” You’re practically squeaking at the idea, so it’s fairly obvious that you like it. “Have our first baby be the fur baby?”

“Practice, right?” Marcus laughs. “If we can keep a cat alive, we graduate to a miniature human?”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” Though you both laugh easily together, you’re practically vibrating with excitement in your seat. “I just think we aren’t home enough for a puppy. And cats are so sweet.”

“Cats are more…independent.” Marcus allows, grinning softly. “Maybe after we get back, we could visit a shelter. See if it’s kitten season? Or maybe even an older, sweet soul who wants a home for their twilight years?”

“We can absolutely start looking around shelters.” It was really just an idea that you were throwing out there - something that made you smile and gave you that feeling of making your house into more of a home. But in true Marcus fashion, he has turned it into something sweet and spectacular. “Although I insist that if we get a kitten, they have a silly name.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus grins, nodding in agreement. “Something that will sound adorable and be completely opposite the personality.”

“Bonus points if it is something will sound completely bizarre being called out at the vet’s office.” It absolutely tickles you that he’s going with you on this, knowing that his childhood dog was innocuously named Buddy. “Something long and elaborate that will be extremely silly when scolding them. We need to get all the comical naming impulses out of us before the kids are born.”

“Mr. Fuzzlesworth.” Marcus tosses out with a grin, enjoying the idea of planning with you. Obviously you would need to get home before choosing a pet, but this is what relationships are about, planning.

“Sir Fuzzbutt de Fluffington.” You nearly double over, giggling at the table. “Although, Mr. Fuzzlesworth kind of sounds like a Dickens character and I love it.”

Marcus chuckles, enchanted by your enthusiasm for this. Hating that the two of you have to break apart when the first course is served. It looks delicious and it's obvious that the waitstaff tries to make this an experience for those who dine with them.

"Cheers." Raising your glass to him when the plates have been set down and the wine has been poured, you have nothing but love in your eyes when you look across the table at Marcus. This is a far more eventful night than just this same time yesterday, and hopefully the food will be just as exquisite - if not even more so. "To us."

"To us." He will never not toast to that. "I think we are getting spoiled with nice dinners." He hums as he taps his glass to yours softly. "How will we go back to eating Thai takeout or Chinese on our couch?"

"Easy." You waggle your eyebrows at him salaciously and lower your voice. "The incentive is that we can do that naked."

"You got me there." Marcus smirks and nods. "That's a good incentive."

The courses are exquisite. Crab, scallops with caviar, langoustine ravioli, cod poached in consommé with fennel. Every plate is like a dance, and it genuinely might be the best meal you've ever had in your entire life. "We're coming back here," you tell Marcus when he groans happily at the chicken course that's been cooked with black truffles and wine you know for sure is too expensive for weeknight drinking. "The first night of our honeymoon, we have to come back."

"I have no objections to that." Marcus takes another bite and closes his eyes in pure bliss. "None."

Hopefully there will be a more sentimental reason to come back to this place on your honeymoon, but you have to keep that close to you for just a little while longer. Instead you just smirk and tilt your head at him. "Although the hotel might be a bit of a stretch. I'm enjoying that for what it's worth on this trip."

"That hotel room is a dream." He rolls his eyes dramatically. "I never get rooms that good on cases. We are stuck in something like a Days Inn. Not that they are bad, but it's not...this."

"Maybe I'm magic?" You tease, knowing that dealing with your former flame on a case isn't exactly magical. But at least it's come with something positive for him. "Like a flashy good luck charm you can keep on your arm."

"I'd keep you in my pocket if I could." He chuckles, winking at you playfully. "But on my arm is okay too. I guess."

"That would be a very big pocket to whole a whole adult person." Although the image is fairly adorable, you'll give him that. "But I'll tell you what. If you ever find one big enough, I'll hop right in."

"You know they make huge pocket blankets for being lazy on a couch all weekend, right?" Marcus grins at you, knowing he will order you one for Christmas now.

"I actually did not know that." You grin at him over the last few bites of this fifth course. "Sounds great for cuddling."

Chuckling softly, Marcus manages to get through the rest of the dinner without giving away that every course makes him even more jittery. Eager to get to the best part of the night in his opinion. Getting to propose to you and show you how much he loves you and wants to make this forever.

The last two courses are sweet - lemon and then chocolate - leaving both you and Marcus feeling more full than you've felt in ages but independently anxious and excited without the other having any clue. If you had known in that moment that you had the very same plan in mind it might have made you laugh or even rethink the occasion to try to surprise the other one all over again. But as it is, when you step out of the restaurant after your sensational dinner, you look up at Marcus and smile softly. "Do you want to see the best view of Paris you'll ever have in your life?"

"You read my mind, baby." Marcus answers with an indulgent smile of his own and he couldn't get closer to you if he tried as he leans in. Wanting to keep the moment as intimate as possible.

"Come here." There is almost no one on the observation deck at this time of night, and you've never been so grateful for coincidences in your entire life. The last two people looking out over the city in this area wander away toward the restaurant to enjoy their dinner as you and Marcus choose a place to stand, and for a moment you're sure that the strangers bolted from the scene because they could hear how hard your heart is beating. Surely if the pounding in your ears is as loud as your heart, then the whole world around you can hear it, too.

"It's a perfect night." Marcus has done this before and yet his heart still beats wildly and he can feel the slight moisture of nerves dampening the shirt under his suit jacket. Coming over to you and taking your hand gently as he turns to make a show of looking out over the city of Paris under the gorgeously full moon.

"It's the perfect view." Paris is secondary to everything, right now, although it's the perfect backdrop for what you're about to do. While Marcus is looking out over the city, and despite how hard you're shaking, you manage to hold his hand while carefully extracting the ring box from your purse and exhaling deeply. Kneeling down in heels is an exacting task, but your dress cooperates, and you manage to not make a sound as you do.

Sighing softly, Marcus knows that this is the moment. Sure there have been thousands of proposals right here, or on the ground below, but he wants to add one more. “I need to ask you some—” Turning, Marcus stops mid word when he sees you kneeling in front of him. “—thing. What—” he can’t even ask you what is going on, eyes wide and focused on you and the small box in your hand.

"Here's the thing, Marc." You're already on the verge of tears as soon as you open your mouth, but that's okay. This is the first time you've ever done this and hopefully it will be the last, and Marcus knows that feeling all too well. "I know this is...nontraditional. And you're a traditionalist in a lot of ways. But I need to ask you something. Because for ten years, anytime something big happened in my life, the first thing I wanted to do was call you. Whenever something bad happened, I wanted to find the doorstep of whatever house you were living in and make sure that you were okay. I thought about you every single day that we were apart, and now that we're together again I just can't..." you sniffle, breaking out into a smile at the overwhelming joy in your heart. "I can't help but be excited that I won't have to call you if something good happens. Or worry about you when something goes wrong as things inevitably do in life. Because you’ll be right there with me. I love you more than anything or anyone in the world, Marcus Pike. And there is nothing more that I want than to come home to you. To share our joys and sorrows with each other and to build the life of our dreams together." The little box in your hand is slightly damp with the nervous sweat from your palm but neither of you notice, too focused on the way the lid snaps back to reveal the stunning rung that you picked out just yesterday. "Would you do me the immense honour of marrying me again?"

He stares for a moment, the shock and warmth of you proposing to him curling into his chest and making his heart burst. Choking out a laugh, a happy one, Marcus hits his knees in front of you, staring at the little blue box that he certainly recognizes. “I— can’t— of course I’m going to marry you again.” He manages, reaching for your hand and digging into his jacket pocket with the other to pull out an identical box.

With both of you crying and laughing you would have looked slightly hysterical to anyone around, but you lean forward to kiss Marcus as he digs in his jacket. Nothing else matters except the fact that he said yes, and for a moment everything in the world stands perfectly still. It isn't until you pull away again that you see him holding an identical Tiffany ring box and you burst out into another round of sobbing giggles. "Of course we both did," you laugh, pulling the platinum band out of the box in your hand to hold out to him. "Can I, love?"

“Yes.” He can’t help the giddy, bubbly laugh that rumbles out of his chest. Watching as you start to slide the band on his finger. “I can’t believe this is what you were buying yesterday.”

"You didn't buy the 'lunch with Angie' story, huh?" The ring fits him perfectly and you can't help but stare at it a little. The last time you put a ring on his finger was years ago, and as wonderful as your first wedding was, this feels so incredibly right tonight.

“I saw you.” Marcus admits with a grin, his thumb rubbing the underside of the band. “I had decided to look for your new ring.”

"You saw us?" It takes a second to refocus, but your eyes flick up to his and you reach to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah. I thought you were looking at something like a necklace or whatever.” He admits. “The associate kept bringing me rings so I didn’t have to turn around in case you saw me.”

"I was too focused. Although, the store manager now knows our entire love story." You lay kisses on both of his cheeks before you look down again, seeing the ring he's holding out to you in that same, now familiar, blue box. "Marc." The gasp that escapes you almost takes all of your breath with it. "Honey, it's absolutely gorgeous."

“I still have your other rings.” Of course he does and he’s pretty sure you know that too. “But I wanted to give you a new one, one for our new beginning.”

"Your parents will love this." As he slips that new ring onto your finger, it feels like your sense of balance has been missing that fine tuning for years. Without Marc's ring on your finger, you've been missing something this whole time. "I love you so much, baby. So much. And I can't wait to have our cat and our kids and our life full of dreams."

Marcus’s smile is full of all the love he has to give you. Bringing your hand up to press a soft kiss to the skin just above the new symbol of his commitment to you. “And tequila.” He adds, smirking at you as he reaches out to cup your face and draw you in for another kiss. “We can’t forget the tequila.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

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My Masterlist!

[neige-leblanche]

also y'all

does anybody have the original japanese of this line from book 5 ch 27???

bc rereading it i was like. O_O. is he. not talking about vil.

i was thinking like "the first read through you're definitely meant to think so, and vil did absolutely change rook's life, but with context from both book 6 and his halloween vignette, what he's describing here leans more towards the latter" which is like. masterful gaybait i can't even be mad. it's like that post saying "some gaybaiting is like a box propped up with a stick and a block of cheese underneath" except this has all the intricacy of a steampunk clock.

but my VERY shoddy japanese skills r telling me the line translates more to "beauty in your eyes and the darkness, lighting up your entire life for you—in a time in your existence when you'll be able to have [such an experience] (expanding on the prev line where he says they'll be able to understand his ideology in the future)"

^ and i probably mangled this so bad but the main point is i didn't hear him refer to a "someone" like he does in the english tl & i'm wondering if i missed it or if it was in fact added!!!

[taki118]

IruClarAzz Master Post Part 9

Just collecting all of the cuteness of the Love Trio and adding my commentary. Spoilers ahead very current with the manga but with ch 308 I just HAD to post. (Also warning I may make jabs at the IruAmeri ship here and there just small comparisons showing why I don’t like it as much, no hate but if you don’t like your ship being talked about even slightly negatively probably look away.)

If you didn’t see it Part 1 is here, Part 2 is here, Part 3 here Part 4 here  Part 5 here Part 6 here Part 7 here Part 8 here Bonus here

So Iruma wants to go to super important demon ball but Opera says no after heartbreaker incident so he asked for outside help in persuading them and his choice says a lot

SO he asks Azz, but the thing is Iruma’s mind when he hits this Opera sized wall and thinks about who can rely on. Thing is you gotta wonder why it wasn’t his super capable upperclassman who invited him in the first place, Ameri? put a pin in that

Opera acknowledges Azz abilities and his short comings

Which is why his mom is also watching over them. Now to the question I asked earlier you could say this is the reason however Ameri’s dad is also one of the 13 crowns and if you think from a purely practical standpoint you’d consider the guy who’s basically in charge of the police first wouldn’t you? 

But Iruma asks Azz for help because time and time again Azz has been a consistent place of knowledge and support when he’s in need of help this is where he looks to. You could say “well Ameri’s dad hates Iruma of course he wouldn’t seek him for help” however Iruma never considered Amu that was Azz’s thought he swallowed his pride and asked him mom to help them out. (and if that ain’t love I don’t know what is) So again I ask why Azz? Why did Iruma’s mind immediately go to Azz when it could have just as easily been Ameri? and this is more so if Ameri is the intended love interest wouldn’t you want more reason for the two to interact? Just some food for thought.

Why does this look like boyfriend telling girlfriend he can’t make date night? cause it does

Clara asks to go with them but they know she can’t (side bar I am actually sad we didn’t get a training montage of Clara maybe another time)

Iruma describes the difficulty he had to go through and I just adore how Clara offers comfort

Iruma says that even though its tough he doesnt regret his choice and wants to see things through and aww look at Clara I love how they just let her do this and move to support her.

I hate that we don’t get love trio but of my god the softness of this yeah its totally drawn like a platonic scene yup what are you talking about there’s no romantic implication here.

But they both say how they have been thinking of Clara all this time making her captain of the magitools club for the work of the festival since they can’t be there.

Iruma compliments Clara on how easily she’s able to connect with others, and our girl sure haas come far like cause her development isn’t as flashy people tend to ignore it.

Azz even agrees that she really is the most suitable for this even though he teases her. 

Once more the trio are front and center

Side thing Iruma has a dream of those close to him becoming like kalego but whats interesting is that an Ameri fluff isnt here

Hes actually a little disappointed

So at the ball while Iruma does escort Ameri in the two only dance briefly before being pulled apart by the other grandsons in fact Iruma spends more time dancing with him than her. I think he’s also implying here that Iruma goes both ways which facts dude

Making small talk Iruma is asked about demons he’s close with and he once more first goes to Azz and Clara their descriptions top tier.

It almost looks like Azz is holding his hand

Shit goes down and these two just insync working together

I just find this spreads placement interesting 

And again gotta question why just Iruma and Azz like Iruma I get but once more I need to question if Ameri is usppose to be the love interest why is she not here?

So Kirrio shows up separates Azz from Iruma and as he’s taunting Iruma with the knowledge he has Azz looses it enough to break through the barrier just saying very much a romantic lead move

And thats a hell of a statement (not sure Ameri could handle that if she were to date Iruma just sayin)

Azz asks a very.....normal question again I wonder why it wasn’t Clara along with Azz, also I don’t tend to sniff my friends and notice how they smell.

Kirrio threatens to reveal Iruma’s humanity to Azz and he’s so desperate to keep his secret and tell him and clara (Specifically he wants to tell them) on his terms he’s ready to kill Kirrio

And oh my god you don’t know how happy this made me cause I knew I just knew

It was Clara, and oh I was missing her, to me at least there was Clara sized hole that couldnt be filled when Iruma is just with Azz. But also I’ve noticed this trend of Clara seems to pop up just when she’s needed.

She fills Iruma in on whats happening with the club cause she thought the ball was over and her small words set Iruma back to normal.

She brought him back to normal so much that Kirrio is now disappointed. 

I like the thought that she tells her siblings stories about Iruma and Azz Coughfuturebrotherscough

So after returning and recovering We get our trio back together and oh my god this chapter healed my heart

I like that Clara went to get Azz first before Iruma you can either see this as A: Azzs house is on the way to Irumas from hers, B: she talked to iruma already and wanted to see Azz or C: she wants to keep things even so she got Azz first. No matter what its cute

So this is something I’ve noticed for a while, I’ve seen people question what CLara brings to the trio and this is it. 

Clara out of all of them has the best empathy she sees Iruma and instantly knows something is wrong and so she figures out a way to help him deal with it and Opera understands that

This is what Clara brings to the trio Azz and Iruma are not good at expressing themselves but Clara is 

She turns them into kids and puts them in a place all alone so they can say the things that are bothering them and not feel bad about it. Like both Azz and Ameri either can’t read people the way Clara does or can’t push like she does and Iruma (and Azz) need that. 

Like had she been at the ball the other crown wouldn’t have needed to step up and while she did help its obvious Clara wouldve helped better

Not only does Iruma let it all out Azz does too. 

And Clara gets angry for them and its all so sweet

Iruma confesses that he has a secret he wants to tell them but isn’t ready

Not only do they tell him its ok they both confess they have something their keeping too. (my guesses Azz its his bloodline magic and Claras is something with her wings)

Awwww they proceed to play to their hearts content 

Opera does as asked and sees the bond the three share, and again yeah this is a totally platonic scene. yup just friends snuggling each other and hold hands in a not at all intimate way yup. Anyway I’m dead I needed to do this as soon as I saw it but once more we gotta wait.

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Three - Sunday Night

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - Your best friend would never go behind your back...right?

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

6K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: So it has almost been a month since I posted the previous chapter but we finally did it guys. Also shout out to @uglypastels for talking through one of my ideas for this chapter with me, I felt like I was going absolutely insane so she really helped me out.

Masterlist

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Hawkins High - Sophomore Year

It was mid August, school was just about to start but first there was an ice cream social the week before.  Usually you’d only see these for the elementary school but they’d started hosting them for the middle school as well the freshman and sophomores at the high school to give them a little head start in making friends and getting to know their teachers.  It was held in the parking lot where two ice cream trucks were parked and handing out cones left and right, only offering three flavors: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry all for free.  

Your parents had played a big part in the Hawkins community, always helping to set up events and always making an appearance.  They had set out to create the perfect nuclear family with a picket fence and happy faces.  Your mom was on the PTA which meant you were forced to go to a number of school events.  This was one of them, you had no desire to attend an ice cream social especially as an established sophomore, you’d already attended last year’s as a freshman and you didn’t need to relive that.  And yet here you were, sitting on the curb in front of the school in the sweltering August heat while other teenagers created a ruckus throughout the parking lot, a few boys tossing melted ice cream at each other thinking they were the funniest people ever.  

None of your friends attended, obviously.  They weren’t forced to show up so that left you bored and sticky with a sheen of sweat gracing your skin and no one to talk to.  Steve Harrington was in attendance, more than likely also forced to show up because of his mom, however he was more of an acquaintance and someone that happened to always be at the same events that your parents dragged you to.  You watched as he performed little tasks as requested by his mother, the current one being to fetch a new box of Hawkins High t-shirts from the car.  Passing by you, he gestures to the box and rolls his eyes, an understanding between the two of you that this was ridiculous and neither of you had any desire to be here sweating profusely for the sake of your PTA moms and being their little assistants when needed.  You offer him a smile and a shrug, shaking your head as he sets the box on a fold up table, his mother shooing him away as he does.  You always wondered why his mom was so mean and dismissive but quickly took a step back to realize you were in the same boat, he just had more money that his parents would throw at him to get him to go away when necessary for them.  Yours just simply told you to find an activity when they had no interest in entertaining you.  

In any instance, you could appreciate that you and Steve were both lonely teenagers who always saw each other at these events and would sometimes convene and other times give each other mocking looks at how serious the adults were.  It was an ongoing game of who could roll their eyes the hardest and he always ended up winning.  After his mom waved him away, he plopped down right next to you, bowing his head in exhaustion and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Couldn’t get out of this one either?”  He asks with an empathetic smile.  

You shake your head, staring across the lot at all the families and groups of friends.  “Nope.”  You answer.

“Did you at least get ice cream?”  He questions, scraping his shoe against the pavement.  

“Nope.”  You reply, him muttering the same thing as you both laugh.  

“It’s gross anyway, it’s too hot even for ice cream.”  You elaborate while fanning yourself with an orientation brochure.  He agrees with a nod, running a hand through his damp hair, sweaty from lugging boxes around and doing just about anything his mom instructs him to do.  At least all you had to do was hand out the brochures.  

You and Steve continue to sulk on the sidewalk, miserable in the heat even at five in the evening while teachers introduce themselves to the incoming freshman.  Out of nowhere, a guy speeds past the two of you on the curb on a skateboard, abruptly coming to a stop in front of the table of PTA moms.  This was gonna be good, based on his looks, they were going to get a kick out of him.  You shared a look with Steve, an acknowledgement that you were thinking the same thing as you watched the scene play out.  The kid had to be your age at least, he didn’t seem like a freshman, had too much confidence and he appeared a bit older, maybe a junior?  He had a head of brown curls that were shaggy and messy, it looked like he was growing it out and he wore a black shirt with some kind of a demon on it along with some black jeans that were beyond distressed, denim threads hanging off of holes at his knees while he gripped his skateboard in one hand.  The board was pretty worn and looked as if it could snap in half if he stood on it wrong.  Your ears perked up as the moms took a look at him.

“Oh!  Wh-what can we do for you?”  One asks hesitantly, the others staring at him with wide eyes.  He only avoids their eyes, opting to fidget with the grip tape on his board, a piece that was beginning to peel off, that typical teenage boy grumpiness evident in his demeanor.

“Community service.  Name’s Eddie.  What d’ya need me to do?”  The kid grumbles.

Your mom takes a look at a clipboard and nods reluctantly.  “You’re late.”  She says with a scowl.  He shrugs, staring up at the sky as if he’d much rather be anywhere else and you couldn’t blame him.

“Well then.”  Your mother fiends offense.  “You can start by…”  She trails off, searching around for a task, her gaze focusing on anything that remains to be done, no doubt seeking something more difficult in order to punish the boy for being so late.  “Untangling these lanyards.”  She demands, shoving a small box into his arms.  He bites his lip, holding back from saying something before just accepting his fate and nodding.  As he turns, he catches your eye, doing a double take as he looks expectantly, you were staring first after all.  How could you not?  He was cute.  

You mouth a “sorry” while vaguely gesturing to your mother though he wouldn’t know it was your mom.  You proceed to do a dramatic eye roll like you would do to Steve and this elicits the smallest smile from him, a gorgeous smile framed by deep dimples.  The boy proceeded to set his skateboard against the curb by himself before slumping down, beginning his daunting task of untangling several knotted up lanyards.

Steve stares at you with furrowed brows before speaking.  “You know him?”  He asks.

“No, never seen him before.” 

Admiring his face as he sticks his tongue out to concentrate, you start to flush when he glances back up at you with a shy smile this time, peeking up at you from beneath his lashes, your stomach fluttering.  Eddie.

—

Present Day

The mall wasn’t somewhere you found yourself frequenting as of lately due to your financial situation however you couldn’t turn down Will’s plea when he visited The Under-Ground on Saturday, the evening following when Jason Carver visited the shop and mysteriously left without purchasing a coffee.  That fact lingered in your mind since it happened.  Will was in desperate need of some new shoes and also wanted to catch a movie that no one else would watch with him, he mentioned that Joyce gave him extra money to cover both of your tickets.  You should feel humiliation at the fact that Joyce insisted on paying for you but you know there is no judgment there from her and Will more than likely told her you were the only one that would be willing to go.  He knew you would say yes to a cheesy rom com that everyone else would gag at and in a way, you were like a sister he never had that could appreciate his feminine side.  Joyce appreciated this so she would ensure Will got his big sister time in.  

So here you were, Sunday afternoon strolling along Hawkins’ streets with Will on your way to Starcourt.  He didn’t have his license yet and you’d never even bothered to get yours which worked out really seeing as you would never be able to save up enough for a car, not even a used one.  Walking did you good anyway, that's what you told yourself as the days got colder.  

“No, I’m serious!  El refuses to watch rom coms.”  Will laughs as he kicks a pebble along the sidewalk, the same pebble he’d been kicking around since ten minutes ago when you’d left his driveway.  

Brow raising in curiosity, you offer him a scoff in response.

“What!?”  He smiles wide, happy, actually happy.  

Will had been through some rough patches with being bullied at school for everything under the sun.  His sexuality, playing DND, being quiet and shy, the list goes on.  A dumb list at that.  The other boys also had trouble however Will seemed to crumble the most under it all.  Though he had an amazing support system, the mind can really infect itself with its own nasty diseases of self hatred which led to endless nights in solitude, declining to hang out with anyone for weeks and instead collecting dust in his room.  

Jonathan confronted you, worried at one of Steve’s movie nights confiding in you that his brother wasn’t doing so well and that no matter what he did, Will continued to sleep for a majority of his time at home and even skipped school a lot.  Both you and Jonathan stepped into your older sibling roles and decided that night to head back to the Byers while Jonathan explained on the way there that not even El could get through to him which meant things were really bad.  So, when you and Jonathan barged into his room that night with various snack options and a plan to watch his favorite movie all together in his bed, Will was overwhelmed but in the best way possible.  Sure it didn’t fix everything, that’s not how it worked but it was the first little push toward being himself again.  As long as he had the people he loved around and loved him for who he was authentically, he could walk the horrifying Hawkins High halls in confidence that this place was temporary.  It also helped that you reminded him that he’s never alone at school either, Lucas, Dustin, Will, Mike, Max, and El were all going through the same hell he was and that you were sure they wouldn’t mind if he talked with them about it.  But even if he didn’t feel comfortable, you’d be there to listen along with Jonathan, attempting to help him carry the weight on his shoulders.  

“I’m sorry, little miss ‘soap operas’ refuses to watch a rom com?”  You smile in disbelief.

“I didn’t say it made sense!”  Will giggles, throwing his hands up in defense.

Starcourt Mall emerged in the distance from over the horizon as you completed your fifteen minute walk from the Byers, the weekend crowd was prominent as it was almost the only place within a hundred mile radius to do anything fun.  Kids squealed as they chased each other all the way up to the entrance, their parents scolding them through gritted teeth while uttering the threat of not getting ice cream later if they didn’t behave.  It was far too cold for ice cream but to each their own.

“Well we don’t need her anyway.  She hogs up all my Will time.”  You joke, nudging an elbow into Will’s ribs.  

“There’s no need to fight over me, there’s plenty of Will to go around.”  His eyes glimmered with life, something you hadn’t seen a lot of until more recently.  He had sparked this new found confidence that had you beaming at him with pride.  Little Byers, the group’s timid little brother, the youngest out of all of the kids, was growing into himself as he worked through adolescence and it was refreshing. 

“Oh, really?  As I recall, you have a waitlist and the only reason I got ahead of everyone was because El booted herself out this one time.”  You cock a brow at him, the two of you pushing through the heavy glass doors entering the building.  “How’d you get all popular on me, huh?”  You tousled his hair and although he was now taller than you, he was still Little Byers.

“I did NOT get ‘all popular on you’.”  He uses air quotes, that huge grin still plastered to his face while you walked absentmindedly through the mall, the smell of cinnamon invading your senses, instantly filling you with a craving for a soft pretzel covered in cinnamon sugar and icing. 

“No, you’re for sure Mr. Popular now.”  You playfully assure him.  

“Trust me.”  He sing songs, rolling his eyes.  “If I were, Eddie would’ve kicked me to the curb.  And he hasn’t…so hah.”  Will points a finger in your face.  Your face winces at the name though you keep to yourself as to not rain on his parade.  “He did, however, almost disown me last night when I won against him in Mario Kart.”

Mario Kart?  Only you and Will played Mario Kart.  Or so you thought up until this point.  It’s a stupid thing to be upset over, really but you couldn’t shake the bitterness that rattled in your bones.  It was a game, a video game that basically every person on planet earth had heard of and played.  And yet the only reason it felt like such a personal attack was none other than a common occurrence in your life recently, Eddie Munson.  So maybe when you mumbled your next words, you attempted to hide the sour tone but ultimately only outed yourself.

“Mario Kart?  You play–with him?”  Pathetic, you’re pathetic.  The fact that you spoke such a stupid sentence into existence is beyond you.  There was a jealousy coursing through you, spilling out of your lips and no matter how hard you tried to shove it back into the duffle bag of your body, there was no coming back.  Over a game called fucking Mario Kart of all things.  

Will nervously wavered in his response, side eyeing you as you both continued to make your way through the mall and to the discount shoe store.  “Yeah?”  It came out as a question, god you could just punt yourself down a football field right now for being a literal adult fuming in envy over another adult playing a video game with your basically adopted little brother.  “He came over last night after work.  It was me Jonathan, and him…”  You were practically making the poor kid defend himself over something completely okay.  “He’s been coming over a lot actually?  We play DND, Mario Kart, he brings over pizza.  Like once a week since summer.”  Will acts as if you had this information.

Summer.  When Will fell into his biggest episode to date, when everyone had plans of their own including Dustin with summer camp, Mike regrettably embarking on a trip to Washington DC with his dad, Lucas traveling around for his summer basketball program, El and Max bonding over their boyfriends being away and having girls night after girls night, and of course the adults with their jobs.  He had felt so outcast and alone.  You're suddenly beginning to realize that you weren’t the only one to tend to Will’s emotional wounds besides Jonathan.  There was a bigger picture here and though you hate to step back and look at it, you’re forced to realize that Eddie was also acting as a protector of Will’s sanity, assuming just as big of a role as you and Jonathan.

You shouldn’t ask, you shouldn’t dare trek into this territory but the words tumble out before you can even think, your shoulders relaxing and eyes softening at the boy before you.  “Were you too scared to tell me?”

Will shakes his head as he hesitantly starts to enlighten you.  “No–I just–I–”  He sighs, frowning.  “I thought you already knew.  A-and I never talk about him around you–or I try not to as best as I can because–because I know how much you hate him.  Like anytime you see him you look like you just wanna rip his head off.”  Will has moved into full rambling mode.  “And now–now you work together so I’m trying to be extra careful, so–so I’m sorry.  For mentioning him.”  

You have reached a point so low that you were now unintentionally making Will apologize for things that were never his fault or ever revolved around him.  Anxiety flashes in his eyes and you were giving yourself the goldstar for being the shittiest person alive.  “Will…”  You croak out.  “Will, no.  You don’t owe anyone an apology, I owe YOU an apology.  I didn’t mean for this to affect you like that.”  You explain, pausing in front of the store.  “Will, I’m sorry.  Please never worry about mentioning him in front of me, okay?  Not for my sake, I’m a big girl and you’re right, I don’t like him but I will have to learn to deal with it whenever he comes up.  Okay?”

There’s a pause as he absorbs your words, his eyes shyly looking to the ground and then back to you.  “Okay.”  He whispers, still uncertain.  You would need to visit this again at another time, you were not about to cause more turmoil for him just because of your personal vendetta and you can’t believe you didn’t see how it affected him before.  Will had enough with his dad causing issues in his life, he didn’t need two more bickering adults further proving that no one was ever happy.  You would keep your waging war with Eddie out of his sight.  The sudden shift in the air was enough to leave you numb, quickly clinging onto any remaining normalcy from your earlier conversation.

—

The scent of freshly popped popcorn, warm and buttery goodness filled the theater as you walked drowsily into the hallway decorated with multicolored carpet and little designs of stars with abstract shapes.  Nothing ever prepares you for the feeling of seemingly being transported to another realm the second you step out of a two hour movie and back into the real world.  Every other soul that had sat through the romantic comedy appeared to feel the same, zombies waddling out of the theater and into the main lobby heading back into reality.  It had to have been around 8:30 PM by now, the day long gone as there was no longer any trace of sunlight streaming in through the windows.  Will had been talking your ear off about the movie, the parts that were super unnecessary, scenes that had him on the brink of tears, and how the twist at the end was a sloppy way to conclude the story.  You hummed in response to his complaints, nearly asleep and yearning for your bed no matter how stiff it made your back.  

“You know, now I can kinda see why El hates these movies sometimes.”  He admits much to your surprise however you knew he’d never say those words directly to her.  

“Don’t let her catch you saying that.”  You warn playfully, the two of you pushing through the heavy metal doors leading to the mall parking lot.  

“Not a chance-”

Will is abruptly silenced when a familiar voice chimes in, happily wrapping his arms around both you and Will from behind.

“You guys went to the movies!?  Why wasn’t I invited?”  Dustin’s overly excited tone made you want to groan but you held back.  It wasn’t his fault you were on your way to becoming a grumpy adult who needed to be in bed by at least 9:00 PM.  

Will shoves Dustin’s arm off of his shoulder, turning to walk backwards as you continue your trek through the parking lot.  The grin on his face is genuine rather than masking some kind of true emotions like he’d previously done throughout summer.  “Cause we saw a rom com.”  It’s all he needs to say as Dustin fakes a gag.  “That’s why.”  Will gestures to him with a roll of his eyes.  

“Fair.”

The neon lights from the theater created a glow throughout the lot, bright reds, greens, blues, and yellows reflecting off of the cars.  The mall was still buzzing with people regardless of the stores closing, groups of teenagers and young adults scattered throughout the benches at the front creating a hum of clustered talking and every now and then, the annoying screech of some teenage girl overdramatically yelling to her friends about something was heard.  Dustin and Will continued catching up and you’d think that with them seeing each other every single day at school, they’d grow sick of one another but it was quite the opposite and once you got them going there was no shutting them up, no matter the setting.

The boy’s voices slowly phased out of your mind as you approached the back of the lot catching sight of something familiar but it wasn’t yet dawning on you where you knew it from.  A van, an older van.  Brown and white.  Barely ever seen out and about these days.  And before you could even register who it belonged to, a disheveled Steve suddenly hopped out the back doors, rushing to zip up his jeans as his chest heaved and he ran a hand through his voluminous hair.  A flash of realization crossed your features, eyes widening and jaw dropping.  

Eddie Munson’s van.  

Steve Harrington was stumbling out of Eddie Munson’s van after presumably committing unspeakable acts based on his flustered demeanor and attempts at cleaning himself up.  There was no mistaking it when the back of his hand wiped his mouth and to further confirm your suspicions, the man himself stepped out seconds later.  Eddie stood there, fly still undone while he stretched both his arms over his head, shirt riding up to show off a glimpse of his pale torso.  His curls were even more wild than usual and a smirk displayed on his face as he made some kind of comment to Steve.  

In your shocked state, you’d completely drowned out Dustin and Will’s banter, attempting to understand the scene playing out before you in the corner of the parking lot.  This wasn’t possible, Steve hated Eddie just as much as you did and although it was for different reasons than your own, it was hatred nonetheless.  If that was the case then why was this happening?  How could this be happening?  The questions remained unanswered as you realized you’d stopped dead in your tracks, falling behind the boys as they turned back to stare at you with puzzled expressions.  Your next question was thrown out the window due to Dustin doing a double take at the two men.  Do I draw attention to this or do I let it go like I never saw?  

It was now too late for the second option as a gasp escaped Dustin, he just had to look right when Eddie teasingly tugged Steve in by the belt loop and planted one last sloppy kiss to his lips before retreating to the driver’s side of his van, not even bothering to zip up his pants while Steve returned to his own car.  Things were about to become massively more complicated.  For Steve.  For you.  For your friendship.  Even for Dustin and Will who were utterly flabbergasted by what had just played out in front of them.  Because everyone knows Steve hates Eddie, right?  That’s just how the world goes.  Steve hates Eddie, Eddie hates Steve.  They’re polar opposites.  Nothing was adding up and poor Dustin and Will were about to experience something you wished so badly you could hold back.  There was no controlling it, you found yourself marching up to Steve’s car before he was even able to open the door, wedging yourself between him and the car.

“Steve.”  His name is spat right at him like venom, your face showing the distaste you had for him in this moment but he couldn’t quite gather if it's because you’d caught him or if this was you and you dramatics once again over something as simple as taking a rain check on driving Max and El to the arcade since they didn’t have their licenses yet.  

“Socks?”  He has the audacity to seem lost and it only fuels the fire growing inside of you.  

“Don’t.”  You warn through clenched teeth.  

Suddenly it feels as if it's only you and Steve in the parking lot, your eyes shooting daggers at him and he can only imagine that he fucked up.  And this time it was bad by the way your face flushed with anger, steam practically coming out of your ears.  Dustin and Will kept their distance near a dumpster, close enough to listen in but still somewhat hidden.  You didn’t want them to witness what you were about to unleash but it came out of nowhere, like a dam breaking and releasing all of its contents.

“How.  Dare.  You.”  Each word is enunciated with a harsh poke to his chest, his brown eyes becoming sadder with each one.

“I don’t-”

“If you’re about to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about then I don’t even recognize you anymore, Steve.”  

He visibly deflates, shoulders shrinking as if he was a puppy that was caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to.  Except he was a grown man and he knew exactly what he was doing, he knew if you found out it would possibly cost your friendship. 

“It wasn’t supposed to–I–wasn’t–you gotta understand–”

“Understand what?  I think I understand perfectly!  You and Munson are messing around and you’re doing it behind my back!  What, is this some kind of prank?  Are–are you helping him get at me for something?  Did I push your buttons a little too hard one day and you decided to hit me where–where it hurts most?”  You were genuinely trying to name reasons for why he’d do such a thing knowing how much it would affect you but there was no making sense of it in your brain.  You were desperate to know why one of the closest people in your life would betray you in such a way.  

“No!  No I–”  

“Enlighten me then, Steve.  Cause I don’t get it!  Out of every single person you could choose, you fuck Eddie!?”  Tears were brimming at your eyes, your hand tightening on the door handle as you tried to regain some composure.

“If I may interrupt…”  Another voice chimed in a few feet away, the last voice you’d ever want to hear, especially at this moment.  “There was no fucking.”  Eddie leaned against the side of his van a few parking spots over, arms crossed and a cocky look on his face.  You swore you wanted to kill him, pure rage was coursing through your veins.  You wanted to kill both of them if you were honest.

Steve mumbled your name in sorrow, searching for answers just as much as you were.  “I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen.  I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.  It–it just happened.”  A sigh of defeat escapes him while his hand rubs the back of his neck anxiously.  

The tears began to build up, breaking the barrier of your waterline and falling down your cheeks as you attempted to quickly wipe them away.  “If you didn’t mean to hurt me then why did you hide it?  Does Robin know?”  The question held such power over him, it was a deciding factor in what your next move was.  

Seconds pass although it feels like several minutes due to the tension.  He avoids your eyes, opting to further inspect the asphalt below.  Feeling yourself becoming more agitated and wounded, you roughly shove his shoulder with the palm of your hand causing him to stumble back a few steps.

“Steve.”  Still no answer.

This time you step forward to shove him again but with both hands, unable to comprehend how he can’t even admit his truth to you, only to be stopped when a taller figure steps in between the two of you, grabbing your wrists in his hands.  It takes you by surprise and at first you have no idea who would’ve stopped you but as you look up, you’re met with deep brown irises that you’d come to dislike even more in the last few minutes.  

“Take a breather.”  There’s something in his eyes you don’t recognize but you’re too far gone to analyze it.

“Let.  Go.”  

“Take.  A.  Breather.”  His grip on your wrists is firm but not unkind.  

“Eddie, I think you should just let us–”  Steve attempts to butt in but Eddie glances behind him with a warning written on his face.

“Harrington, I’d shut up if I were you right now.”  

“You have no business stepping into this, Munson.  Let.  Go.”  Wriggling around in an attempt to get out of his hold but failing, you huff out a breath, still glaring at Steve over Eddie’s shoulder.

“It is my business.”  

“Let go.”  Your voice regrettably comes out cracking, more tears involuntarily falling.  

And he does.  Eddie lets go, showing you his hands in surrender to which you try to shove past him only to be held in place by your shoulders.  It felt like it was you against the world and you kept losing.  

“Look, I know you’re not my biggest fan and now you’re not Harrington’s either but you need to take a minute.”  Again, you meet his eyes briefly only to find some kind of emotion lurking in them but you can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.  This isn’t something you’re used to, why was Eddie being the middleman, why was he talking you down out of everyone?  Why was there a drop of sympathy pouring from his gaze?  And then you decided, it had to have been sympathy for Steve, not you.  And that stung for some reason.  

Poor Dustin and Will still lingered near the dumpster, deciding to keep themselves out of it, rightfully so.  Even as you glanced toward them, taking in their concerned faces, you continued.  It was like something was set off deep within you and Steve’s actions released it.  Grabbing a fistful of Eddie’s shirt in your hand, you scowled at him and then Steve.  

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I do when you’re about to do something you’ll regret.  In front of Dustin and Will.”  That’s where he got you.  Releasing his shirt, you sigh.

You weren’t sure what you were about to do but you knew it was something along the lines of verbally ripping Steve apart and possibly trashing any chance of ever redeeming your friendship.  You slowly realized that you were again, creating reason for Will to see you as a loose canon.  Another adult in his life that flew off the rails and failed him because you proved that you could not handle simply existing in the same world as Eddie Munson.  And yet, Eddie Munson was standing right in front of you trying to talk you out of creating such a horrible reality.  Suddenly you felt so small, so insignificant as each one of them stared at you, awaiting your next actions almost fearfully.  Steve was apologetically gazing at you from behind Eddie, seeming to have words lodged in his throat but not succeeding in finding a way to speak them.  Will watched you with worry, Dustin next to him with an expectant expression.  You couldn’t bear to exist anymore since showing Will that side of yourself after assuring him earlier that you’d be fine and to not refrain from mentioning Eddie just because of your own personal issues.  

So you crumbled.  Right there in the parking lot at around 8:57 PM according to a peek at Eddie’s watch, his hand still resting atop your shoulder.  Hot, fat tears began rolling down your cheeks rather than the smaller, more controlled ones from earlier.  Steve urgently moved forward but Eddie removed one hand from you and held it in front of him to stop, Steve staring at him confused but still obeying.  You began to stumble backward, the urge to hide yourself prominent but Eddie held you in place for reasons unknown.  His attention wasn’t required in this situation, he should theoretically just hop into his van and drive off but he doesn’t. 

Out of the corner of your blurry vision Will approached and yet again Eddie held a hand out as a signal to stop.  It was all too overwhelming, why was Eddie helping?  Or was he sabotaging in some fucked up way?  Using your moment of weakness against you.  How could you let yourself lash out like that in front of Will?  Even in front of Dustin?  The right thing to do would’ve been to wait to talk it out with Steve in private but no, you had to self sabotage.  And now you looked like a villain despite Steve being the one who did the damage.  Sure Eddie could be to blame too however something like this was to be expected from him, never from your best friend.  

Body shaking, you began to feel paralyzed, nerves tingling and breath shallow as you succumbed to your anxiety.  Everyone’s eyes on you didn’t aid in calming your tantrum.  It wasn’t fair, you weren’t the one betraying your friend and yet it felt as if you were taking the blow.  Will frantically looked from you to Eddie, having trouble deciding if you were crying because of Eddie or because of Steve or both.  This was out of his scope and he couldn’t distinguish a path to follow in order to bring you peace.  But he didn’t need to.

“Byers, Henderson.  Ride home with Harrington.  I’ll take her home.”  Eddie instructs, no longer touching you but still keeping his eyes glued to you, wide but attentive.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  Will asks cautiously.

“You think it’s a good idea to put her in a car with Harrington right now?”  Eddie references your outburst with a raise of his brow, Will nodding immediately in understanding.

If you had to be in a car with one of them, Eddie seemed to be the better option at the moment.  No matter how much you hated him, he wasn’t your target right now and judging by the way you didn’t run from Eddie as he tried to coax you toward the van, everyone seemed to agree this was the only option.  God only knows what would happen if you were placed in the passenger seat of Steve’s car in this state.  You weren’t thinking clearly.

You vaguely recall Dustin offering to walk you to the passenger side and Eddie responding that he was taking care of it and that he was trying to keep the environment the least bit stimulating due to your current anxiety.  Adding another person might’ve made things worse and Dustin agreed as he made his way to Steve’s car.  You caught pieces of the exchange but overall you found yourself in that frightening place between reality and your brain that wasn’t allowing you to fully understand the events happening around you and you couldn’t determine what exactly had set it off but one moment you were standing in the parking lot screaming at Steve, the next Eddie was urging you to take a breath, and then you were in the passenger seat of his van.

~end~

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