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oftenderweapons · 2 years ago

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Sugar and Spice | MYG | Ep.5

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Spice)

Wordcount: 6.2k

Rating: 16+

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, bartender!Yoongi

Synopsis: Halloween at Ginger’s shows you one more face of the small town you’ve recently moved to. It also shows you one more face of the man you’re growing closer and closer to, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: There’s some mild spice, just a little pda in a crowded bar, behind the counter, where no one seems to be watching. Also, general fondness, nothing explicit. Mild swearing.

A/N: Super late. No, this series is not dead, just comatose, but in my defence this chapter is longer and juicier hehe! This fall I should finally be able to complete with the last 2 updates. Next update will be around Thanksgiving/First week of December (LOL) and the final chapter for Christmas yayyy. Also, unbetaed, so be kind 💜🥰

Here is my general masterlist! Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Ginger’s was packed.

You pressed yourself tighter to counter, the crowd feeling a bit overwhelming.

You had never grown used to the clubbing scene and the current situation felt a bit too much clubby for your taste.

Yoongi looked exhausted but he kept going. He pressed forward. Jeongguk kept his pace, carrying drinks atop his head in a tray, moving through the crowd.

Halloween.

What a hell of a day.

Tens of students had taken over the bar, some of them clumsily trying to be invested in the festivity while it was pretty obvious they just wanted to hang out and drink a lot.

Seokjin was assisting Yoongi while Buttercup was helping Jeongguk.

Namjoon stood by the entrance, looking very large and very intimidating, checking ID cards and keeping an eye on the room.

With a little more than ten tables, Ginger would have hosted maybe forty people on its busiest days, but tonight they were easily around sixty — and they would have been more if Namjoon weren’t sending some away, until the place got less packed.

“Hey, I’m here!” Hoseok reached the front of the bar just in time. “Jimin’s on the way. This must be hell.”

“It is,” Yoongi agreed. “Can we switch, I need the restroom.”

You got out of the way and let Hoseok take Yoongi’s spot behind the counter.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—” you interjected.

“No. I’ll need you later, you can rest for now.” Yoongi slipped away through the crowd.

It was almost midnight and the room had been full for three hours now.

You desperately wanted to offer Buttercup a break, but it’s not like you knew how the place worked, or what each drink cost or what you were actually supposed to do with orders.

You looked around, praying for something — anything — to do, beggin Seokjin with your eyes to give you anything, anything do to.

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. He threw you a rag next. “Dry the glasses.”

“Oh Lord, thank you,” you swooned, opening the washer’s door and starting to dry a large beer glass.

You were deep into your small task, standing at the back of the counter, when you felt a hand on your hip. “You don’t need to,” Yoongi said loudly at your ear, trying to speak over the chaos of the bar.

“I want to help,” you objected, trying not to look disappointed at his hand drawing back. You watched it, in all its tattooed glory, reach for his cup of water. He leaned in closer in the process, his chest touching your back.

You tried not to lean in. Tried. Tried very hard.

You controlled yourself, but suddenly standing up straight and having a spine felt pointless. You slouched a little against him.

Yoongi noticed, his cheeks heating at your small gesture. “Are you tired?” His mouth was closer to your ear this time. He tipped his head forward, shielding you from the apocalypse going on in the rest of the room. It was your cocoon, your immaculate haven where he always ended up when he was with you.

Maybe he wasn’t shielding you, maybe he was just stepping into your safety zone, your intimate space, the halo that seemed to surround you. You radiated the same eternal, vibrant calm that inhabited the woods.

It was like being back there, among the trees, your hand in his.

A shiver ran down his spine.

And he realised where it came from. He felt like a puppet on strings: your index finger was grazing a straight line going from his wrist bone to his elbow.

It was like the room went to twenty below zero only to spark up in a supernova. His entire body was on fire.

“Yoongi?” You managed to say, not really sure he heard you.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re tired.” Your hand moved to the inside of his arm.

His other arm snaked around your waist. It wasn’t him securing you to his chest. It was him leaning on you for stability.

His knees felt weak. He felt like he would melt to the floor in a minute if you kept up the small, distracted little touches. They seemed so careless, yet so cruelly calculated to make him surrender to the special gravity of your body, to the dark magic of your essence.

“I asked first,” he managed to bite back, though his voice sounded significantly softer than he had intended.

“But you look more exhausted.”

He put down the glass — he hadn’t even tried to drink. “Yes, I’m tired.”

You placed your palm against the back of his hand, your thumb hooked around his, digging at the hollow between his thumb and his index. “Here,” you murmured.

You felt his face lean against the side of your head. He kind of whimpered.

“It’s a pressure point,” you tried to explain.

He was still for a few seconds before his right hand left your midriff. An instant later it was nudging your other hand. “This one too,” he mumbled.

You smiled and he felt it. “It’s okay. Do you need some rest?”

He shook his head. He just needed you. He needed whatever you were doing to him.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Liquid fire was boiling in your belly and it rampaged wilder when he nodded, his nose digging into your hair, face nuzzling closer to the back of your ear. You could feel his breath, the way he held it before releasing it slowly through his mouth, his lip touching your skin.

Heat spread between your thighs, the heaviness of arousal so unfamiliar, so confusing, and yet so welcome.

You moved your thumbs to the center of his palms, rubbing circles into them.

You had been staring at those hands all night as they gripped, cut, ground, pressed, mixed, and other fancy things you didn’t have a name for — not that the name mattered, they all had been generically categorised into “extremely mundane actions that turn into hardcore erotica when performed by Min Yoongi’s hands”.

“What if they need you back to work?” you mused, leaning your head closer to him.

He was lost. He didn’t hear you. He just traced the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose, your skin feeling so magnetic to his lips. It was a mermaid’s call.

He caved in.

He felt you shiver against him.

He couldn’t control himself anymore.

His lips were laying against the side of your neck, his hands hijacking your massage and turning the tables. It was your hands being held by his now, a delicate tango of fingers and ink.

Maybe you were wound a bit too tight, but it felt sexual — better than sex, even. Or at least, better than the sex you hadn’t had in a year or so.

“I wonder if this feels as good as what you did to me,” he wondered, his fingers sliding against the back of your hands and slithering in the valley between each of your digits. And then he pressed against the flesh of your palms, at the base of your fingers.

It took your breath away.

You didn’t know how long you’d been spooned against each other, you just knew it wasn’t long enough and it was too right.

“Spice, I’m gonna kiss your neck,” he said. “You’d better tell me now if you don’t want it.”

You didn’t know what to do. Your lips were sealed shut, no way to push words out.

“I won’t do it unless you say something.”

“But you’re a vampire,” you managed to object, your brain ejecting that inside joke — it must have been some fucking demented fight or flight mechanism activating.

Yoongi chuckled. “Just a taste, Spice. I’ll be a good boy forevermore.”

Your neck went slack. You tipped your head back, landing on his shoulder. And then his lips met your pulse, just against your carotid.

He felt your heartbeat flutter and then gallop wild, a beast on the loose.

His arms wrapped around your middle, his hands still covering yours. He held you tighter as his lips parted and you felt the wet of his mouth. And his tongue.

You moaned.

His hips pressed against your behind.

You felt your brain malfunction. “Yoongi,” you managed to babble, right before you were once more rendered speechless by his teeth caressing the softness of your skin. It lasted a millisecond before he kissed you with his lips again, drying the humid patch he’d left behind. He’d been too kind, too gentle to bruise, but it felt like the skin was ten thousand times more sensitive than before, as if branded in fire.

“You taste delicious, Spice,” he purred. “I have a question for you. Do you think you can answer, sweets?”

You nodded — not because you actually understood anything he’d said, but rather because you’d agree to anything he’d ask of you. You’d give him permission to anything.

He grinned, probably knowing you were too absent to understand him. “Let’s see. Do you think that a man, once he’s tasted heaven, can live the rest of his life with just a taste of it? Do you think he’ll starve? Or do you think he’ll commit even the most despicable of acts just to have one more taste? Just a tiny morsel…”

You wanted to ask him the same question. Could that tiny morsel, his lips to your neck, ever be enough? Or would you spend the rest of your life wondering what his lips would feel like on your own lips, to the palms of your hands, between your shoulder blades, against your chest, your breasts, between your legs? Would you commit crimes just to have them again?

“Spice?” He called, trying to make you focus.

“Again, please,” you mouthed the words, not really sure any sound came out.

He felt his face heat up as he thought about what he would do next. A part of him wanted to give in, another was desperate to step off. He had never played this game before. He didn’t know the rules, he didn’t know the moves, he didn’t know what would make him win. He just played it by ear. He said what he wanted to say the most.

“No. Just a taste, remember? That was our deal.” He waited for you to sag against him, to feel a little hopeless before he added, “Next time this happens I won’t starve. Next time you’ll be naked and I’ll be too. Next time there’ll be so much skin to kiss. It will be a damn banquet, Sugar.”

He heard you purr, the vibration echoing from your back into his chest.

He chuckled cruelly. “Back to work.” He let go of your abruptly and you struggled staying upright for a second.

He stabilised you with a gentle hold of your hips. “Hold steady, Spice.”

And then he was gone.

You hadn’t had a drag of a cigarette since your sophomore year of college, but now you were craving one. It was illogical and silly and immature and you were too old, too old for a stupid crush like this.

You had never been a creature of passion. Your previous relationship had been steady and quiet, and now you were crushed in this windmill that threw you from tenderness and comfort to desire and lust.

And now you wanted, you wanted so much, you wanted, always.

You wanted Yoongi, with his hands made of ink and flesh and bone, you wanted his feather-like fingertips, and then there was the velvety insides of his brain, where he’d let you in so carefully, one room at a time, one song, one text, one book at a time. And the nest of his heart, that gently woven cave, that delicate masterpiece.

Laughing with Marnie at the diner, drinking spiked hot chocolate with the guys at Ginger’s, Yoongi’s giggles echoing everywhere, Hoseok making him laugh, laugh till his eyes tear up.

And him, smiling at you.

Apple pies. Cider.

And so much love.

Yoongi was bathed in love. He had so many people around him, who loved him so much, so selflessly, so warmly, without leaving anything out.

How were you supposed to resist the force pulling you to him when so many had failed, and had found nothing but a devoted friend who gave as much as he’d received, if not more?

You smoked vicariously, inhaling the thick fog produced by the smokers gathered just outside of the bar.

“Do you have a lighter?” a stranger asked right before a tattoed hand offered one.

“Here.”

You didn’t need to hear the voice to know it wasn’t Yoongi.

Jeongguk leaned against the wall behind you. “Tough night.”

“Mh.” You stood beside him, turning just a little. “You smoke?”

He pocketed the lighter as it was returned to him. “No. I just keep a lighter on me. Good way to get to meet new people, learn stories, find inspiration.”

You nodded.

He chuckled, his black eyes glimmering. “It can get a bit dull in a small, comfortable, traditionalist little town like this.” He smiled his signature boyish grin, mixed with the reddening on the very apple of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He looked adorable.

How was it that everything this town produced ends up being sweet and lovely?

You'd never had the chance to talk like this with Jeongguk, and the boy was so quiet you were often too wary to address him directly. “How come you haven't moved into a bigger city?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He shook his head with a little grin. “Not an option.” He looked in the distance and damn, if the entire moment didn’t feel fictional. “And it’s not like I hate it here. I know my roots are here and I’m meant to grow here. I wouldn’t want it any different. Difficult, but not impossible.” Another grin, his hands rubbing together to keep himself warm. “It's us— I mean, us the boys, here. We try to run, but we always come back. And if we run, we don't go far.”

You hummed. “Namjoon and Hoseok don't live here, correct?”

“Yes, they're ten minutes from here, but it's like they're here most of the time.” Jeongguk shrugged. “Yoongi belonged the moment Ginger dragged him here. He loves this place more than any of us. Because it's Ginger's place, you know. When he arrived I was still a kid, younger than all of them. I remember watching this boy sit on the back of Namjoon's bicycle and I always thought, 'wow, he's so lucky'. Namjoon had the coolest bike ever and Yoongi used to hold him around the waist with one arm, the other one grabbing a bag with his notebook inside. I spent so many afternoons observing them from afar, so jealous that Yoongi was quiet and shy like me and still had managed to fit in with the cool kids. It gave me hope, but it also made me bitter.” Jeongguk stopped his recollection for a few seconds, a frown clouding his face right before it sparked through. “And then one day I was biking around and I saw him and Seokjin fish at the lake. I studied them for a while before Yoongi asked me if I wanted to join them. Ever since that day, I became part of their crowd. His crowd, really. Like a love club.”

You had listened to Jeongguk extremely attentively, captivated by the images evoked by his tale.

“That's quite the meet cute,” you commented with a warm expression on your face.

“Indeed. But you also had a meet cute with him.” Jeongguk's expression got boyishly mischievous. “How's your relationship with Yoongi going?”

Your thoughts stumbled. “Relationship? Oh no!” You shook your hands before you. “Just friends.”

“Oh…” Jeongguk's eyebrows shot up. “I mean, I saw you getting pretty intimate in there.”

You chuckled, almost choking on air. “It was… Yeah. I mean—”

Jeongguk waited for you to find the words you were so desperately fishing for, and then smiled — a bit disrespectfully — before offering you his opinion. “Well, I have never seen Yoongi acting that… that much forward in public, with nobody, ever. And he's rather shy, so for him to act that freely among so many people, you must really mean a lot to him.” He took a pause and you were ready to interrupt him when he added, “I know you'll think I'm speaking carelessly, but I've known him for a long time, and I know he's unlikely to ask for things he wants. He always puts himself last. Just let him down easy if you can't handle him. Or if you don't want him.”

You took in the words and let them sink deep before nodding once, slowly, and replying. “I don't intend to let him down. I know how rare it is to meet someone like him. All I see is how respect and affection follow him wherever he goes.” You took a pause trying to gather your thoughts, but there was really nothing you could say other than, “I like him.”

There, explained.

“I like him, I like the people who like him, I like the people he likes, how they morph into little make-Yoongi-happy busy bees when he's around. Hell, I like myself when I'm around him and that hasn't happened in a long while.”

You inhaled through your mouth, the oxygen quite not enough as the feel, the thought of Yoongi overwhelmed you. “I just like him a lot. And it's scary and beautiful and I don't know if he likes me like I do, but dammit, I really hope so.”

Jeongguk waited and nodded. “Good.” He nodded some more and toyed with the lighter. “And well, if you think he doesn't like you after he turned into Tentacle Love Machine 3000 in there, in front of some sixty customers and his closest friends, then I'll let him know he needs to arrange something more forward, more blatant and maybe unequivocable.” Jeongguk's smirk was nothing short of conspiratorial, his eyes twinkling playfully as the lighter's flame danced in his obsidian irises.

“I like you, so I'll give you an in.” Jeongguk winked and you felt a little flustered at the man, looking so mysterious and then being so innocently sweet, so playfully young. “Yoongi's very likely to end up exhausted tonight. So exhausted he might need someone accompanying him upstairs, making sure he eats before he falls asleep in the living room, by the fireplace. And yes, he has a perfectly fine bedroom, but he still prefers sleeping by the fire when the weather gets cold and humid.” Jeongguk moved closer to you, bending a little as if he were confessing his most treasured secret. “You warm up some soup — there should be some potato soup Seokjin made him. You crumble some breadsticks inside and add some grated cheese, like a spoonful or so. Next you get him warm and cozy and make sure he soaks his feet in warm water. As they soak, you get his fuzzy socks on top of the mantelpiece. I'll get upstairs and start the fireplace before I leave, just add some wood. I'll get everything ready for you.”

Your brain felt fuzzy but you recapped everything. “Okay. Upstairs, get him warm, soup, breadsticks, soak his feet, warm his socks.”

“Next. He gets out of the bathroom, ready to be tucked in. You give him the warm socks and then that's when he needs you the most. You get him to lie down, you tuck him in and then,” Jeongguk's voice lowered, almost whispering in your ear. “You comb his hair. With your fingers, gently. You sit on the edge of the futon and touch his hair. Ten minutes and he'll be out like a light.”

You blinked and nodded. “Comb his hair.”

“Warm socks, tuck him in, comb his hair,” Jeongguk corrected you. “Got it?”

You nodded. “Got it.”

“Excellent. Make sure you don't waste your energies with the crowd. Don't worry about helping at Ginger's, your task isn't there. Your true task is taking care of Yoongi after he's done with Ginger's, okay?”

“Okay.” You were being trained to become Yoongi's personal stress reliever. And it pleased you immensely. But one last question: “Why me?”

Jeongguk tipped his head to the side, as if confused.

“Why is it my task?” you clarified.

Jeongguk shrugged. “It used to be mine. But I think it's time for a handover. He's had us for years, but we're like brothers. He deserves someone who can give him something he's never had. Because he deserves every good thing in this world and you've been not good, but outright miraculous to him. And I won't deny him that.”

Jeongguk's smile was gentle and a little sad. “If I could give him the world, I would, but I cannot. Or maybe he's not interested in the world at all. Maybe the one thing he's interested in belongs to you, and you alone.” Jeongguk shrugged before he smiled, lighting up the entire street — and your hope too.

“Don't let him go,” Jeongguk said again.

You had no intention to.

The crowd was slowly fading, Yoongi standing by the counter in a way that was one hundred percent sheer will and absolutely no strength left in his body.

It was Namjoon's task to ask the last table if they could wrap up since the bar had to close. They didn't even complain — maybe because of the way Namjoon winked and offered a smile that made you halt and reconsider your entire existence, or the way you had built your idea of him.

In five minutes everyone was pretty much collapsed at their usual table.

“I'm never doing this again. Next year I'm taking Halloween off. I'll be… I don't know. Very far away from this place.” Yoongi lifted his feet, placing them on a chair nearby and letting his legs rest.

“You say it every year and then remember all the tips and the income and say, 'fuck it, we're riding at sundown, cowboys'.”

You turned towards an exhausted Buttercup. “Does he really say that?”

“Yes. I have texts.” She would have smiled hadn't she been too busy untying her shoelaces, trying to ease the swelling of her feet. Seokjin had already left, mostly because the bakery was most certainly going to go insane on a national holiday and as much as everyone was staying up late, he was going to be waking up early instead. Something like four in the morning.

“Okay, tips everyone,” Yoongi said, forcing himself to his feet — or rather trying to before you pressed your hand to his shoulder and put him back to his place.

“I've got this.”

You grabbed the jar and placed it on the table while Yoongi started counting the money.

Jeongguk brought everyone's usuals to the table and they waited for Yoongi to be done. It didn't take long and soon everyone, though with a little bit of complaining, was pocketing their share — yes, the complaining was mostly about their presence being "an act of friendship" and "not meant for economical compensation" and Yoongi being "a bit too obsessed with the concept of fair retribution".

Still, he had placed the money on the table and had scrunched his nose and stared in annoyance until everyone had obeyed his iron will.

“Now you can all crash at your own places or come at mine for a pizza. Up to you.” Yoongi let his head hang back, hitting the back of his seat.

You met Jeongguk's stare as he met Namjoon's and tipped his head to the entrance. “We're exhausted and have enough money to pay for our own pizza, so I guess we can all up and leave, right folks?”

Namjoon hummed in agreement and wrapped an arm around Buttercup. “Let's go,” he said, helping her up. She smiled at him, her eyes barely opening as she trusted him with her own body.

He guided her, strong and reliable as you'd always seen him, and then everyone was actually leaving.

Except you.

“Come on, grab your coat,” you told Yoongi, standing up and positioning yourself beside him.

His head was still tipped backwards, his throat exposed, his eyes closed and his platinum hair splayed behind him, curling a little around the tips.

“Just a minute. Can't we just hang out here?”

“It's not hanging out if you're five minutes away from smashing your face on the table out of exhaustion. Grab your coat.”

“I'm tired,” he whined.

“Grab your coat and we're gonna take care of that next.”

He pouted and did almost as you told him — meaning that you grabbed the coat and he wore it.

Next he stood up, looking like a little deer on shaky legs, and followed you out of the front door.

You shut the light, locked the door and led him to the next door. “Come on,” you said, trying a thick key that could possibly match the wooden gate in front of you. The lock clicked lowly.

“Spice?”

You turned and his softest expression hit you like a train on a track.

“Yes?”

“You're coming upstairs?” He was hoping for a yes, and it was so see through on his face.

“Only if you want me to.”

He nodded to himself. He took a couple steps and started up the stairway to his apartment. “I want you to,” he said, without looking back. “I really do.”

You followed him suit.

Jeongguk had really started the fireplace and four large logs were waiting by its side. You also noticed there was a tupperware box on top of the counter next to some breadsticks.

You were ready to get to the kitchen, focusing on the task at hand rather than the new environment, when Yoongi turned around and spread his arms in front of him.

It was a bit confusing but once he took a step towards you your reaction was natural — and also, apparently, the right one. You spread your arms too and let him walk into your embrace, his face snuggling close to your neck.

Your spine was vibrating at how good it felt, how insanely tender and wholesome, but still a little bit forbidden. A secret for the two of you.

Your fingertips toyed with the soft hair at his nape. “Go get changed, Yoongi. Get comfy, you're too tired.”

“One more minute, please.”

“I'll give you all the minutes you want once you're wearing something fuzzy, warm and soft.” You held the sides of his face, the gesture coming so naturally, and yet your fingers sizzled with the sudden intimacy of it all. It was too tender for something friends do.

His cheeks were chilly and deliciously supple and smooth. You ran your thumbs across them and Yoongi's eyes rolled closed.

“Sweetcheeks,” you cooed, like some string of your heart had been plucked.

He let his head fall forward, the crown of it pressing to your face.

“You're too tired for this.” You helped his head upright and took off his beanie. Next, you took off his coat and your own. “Just go wear your comfy clothes. Take a shower, whatever. I'll get you some food, okay?”

As a reply, his head tumbled onto your shoulder, his hands searching for your waist. “Can't we just grab a quick nap?”

“No. Take a warm shower and get in your comfy clothes.”

With a pout, he obeyed. “Good boy,” you called as he stomped his way to the bathroom. You noticed the socks neatly folded on the coffee table and unrolled them, following Jeongguk's instruction precisely, first with the socks and then with the soup.

When Yoongi emerged from the corridor he was wrapped up in a fuzzy zip-up sweater and flannel pyjama pants.

He was wearing slippers but his ankles were bare.

He headed straight to the fireplace to grab his socks and then reached you in the kitchen.

“So you're on Survival of the Yoongi duty tonight,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Precisely.” You poured him some soup and added the crumbled bread sticks on top.

Yoongi nodded to himself.

“Good. Are you gonna tuck me in and read me bedtime stories next? Or are you gonna get changed in comfy clothes too so I won't feel awkward?”

Your voice came out alarmed. “Am I making you feel awkward?”

“Just a little. I think I'm looking for an excuse to make you too lazy to leave before tomorrow morning.” Yoongi thanked you for the soup and dug in, wolfing in two spoonfuls before asking, “Wait, aren't you going to eat? I swear it's pretty dope for being a soup. Seokjin made it, it's gourmet.”

“You want me to sleep here?” The question came out straightforwardly, as if you hadn't even acknowledged the soup part of the discourse.

“I mean, if you'd like. It's almost one in the morning and it's cold outside. I don't want you to walk alone and I don't want you to head home where you'll have to start the fire and get your own meal ready and spend time and energies on that when there's a perfectly fine home right here.” With someone who would love cuddling with you till you fall asleep, he didn't add.

“I don't want to intrude.”

“But what if it doesn't feel like intruding to me? I mean, I know my perception doesn't change your own, but if you think you're intruding because you think I feel like you're intruding, well, I don't feel like you're intruding.”

You blinked four or five times as you parsed his sentence and he seemed as confused as you were.

“I don't think what I said really made sense.”

You nodded. “I think it does.”

“Stay,” he said plainly. “I'd love to have you around. And this has nothing to do with what went on earlier, when we… you know. Well, it actually has a tiny bit to do with that, but not much, almost nothing at all.”

You gulped down some more soup — true, the bread sticks really gave it a kick — and argued, “Yoongi, this is not helping me understand.”

He hummed and swallowed his mouthful of soup, scraping the spoon against the bottom of the plate. “I mean, I'm not asking you to be here because I want to sleep with you — I mean, to get… To have sex with you.” His cheeks were on fire. “I just relax when you're around and at the same time I feel like I've been electrocuted — in a good way.”

You chuckled at this analogy. “I understand. I feel like that too.”

“You've been told to take care of me. Let me take care of you too. And I mean that platonically. Affectionately and fondly.”

You thought about it for maybe three seconds. “Okay. But just one thing. I haven't been told to take care of you. I chose to do so.” You stood, ready to head anywhere his gaze wouldn't be inspecting you.

“Let me find you something cosy to wear,” he spoke with his most quiet voice, almost as if he were reminding himself rather than telling you.

You followed him, trying not to look like you were snooping. The upright piano in the living room was decorated with framed pictures, and more pictures hung along the corridor, on both walls.

The bathroom was small but looked tidy and organised, two closed doors and then his room, closed too but looking way less desolate.

From a drawer by the bed he found a fluffy sweatshirt that seemed made for hiking, and flannel pants. And socks.

“Here. You saw the bathroom, make yourself at home.”

Yoongi had just finished placing the dishes in the dishwasher when he heard your footsteps.

“Hey,” he called, letting you know that you'd been spotted.

“Hey.”

You had known Yoongi for almost two months now but being in his home for the first time and in his clothes already made you feel a strange twinge of homesickness you had never felt in your own house.

It was like a dull ache, right below your heart, where you kept all the memories of being at home with your parents, but most importantly that dream of a house you had planned with your ex. That house he'd spat upon, together with your best friend.

“Spice.” Yoongi's voice had no pretense of distance. It was mellow and gentle like his chamomile syrup. “Is it strange for you? Me asking you to stay over?”

Just a little, but mostly it's strange because it doesn't feel strange at all. It feels right and I want it. “I mean, I haven't been hanging out with a male friend in a long while and after what happened earlier… I don't know. I think the subtext could be pretty rich, so to speak.”

He looked a bit awkward standing in the middle of the room, clearly embarrassed, before he plopped onto the sofa. “I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” He averted his gaze. “I played it by ear, but it's like trying to improvise a song you've never heard.” He chuckled and rubbed his nape with his palm before tucking his hands between his knees, palms pressed together.

You sat beside him on the sofa, feeling just a bit funny before realising it wasn't awkwardness buzzing through you. It was excitement.

“I felt…” Your eyes met his. Galvanized. Electrocuted. Like I'd been jumpstarted. “It was unexpected. In a good way.”

“Trust me, I didn't expect to feel like that either. Or to act like that. It just… I just trusted my gut.”

“And it's nice that you did.” You bumped his knee with yours.

He bumped yours back. “So? What now?”

You glanced at him in your peripherals. “Now we…” We kiss and you show me what those hands can do all over me. If they're as magical as they seem. We kiss and I am the one tasting your neck this time around. I explore each and every part of your body until I've rolled out every drop of exhaustion out of you. And after that you collapse at my side and rest and once you wake up it's my turn to be ravished.

Reality check.

“Now we take a nap cause you're barely coherent,” you stated sweetly and assertively at the same time.

Yoongi pouted, ready to protest before realising that, after all, he needed to know you better, that the conversation he wanted to have wouldn't last only a couple minutes due to his drowsiness.

“So, should we go to bed?” He looked at you with his dark eyes, the flames from the fireplace making them glow like obsidian. The room was comfortably dim, only the fire and a small lamp illuminating it.

“Or we can stay here.”

“Oh, come on!” he objected. “I won't let you sleep here, I have a perfectly comfortable bed with a crazy expensive mattress, it'd be a shame to sleep on this thing.”

But you were already making yourself comfortable and grabbing a blanket, twice as soft as everything you'd ever owned. It was double-faced, on one side faux shearling, on the other delicate grey velour. “God, where did you buy this?” you mused, flopping onto your side and throwing the blanket over you.

“It's a gift from the guys from last Christmas. But we can take that to bed with us. Come,” he tried to convince you.

“No, you come here and lay down and we can cuddle in front of the fireplace where it's toasty and warm and romantic.”

At the mention of the 'romantic' bit, Yoongi simply gave up. “I just need you to stand for a minute. So I can open up the futon and make room for both,” he explained so you wouldn't oppose.

You forced yourself back to your feet and watched him struggle a bit before the frame of the sofa creaked and flattened; next, he unfolded the mattress and patted it down. “Come on,” he whispered.

In ten seconds you were both laying down, Yoongi taking the middle while you took the space closer to the fire. You turned around to face him.

“Are you ready to fall asleep?” you asked, feeling your eyes so heavy.

“Just…” he folded his legs into fetal position and tucked his hands between his knees. “Like this.”

You reached over to his hair and ran your fingers through it, smoothing it lovingly past his ear, caressing his cheek in the process.

“Thank you so much for everything,” he murmured. “Not just tonight. For being my friend, you know.”

Incapable of holding yourself back, you bent over and pressed your lips to his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then his cheek. His tender, full cheek. And another, and another. He stretched his legs so you could move closer, and you did, your knees and his playing tetris until everything clicked and he could rest his forehead in the nook between your face and your chest, your nose buried in his hair.

He smelled of argan oil and cocoa.

Taglist is open! Leave a comment or reblog to keep a writer motivated!

Navi: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

#Yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #Yoongi x yn #Thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #52hertz #Sugar and spice #yoongi x spice

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wlwmarvelenthusiast · 4 years ago

Note

AU with vampire Natasha x reader with a happy end? Please and thanks.

May I present to you: vampire Natasha and werewolf reader.

Stakes and Silver Bullets

Summary: Hunting at the full moon with Natalia by your side is a perfect cross between heinous and beautiful. One particular night proves that it can also be dangerous.

Pairings: Vampire!Natasha x Werewolf!Reader

Warnings: Repeated mentions of blood

Word Count: 4,485

To most people, the moon represented the fall of night. It was just this simple rock in the sky that reflected just enough sunlight that the planet wasn’t tossed into darkness as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Sure, artists might have loved the way it bathed the land before it in a different type of glow, and maybe some people could appreciate the beauty that was so much gentler than the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. For you, it was different. The moon was beauty and terror all wrapped up in one, simple celestial body.

Tonight, the moon wasn’t quite full, but it almost was. You didn’t have to check a calendar or even take a single glance out the window to know that. You felt it in your very bones. It was urging and primal. It had erased every other thought that might have flitted through your mind. In comparison to it, they were irrelevant. The glowing orb spoke to you. It made your soul sing along to its silent melody, your heart pounding to the steady beat. It was your very reason for being. But so was she.

“When is your night?”

You turned. There she was, the bright moonlight streaming through the window she sat at, shining upon her and making her glow even more beautifully than was her usual. Her red hair was still tousled from her midnight hunt, like dancing flames falling over her shoulders. Your eyes fell to the stain on her white dress, even redder than her hair. You only hummed in response as you stood up from your chair, paper and quill abandoned on the desk thoughtlessly. You moved toward her, arms moving delicately around her waist. Soon, you were standing with your head buried against her neck, revelling in that familiar feeling of the cold surface, lack of a throbbing pulse comforting in the strangest of ways.

“Tomorrow.”

She was clearly resisting still, refusing to succumb to the arousal she knew would start building any second now. “And how are you feeling on this eve?”

You actually growled a little, the sound canine in a way that no simple person would be able to achieve. “Primal.”

She hummed contentedly as you brushed your lips against the skin where you rested. You pulled away, delicately pressing the pads of your fingers against the underside of her chin, directing her lips onto yours. She immediately responded, her hands moving onto your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as you kissed her. The taste of blood in her mouth was exhilarating. Everything about her was. You ran your tongue along sharp fangs, loving the slight sting in the muscle as the surface scratched open. She retracted immediately.

“You are truly foul, my love,” she said, disgust crossing her features as she wiped her thumb against her lips, removing your blood from her mouth.

Maybe that’s why the two of you worked so well. This proximity with any other person would have been enthralling. The smell alone would have had her digging her fangs into the pulsing artery in their neck. That sweet substance that flowed through the veins of any breathing person was irresistible to that person she’d become all those years ago. You weren’t just any person. You had the blood of a wolf, and it repulsed her.

She was void of any of the substance. Those nights when you lost yourself, when you let that beast take over you completely, she was of no interest to you. The townsfolk were all you cared for- all you ached to taste between your lips. She would take hunt beside you, by your side during night as well as day, love burning so strong within you both even when you were doing things so hideous.

You were both killers. You were among the most hideous things that dared walk the Earth among things so beautiful. Monsters already, what was the harm in loving one another? You’d be burned at the stake for the blood that ran through your veins anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least now, neither of you was alone. You loved each other fully and entirely. If love was a human emotion, then she was your humanity, and you were hers.

“Foul? Is that so, Natalia, my beloved?” You jeered, a smile crawling across your lips. “Who is it that loves you so dearly?”

Her taunting halted immediately at the husk in your words. Your hands were sliding down from where you’d had them linked over her shoulders, fingers sliding over the silky fabric that draped over her body. Your gaze wouldn’t leave hers, the image of the moon shimmering in your irises as if it were a reflection of the beast that lived within. She knew who you were. She was the only one who knew who you really were, and she loved every piece of you, including that beast, with her unbeating heart. Her words caught in her throat for a long moment.

“You,” she couldn’t help but hum as your hands squeezed her hips. “Only you.”

Your hands slid down to her thighs over top of her dress. “I know.”

Your hands moved away. Despite the small whine that escaped her, it seemed the absence of your touch allowed her to regain her composure a little. Your fingertips danced across her chest and against the pendant that you’d given her a year ago. It was a gift, something you reasoned you earned for her, even if you’d taken off the lifeless body you’d woken up next to after a long night of feral canine power. She leaned forward to kiss you once more, but you leaned away from her, a smile on your face. You extended a hand.

“Come.”

She put her hand into yours and you led her toward the bedroom. Her lips touched yours once more. The feeling would always be so much stronger and far more intoxicating than the feeling of the full moon inching closer day by day. The moon used to be the thing that made you. It had once been your heart and your soul, and it had guided you through every aspect of your life. That was years ago. Today, it was her. Everything was her.

“I love you,” she whispered, red eyes boring into yours with such intensity you were sure she could read every single piece of your soul.

“And I you, my love.”

You embraced her, lying her down and kissing her again.

Tomorrow, she’d be with you in a way that would make the townsfolk cower in their homes, as if thin walls were any defence against your combined bloodlust. Her thirst and your hunger had wooden doors shattered into splinters within seconds of discovering the scent of life, or the sound of a terrified heart beating inside a breathing chest. Nothing would keep either of you away from that.

That night, though, wasn’t about the kill. It wasn’t about what you would do in the future at all. Right then, you lay with your skin against hers in the most sinful of ways. Hers was so cold but the canine blood running beneath yours was hot, as if you were made to balance each other out. Her lips were roaming across your torso and your hand was moving toward that part of her body only you knew. If you weren’t already damned from the wolf in your spirit or the blood that had spilled beneath you each month, then you’d surely be for lying with a woman in such a way. That, though, would have been a risk you’d have been willing to take.

Still, you had to wonder if those other nights were just as intimate. On those nights with her, when the moon was at its fullest and her body ached for that bitter taste it needed so badly, you felt so close. Those nights weren’t necessarily something you wanted. They were something you needed; to fulfill those carnal needs and satiate your body in a way nothing else could. Without those nights, neither of you would survive to love each other through to the next moon. When she was by your side, performing those nefarious acts and satisfying her most primal of needs, you were both showing that part of you that you knew only the other would ever be able to love. That meant just as much to you as hearing your name tearing desperately from her lips on a silent night like that one.

As the body beneath you began shuddering uncontrollably and your name was repeatedly thrown into the cool air like a prayer, you decided it didn’t matter. You had both. It didn’t matter which brought you closer. Both things brought her a satisfaction that made you just as content. Both would have you watching her with love coursing through your veins hot as lava and yet somehow as cold as ice. Maybe that’s what made them so intimate. How you loved loving her and how you loved being at your very worst by her side.

“How are you feeling, my darling?” You cooed softly, loving the way she threw her head back for you upon hearing your words.

You grinned a little as her shaking subsided. She kissed you with a force and passion behind it that any living person would have lost the energy to do. Even you were worn out. When she pulled her lips off yours, you couldn’t help but fall back against the pillows, breathing a little heavier than usual. She chuckled at this, beckoning you to come closer to her bare body. You did so without hesitation.

“Goodnight,” she whispered as you lay down at her side.

“Hold me, Natalia?”

“Always.”

It amazed you, the patience she had. She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t need it. Yet, her arms would wrap around you as you drifted off to a world where still your dreams were of her, and when you’d awaken, she’d be in that same spot right by your side. It was endearing, and made you lean to kiss her each and every morning. Each of those mornings she’d ask you the same questions: wondering how you slept and making sure her arms hadn’t been too tight around you. She did, after all, have the strength of a mammoth.

Your answer was always the same, too. You were fine. You would always be okay, as long as she was by your side. You both knew that if she had blood beneath her skin, she would blush. She would still giggle softly, turning her cheeks away from you on instinct, as if they were burning with that bright colour of embarrassment. The action was sweet. It would make you smile as you reached out for her, bringing her back against your chest for another few minutes before the both of you decided to venture out into the other rooms of your house.

Maybe it was the nightmare you’d had last night, but something was off in the woman you loved. She was busy sitting in one of the armchairs in the other room, cowering away from the sunlight that had managed to penetrate the small crack in the boards over the windows. You covered it up, taking away that dangerous ray of light as you moved swiftly to take a spot beside her. Your fingers threaded into hers with one hand, as the other came up to her cheek. Her face was filled with such concern, and it was making your heart ache.

“Natalia?” You tried ever so softly. “Speak to me, my dove.”

Slowly, her eyes turned to yours. “One day you will depart from this world, and I will be left without you, and you own a piece of me. I will never be whole without you.”

Truthfully, your mind sometimes wandered to that inevitable day as well. You worried, the thought constantly in the back of your head, wreaking havoc on your mind every time it dared wander to the event. It had taken her more than a hundred years to find someone to love the way she loved you, and the two of you were interconnected in a way you were sure a mortal person could never dream to understand.

You reached out for one of the old wooden chairs, bringing it toward you and, in a flair of theatrics, snapped off one of the legs. The superhuman act seemed to have quite the effect on her. Her tongue darted out from between her lips, eyes tracing the strong muscles on your arms. You chuckled, moving forward and flipping the broken chair leg over in the air, catching it back in your hand.

“When I depart from this world, my dearest of loves, you take this. If you find that you cannot bear this life without me, then follow me.”

She took the broken piece of furniture into her own hands. It was the only thing that could tear her from the life she’d been so long living. Splinters of wood fell from the end, scattering silently on the floor. She ran her fingertips over the old wooden stake, and you could tell she was wondering what it might feel like to have it driven through her heart. She set it on her lap and looked up at you, head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“And what if something befalls me?”

That was something you’d thought about before as well. She may have been unsusceptible to time, but she wasn’t so to the weapons the townsfolk brandished whenever they heard the name of the monster that lived over the hillside. Losing her would tear you apart, and you knew that, after all this time with her, you’d never be able to survive without her. That was a fact you’d long accepted.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out something so small you could hold it between two fingers. “Then I will follow you into the next life.”

The silver bullet shone in the candlelight, glistening as if to taunt you, knowing it was the only thing that would ever hurt you.

She beckoned you. You pocketed the small piece of metal once more, sitting down beside her as she brought you into her arms as if you were the most delicate material on the planet. That was how you stayed, knowing now that you would never have to live on a planet that didn’t have her, and she wouldn’t have to live without you. It was comforting in the most morning of ways. It seemed though, that was your normal: morbid and loving.

That was how you remained that day. She didn’t like you exerting yourself the day of a full moon. It kept you up all night and, if you didn’t rest the day before, you’d be worn when the sun came back up. She wouldn’t let that feeling of absolute exhaustion take over you. She could hardly remember how it even felt, having not rested for so many years, but she knew she didn’t like when you were uncomfortable.

You were only made aware of the time when the candle died out in front of you. You squirmed in her arms, kissing her cheek when she let you go. You peeked out the window to get the last glimpse of an orange sunset over the horizon. You couldn’t help but grin as you felt something tugging deep within your chest. You turned back toward the woman behind you, eyes already glowing with that golden shine when you did.

“My, is it time already?” She chuckled, rising from her seat so that she could run a hand lovingly down your cheek. “Let me know when we leave, my darling girl.”

You burst out the door just as that last glow of the sun finally faded out. The way your body bathed in the moonlight was addicting. You felt every last bit of human in you fade away, golden eyes reflecting that white orb in the sky as you watched it, morphing into that canine form that would make the townsfolk tremble in fear. The feeling of your body becoming who it was meant to be was indescribable, but it was so right.

You didn’t attempt to suppress the canine howl that erupted from your gut. It would have been unstoppable, and letting it out was like breathing out a breath that you’d been holding in all month. At the sound, too, she finally stepped through the front door, the sunlight that reflected off the moon not enough to hurt her in the way it did in the day. She took one look at you, eyes still so full of love even when you were in this form.

“You sound excited, love.”

You couldn’t have answered her if you wanted to.

The two of you tore off toward the town at a speed that would have had any regular person reeling. The doors were all shut and locked tight. You let her break down the first one. You approached, standing back and staring at hers, two sets of unnatural eyes locking in a passionate gaze. She smiled ever so gently before she moved forward, tearing the door off its hinges.

The screams from the couple inside only fueled you forward. You raced into the house, headed immediately for whatever beating heart she hadn’t already claimed. The man begging for life beneath you couldn’t have been more than twenty. He was pleading and sobbing and chanting his girl’s name, not knowing that yours had already killed her. You made sure to silence his cries.

Natalia was done long before you were. Even as you fed, you felt her eyes on you. It didn’t bother you. She never judged you, and she never would. How could she, being a monster herself? When you pulled away, blood coating your lips and cheeks, dripping down your neck and onto your chest, her pupils dilated a little. She moved forward, using her thumb to brush some of the blood off your cheek and putting it to her own lips.

“Shame. You taint that sweet taste,” she chuckled a little, letting you eye the red substance that was dripping down the corner of her mouth. “You are, however, still as beautiful as you are on any night.”

You wished you could kiss her right then, instead settling for the press of her forehead against yours. You could actually feel your heartbeat shift so that it drummed in time with hers. It was a long couple moments of that, her against you like you were the only two people in the entire world, before she finally pulled away. She smirked as she looked you up and down.

“Repulsive.”

You would have laughed.

The two of you moved through the village like that for a little longer, finding your next victim stupidly roaming the street at midnight on a full moon. You agreed to share the meal with the woman who’d actually been the one to catch it. You took a few steps back, watching as his face paled as Natalia drained the blood from his body. You could hardly believe how beautiful she looked. The moonlight hit every feature just right, illuminating her in a soft glow.

She stood when she’d finished, hand caressing your cheek as she did. “Had your fill yet, my darling?”

You shook your head no.

Neither of you had time, though, to go in search of your next meal. When you turned around, one of the townspeople was standing on the street, aiming a gun at you. You were cocky, at first, staring down the barrel knowing full well that no simple bullet would hurt you. When it whizzed toward you, though, and pierced your skin, ripping through your gut and shooting a searing pain through your body, you got considerably less cocky.

You watched as the woman who had been at your side flew forward and in one swift move, ended the life of the man in front of you. When you fell back, your eyes found the wound that was pushing your blood onto the cobblestone street below you. It was pooling, reflecting the moon above it. You felt blood starting to bubble up in your throat and you coughed violently.

You felt yourself being scooped into a strong set of arms. Her face looked blurry. Though, so did everything else. You could feel that you were moving so fast you were practically flying back toward home. You wondered if you would make it all that way, but it seemed that she was determined. You strained to keep awake, just for her. You weren’t successful.

The world wasn’t dark for long. Yet perhaps it was just that it didn’t feel long. When you blinked your eyes back open, red ones were watching you with such concern that all you wanted to do was kiss her worries away. Unfortunately for you, though, her worries were you. You didn’t have the strength to sit up and pull her toward you. You hardly had the strength to groan her name and let your hand travel over your own abdomen.

“Be careful, my love.”

You felt her hand cover yours in an attempt to bring your fingers away from the wound. You felt first that the skin beneath your fingertips was smooth. You’d morphed back into your human form at some point while you’d been unconscious. Then, you felt the dried blood that caked the area where you’d been shot. You whimpered at the tenderness of your own touch. A hand tugged on yours, bringing the pressure away from the area.

“Don’t touch.”

You squeezed her hand with all the energy you had. “Darling…”

“I know, Dove.”

Pain was searing throughout your body in a way you’d never experienced before. The bullet had not only pierced your body, but it was poisoning your blood in the way that only silver could. You groaned softly, clutching tight onto Natalia’s hand with all the strength that you could muster, which wasn’t a lot. Tears were streaking down her cheeks now, showing you an emotion that you didn’t often see on her face.

“Please,” you begged softly. “I cannot move on without you. I cannot leave you here to continue on without me.”

You immediately felt guilty for the effect of those words. She pulled you close, getting on her knees beside the bed and resting her head on your arm. You hushed her softly as a sob broke through her lips, the sound able to shatter your heart as if it were made from the finest glass known to man. You apologized as soft as you could, repeatedly and honestly. You beckoned her into the bed beside you.

You knew you were starting to fade. You could feel it. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. You could feel darkness looming in that place, waiting for you and waiting to punish you for every life you’d ever taken. That number was higher than you could count. You were shaking, sure the woman beside you could feel it against her body. You weren’t sure if it was a last effort of strength from your dying body, or a display of absolute terror to leave life behind.

“Natalia…”

“I am right here.”

You grabbed the front of her shirt in a weak fist, using gravity to help you in pulling her closer. At first, she thought you were trying to bring her lips onto hers. When she tried to kiss you, though, you shook your head, turning away. Face turned away from her, now, you had exposed a different part of your body to her. You guided her mouth down to her neck, whimpering as you felt her lips lightly brush the skin.

“No,” she refused. “You have the blood of a wolf. You could die.”

“Without it, I surely will,” you gasped, air feeling further away with each passing moment. “Please. Try.”

You could only feel it as she nodded. It was so carefully that she nuzzled against you, as if trying to memorize what your pulse felt like against her cheek. However tonight ended, that was something she’d very likely never feel again. You managed to hush her quietly as you felt a tremble run through her body. Her hand came to clutch yours as you finally felt her part her lips against your skin.

“Vile,” she muttered, and you felt a small smile grace her lips. “I love you, my darling.”

“As I you.”

With that, her fangs punctured your skin. The world went dark around you.

You were sore when you woke. Mostly it was in your neck. You swung your legs off the bed despite it, desperate to go find the woman who must have been worrying. You found her in the living room lighting a candle. She turned to you before you even had a second to clear your throat and try and get her attention. She was on you in an instant, peppering your face in soft kisses.

“You stayed with me,” she whispered.

“I could never imagine life or death without you, Natalia. I had to stay,” you chuckled, kissing her back briefly. “So, what am I?”

She shrugged. “The woman I love. Is that not what matters?”

You chuckled lightly. “Of course.”

She smiled, bringing you to her, resting her head against your chest. You wondered if your heart had stopped beating beneath her ear, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you were with her, as alive as you needed to be. You couldn’t be in life without her, just as you couldn’t be in death without her. She was your everything, and nothing would be whole away from that.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt her hand slide. It moved down your arm, across your side and your hip until it had slipped into your pocket, pulling out that shining piece of metal that resided there. She rolled the bullet slowly between two fingers, glancing at it with deep interest before handing it back to you. You took it in one hand, your other staying on her.

“I do not think it will work,” she remarked softly. “I think we have forever.”

You tossed the bullet out the window into the light of the waning moon. She pulled away from you. You watched as she moved away and picked up the splintering wooden stake that leaned against the table, smiling once at you as she held it out. She turned away, tossing it upon the roaring flames in the fireplace; the wood catching quickly and becoming nothing but fuel.

“Forever,” you hummed as she moved back into your arms. “Forever with you would be beautiful.”

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natalia romanoff #marvel #mcu #natasha request #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #wlw #lesbian #natasha romanoff au #vampire natasha

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ereawrites · 3 years ago

Text

Diego’s alarm blares you awake at 5:45AM - you know this without even opening your eyes because, unpredictable as Diego is, he always wakes up unreasonably early to work out. You know this because he always texts you at 6AM to bitch about how stiff his shoulders are.

Today, you’re sure, his whole body will be screaming at him. Having shown up at your door last night just after midnight, covered in dust and dirt and bruises, Diego had simply shrugged off your concerns.

“What-“, you started, but he was already sliding past you into your apartment. At least he had the decency to pat your cheek as he passed.

“Nothing to worry about.”, Diego said, rifling through your refrigerator as if it were his own. He didn’t need to know that you keep extra eggs in stock for him, after all. “I jumped out of a window, that’s all. Totally fine.”

His back was to you and you could still see his stupid little smile. “Well, excuse me for not figuring that one out right away. Unforgivable.”. He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, gingerly turning to face you with your last bottle of milk in hand.

“You want this for breakfast in the morning?”

You did. You absolutely did. He dropped off a box of your favourite cereal two days ago, claiming to have been ‘passing by’, and that was total bullshit because the closest store is 15 minutes’ walk away from your house, and he shouldn’t even have known your favourite cereal because Diego Hargreeves was very much not your boyfriend.

Anyway.

His bust lower lip had twisted up into a too-soft smile when you said, “Nah, go for it. Just don’t drink it so fast that you’re sick this time. I’ll be in the bathroom to help fix you up when you’re done.”

The window is now taking its revenge. Is this his karma for destruction of property, you muse to yourself as you stretch the kind of stretch that makes your whole body shake, or for waking you up last night? Diego grunts. The alarm shuts off and you hear his phone clatter unceremoniously back onto the nightstand.

“Good morning.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry. Go back to sleep, I’ll be out of here in a minute.”. Bless his soul, he really does sound apologetic. Thankfully, the deep rumble of his first-thing-in-the-morning voice does wonders to put you in a good mood with him.

When you roll over to face him, you’re not quite sure what you notice first: the gentle, bleary brown eyes, or the bruise smacked right across his cheekbone. “Hm, it’s okay. How are you feeling?”

Diego’s palm envelops the back of your hand and gives a quick squeeze. “Great.”, he hums, despite how exhausted he looks. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I’ll bring you breakfast after my workout.” - and you’re at least 60% sure he was born with persuasive powers, too, because the way he looks at you leaves you reeling in the early morning light, and he’s halfway sat up before you can even react.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not. You need to rest today.”, you insist, grabbing his wrist to stop him in his tracks. Diego is a stubborn little shit and he looks at you like you’re an idiot - sweetly, sympathetically, and you’d want to kill him if he hadn't managed to carve out such a soft spot in your chest. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and you permit it if only to admire them. It’s far too early for subtlety and, hey, Diego’s always loved flattery.

“I don’t have time.”

When flattery doesn’t work, reason is your next best bet. A little guilt can't hurt, either, right? You pout up at him. “Who’s committing crimes at 6AM, baby? It can wait.”

(You should not call Diego that. He is not your boyfriend.

His face lights up just a bit.)

“Troublemakers.”

He smirks, and you know you’ve lost with that approach. Diego flip-flops between sweetness and sarcasm as if he's attached to a particularly irritating bungee cord, promising you breakfast one minute and deliberately driving you crazy the next. With a brush of his thumb over your knuckles, he’s moving away and stretching his arms over his head with a groan.

You wag an accusatory finger at him, still squinting in the ray of sunlight that manages to penetrate through your broken shutters. You’ll get him to fix it later this week. “Troublemakers like the guys who crash through innocent windows?”

“That’s different-“

“-In fact,”, you smile, poking at the skin of his gorgeous back in a petty attempt to get his attention solely back on you. “Maybe I should report you to the police. Bring down the crime rates and all.”

“You’d love to see me in handcuffs, huh?”, he quips as he stands and stretches again, giving you a perfect view of those lithe muscles in action. Boy, would you ever. But the smugness in his voice is way too evident, even if you can’t see his face: your only option is to scoff.

“You’d be lucky.”, which is absolutely true (because you would rock his shit), because you’re pretty sure Diego is all bark and no bite, because you’ve seen just enough of his hidden tender side to really believe all his cocky jokes. You try not to dwell on it too much, but a tiny part of your heart believes that maybe Diego really, really cares for you.

Maybe it’s because of how he leans back over the bed to hold your cheek in his palm. God, he has you crumbling with that look in his eyes sometimes. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

Then his touch is gone, and it’s so embarrassing how you almost chase after it, but you smush your face into the pillow with a sigh. He’s stubborn as a mule and you're too exhausted to put up much more of a fight. Maybe you should just let him go for his ridiculous workout. Let him push his tired body, and let him send you an extra bitchy text in half an hour. You’ll ignore him, really teach him a lesson. See how he likes that.

You're just beginning to snicker into the pillow when Diego bends down to grab his shirt, staggers on his bad leg, and whimpers in pain.

Oh, well. Not a chance he's leaving now.

Three weeks ago, Diego had insisted on giving you some sort of self-defence training, which you had only actually agreed to on the assumption that you’d be able to annoy the shit out of him with it later. The main focus had been on ‘using the opponent’s size against them’ - this was not the first time you’d understood the reason behind all the Batman jokes - and, oh, this is the perfect opportunity to test your new skills.

With all the grace of a drunken bull, you leap from the bed, nearly tripping on the tangled bedsheets, and wrap your arms around his waist. Diego reaches out to steady you even as you're dragging him back towards the bed, tumbling down with him in tow and turning the impact into a roll that leaves him on the far side of the bed, with you curled tightly around his back, arm draped across his chest. The final step is to sling your leg over his hip, effectively pinning him with the least possible pressure on his sore muscles.

“Honey-”, Diego begins, but then you're running your fingers through his hair and it dissolves into a quiet little oh that you’re sure looks perfect on those pouty lips. It strikes you that this is the first time Diego has let you hold him - you're always the little spoon, on the rare occasions that both of you give in to the desire to touch each other, and you’re shocked by how right it seems to feel him melt into your touch. All the fight vanishes from his body in seconds.

“…I sleep better when you’re here, you know.” - and it’s not using any tricks to get him to stay, it’s just the plain truth. Diego’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s partially for selfish reasons that you want him to stay in bed, you admit, but mostly because he deserves a rest for once. You worry for him more than you would ever let him know. He probably figures it out, anyway, once you give in and drop your forehead to rest against the back of his neck. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to care - it’s much nicer to just enjoy how he kisses your wrist on the next brush of your fingers through his hair.

He’s leaning into your hand even before he pretends to grudgingly concede. “Just another hour.”

You’ll see about that.

#I would die for him #I couldn't not write for him after watching tua #Diego hargreeves #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #Diego x reader #Diego Hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy x reader

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siriusmydeer · 4 years ago

Text

his delicate touch

bill weasley x reader

summary: after your hard work, bill rewards you with a kiss, or two.

word count: 0.7k

warnings: kissing, neck kissing, overworking.

prompt: ‘A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.’

“c’mon doll, finishing up anytime soon?” the whisper on his inquiry lingered from the she'll of your ear to the small crevices in your swirling mind, unceasingly darting your weary irises from the piles of parchment known as your your defence against the dark arts essay to the fatigued ginger to your left.

the curvature of your bum could've been embedded into his mattress after your venture through assignments from the past day over a few hour span, slughorn saw fit you to write three scrolls on why ‘powdered root of asphodel was necessary’ in a draught of living death potion.

all whilst bill trying to please himself by cleaning away his dormitory while you completed your scrolls, finishing his prefect duties, and speaking to dumbledore about his status of ‘head boy.’ after completion of his effortless taks he had assumed you had finished ,instead he made way back to his dormitory only to find yourself in the same spot hours prior.

no, he had been sat beside you for almost twenty minutes yearning for you to take a break. all so the bloke could simply hold you, rather instead you made it very clear that your intentions for the night was to scoundrel away at your homework till your irises were tinging in irritation and drooling in fatigue.

decisively taking your eyes off of the parchment clamoured in information regarding a verdimillious charm, now craning your neck to the left where he sat, a smirk fiddling its way into his lips that you had listened to his silent and verbal requests, your psyche finally deciphering that you should most-likely continue your school work until the late hours of the night when the moon would be glinting minuscule shimmers onto your skin; it would’ve been a meticulous contrast between the two tones as the planet lay gracefully in the sky.

but, you had the yearn to lay with bill while you slept peacefully in his dormitory, rather than hunched over an essay about something you had memorized weeks ago.

whilst you gazed upon the boy in pondering thoughts he delicately brought the pad of his thumb to the jugular of your neck, sweeping the calloused flesh against your own a feeble contrast between scabrous and velvet.

the peering look in his azure irises sustained while you gaped at each other, the small ticking clock, adjacent to the hour of midnight soon about to strike.

the pad of his thumb deciphering the clench in your jaw beneath it, his fingers carding their way through your untamed tresses as an anchor for your attentiveness, not that you would find the excuse to move from your spot now anyways. the structure of his thumb finding its home right below your ear following itself with absentminded stroking motions.

his lips feebly planting themselves on the smoothness of your own soothing lips, the feeling reciprocation of your mouth seal against his in almost merely seconds. his minuscule recurrent kisses lulling you into serenity from just the unwavering feeling of the glide of his lips against your own.

it was like the tranquility that lingered was almost too cogent and having the effect on you so instantaneously. the inclination brought itself upon you when he felt the grasp of your fingers against the material of his vermillion coloured fabric that was clutched onto his midriff.

his lips disconnecting from yours for a moment, the only noises breaking the composure was the heaving of your breath rolling off of your tongue while you endeavoured to decompress yourself from the embarrassment that could’ve been dancing upon your cheeks from his trifling touch.

your eyes were shut while he moved, nearly perceiving golden stars mingle across the stygian line of vision you had. until his hand was now grounding himself at the nape of your neck, the small hairs tickling his palms whilst his lips were smoothing themselves across the planes of your jugular.

placing a final last kiss to your collarbone before his face was in your direct viewpoint, your eyes fluttered open along with the flitter of your eyelashes before his nose was affectionately smeared against your own, his lips interrupting the profuse equanimity with the simplicity of his tone.

“ready for bed, doll face?”

taglist: @georgeswh0re @emmaev @falling-loki @inglourious-imagines @i-love-scott-mccall @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years ago

Text

REDACTED verse - Sadism & Trolling (Vega Headcanons)

NGL, I’m gonna be straight with y’all...

I miss Vega! And uh, since I've been listening to his videos lately, I wanted to write a oneshot for him until I decided on some headcanons at the last minute.

I'm not sure what role the Inchoate Daemon Listener in his more recent videos would play in the future, so I tried my hands on writing his 'lover'. I always wanted to write a morally dubious Listener anyway!

So this is entirely separate from the Inchoate Daemon Listener.

Vega calls his Listener 'Hamster' for their snacking habits. He would only calls you 'Dear heart' when he's feeling vulnerable or in intimate situations.

He meets them before Ivan's story. He was actually walking around humans for a change of pace, feeding on the faint lingering negative emotions hovering around the park. It's the human equivalent of getting a cup of coffee in the morning to kickstart their day.

Suddenly, Vega felt intense and strange emotions coming from somewhere in the area. It's a combination of righteous fury, hurt and glee.

He tracks the owner of the maelstrom to find you. A lone human sitting on a bench underneath a tall, shady tree. Your expression is a total contrast to what you're feeling. It's calm and almost bored.

After using magic to do some digging and breaching personal privacy, Vega found out that you plan an act of horrible revenge on a cheating partner. He sticks around to watch it all play out.

He loved the show. So much so he claims you as his charge.

However, jokes on him; you're a passive and lazy person. Your default setting is living life operating on the least amount of brain cells and effort. So after feeding on your heartbreak from the breakup, Vega has no idea what the fuck to do with you.

So he subtly pulls the strings around you in hopes to get you to feel upset or at least annoyed; coffee spilt on your work laptop, someone bought that last slice of your favourite cake, bad internet connection at home, anything!

But the most you'd (unknowingly) give him is a sigh before you look for something else to occupy your time. To Vega, he feels like a first-time owner to a pet that isn't behaving as it should be. You're like a hamster running in its ball, utterly oblivious of the world outside.

When you do react emotionally, it's like a wildfire - a roaring and unapologetic blaze that will burn for days. Especially when it comes to negative emotions. However, it takes such a long time to build up and rarely does it even spark. Honestly, to you, working up to such a passionate response is a hassle.

Unfortunately for Vega, he realises this a little too late.

The two of you officially meet when you begin to notice that certain objects around the house aren't exactly where they should be. Like how the coffee cup that you instinctively put away from the laptop is now right next to it when you came out of the bathroom. How you can never find your favourite red mug or t-shirt despite you just wash them.

Slowly but surely, you feel like you suddenly gain an invisible annoying and unwanted roommate.

Vega detects your annoyance and plans to 'farm' it, only for it to hilariously backfire when you begin to hit up the local priests to discuss about an exorcism and thus, raise a potential covert risk.

When he first appeared in front of you, your immediate action was to grab a baseball bat, shock and indignation flare within you.

"So you're the fucking bastard that has been eating my fucking Pringles!"

"What!? No! And I swear to any God you believe in, I’ll make you regret it if you swing that thing at me."

“Hah! Is that a challenge!? Buy back my snacks. Now. Before I break your bones and sell them to the black market!”

"News flash, Hamster: you're the one who's been eating all of them. Those after midnight snacks? What? Did you think you were sleep-eating?"

"Who are you calling hamster!?"

"Of course, that's the one you have a problem with..."

Do you know that one Tv Trope? The 'savvy guy, energetic girl' and 'monster and the maiden'? You and Vega are something in-between, where Vega is determined to feed on you, his charge, while you make it your life mission to be his biggest inconvenience ever.

That being said, there's a lot of things you share in common with him. For one thing, you live by the 'not my circus, not my monkey' rule, so you don't particularly care what Vega does outside of your life as long as it doesn't cause you any problems.

You both can be petty AF, and if one is petty, the other will automatically prepare for the other's revenge.

Vega likes to give you shit for being an Unempowered Human, and in return, you would do everything in your power to piss him off. EX: You’ll make a joke about his shoe size. You know what they say, small shoes mean small... package. And besides, he's a Daemon, right? Doesn't that mean he has hooves?

Both of you toed the line between violence and resignation, which is impressive that you're still alive. You made it clear to him that if he wants to take you down, you'll take him down with you, and Vega can respect that.

Vega starts to catch feelings for you after you blackmail him into going to the cinema with you because there's a discount on the tickets for a pair of friends/couple. He's shocked to find that he enjoyed himself that night.

As for you, you start to feel fond of him when he orchestrated a string of misfortune on your asshole of a colleague. He never once admit it, but at that point, you could read his body language and behaviours rather well. How could you not when your colleague’s series of unfortunate events result in a whole week of nothing but good vibes for you.

Neither you nor Vega confesses your feelings, but you ended up in a romantic relationship nonetheless.

Vega has never fallen in love before, so this emotion is very strange and new for him. From his annoying charge, you've become his most cherished person in the world.

Vega protects you the only way he knows how. By making the people who upset you miserable or just straight up terminate their trial period of existence. As a Sadism Daemon, Vega is very well aware of the stigma that comes with his kind, and it really doesn't help that he loves what he does, so you have to rein him in from time to time.

On that note, expect this Daemon to be possessive as hell. No matter what you do around the house, Vega would attach himself to you. Oh, you're working on the couch with the laptop on your lap? He'll move you so you'll sit on his lap while he watches TV. You're relaxing in the bathtub? Scoot forward, he wants to sit behind you. If you're talking to a friend on the phone, he'll peppered kisses and leave hickies on your neck in an attempt for you to end the call. If he could, he would hide you from the world itself so only he could have you. So please stomp on his feet when he starts to sweetly suggest you disappear with him.

If it's raining at night, both of you would silently lie on the bed together, just basking in one the other's presence. If you fall asleep first, Vega will turn you into his little spoon.

In terms of dating and due to his possessive and protective nature, most of your dates would be in your home. Movie marathons, him playing as your audience for your video game matches, monopoly sessions ending up in a messy divorce sitcom or just napping together. Good for you if you're a homebody. If you're the outgoing type? Good luck; you'll need to be as persuasive as him to budge Vega. The most Vega is willing to go are breakfast/lunch/dinner dates. The fewer eyes on you, the better.

It's not long before Vega stops feeding on you entirely. He only takes a few destructive emotions that overwhelm you and help you work the rest out in a healthy manner.

That's when he starts to think about spending his forever with you.

Don't be mistaken, though; Vega is still a sadism Daemon that doesn’t take kindly to those getting in his way but to you? His one happiness in life? He's your loyal lover.

OK. I might have gone a bit crazy with Vega but in my defence, I had like 3 mugs of tea and a tub of Belgian chocolate ice-cream and ramen last night after midnight plus a weird longing for him.

It’s weird.

#redacted ASMR #headcanons #vega #gender neutral s/o #this turn crack-ish a little bit #i gotta stop writing while sleep deprived #ffs

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violetsoju · 4 years ago

Text

let’s go on a ride (where to)彡★

suna rintaro · fluff? · 3.1k

a/n: here’s a cookie for you if you can guess correctly from which song i got inspired by 🍪 (hint: it’s from a female soloist!) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️

The first time you got on his bike was when you were late for your finals. Being the ironically procrastinator and overachiever you are, you dunked 3 cups of coffee the previous night in attempt to stay up drilling pages and pages of chemical processes and reactions, along with the insane number of structures and behaviours of molecules that seemed to stretch on forever into your poor cramped brain. So when you woke up to your clock staring at you with its long hand 20 minutes away from the scheduled time of your doom, you knew you were indeed, doomed. Your shouts and failing hands to the bus driver fell on deaf ears, leaving you gasping for air, hands on your knees as you reached the now empty bus stop.

You were about to make a run for it when a motorbike pulled up beside you, a male voice catching your attention. “Hey.”

You turned to see fox-like eyes staring back at you, one which had you intrigued since the first encounter. Even though his other features were hidden beneath his helmet, the boy clad in black on the bike was undoubtedly, your next-door neighbour.

“Get on my bike, let’s go.” he said, throwing a helmet in your direction.

Despite living right next door, the both of you never had a conversation with each other. You don’t really see each other too, in your defence. Normal greetings would just be a small nod of acknowledgement, sometimes with a small ‘hi’ if you were feeling sociable enough.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

“Where to?” he asked, as you climbed onto the back seat.

“Hyogo University, please.” You grabbed on the rail bar behind, praying that you won’t somehow fall off.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you missed the bus, because weaving through unusual heavy traffic on two wheels was definitely more efficient than being stuck on four wheels. You yelped as you almost lost your balance from the zigzag drive, instinctively grabbing hold of his waist as you both zoomed past the congested roads.

Never in your life had you been so happy and relieved at the sight of your university. Jumping off the bike, you were about to sprint to your faculty when you stopped midway at your tracks at his call.

“Hey! My helmet!”

Turning back meant risking having the examination doors being slammed in your face. “I’ll return it to you later!” you shouted, waving the back of your hand towards him as you dashed to your examination venue.

Later that night, the boy found the sides of his lips tugging upwards slightly, huffing a breath from his nose in amusement at the sight of his helmet hanging on doorknob of his apartment. It was filled with packets of choco pie and a small yellow note in it.

「 Thank you so much for today! I got to my examination venue right on time thanks to you. Please let me know when you’re free. I’d like to treat you to a meal as a gesture of appreciation, these treats obviously aren’t enough.

-Your next-door neighbour 」

He opened a packet of choco pie and folded the small piece of paper neatly into the pocket of his jeans, making his way into his apartment.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise when you locked your front door the next morning. There was a small green note stuck on your door, along with a box of chocolate koala march biscuits secured tightly with tape.

「 It’s not a big deal. Now we’re even, so save that for something else. 」

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you got on his bike was on the way home from your job interview. You knew your heels were to go, and you should have gotten a new pair soon. But being the last-minute shit you were, you prayed with all your heart for it to survive on you till the end of the day.

Well, to be fair, it did cooperate with you for most of the day, besides than the awful blisters on the back of your heel and toes. It only gave up on you after the interview that went wrong (allocated interview slot being postponed and postponed, the central air-conditioning blasting like the North Pole, and what was it with companies and their ridiculous prejudice towards young women and maternity leaves), when your right heel got stuck in a sewage drain cover, snapping into half when you used too much force to get it out.

Then it rained. And of course, you left your umbrella at home as there were no indications of rain when you checked the weather forecast. Maybe the rain felt like giving the sun, along with the weather bureau, a surprise that day.

And maybe it felt like it had its fair share of fun after seeing your miserable state, drenched in its merry little splatter and your own infuriation, as it bid the sun goodbye and went back home once you got off the bus to your neighbourhood.

So here you were, walking barefoot on the scorching yet damp concrete pavement back home, adding more damage to your open wounds. Well, what other choice did you have? It’s not like you would break the other heel into half to balance it out, right?

The stares and hushed whispers around you couldn’t much compare to what was going through your mind now. Heck, you couldn’t even care less of how you looked. Smudged makeup and faint colour of your innerwear peeping beneath your now see-through white blouse were the least of your worries now. All you wanted was to get home, fill the tub with warm water, turn on some music, and let all the frustration built up in you sink away through the evening.

Walking around the last block of shops, you kept your eyes on the pavement, not noticing a familiar figure leaning against the wall a few shops ahead.

“Hey.”

You were so absorbed in your own thoughts, you didn’t realise a human wall up ahead.

“Hey!”

You winced at the sudden impact from the body slam, snapping up to find a boy around your age towering over you, alluring fox eyes meeting yours. “Sorry,” you muttered, stepping aside to continue on your way.

A warm hand grabbed hold of your arm, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden touch. He had his head tilted slightly to his left, his usual blank face staring back at you. But the hint of concern that subtly flickered in his eyes as he silently inspected you from head to toe made you stop in your tracks.

Maybe it was the series of incidents that happened throughout the day that had your mind spiraling in turbulent directions, or maybe it was the delicate warmth in his eyes that seemed so inviting, it wasn’t a bad idea to linger in it for a while. Whatever the reasons were, he was granted the rare permission to take a small peek through the faint cracks of your hardened shell, into the dark fiery void that held you hostage.

You kept your eyes glued on the ground as he kept his gaze on you, curling your bruised toes together against the hard concrete, contemplating if you made the right decision.

Once he was done with his inspection, he moved towards his bike parked by the side of the pavement, grip still on your arm, and dug out for an extra helmet underneath the seat of his bike. He placed the helmet over your head, featherlike fingers brushing against your skin as he secured the straps around your chin gently.

“Get on, let’s get home.” he said, tapping the top of the helmet as if he was patting a little girl’s head.

The journey home was silent, in a comfortable way, and you were grateful that he kept his curiosity to himself.

He dropped you off at the lobby entrance of your apartment, nodding in acknowledgement as you returned the helmet while mumbling an audible thanks. You should’ve waited for him to take the elevator back up to your floor together, but you were just so bloody done for the day. At least you pressed the ground floor button as you exited the elevator.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you got on his bike was after dinner one night. You were at the nearby convenience store in your pjs, a bowl of hot oden in hand, staring out at the night through the glass window. Late night convenience store runs were the best, because most people would be snuggled up in their homes, leaving the world to those like you to enjoy in peace in quiet.

You were on your third fish cake skewer when an unexpected presence made its way next to you. Gleaming hazel eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself unconsciously lost in it again.

He placed a plastic bag filled with an assortment of jelly fruit sticks on the table, savouring a purple coloured one in hand. You chuckled at this new side of him. This wasn’t quite something you pictured him to be.

He turned to you questionably. “Is there a problem?”

You shook your head. “Not at all, I’m just surprised with this new information.” You offered a fish cake skewer to him.

He gave you a green coloured jelly fruit stick in return. “There’s no age limit for these, are there?”

“Nope, you’re more than welcome to enjoy them,” You peered at the plastic bag. “Can I have the red one instead?”

“Picky.” he jokingly huffed.

The both of you enjoyed the rest of the night by the windowsill, making comfortable small talk here and there.

It was past midnight when you both made your way out of the convenience store. “Do you usually walk back alone at this time?” he asked, rummaging his pocket for his bike keys.

“Yeah, but not to worry, I can protect myself quite well. Ain’t no damsel in distress.” You jiggled your self-defense kit attached to your house keys at him.

He hummed in agreement, handing you a helmet. “My younger sister has a set of that too. That pepper spray is no joke.”

“What did you do to piss her off?” You fastened on the helmet strap nimbly, climbing onto the now familiar backseat.

“I was her guinea pig to test if it worked. And damn it worked well. 5-star rating.” The bike engine roared, muffling your laughs and off the both of you went in the night.

You furrowed your brows when he drove past by the turn to your apartment. “Hey, you missed the turn!”

“Buckle up, we’re going on an adventure.”

Apparently, his so-called adventure was to the neighbourhood hilltop which you had never dragged your lazy ass up to hike before. There wasn’t much to see in the dark surroundings, maybe it would be better in the day.

“For a moment I thought you were gonna abduct me or something.”

“By a guy that eats jelly fruit sticks at this age? Plus, you’re not even worth a bag of jelly fruit sticks.”

He fake coughed as you shoved the helmet in his chest playfully in retaliation.

The hilltop wasn’t that high, but high enough to overlook the charming neighbourhood below. Looking at your neighbourhood from a different perspective made you appreciate it more. The quaint coffeeshops, the now quiet primary school, the lush recreational park, they all looked so small from the top. So this is what birds see from the top, you thought.

Placing your hands on the wooden fencing, you closed your eyes for a moment to enjoy the cool breeze caressing your face, taking in a long, deep breath. Even the air up here was clearer.

You turned behind to find him lying on the grass with one knee up, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the black canvas above. You took your place comfortably next to him, mimicking his actions. A soft gasp escaped your lips, taken aback by the view displayed before you.

Maybe it was the cold reality and gradual maturity along with age that had your mind conditioned to thinking only the glowing lights of the city lit up the dark night skies. Long had you forgotten the existence of the scattered diamonds shining up above; one that lit up the skies and your eyes as a child, one you dreamt of picking from the sky to replace the plastic fluorescent ones on the celling of your nostalgic childhood room.

It was simple pleasures like this that kept boundless curiosity and imagination run wild, that made each day enjoyable and fun, that made one realise how beautiful life could be.

And to remind one how important it is to live in the present.

“Do you know how to identify constellations?”

“I only know the name of my zodiac sign, if that counts.”

“No.”

You chuckled at the small pout that formed on his lips.

“Don’t you think it’s amazing how people in the olden days could navigate their way with just a few blinking dots in the night sky? I don’t even know how to use a compass.”

“That’s why we have Google maps now.”

“Can you be a lil bit more enthusiastic?”

“You can’t deny that what I said is true, can you?”

It was his turn to chuckle at your exasperated sigh.

“Have you seen a meteor shower before?”

“Yeah, once I think.”

“Did you make a wish?”

“I guess so.”

“Has the universe granted your wish then?”

“A secret shall remain a secret.”

You hummed in response.

Truth to be told, the both of you were keeping secrets from each other: your identities. Sure, you both knew each other as next-door neighbours, but what else?

Perhaps he has the upper hand here. He knows you’re a university student from the first ride on his bike, he (somehow) knows you’re searching for a job from the second ride, and now he knows your little late night konbini run affair. All you know about him is that he rides a bike and likes jelly fruit sticks.

But you don’t mind. In fact, you like this anonymity. It’s what makes the relationship between the two of you more engaging, precious and real. You could let down your guard with him. No judgements, no defensive barriers, no facades.

Sure, you would be curious about his background at times. Is he the same age as you? Is he a fellow struggling university student like you? Or has he plunged into the battlefield called work already? But if you could be you wholeheartedly, and he could be him wholeheartedly too, that’s what matters the most at the moment.

“Are you certain that you made your wish correctly?”

“Are there procedures for making wishes upon shooting stars?”

“Duh. You gotta look up to the night sky, close your eyes, clasp your hands together, then make your wish. That’s how it works.”

“You could shake hands with my younger sister and be sappy drama sisters.”

“Maybe that’s why your wish hasn’t come true yet.”

“I’m not falling for your trap.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Man, I can’t believe nothing came out from what I studied for the whole week. Nothing. My feelings have been cheated on.”

Atsumu and you were currently slumped over the table at the convenience store next to the university, each with a hotdog in hand, along with an array of snacks scattered across the table. The both of you had just finished your classes for the day, and instead of grabbing proper dinner, you both were stuffing yourselves with junk food like children.

As to quote Atsumu, “Where’s the joy in life in blindly following the rules? Rules were meant to be broken. And it’s not like we do it every day.”

“Giving up so quickly? What happened to the ‘new semester new me resolution’, huh.”

Atsumu slammed his face on the table, groaning in distress. “Everything’s a scam. Life is a scam.”

You huffed out a small laugh at his exaggeration, eyes riveting back to the bustling street outside the window. Groups of students making their way to the bus and train station, couples choosing their dinner place hand-in-hand after work, a line forming outside the newly opened sushi place that served sushi on a mini bullet train. A typical Thursday evening.

A familiar jet-black bike among the line of bikes lined up by the pavement in front of the convenience store caught your sight. Oh?

Your mouth must’ve worked faster than your brain as Atsumu looked up to face the same direction you were looking at. “What yer looking at?”

“Oh, Suna must be around here somewhere. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Suna, huh. Nice name.

“That’s one sexy looking bike, isn’t it? I always wanted a ride, but dude always speeds off even before I have the chance. Treats it like his wife. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone one ride it besides him.”

“Poor you, it’s a really nice ride.”

“The engine sounds amazing too- Wait. Wait a hot second. You rode it before? How? You know Suna?” Atsumu’s energy switch was turned back on, eyes wide like saucers as you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“He’s my next-door neighbour, duh.” Atsumu swore he was so close to throwing hands at your nonchalant attitude on the matter.

“Speaking of the devil, there he is.”

Suna emerged from the bakery on the opposite street, a bag of freshly baked goods in hand. Crossing the busy road to your side of the street, a glint of surprise gleamed in his eyes at the sight of both of you through the window, mostly from the shock and betrayal expression of the blond. He nodded to Atsumu in greeting, which was replied with Atsumu barking questions at him from the inside.

“What the hell, Suna? We’ve been friends for so long and I’ve never had a ride before, and she gets a ride? Really, Suna? I thought we’re more than this-”

“You know he can’t hear you from outside, right?” Atsumu paused to stare at you for a moment, and continued shooting questions and making dramatic gestures to the boy grinning slyly at him outside.

Suna turned his eyes to you, tipping his head towards his bike. Wanna go home?

You gave him a smile. Yeah, sure.

You got up from your seat and shoved half of the snacks on the table into your bag. “Later, Atsumu.” You bid the blond goodbye, patting his shoulder in condolence as he gawked at the both of you like endangered animals in the zoo.

“Suna you lil shit.”

Maybe you weren’t only getting rides back home on his bike, maybe you were getting a ride into his heart too.

168 notes · View notes

cozycryptidcorner · 4 years ago

Photo

Étienne the Fae, Part One of Two

This was commissioned by the illustrious and fantastical @monsterfolkandfiction! Thank you so much, and I hope that everyone enjoys this story as well. A second part is being drafted now.

tw: disordered eating, manipulative and abusive mother

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement.

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement. .

There were voices. Lots of voices, and you thought that a show of brilliance might grant your grandfather’s coveted attention above your cousins’. The door was unlocked, how could you not sneak a peek down the forbidden stairwell? So you crept down, hand on the rail for safety, eyes wide in the hopes of spotting something.

You remember how to summon him. Always. You’ve blocked out everything else about him, but you always remember how to call him back, even if you never will. Only in an emergency, you would always think, glaring at your mark as though he can see you through the mottled purple flesh.

You wipe a bit of sweat from your face, chewing on your lower lip as you glance over your shoulder at the ticking clock—almost midnight. The little vagrant who caused the muddy disaster you’re cleaning is asleep already, hand clutching her rag still as she lays limp on the wooden floor.

Maria is a good kid. Troubled, yes, a mischief-maker for sure, but she’s good. She’s just the type who needs a little guidance, that’s all. You didn’t bother trying to wake her back up, mostly because you know it would do no good, and honestly, it’s probably easier to finish the mess yourself without dealing with a cranky, tired child. Besides, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like she hasn’t managed to clean up her messes before.

Just a little bit, you tell yourself as you scrub the rest of the mud from the floor,she’s lost.

It doesn’t take you much longer to finish up the mud, the water in the bucket sloshing an earthy brown the more you pollute it with the dirt slurry on your rag. None of the nuns have walked by the entrance, which is good, because you don’t exactly want to face them. You wouldn’t even have to come up with an explanation, they’ll know, especially the head of the abbey. The last thing you’d want is for Maria to be whipped with that reedy switch some of the nuns carry around to punish unruly children.

After dumping out the bucket of dirt, you wipe your sweaty palms on your apron, letting out a bated breath. The moon has already sunk behind the hills, the night only lit by the dim candles you managed to steal out from the servant’s noses. While one might think that a place of worship would have plenty of access to such supplies, it seems like everything is scarce in the days where the darkness licks and poisons like a snake.

“Are you alright, young sister?”

Though you jump, it’s only Sister Anya, a soft, young-looking nun looking down at you with the utmost concern.

Her pale hair is highlighted by the candlelight in the most martyr-like way that you feel the urge to fall on your knees and plead for her to pray for you. Everything about her is ethereal, almost almost horrendously beautiful, blue eyes so deep and dark your lungs fill with water as though drowning when you look at her.

Trying to steady yourself, you place a hand on the wooden bannister, then nod, shakily.

She glances at the bucket you’re holding, and her gaze softens considerably. “Were the children giving you a difficult time today?”

Since you know Anya isn’t one of the nuns who believe that pain is the path to godliness, so you’re more willing to express any frustrations you might have with her. So you shrug, then roll your eyes, trying to force your tongue to work but settle for gestures instead.

Sister Anya places a hand on your shoulder sympathetic gesture.” Your nerves are high today, hm?”

Thankful you don’t have to bother explaining yourself, verbally or through a thousand of different hand positions, you nod.

Sister Anya lets out a gentle sigh. “I’m so sorry, dove, the children ought to know not to press against your patience.”

Again, you shrug, walking over to the door in order to dump the muddied bucket, before passing it to her waiting hands.

“Again,” Sister Anya says softly, “I know that you’re not obligated to be here, but you know that the children love you. Even if they aren’t always so well behaved.”

You nod in acknowledgement, having had this conversation with her before. No matter the chaos the orphanage children might instil during sunlight, you always return, knowing that the kids truly mean well at the end of the day. Memories of blood bubble in your throat, your empathy digging too deeply in your past that you feel a sense of fear.

Quickly, you bid your leave, knowing that you should have long been back in your bed. God, if your mother finds out you’ve been loitering this late-

“Oh,” Sister Anya concedes, “of course, should I walk you back?”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wishing that she put herself at risk for your own sake. After once more asking over your assuredness, Sister Anya concedes, though her concern is not at all lacking. You know that the woods host a very numerous amount of creatures, though none have dared to ever bother you. The contrast has been so stark against the countless first-hand stories than you’ve heard that you’ve almost convinced yourself that you’re invisible to their otherworldly eyes, although you still hold healthy regard for what you might not understand.

Still, on the way back, all the negative attention you might receive is brief and fleeting, most crackling within the woods retreating as though you were about to set fire to the numerous dried foliage of the coming winter. Besides, your family estate is alarmingly close, you should be within the safety of its walls shortly after embarking, the sprites and critters almost obnoxiously ignoring your presence. Ever since… the incident, you haven’t needed to take the same precautions as the rest of your peers, and thus you manage to get yourself home earlier than someone might have estimated.

There is a lot to be happy about your life, you suppose, staring blankly up at the family portrait up on the wall. Happy mother. Happy father. Their absolute disgrace of an eldest child, which is you, unfortunately. You know that there are children in that abbey who would kill to have the same privileges you do, warm bed, food whenever you need, and water that doesn’t have a rusty undertaste of dirt, so you try not to feel… ungrateful.

You lick your lips, peeking out from the hall to check for anyone making their rounds, then quickly and quietly walk by the window towards your room. It’s late, so no one should be up, but that’s never stopped your mother when she’s in one of her worse moods, and just as you predicted, you hear her rapidly approach. Now entering panic mode, you move twice as quickly, slipping into your room and shutting the door quietly behind you.

Your muscles are stiff, fingers shaking, as you desperately try to pull the pins in your hair that kept everything marginally in place as you worked, knowing that you should be at least in your nightgown at this time. The scent of roses is thick, putrid, and always the choice of perfume for your mother. You suppose that it’s nice that you can at least smell her before she fully arrives, but now you can hardly look at those flowers without feeling a pinch of anxiety flowing through your chest.

The door wrenches open, your mother neither gentle nor willing to give you those extra precious moments where you might hide something. Your brush is in hand, and you are in the process of working through the knots that had accumulated through the day, but by the look of her face in the candlelight, your supposed innocence will be deeply in question.

“Where have you been?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, it’s all you can do to not wince when she speaks.

I was at the orphanage, mother. You can’t even look her in the eye.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to work among those pathetic waifs, girl.”

Mother doesn’t even bother with your name, especially when she’s angry. And, judging by the tone of her voice, she’s incensed by something, only you don’t even know what it is she’s accusing you of, so you can’t even offer up any meagre defences.

“Did I say you were allowed to stay until the night turns to morning? What kind of a reputation are you trying to gain, you stupid, ungrateful child?”

The only ‘men’ in that orphanage are younger than eleven, but you know that this outburst isn’t at all over your chastity.

She raises her hand, and you flinch, but the strike doesn’t come this time. Instead, she walks up behind you, snagging the brush out of your hand and begins an aggressive grooming routine. “You should be grateful for what I give you and stop trying my patience. Everything I do for you is always met with silence, do you think the Bennet girls treat their poor mother like this? Or has the devil cursed me with you?”

You know that any attempt to escape her gnarled, rough fingers would be met with even more violence, so you sit still, digging your fingernails into the cushion of your chair. Everything in your body is on edge, your jaw is tight, your stomach still, all your muscles frozen in place to keep from crying out as the onslaught of your scalp continues. Silently resigned, you stare at yourself in the mirror, hating everything you see in the reflective glass.

“You would think that the gods would give me a child who shows a modicum of mercy for her poor mother, but no, all I get is this pathetic excuse of a lady. I know everyone goes behind my back and talks about what a joke you are, and yet you don’t even care enough about the person who put you into this world to even care enough to change.”

Your throat is dry, your eyes are not. Stubbornly, though, you refuse to give her tears, because she’ll only think that crying is a method of trying to guilt her into stopping. So you’re quiet, and you accept the onslaught of verbal terror, trying to let it all wash over you like water running over stones in a river.

“I should have never let you stay that summer with your grandfather, he put in all the wrong ideas in your head. And where did that get him, anyway? In a casket, six feet under.” Eventually, she tires herself out, as she always does. As she places the brushes back on the vanity, she notices the little jar of candies you like to keep around for both yourself and your younger siblings. Her brow furrows, and she takes it, “you don’t need to eat more than you already do.”

You don’t turn to watch her leave, letting the dull slamming of the door speak for itself. Once you’re certain she’s not going to come back for another round, you reach up and start braiding your hair for the night, fingers separating the strands and weaving them together. A strange sort of numbness takes over your body, a tugging emptiness draining your chest and veins of any life. When you lay your head on the pillow, there’s dampness on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed prior.

Luckily for you, in the morning, you are left to be ignored once more. You suppose that you are grateful that your mother only seeks you out when she is angry because that offers more freedom to do as you please when she isn’t. A strange thing to enjoy, but you are still willing to count your blessings nonetheless.

Every day goes by more or less the same. You pretend to be a fancy lady for the minimum amount of time, though thankfully you’re so often ignored you can slip away and head down to the orphanage. You have no official schedule of volunteering, since some days your mother is more persistently present than others, but the nuns are thankful for your appearance more or less.

And you tell yourself that you’re satisfied with everything. It’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie, but the moment you begin to move past that safe little untruth, you think your world will fall apart. So you wait. And you watch. And you’re silent.

The day your mother is uncharacteristically cheerful is the day you feel genuine fear.

She’s humming while going over the cook’s menu ideas. Humming. And she requested to see you… which… is rather unusual. As you walk in, you try to peek over her shoulder, though she shifts the papers ever so slightly out of your sight, offering a warning grunt in your direction. Still unsure of where she might be taking this nonexistent conversation, you take your book and sit on the other side of the table, trying to keep calm.

“There’s going to be a wedding,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

Normally, when your peers are wed off, she takes it like a personal attack, as though each girl is mocking your family by daring to marry before you. Now you’re even more nervous, trying to think over which of your siblings could be of marrying age. Surely they haven’t roped any poor waif into marrying your idiot brother, right?

“Tell me what colors you think would be appropriate for a spring ceremony,” she says, so dreamily it shakes you to your core.

You open your mouth, but your chest is so constricted by fear that it can’t possibly push air through your throat. Instead, you just look down and shrug, trying to steady yourself as you sit. God, you’re so hungry. That breakfast never really fills you up, but you never dare try to scavenge for more food in the daytime.

“I didn’t think you would have the good sense to know, anyways,” your mother dismisses your opinion with the wave of her hand. “A light lavender, maybe? Oh, perhaps daisies would be lovely, but that might seem too ‘country…’ or would that be fashionable?”

You nervously let her ramble, wishing you had it in you to just… get up. Leave. Go someplace where you would be alone and lie down. Your body itches to be surrounded by the greenery in the garden, let yourself become one with the earth. Never worrying about the court, about gentlemen of good breeding, or your mother again. She’s taking tea with biscuits, enough food on that platter to share, but you know better than to try to reach your hand over to grasp one.

But fate is a cruel mistress, and your mother even crueler. You don’t have much more warning than the click of your father’s office door as he and an unfamiliar person exit, and adrenaline laces along your veins. You don’t like how your mother looks at him, you don’t like how he looks at you, and you would very much like to no longer be perceived as a physical being. As your mother stands, you follow suit, just out of shock.

“Mr. Andreas,” your mother croons, a shiver of horror running down your spine.

The stranger nods, then glances over you with a critical kind of look, one that makes your insides squirm so uncomfortably you almost vomit.

“We’ve agreed to the terms,” your father says, then nods in your direction. “The wedding will be set in the spring.”

You’re dizzy, all the blood rushing from your head.

To make things worse, your mother is closer, the pungent scent of flowers invading your lungs with such a pervasive efficiency you can’t even breathe. She’s holding your hand, squeezing your pulse so tightly you know the blood is pooling out between her fingertips, and says, “say hello to your fiance, darling. Don’t be rude.”

It feels like a blink. A quick moment of absolutely nothing, your soul floating up above you like a spectre, and then you’re back. And in bed.

It’s dark outside, and a candle faithfully burns on the table by your bed. Leaning over, you blow it out, knowing that someone not nearly as blessed as you could use the precious light more. Your window rattles, a black shape writhing and clicking against the glass, but it doesn’t break through.

Your head feels empty, a thick, persistent kind of nothingness frying the different pathways to thought. Something important happened, something…. something you should be wary of, but it takes you quite a long time to remember the day’s events until a glimpse of that man’s smarmy face surfaces.

Engaged.

The word makes you gag, but there’s nothing in your stomach to retch. You have no clear idea of how long you’ve been in bed, but as you place your feet on the cold ground, a wave of empty dizziness fizzles through your head. It’s a hungry kind of dizziness, one where your body is at its last leg trying to keep itself upright.

There’s a hot, white pinching in your chest as you rise to a hand, legs and arms shaking like a leaf in a storm. Kitchen, you have to get to the kitchen, your vision blurry and faint. Still, you do your best to keep yourself together as you silently slip out of your room.

The halls are eerily silent, candlelight keeping the night’s terrors at bay. Servants occasionally make rounds to make sure the light doesn’t snuff itself out, but you’ve long timed the carefully coordinated efforts. Arms wrapped around your chest, you slowly make your way back to the kitchens, careful to dodge any straggling staff in the halls.

For the most part, the kitchen is rather modestly sized in comparison to the rest of the house, something the servants and cooks gripe about during the wasteful parties your parents throw to uphold some kind of ridiculous facade of class and wealth. But for you, in your occasional midnight snack, it’s just the right size to feel homely, but also with enough books and crannies for you to duck behind if someone unexpected makes a surprise cameo.

But today, it looks like the last person you wanted to see has been anticipating your visit though.

“Really,” your mother says, arms crossed, the steady glare of rage on her brow, “you faint to embarrass me and then, instead of apologizing, the first thing you think to do is to eat more?”

You swallow thickly, knowing you’re about to get an apocalyptic lecture.

“Look at yourself, girl,” your mother makes a wide, gestural sweep over your body, “your obsession with eating is what made you so difficult to marry in the first place. No one wants to marry a whale! And now that you think you’ve landed a man, you can settle back to your old bad habits?”

You shake your head, clammy and afraid.

“Of course not,” she doesn’t raise her voice, not once, and that somehow makes everything worse, “I told you all you needed was to lose those flaps at your waist, but you can’t even adhere to the diet I’ve set you on.”

If you faint again, she’s going to claim you only did so to guilt her, so you hold your dizzying head together with spit and empty determination. There’s a half-eaten loaf of bread covered on the stove, mocking you with its closeness, laughing at your desperation.

“Everything I do for you, and all you give me in return is your spiteful attitude.” She sighs dramatically and shakes her head. “Go back to bed, girl, I can’t even look at you without feeling disgusting. I don’t know how you can live the way you do.”

You don’t. But you accept the out, shakily wobbling back to your room, hearing your mother call out behind you.

“The engagement party is three days away. You know the rules.”

No sneaking food. Of course you do, she doesn’t allow you to forget it. You go back to your room and lay down on the bed, trying to ignore the painful punches in your starving stomach. Breakfasts in the morning. Breakfast in the morning. Breakfast in the morning.

The party is the epitome of everything you hate.

Bright, gaudy, the food so rich and plentiful despite the nearly starving children barely a mile away. Already you’re mentally calculating how much food you can sneak out to the abbey as soon as the night comes to a close, figuring that you might even be able to make two trips if you truly had to. Sister Anya would protest against you moving through the night, but you’ve never had any issues with the sprites.

Folding your hands together, you try to remain present in the moment, but you quickly find your fingernails scratching invisible streaks down your arms, landing on the palm of your hand... to the mark on your wrist. The doctor speculated that it must have been some kind of chemical burn, mostly because there seemed to be no other explanation about it. A toxic liquid spilt onto your wrist when you were wandering somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, and so now you must bear the speculations and the whispers whenever someone new catches a glimpse of the marking.

It’s an odd kind of thing, all angles and thin lines, coalescing in a shape that seems too particular and sharp to be an accidental blob. When you press your thumb down and close your eyes, though, you can see the exact moment you received it, smell the harsh sanitized basement, but somehow catch a whiff of summer lavender.

Could this be your emergency?

Quickly, you try to fill your mind with a thousand other thoughts, flooding your head to the point that scent is once again a distant memory. Everything that followed that day was filled to the brim with misfortune and misery, and you don’t wish to relive it in the slightest. Not until you absolutely have to.

Your mother is right, the duke is only interested in the land your father offers. To her, though, that’s some kind of blessing. For you, however, seated at the table, it feels like the darkest wickedness. Only once does that man glance in your direction, and you can see his nose briefly wrinkle as he silently dresses you down, as though he feels that fucking you would be some kind of burden that he would skip if allowed.

Everything about him fills you up with a strange sense of terror. It’s the way he holds himself, you think, looking over his posture and general facial expression. Tall. High. He might not be the largest man in the room, but he certainly acts the part, stepping over those he doesn’t necessarily deem to be equal.

To your parents though, that’s just a sign of good breeding. Something that you somehow don’t possess, even though ancestry is theoretically squeaky clean. Through your eyelashes, you observe him, lips glued shut with the waxy lipstick smeared against them. You want to crawl out of your skin, melt into the floorboards, fade into the wall, but you’re stuck in place beneath your mother’s critical glare.

Knowing exactly what she might be thinking, you try to mingle, but everyone has long learned that you’re not the type for conversation. Your search for a discussion amounts to you wandering circles around the ballroom, doing your best to seem interested in what’s going on, but ultimately being ignored.

Eventually, you end up back at the table, filled to the brim with foods so decadent and delicious your mouth waters at the scent. Cautiously, you look over your shoulder as you reach down, to find your mother staring at you from a nearby corner. Your hand freezes, and you retract it, almost ashamed.

The mark on your wrist throbs, gently reminding you of a possibility you can allow yourself to have.

Biting down on your tongue, you merely pour yourself some of the lemon flavored water laid out to the side, hoping to fill your stomach if only for a few moments. Everything is too bright, too much, you’re drowning in the absence of everything you could possibly want.

Even though you know your mother will be at her wit’s end, you snag a champagne flute and decide to go back to your room. The bubbles burn as you drink the flute down faster than should be done, retreating back through the crowded hallway. On your way out, you see a servant carrying another tray of alcohol, and you recklessly switch out your empty cup.

Bitterness swells in your throat. You don’t fucking deserve this, you never have. A part of you wants to burn the mansion down and let the sweeping darkness devour the ashes, but you’ve never had the courage or smarts to pull such a feat off. You spot another platter of champagne and make the trade once more.

Just as you begin sipping the brightly flavored alcohol, you bump into someone sturdy. Hard, dark, tall… your fiancé, unfortunately, you notice. Quickly, you lose all confidence you had been building up and instead curtsy out an apology.

“When your father said you were as quiet as a mouse I didn’t think it was possible,” he laughs, almost good naturally, “I didn’t think a woman could be quiet even if her life depended on it.”

The tops of your ears flare.

“But this is a nice surprise, I think it might make up for your other shortcomings.” He waves his hand in your face, as though you are deaf, not mute, then laughs again. “I suppose we’ll see whether or not you can squeal on the wedding night.”

An almost extinct temper raises its ugly head, you’re furious, but above all else, you’re embarrassed. The alcohol makes your anger boil over more, and to add insult to injury, he doesn’t seem to take the hint to stop talking.

“At least you wouldn’t be able to complain. I hate it when women think they deserve to be heard.” And just like that, he abandons you, wandering off towards a group of people you recognize as your neighbors.

Angrily, you drink more of the champagne, going up the stairs and trying to keep yourself calm. But you’re not calm, you’re furious. At yourself, at your parents, and at that babyfaced ass who has the audacity to mock you in the middle of your joint engagement party. By the time you get to your room, your face is hot and boiling with rage, the empty champagne flute mindlessly left on some random surface, and you bury yourself in the bed. You’ve drunk a fat more tonight than you have in years.

You can’t call a servant to help you out of this satin nightmare, not without your mother being informed, so you’re stuck trying to dislocate both your shoulders in order to reach at the strings lacing the top together. Nothing seems to be working, and you are getting more and more frustrated with your progress, each fucking second wasted on your struggles, making you more upset at the overall predicament.

And then, a thought.

Your drunken mind thinks it’s brilliant. The last thread of your sanity warns you that it’s stupid. But both parties involved agree that it would be very, very funny.

Your thumb finds the mark on your wrist.

Call an eternal being forth just to untie your corset? Absolutely ludicrous. Stupid, even. But definitely hilarious. At least, your drunken mind thinks it’s funny. Slowly, you trace the mark around with your indent finger, your eyesight blurry with drink.

Touch the mark. You place two of your fingers against the pulse of your wrist. Recite my name. Three times, unbroken.

It’s not an incredibly complicated ritual. You’ve recited it in your head many times, staring out of your window, tongue making the motions in your mouth. One favor, you get only but one favor, and every single day you’ve had to deal with another one of your mother’s lectures, your father’s criticism, or some other critical motion from most other people in your life, you’ve thought of him.

But now, while drunk, and after the party, it seems like a fine time to bring him forth from the Otherworld. If only to cause a bit of much-needed chaos. You close your eyes, urging your tongue to move, and you say-

“Étienne. Étienne. Étienne.”

Nothing happens. There is an overwhelming silence, one that causes your body to collapse further into the mattress, your brain slowly shutting itself off in a desperate attempt to sleep off the inordinate amount of alcohol that you’ve consumed. Your tongue and mouth are dry, almost as though they were stuffed with towels and cloth, a hazy exhaustion blocking your vision from comprehension.

And you’re asleep.

You don’t exactly know how long you were asleep for, only that you wake up with a throat as dry as the Dark Desert, lips cracked and bleeding, wrist tingling almost painfully like a thousand little pins are piercing into your flesh, though your face is oddly wet. The candle flickers at your side, likely lit by a servant, illuminating red dampness left on your pillow. A headache pinches between your eyes as you try to process those different elements.

“Here,” a smooth, low voice says, a gloved hand offering up a linen handkerchief.

You accept it, then realize who the hand belongs to. Quickly, you scoot yourself back right up to your headboard, spine pressing almost uncomfortably against the heavy wood.

He’s silent for a moment, eyes so dark and blue you feel like they’re sucking you in as though they’re a whirlpool, and you’re adrift in an ocean clinging to a piece of wood. Then he laughs, shockingly youthfully, hand over his mouth as you yank the handkerchief out from his fingers, pushing it up to your nose to catch the continuous drip of blood. Your mouth tastes like hot copper laid out in the sun, and droplets of redstart swimming in your vision.

“My dear,” he says, cocking his head to the side, curiously, “you called me here.”

“No I di-” fuck, the memory of what must have been only a fe hours prior swimming upward in your mind. “Well, I didn’t mean it.”

“Unfortunately whatever your intentions are, I cannot leave until your wish is fulfilled.” Luckily, he doesn’t seem at all annoyed. Only mildly disinterested in what your problems might be.

“Can’t you just go back?” You ask, voice losing its rasp as you swallow a mouthful of blood.

“That’s not how this works,” he says, almost disappointed in your desperate attempts to make him leave.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re shaking,” He observes, settling on the edge of your bed.

It’s as though the spirit of your mother possesses your body, vomiting out a sentence about your chastity as a lady, “there’s a man in my room, at night, with no chaperone present.”

A perfectly manicured eyebrow pops up. “You know I cannot hurt you.”

“It’s not about you, it’s- it’s about my reputation as a lady-”

The other eyebrow follows suit, and he’s looking at you so sceptically it appears he thinks this is some sort of trick. He reaches over and grabs hold of your hand, drawing your wrist close as to double-check for the mark. “I don’t remember you being such a meek little thing.”

“I was ten the last time we met.” You say, trying to keep your voice even.

“And you bit me, if I remember correctly.” And he smiles, as though the memory of a precocious child is somehow a fond one.

This can’t be happening, you can’t be having this conversation with him. A conversation. Talking. You swallow thickly, raking your nails through your scalp, trying to breathe. “I was only trying to defend myself! You- you ki- you killed-”

“He deserved it,” he says, and you are unfortunately inclined to agree.

You can’t tell if the droplet of liquid running down the side of your cheek is blood or sweat. Taking in a shaking, angry breath, and you stare down at your hands, eyes stinging. Ah, tears, okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.

“Ah, darling, I’ve forgotten myself.” He reaches over, and you flinch, so he quickly retracts his hand. “Let’s try again. What do you want from me?”

You think back to all the tiny, ugly little pinpricks of insults you’ve garnered every goddamn day of your life since the incident. You think about your husband to be, you think about your mother, you think about your long-dead grandfather. Everything hurts. Everything is wrong. Slowly, you close your eyes and breathe, trying to keep yourself together, just for another few moments.

“I’m to be married to a nearby heir,” you say.

He cocks his head.

“I don’t want to be.”

#fae/reader #fae #fae x reader #exophilia #monster/reader

253 notes · View notes

sapphirelass · 4 years ago

Text

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister!Reader

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

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

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant.

Word count: ≈ 2400

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You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/C) - Your hair colour

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

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

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister (Y/N) were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas (Y/N) took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and (Y/N)’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, (Y/N), her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy.

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and (Y/N) shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and (Y/N) with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

(Y/N), who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though!

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired (Y/N), pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

(Y/N) flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. (Y/N) could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. (Y/N) threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“(Y/N/N)!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and (Y/N) knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice.

“Sorry…” (Y/N) mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave (Y/N) a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “(Y/N), did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated (Y/N) simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as (Y/N) sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when (Y/N) stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

(Y/N) turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. (Y/N) took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

(Y/N) apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as (Y/N) reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

(Y/N) grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when (Y/N) slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero.

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side.

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night (Y/N/N)”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“(Y/N/N)!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall.

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head.

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing (Y/N) to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“(Y/N) - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin.

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. (Y/N) was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years.

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his.

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

#harry potter #harryxsister #harry potter x twin #harry potter x sister #harry potter x sister!reader #harry x reader #harry x sister!reader #umbridge #detention #hp #hp imagine #stories #sister #siblings #twins #harry x sister

333 notes · View notes

caffeinated-cryptid · 4 years ago

Text

ashes, ashes.

10.8k | AO3 link | tags/tws: intrulogical, serial killer/deity of death au, lots of death (murder, mentions of a previous suicide attempt, and brief descriptions of animal death), injury, violence, swearing, morally grey characters, crime.

““You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” Logan blurted out with a start, eyes wide and looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“Mamma always told me I was special.” Remus replied with a woozy grin, leaving back against the cool bricks of the alleyway. Seeing things that weren’t there was a new level of fucked-up for his brain, but hopefully that was just a side effect of hitting his head and not something he’d have to take pills for later. Either way, at least this spectre was pretty to look at. Trauma had its benefits.

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” Logan asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.””

(aka: remus chases death like it's his favourite pastime, since it means he gets to see logan again. understandably, logan has some objections to this.)

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

Case 1: the man in the alley.

The first time Remus and Logan met, it was more or less a complete accident.

As a part-time warehouse operative slash freelance artist, Remus had a lot of free time between jobs, and one of the things he enjoyed doing most while waiting for his next gig to come around was spray-painting obscene images into the side of alleys.

His latest project was a 7-foot tall purple unicorn with generous proportions. Pretty tasteful by his standards, all things considered.

If nothing else, the piece of work would give passers-by a topic of conversation, and that was always something Remus aimed to inspire with his art. These topics, however, often happened to be the ‘why’ variety. Most commonly, the old classic (and his personal favourite): ‘why are you like this?’.

Regrettably, the evening passed pretty quickly with no curious pedestrians passing by his alley and starting up such a conversation. By the time Remus finished, it was past midnight and by now the only people around were the regular nightlife-- primarily the local college kids who had recently come home and were enjoying their break from classes, and adults like himself who were trying to chase away their loneliness with some other kind of high.

...Woo, and that’s enough depressing thoughts for tonight. Remus declared to himself. After all, he had a new piece to admire! Stepping back, he spent a moment taking in the completed artwork by the light of his phone’s torch before deciding it was as perfect as it could get. He’d come back later and get a picture during the daytime to show off to his friends, so for now he begun preparing to leave by packing his paint cans into his backpack.

It was when he had collected the last can of magenta from the ground that he felt something grab the back of his coat hood. Remus had no time to process the fact that someone had snuck into the alleyway before he was shoved against the same wall he'd painted his mural on, coming face-to-face with a hooded man waving a rather pathetic-looking pocket knife at him.

“Give me your money. Now.” The man demanded.

Remus blinked in delayed surprise. Usually he was the one being the creep in the alleyway. He had never expected to come across an actual creep. Heck, this situation felt like it was pulled straight out of an old PSA with how stereotypical it was.

“What?” He blurted out unthinkingly, because of that exact train of thought.

“You heard me! I want you to get your wallet and hand over everything you’ve got.”

What an unfortunate victim this man has chosen.

“You think I have any money to my name? I’m practically the starving artist every parent warns their kid about becoming.” Remus said with a huff of amusement.

“Don’t try to bullshit me!” The hand clutching the front of his coat tugged him forward before violently slamming him back against the bricks. The back of Remus’ head ricochetted off them roughly with the sudden movement, and the small grin he had been wearing quickly faded with flash of pain and the realization he may actually be in trouble.

“I saw the paint you’ve got in your bag,” The man continued over his dawning concern. “Somebody who’s broke wouldn’t have all that.”

Remus’ thoughts halted for a second. His bag…! He knew the paint can he was holding onto for dear life wouldn’t do much in the way of self-defense given that it was practically empty, but a whole bag of them? Hitting this guy with that much weight would make him think twice about trying to stab him, at least.

“Okay, okay. You got me, I’m rich as hell. Just let me get it, alright? My wallet's in there.”

The man gave him a skeptical look, but stepped back slightly, continuing to hold the weapon in his direction. “I know how to throw knives. Try to run and you’ll have a hole in your back quicker than an onset stroke.”

Yikes, and Remus thought he was bad at metaphors. He didn’t even need Virgil here to tell him that that made no sense. Still, he grinned placatingly. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye: I won’t run.”

Finally, bad-metaphor guy let down his guard and allowed Remus to side-step around him. He walked a few paces towards where he dropped his backpack in his initial shock, putting the magenta spray in before he picked it up by the straps. True to his word, he didn't run; instead he swung around on his heel, slamming the full force of his hardback sketchbooks and cans of spray paint into the face of the hooded man.

He instantly dropped his knife, falling backwards and clutching his nose as blood erupted from it. Under the low-lighting of the street lamp, Remus was transfixed for a second, feeling like he was in one of those gritty r-rated movies he watched with his babysitter as a kid. The moment was ruined when he realized that 1) the man was approaching again very quickly, and 2) he couldn’t get the momentum quick enough to swing his bag around and hit him a second time.

Before he knew it, Remus had accidentally let go of the makeshift weapon when he was tackled to the ground, wind completely knocked out of him as the two of them collided against cobblestone moistened with rain.

“You fucking bastard.” The guy hissed furiously. His voice was nasally now that his nose was crooked and broken-looking, and Remus almost wanted to poke fun of him for it until he felt two hands wrap around his throat and start to choke him. “‘Could’ve just made things easy, but now you’re gonna die with all the other trash.”

Why? Remus wanted to ask. Over the 7 dollars and 15 cents he had?

But as he tried to tear away the vice grip on his neck, he couldn’t find the voice to talk back, even though the seriousness of the situation was hitting him like a freight train. Maybe it was his own fault for escalating things instead of playing along. Go figure, he had overestimated his own abilities after years being the off-putting one; the person others thought they had to watch over their shoulder for. Either that, or maybe it was the fact that his wallet carried more sentimental value with it than monetary. It was small and made of orange ducktape, but it carried so many things that Remus wanted to protect; a photo of his family, one of Virgil's guitar picks, the ticket to the last Tenacious D he went to, and of course, the receipt for his first condom purchase.

His mind flashed to his friends and family, and he wondered how they’d feel about this; him dying because of some dumb robber in a dumb alleyway because he was painting his dumb artwork. That was hardly the kind of death one could look back on and regard with pride (Hell if it wasn't funny to imagine how everyone will react to the news, though). But as he focused on the face above him, he realized with some panic that the grip wasn’t loosening, even as he could feel his lungs burn and a near-soothing feeling telling him to just let go.

As a final act of desperation to save himself from becoming a wholly embarrassing funeral eulogy instead of having a rockstar’s death in his 40s like he always imagined for himself, he patted the ground frantically, looking for a loose rock or something to stop this with. That’s when he felt it; the slightly warm plastic handle of the knife the guy had been holding. Remus’ heart pounded as he realized what he needed to do, and he barely even considered the repercussions of the action before he was plunging the knife into the side of the guy’s neck.

Finally, the grip around his throat loosened as the guy gasped, his expression flickering back and forth between anger and shock. Remus ripped the knife away, inhaling air greedily when the sudden action caused the man to loosen his grip and move off of him, trying to cover the stab wound with his hands and failing.

Remus quickly scrambled back and pulled himself up the wall, watching and waiting for the guy to fall still. He did, after what felt like a few minutes, and Remus didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. He’d just killed a man. It was self-defence, but still… even the morbid thoughts he had over the years couldn't have prepared him for what it would have actually felt like to go through with any of it.

In that moment of pause, his injuries caught up with him as both his head and neck begun to ache. He was so disoriented that he barely even noticed the third person standing in the alley until they spoke up.

“Well. I didn’t see that coming.”

Remus snapped his head towards the source of the voice, and immediately regretted it when the hasty motion made him dizzy. The only reason he didn’t immediately jump into fight mode was because of the unusually casual way the voice had spoken. Beyond that, the figure he saw standing a short distance away didn’t really… look like a regular person. Beyond the odd formal clothing that had no discernable modern style to it and the shock of white hair that could only be achieved with hella bleach, his skin was a cool grey like a cadaver and he had a ghostly appearance to him; transparent and misty around the edges.

Definitely not the sort of thing Remus expected to see, but he was always one to accommodate the unexpected.

“...You and me both. My only goal for today was to draw unicorn porn.” Remus replied lightly, once he decided it wouldn't hurt to entertain whatever was currently happening.

The figure turned, startling at the sight of Remus staring directly at him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to see me.” He blurted out with wide eyes, looking at Remus like he had just killed a guy in front of him. Oh wait-

“You think a deity of death is pretty?” The man (deity???) asked wryly, cutting through the stream of subconscious babble he’d accidentally spilled into the frigid night air. “I’d be flattered, if that didn’t sound like such a red flag.”

"I can't believe my own brain is kinkshaming me." Remus whined, slipping down slightly as the worn-down soles of his boots lost their grip on the concrete for a second.

Death frowned, until a metaphorical lightbulb lit over his head. "Ah- you think you're hallucinating. Well, that's not an unfair assumption. Keep believing it, by all means."

"That doesn't sound like something a hallucination would say." Remus pointed out.

"Well then, I'll gladly prove my non-existence by disappearing." Death said as he took a step towards the body.

"Wait!" Remus called before he could figure out why. The ghostly figure stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Remus’ composure slipped as his eyes darted between the body and Death. "I...I need to know that this is real. That I'm not making this up. This feels like something I'd dream, but…"

His hand clenched around the knife, feeling the squelch of blood and the tremor of his hand. Despite the mixed signals he was currently getting on the state of his sanity, it felt solid and real, and Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that.

"Fuck. Please tell me! Am I being as messed up as usual or did I really just kill someone?"

Death’s eyes softened. "You did. This is real."

"Well shit. Okay…" Remus looked back at the body with a deep resignation. He wondered if he should do something about that. Probably not; that would look even more incriminating.

"...If it makes you feel better, he has hurt people in situations like this before, and completely unnecessarily; his only motive was to achieve a rush.”

That did make Remus feel better, actually.

"Good. I’m glad I killed a piece of shit and not someone down on their luck." Remus sighed, eyeing the spectral figure. "Speaking of, if this is real, then I guess that means you are too right?"

Any sympathy on Death's place quickly faded as he was caught out. "Erm-"

"It's cool." Remus leaned his head back again. "Talking to a cute ghost man? Sounds like a typical Thursday night for me."

Actually, this was the furthest thing from a typical Thursday night for Remus, but he didn’t want to admit that to the cute ghost man and risk looking uncool.

"You shouldn't get acquainted with it. Seeing me is hardly a good thing." Death replied, though his cheeks were distinctly a darker grey.

"Aww- don't sell yourself short. I love your work!" Remus waved away vaguely. He always had a strange relationship with death in a way that others didn’t; always the first to laugh at a funeral or smile instead of grieve. That was probably why he felt so comfortable right now. “Besides, we’ll all be food for the dirt and worms eventually, anyway. Why get uncomfortable with it?"

Death met his eyes again, seeming slightly more firm. “Perish those thoughts, it's hardly your time yet."

Remus pouted. "It's still inevitable, though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I didn’t die today and got to meet you instead, but what’s so bad about something that’s going to happen either way?”

“I’m starting to think I was right by judging your attitude as a red flag.” Death muttered.

“But I'm right aren't I?” Remus prodded.

“Indeed.” Death begrudgingly conceded. “And do you know just how inevitable it is? Approximately 2 people die per second; 106 per minute. There have been 6435 events of armed conflict in the past year alone, and over 690 million people who are undernourished as we speak. Beyond that, there are even more people losing their lives to case-by-case natural events and incidents. So if you’d be so kind, do not be so eager to create more work for me.”

Remus absorbed that information, tilting his head. “Despite all that, you’re still here?”

“...I am.” Death agreed after a heavy pause, in the same manner most would admit their own defeat. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to… talking so much. It’s an unusual feeling, but it’s been pleasant, I suppose.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus laughed. “That’s gotta be saying something.”

Death rolled his eyes. “My name is Logan, not Death.”

“Huh. I’m Remus.” Remus replied, a little baffled. He didn’t expect a deity to have such a normal name.

“Remus ‘Tsukio’ Kaneshiro, I already know of you. We’ve met before.”

Remus’ bafflement only grew. “We have? I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

“You wouldn't; you were unconscious. It was after you overdosed on cold medicine. Thankfully your parents got you to the hospital on time before I could do my job, but I remember it being a close call.” Logan looked at him knowingly.

“...Oh.” Remus laughed nervously. He definitely remembered that. Finding out you could overdose on a lot of common household items was pretty dangerous for him to learn as a teenager, and he’d never forget how furious his entire family was with him for being so reckless. He never knew how to tell them that it wasn’t quite the accident they assumed it to be (needless to say, his adolescent years were pretty shitty to him, being the outsider in this town in more ways than one). Thankfully, the taste of cold medicine had become too repulsive for him to try anything like that again.

“...I am glad you’re alright. It’s always unfortunate when a life ends too soon.”

“Well…thanks. This has been pretty trippy, so I’m glad I met you too, Logan.”

Logan hummed and looked towards the end on the alleyway. “By the way, you should think about leaving soon. There’s a group of people approaching us.”

Shit, Remus had almost forgotten that he had just committed a crime. Given how awful this scene looked, there was a big chance he’d get thrown into jail for this if he got caught. But at the same time, he was almost hesitant to leave behind the spectre that had enchanted his heart within a few minutes, even if his mind was still trying to catch up with the overload of information.

“Why would you help me?” He asked quickly and somewhat suspiciously.

Just as Logan finished his business with the body, he looked at him over his shoulder with an almost sly expression. “You seem interesting, Remus. I’d hate for you to lose your life over someone so unworthy of one.”

And with that, Logan disappeared like a cloud of fog. Remus stood there transfixed, until he remembered Logan’s warnings and snatched up his bag, shoving the knife into his pocket and dashing into the night.

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

Case 2: the man who couldn't leave well enough alone.

The next time Remus and Logan met, it was slightly less of an accident, but fuck if the guy didn’t deserve it.

When Remus got home after the night he first saw Logan, he was more grateful than ever that he lived in such a run-down part of town. There were barely any security cameras to look out for, let alone people who were willing to be out during the early hours of the morning.

He was able to slip into his apartment complex unseen, avoiding his early-bird roommate long enough to wash away his crimes in the shower.

After that, he fell into his bed, completely unable to process everything that had just happened. So instead he fell asleep and left the deep thinking to his future self.

As expected, he needed plenty of time to collect his thoughts. First of all, he knew he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing because after weeks and months of taking it as easy as possible, he hadn’t seen anything else as strange as a personification of death named Logan. Logan...what kind of name even was that? It felt like the name of a teacher, not something that should be as grim and macabre as Remus himself.

But that was the other thing; Remus couldn’t get the thought of Logan out of his head. He was like the angel who had come down to bless him in a moment of weakness, saving him from further misfortune. He knew he had little to no chance of seeing their deity again, but that didn’t stop him from plaguing his mind constantly.

Remus figured the best chance he’d probably get at seeing Logan again was to become involved with death once more. His mind immediately jumped to animals, the easiest targets; he pictured slipping into a farm late at night and slitting the throat of one of the sheep, going to a pet store and buying a hamster for the night before ‘accidentally’ leaving it in a box to suffocate, picking up a stray from the street and snapping its neck quickly. But just as soon as those thoughts came to him, he waved them away with a grimace. He wouldn’t be able to go through with any of that, even for Logan.

People had always talked about him like he was a serial killer in training. They would keep a wary eye when he picked up sharp objects and ask his brother if Remus had ever hurt one of their pets as kids, as if because he had unconventional ideas, he was a complete sadist towards the innocent. (And yes, perhaps he did have thoughts of that nature too, but they’d always fill him with sickness because he fucking loved the pet dogs they had as kids, damn it). In any case, he knew that going through with those ideas would only be proving those people right, that he was a dangerous individual who’d murder an innocent creature just for someone his brain maybe made up.

...Perhaps he was losing his mind after all. What was he doing, plotting out the best way to see Death? If anyone else could hear his thoughts, they’d think him half-mad or suicidal. It seemed like the best thing so do was to try to push this out of his mind, so eventually, that's what he did. He wasn’t so good at that usually; his mouth ran a mile a minute and the people who knew him would often say that his brain-mouth filter was non-existent. But this felt like something he’d like to keep for himself, especially when news of the murder made it onto the local news, presumed to be the outcome of ‘gang activity’ simply because the victim was successful and had a loving family and what else could explain this?

He decided to not think about making plans anymore, and he only thought about Logan when his mind was otherwise unoccupied. It stayed that way until the very next week when he found out about the situation with his roommate’s ex.

Remus didn’t have many people in the world who were willing to put up with him, but the one’s that did, he cherished dearly. So when Nadia, the woman he’d describe as belonging among the Valkyries (if only she could get past her deal of not wanting to hurt a fly), came to him looking uncharacteristically shaken and upset, Remus felt something in him snap.

She told Remus about how her ex-boyfriend was following her to her workplace and making threats on her life. He’d even begun showing up outside their apartment late at night in an attempt at intimidation, and that detail alone pissed him off considering he’d been too in his head to even notice.

“All because I decided I deserved better.” Nadia told him tearily. She was so strong usually, both physically and emotionally, so seeing her so close to crying felt like a punch to the gut. “I just want for him to be gone… But James would probably kill me before I could even file a restraining order.”

“What if he was gone?” Remus blurted out. “Hypothetically.”

Nadia blinked at him, wiping a stray tear. “Honestly? I think the world would be a better place. But that’s never going to happen.”

Remus nodded. “Right. Of course. Do you still have his number, by any chance?”

Remus’ plan was simple: Nadia would call her ex and ask him to come over to ‘reconcile’, and when he did, Remus would confront him. Scare him enough to stay away for good. He was pretty great at being intimidating when he wanted to that the both of them assumed it would work out.

Well, James came as planned. Their apartment complex had one massive security flaw in that anyone could get in without keys or permission, so the only clue Remus got that James was coming was the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls of the stairwell. Remus stood upright and waited, until he saw the top of James’ head slowly ascending up the stairs, pausing on the second-top step.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” James scoffed disbelievingly as Remus moved in front of him. “Did Nadia seriously send out the guard dog? What? Suddenly too afraid to talk for herself?”

Remus considered barking at him in response, but considering how James was way above the common creep in terms of persistence, he crossed his arms instead and glared steadily.

“Hell yeah she did. You should know why, given how much of a low-life asshole you’ve been acting all week. When are you going to give up the big guy act, huh? Curley called and he wants his complex back.”

James, in all of his 5-foot-no-thoughts glory, only squinted as the insult went over his head.

“...I knew I never fuckin’ liked you. Don’t get involved in our relationship, you little freak.” James tried to pass him, and Remus quickly blocked him, taking out the knife he’d stolen months ago.

“Take another step and this is going in your goddamn eye.” Remus raised his voice, confident that most of their neighbours were already out at work. “You’re not going near Nadia ever again, do you hear me?”

“Or what?! What’ll you do, Kaneshiro? Stab me? Put the toothpick away and step aside, for god’s sake. This is embarrassing, even for you.”

The two of them stood in a standstill, staring each other down as the echo from James’ exclamation faded out.

“...Fine.” Remus said finally. He slipped the knife back into his pocket, and James smirked smugly until Remus grabbed the front of his shirt instead. “It’ll be more fun to do this, anyway.”

With that he shoved James backwards, who quickly lost his footing and fell down the long and narrow flight of stairs. He tumbled for few moments, hitting each step, until he landed on the ground floor with a distant thump.

Remus stared after him, preparing for James to get up and start making a scene like he always did when he didn’t get his way. He didn’t.

Frowning, Remus descended the stairs, and as he drew closer to the slumped-over body, he noticed the puddle of blood around James’ head and the odd way he’d landed.

“Damn.” Remus commented under his breath. “Nadia’s going to kill me.”

He heard a sigh somewhere ahead of him, and fearing someone had walked in on his compromising position, Remus quickly glanced up, excuse at the ready.

“It was an accident-!” He exclaimed, before he realized it was Logan standing there, looking between James and Remus with a pinched expression.

“I know you pushed him, Remus. That’s not exactly what the law would define as an ‘accident’.”

For a second, Remus was starstruck (and opting to ignore the consequences of his actions). “You remember me.”

“Of course I do. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, though.”

That almost sounded like an accusation, so Remus held his hands up defensively. “Hey, in my defence he was just asking to die. The dude's a dick!”

Logan sighed. “Regardless, you shouldn't go around killing people. Sooner or later you’ll get caught.”

“Well, I’m 1 for 1 so far! But if you’d rather me not get in trouble… Have any tips on how to cover this?” Remus joked, winking.

Logan frowned at him before he truly considered it, looking around at the scene thoughtfully. “...Double check to make sure you left no evidence. Move quickly, before anybody stumbles across the scene. And if you have time, plant something which will make this look more like an accident-- for instance, a spill on the stairs.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting actual tips. Holy shit- okay.”

He went over to check the body, feeling his cheeks heat up. He absolutely should not be getting flustered over advice on how to cover up a murder, yet here he was.

“I feel like you shouldn’t be encouraging this.” Remus said jokingly as he smoothed out the creases on the front of James’ shirt. “Didn’t you say something about having more work to do? Who knows, you might be giving me a new hobby.”

Remus laughed. Logan didn’t. When he glanced up, the deity was frowning.

“Perhaps not. Forget what I said; I shouldn’t be interfering in matters like this. I shouldn’t even be appearing to you now.”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s the matter? I thought you liked talking.” Remus hastily stood upright, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I- regardless of my personal feelings, I have a job to do. I can’t allow myself to become so partial over one human.” Logan replied, rubbing at the crease between his eyebrows.

“Why? What’s the worst that could happen?!” Remus argued.

“You could cheat death, for starters.”

“You already know how I feel about that.” Remus whined. “I’ll off myself when the time comes, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t-” Logan exclaimed, before he reigned himself back in. “Just. No. You’re supposed to go naturally. Neither you or I should interfere with that.”

Remus frowned. He wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of such a boring death. If anything, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. Otherwise, he’d be just another body no one would remember-- like loverboy over there.

“That means no more meetings like this.” Logan continued on.

“But what if I want to see you again?” Remus muttered. He looked across the room to Logan and found him wearing a similar downtrodden expression, until it grew serious.

“You’ll just have to deal with that, because we were never supposed to meet in the first place. I have a duty to fulfil and you have a life to live. Our paths are as parallel as can be.”

“This is bullshit, Logan.” Remus said, but he didn’t argue any further. Not when Logan walked around him to complete his business. Not when he prepared to leave, either.

“Don’t do this again.” Logan said finally, giving him a stern glare. “I mean it.”

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

Case 3: the woman in the streets.

The next time Remus and Logan met, Logan was starting to think Remus was making a habit of this after all.

In Remus’ defence, he totally wasn’t.

Logan’s parting words just wouldn’t leave his head. It was even worse than last time; the knowledge that he could kill anyone and get to see Logan again plagued him, and he found himself pulling away from his family and friends after the questioning from the police was over and done with.

They were all worried for him, but especially Nadia who knew exactly what he did and assumed it was because of the guilt that he was becoming uncharacteristically withdrawn. Although she was shocked at how things had escalated, she tried to apologize multiple times for letting Remus confront James, which he would always blow off. It wasn’t killing James that had gotten to him, not at all; in fact he was glad that prick was out of their hair. Rather, he grappled with the idea of never seeing Logan again, one of the few people who truly saw the worst sides of him and accepted them nonetheless.

He didn’t deal with it well.

The night of their next meeting, Remus was out drinking alone. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he didn’t want to justify why he wanted to get absolutely wasted to his friends, so being sad and lonely for one night it was.

He had stumbled out of the bar late at night, beginning his unsteady trek home since he had accidentally spent too much money and couldn’t afford an uber to drive him back. Stepping onto the street a couple blocks from his apartment, everything was quiet until the person ahead of him crossed the road, just as a car sped around the corner and knocked them over with an awful crunch.

Remus stood in shock. He looked after the swerving car to get the licence plate, but it was already too late and they had hit the gas upon noticing him. Swearing, he stumbled over to the person left in the road.

“Shit- Are you alright? Of course not, you need an ambulance.” He was struggling to unlock his phone when he noticed how still the person-- a frail old woman-- was. It didn’t even look like she was taking breaths, though it was hard to tell through his swimming vision and the thick coat she was wearing.

With unsteady fingers, Remus pressed against the pulsepoint on her neck, and felt the moment her heartbeat stopped.

“Oh…”

And then he turned on his heel and threw up.

Death wasn’t supposed to bother him like this. He had always been proud of his ability to frighten others with his dismissive attitude towards life’s eventualities. But this was different. He had just watched the murder of a complete stranger right before his eyes, and there wasn't even anything he could do. What the fuck?

He didn’t even feel better when the person he’d been longing to see all night appeared right in front of him, arms crossed and ready to give a lecture.

“Again, Remus?! What did I tell you?! No more murder!” Logan threw his hands up at the sight of Remus next to the body, that was until he noticed the cause of death and Remus’ sickly appearance,

“I-I didn’t do anything this time, I swear. Logan I promised myself I wouldn’t.” He picked himself out of the gutter he had been puking into, trying to look at the deity, just so he could feel some sense of reassurance. “I thought I’d never see you again. ‘Thought I was okay with that, but I’m not. I missed you.”

Logan only stared at Remus when he began crying. He was a sappy emotional drunk when he got through the fun tipsy phase, sue him.

“...I apologize for yelling at you.” Logan said, awkwardly hovering his hand over Remus’ shoulder until it shuddered with a sob and accidentally brushed against him. Remus jolted at the cool touch, as did Logan, who quickly retreated his hand, eyes darting around worriedly.

“‘Always thought you’d be like mist.” Remus slurred, awestruck enough to forget his sadness. He reached forward to prod at Logan, who furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully.

“I… Yes, that’s definitely strange.” Logan cleared his throat and straightened up. “In any case, you need to get off the street, report this incident, and go home. Being around so much death isn’t good for your mental health.”

“Maybe.” Remus sighed. “I quite like hanging around you, though.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re drunk. You’re going to feel a lot worse about seeing me in the morning, I promise.”

“I never feel bad about seeing you.” Remus said, picking up his phone from where he’d dropped it. “I only feel bad that it’ll be a long time before I get the chance to see you again.”

“...I don’t get it.” Logan replied softly after a heavy pause. “You shouldn’t want to see me at all. I’m a bad omen. You’d only ever get to meet me in times of tragedy.”

“‘Bad omen’... And I thought Emo was dramatic.” Remus chuckled weakly. “You’re not so bad, Lo. You guide people to the end. You care for them even when you have so many people to watch over. You’re opinionated and you’re easily curious when things don’t go to plan. You don’t mind when I’m weird and you’re fun to talk to. I like you.”

Logan blinked rapidly with surprise, clutching his chest. “I wish we could be having this conversation away from the recently deceased. But... I suppose I feel the same way. I still don’t know how or why you can see me, but our conversations haven’t been unpleasant.”

“Death likes my company.” Remus said, smiling softly to himself. “...You’re right though. I should probably phone this in. I just wish I could remember the licence plate… Something like XQ... ugh.”

“XQR 460.” Logan supplied helpfully.

“That’s it!” Remus cheered, sloppily kissing Logan on the cheek. “Thanks babe!”

Logan floundered for a second as Remus begun calling an ambulance, struggling to regain composure. “I hope we don’t meet like this again soon. Three times over the span of a year is already too much.”

“I don’t know.” Remus looked at Logan slyly. “I’ve always had pretty bad luck.”

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

Case 4: the bad doctor.

The next time Remus and Logan meet, it’s completely coincidental and under less stressful circumstances for once.

Well, still stressful. Just for different reasons.

Roman was in the hospital because of some dumb motorcycle crash he got into, which near-gave Remus a heart attack when he heard about because he may often ask for death these days, but not like this. Never like this.

Anyway, he was more or less alive in the end. Just a broken leg and a lot of scrapes and bruises since he always refused to wear the proper protective clothing when he went riding (due to it ‘not fitting his aesthetic', apparently. Remus assumed it was pussy talk for ‘I don’t look badass enough to pull off leather’).

Remus had stopped by to visit, bringing some of the fancy name-brand crackers Roman liked since he kept complaining about how stale and awful the hospital’s ones were, and to say hello to Virgil while xe was on shift. The three of them even managed to sit down while Virgil was on break and catch up, too. Roman and Virgil seemed glad Remus was doing a bit better after his downward spiral a couple of weeks ago, even if they didn’t mention it.

After a few hours spent catching up and teasing one another, he decided to leave Roman to get some rest. His plans for that evening were to take a load off and perhaps call for some takeout with Nadia. Honest to God, he didn’t plan on looking for any trouble.

But still, trouble found him when he noticed Logan walking the halls of the hospital, following a doctor to the elevator.

Remus double-taked. Though he shouldn’t really be surprised to see Logan here in a place with so much death, it was still odd witnessing the cloaked figure walk around normal people, none of them noticing his presence.

Remus quickly jogged over. "Logan!" He hissed under his breath.

The deity startled (startled!) before turning to him, just like the doctor he was following.

"Do you need something?" The doctor said, raising an eyebrow.

"Uhhhh, nope! Just… getting into the elevator." Remus replied, stepping in and standing next to Logan.

"Why must you have such awful timing?" Logan sighed stressfully as the elevator doors slid shut. Remus looked at him, unable to verbally reply with the doctor standing right next to them. Fortunately, his unspoken request to elaborate was picked up on.

"This doctor is going down go the morgue. I was here to see a patient that died under his care, and I noticed how death seemed to latch onto him. I got curious."

Sounds like a bad doctor, if even a deity of death was interested in him. Heh, that probably said a lot about Remus too.

Logan elaborated for Remus’ misinterpreting amused expression. "Remus, he murders patients purposefully. You should not have gotten on this elevator."

...Oh. Remus looked past Logan to the doctor, who had noticed his glances.

"...Hm, aren't you supposed to be in your room? Broken leg, road burn, lacerations?" He questioned, eyes flicking down to where he assumed Remus must be injured.

"Nope! You’re thinking of my twin. I came to visit him today." Remus responded as chipper as he could manage, suddenly a lot more unnerved knowing that this apparently dangerous doctor knew about his brother.

"Ah! I see. I did wonder how you managed to grow a full moustache in a day." The man chuckled. "Twins… quite fascinating."

Uh oh spaghetti-os. "Yeah… people say we're like two unrelated people, we’re so different." Remus laughed dismissively. It didn't seem to bother the doctor.

"Interesting… Say, a partner of mine is conducting a study on the differences in the individual psychologies of monozygotic twins. I'm sure it would please her to get more data, if you'd be interested in participating. There would be monetary compensation for your time, of course."

"This is such an unethical form of recruitment. What kind of professional are you?" Logan argued in frustration. Remus almost burst into laughter on the spot from the bizarreness of the situation, but he somehow managed to turn it into an agreeable grin instead.

"Sounds good, doc." Remus said.

"What-?!" Logan exclaimed. Remus spared him a glance, hoping it would let him know he knew what he was doing. Logan didn't look placated in the slightest.

"Excellent! I'll pass the details onto your brother and we can arrange a meeting sometime this week.”

At that moment, the elevator stopped to let a few other people on. Remus took the opportunity to head out before they could reach the basement floor.

“See you later!” He called to both the Doctor and Logan.

“REMUS!”

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

Case 4.5: the dead doctor.

The next time they meet, Remus fully expects it.

Roman asks him over text why he volunteered them for a study, and Remus makes some vague excuse like ‘sexy doctor’. Thankfully, he bought it.

Before the date sent to them by the doctor, Remus decided to do his own research first. To do so, he contacted Virgil and asked for details on the man.

After copious amount of friendly jabs (like 'oooh Remus, I didn’t know tall, straight, and boring was your type'), Virgil told him his name and not much else, given that xe wasn't exactly close with the older staff member. That was fine; Remus used the information to find online profiles, where he found contact details and photos, where he found business accounts, where he found history.

After pulling a few more strings from people that owed him one, he managed to gain access to the vital records from the hospital. It didn’t take long to discover that Logan was right, there had been a spike in deaths since the doctor, a mister 'Stacey’, had begun working there. It was a mystery how no one had noticed the pattern honestly. Weren't doctors supposed to get their licences taken away after a certain number of incidents? As he begun looking through the files more closely however, he realized that the deaths were often chalked up to accidents; small things that could have been due to anything, from mistakes during operations, to the patients overdosing on their prescribed medication, to incidents days after they’ve been discharged.

As Remus closed his laptop, he begun feeling very glad he had impulsively accepted Stacey’s offer.

The meeting ended up being scheduled for Friday evening, and by the time it rolled around, Remus was fully prepared and waiting outside of the agreed location. He dialled Roman’s number, looking out to the empty parking lot and familiarizing himself with the location.

After a few rings, Roman picked up, sounding slightly agitated. “Yes, Captain Dookey?”

Remus snickered at the old nickname-- it was practically a relic from when they played pirates as children. Perhaps Roman was feeling sentimental after his accident.

“Aye aye first mate. You should know that I’m not gonna make it to the study. I already called Dr. Stacy to let him know we’re cancelling for today, so you can stay home.”

“Really Remus? I just got ready.”

“Yeah well, you’re supposed to be resting anyway. Unless you want to drop a visit by yourself that is, but Virgil told me he’s straight, soooo...”

He heard a retching sound on the other end of the line.

“No thanks.” A sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess.”

“Bye, ugly.”

“Later, Rat Bastard.”

“Rats are cute, that’s not an insult. Byeee~.” Remus quickly hung up, his grin quickly fading as he took in the apartment complex.

It didn’t look like the sort of space that would house an office, but Stacey didn’t look like the type to break the Hippocratic oath either, so perhaps the world wasn’t as straight-forward as it seemed.

Slipping his phone away, Remus buzzed the number he’d been given, and it wasn’t long before the good doctor himself came down to answer the door personally.

“Remus.” Stacey almost looked surprised to see him. “Is your brother not coming?”

“Oh, no.” Remus waved a hand. “I just got off the phone with him and he told me he’s running late. He said to get started without him.”

He received a charming smile. “That works just fine. Come on in.”

Stacey led him up the stairs to his apartment, and the whole time Remus felt the weight of the kitchen knife in his pocket. When they got to the ‘office’ (which was really just a living room with minimal furnishing), he offered him a drink.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Remus said, looking around. “...Seems pretty empty in here for an office.”

“Ah… Yes, unfortunately my colleague is having renovations done in her usual space, so we’ll have to collect our data here. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

A fair enough explanation on the surface, and one his brother would probably accept if he was here, but Remus wasn’t nearly as trusting as Roman was. Nor was he as ignorant to the true purpose of this meeting.

“I see… That makes sense. Or at least it would, if I didn’t already know all about your dirty little secrets.”

Stacey glanced up from where he’d been looking for a pen. “...Pardon?”

Remus smiled back; a grin with all teeth. “You have quite a few skeletons in your closet, doc. Even for a fine medical professional like yourself.”

The doctor very carefully didn’t react to that. "My apologies, do you have the right person? To the best of my knowledge we've only spoken once."

"Yeah." Remus agreed. "And once is all it took. I found out about all those little accidents that follow you, doctor. Weird how many times your patients pass away from nicked veins and potassium chloride overdoses, hm?"

The only outward response Stacey gave was the clenching of his fists. Subtle, but Remus noticed it. "Be careful Mr. Kaneshiro, because that sounds an awfully lot like a baseless accusation. People sue for that, you know."

"I don't doubt it. But you already know it's not so baseless, don't you? You know exactly what I’m talking about, which is why you invited us here to a shady apartment late at night, no colleague in sight."

"Remus what the hell do you think you're doing?!" A familiar voice chimed from behind him.

Remus startled out of his focus, whipping his head around. "Logan?"

"Don't look at me, you ignoramus-! You met a serial killer alone after I told you to stay away?!"

"He knows my brother, I couldn't just-!"

Remus looked back at the doctor was closer now, looking down at him pitifully. "I see now. The talking to air, the erratic behaviour, the pushing your delusions onto others… you mustn't be well. It's alright, Mr. Kaneshiro, I could easily refer you to a mental health facility who will take care of you."

"Remus, you have to get out! Now!"

"I know!" He wasn’t a complete idiot, damn it! But he needed to get Stacey to confess or-

"Ah, perfect! If you wait here, I’ll go and make a call."

Remus stepped backwards, hand going to the knife in his pocket. He needed Stacey to confess, but if he didn’t-

Unfortunately, Stacey noticed his movement and quickly grabbed his left wrist, putting way too much pressure in his grip than was necessary.

"Ah-ah. I told you to stay put, didn't I? Come now, don't be difficult. I'm only trying to get you the help you need."

If he didnt-

"Let go of him!" Logan demanded to the man who couldn't hear him.

Stacey froze, feeling the cool touch of Death on his arm as Logan tried to pull him away, and at that moment Remus pulled his knife out and stabbed him in the chest; slipping the blade right between the ribs.

Red pooled around the knife, staining his crisp white shirt vividly. Stacey stared at the knife, and dug his nails into Remus’ wrist.

"Fucker." Remus yelped with pain, pulling the weapon back out.

Finally, Stacey let go and stumbled back, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. His expression didn't recover from the shock from when Logan touched him; he didn't even try to apply pressure to the wound as he bled out. He just sat there until the light left his eyes, and the only sound left in the room was Remus’ laboured breathing.

"I… shouldn't have done that." Logan muttered, eyeing the limp body.

"Done what? I'm the one that killed him. That was my backup plan all along." Remus replied numbly, looking at the scene he had caused.

"I gave him the touch of Death, it's- it's an omen. I'm not supposed to use it ever."

"Gee, I'm flattered. I promise murder was always on my brain though." Remus said as he took the tape recorder out of his pocket. No need for this anymore. He wanted to get a clip of Stacey saying something incriminating so that he could defame him and ruin his reputation, but well, him not being able to benefit from a reputation at all was the next best thing.

Logan watched him, taking in the claw marks across his wrist. "...Right. He scratched you, so remember to clean under his nails."

Despite everything, Remus smiled softly at the advice. "Aww, you really care about me, don't you?"

"I- no. Absolutely not. That’s absurd" Remus snickered as Logan flushed an adorable shade of paynes grey, which he hid by going to deal with the corrupt doctor’s soul.

"...Why did you show up, by the way? There isn't anyone dead in this apartment is there?" Remus realized belatedly, looking around the empty space.

"Ah… No. Admittedly, I've been keeping a closer eye on this town than I really should, and after what happened the other day, I figured I needed to be here when I noticed you two meeting… I probably shouldn’t have.” Logan conceded.

"Well, at least you can't say this wasn't a business visit." Remus giggled to himself, wiping the blood from his knife with a tissue. Maybe he was a little giddy from the endorphins of confronting a prolific serial killer, or perhaps it was the confirmation that Logan cared for him, but either way he felt really good right now, like he could take on the world.

Logan looked at him and sighed. "I should've known you'd be trouble. No more killing, Remus. This has to be the last time."

"Of course, pinky promise~."

"...I can see you crossing your fingers behind your back, you brat."

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

Case 5: the one who tried to get away.

The next time they met, Remus broke his pinky promise. No surprises there.

It was hardly even a promise to begin with, but for some reason Logan expected him to stick to it. Quite foolish, if you ask Remus, given that he now had a total of three murders under his belt, and stopping there almost felt like giving up.

Of course, he had to lay low after Stacey however. The hospital was holding a memorial for his death and Remus later found out that it was ruled a break in. (Made sense, since Remus took a few of his fancy cleaning products on the way out, as a treat to himself.)

It was a shame Stacey was being remembered so honourably, but he couldn't really do anything about that. At least he wasn't out in the world hurting more people.

But unfortunately for Remus, the ruling of Stacey’s murder didn’t stop the incident from trickling into his normal life, as Virgil and Roman seemed to grow suspicious of him. Virgil didn't bring up the topic to him directly, but xe begun acting sketchy when the two of them hung out (Though that could easily be wariness after having one of xyr co-workers be killed). Oppositely, Roman brought the topic up at the first chance possible.

"Dr. Stacey was murdered the night we were supposed to meet him." Roman commented the next day they were able to have lunch together, arms crossed confrontationally. "Funny that."

"Yeah. Sounds like we had some pretty good luck, if you ask me." Remus grinned.

"Wha- why are you smiling?! A man died!" His twin hissed at him. Under his breath, as to not alert the other tables.

Remus’ grin faded. "Listen Ro-bro, I didn't want to tell you this but our good doctor wasn't as kind as you think he is. I called you off that night to help you. Trust me. It’s better off that neither of us went through with that ‘study’."

Roman leaned back, looking unconvinced. "What were you doing instead, Remus?"

"...Huh?"

"You heard me. Where were you? What's your alibi?"

"You're not accusing your own flesh and blood of murder, are you?" Remus sipped his drink casually; ice coffee with as many pumps of peppermint syrup as the barista would allow.

"Just answer the question." Siiigh, what a tightass. How did they come out the same womb?

"I was meeting an old friend, for your information. Logan." Remus smiled to himself at the inside joke.

"Logan? You've never mentioned a Logan before." Roman raised his eyebrows.

Remus leaned back in his chair with a shrug, opting to look out the window instead. By doing so he missed the flash of complicated emotions that crossed his twin’s face at the dismissive gesture.

"I don't tell you everything about my life, brother dearest."

"Clearly…"

A week or two passed since his conversation with Roman, and during that time Remus didn't get to see Logan again once. That wasn't such a terrible thing, most people would assume, to not run into a deity of death, but Remus was so bored! He wanted to see his favourite death pal again, but no opportunities arose to do that, and nothing was striking his murder-fancy.

That was until the day he saw a familiar licence plate parked outside a shop.

Remus froze in his tracks, remembering the night he last saw that car.

A woman crossing the street, a body too still, a car speeding away with no remorse-

Remus had given the licence number to the police, but clearly they hadn't done anything about it. Or perhaps they'd tried and the asshole bought them off.

He growled at the idea, startling a passer-by who was crossing around him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before he found out who his ire belonged to. A familiar face left the shops and begun walking towards the car; Anton, a guy who had been a year above him back in high school. Remus’ memory of the man was vague; primarily made up of snapshots of cruelty and entitlement towards those around him.

He looked exactly the same, with his annoyingly polished appearance and ugly overpriced clothes. So he was right about the police being paid off, then. Typical.

He'd just have to do something about this himself.

“I suppose there’s no point in trying to convince you to stop this, is there?”

“I mean.” Remus begun, looking down at the body he had just finished suffocating and rubbing at his bruised arms. There was more of a struggle than tv had led him to believe. “I kinda had to do this one. What? Was I supposed to connect the dots on a murder and not stalk and kill the guy who got away unpunished?”

“Most people would say yes.” Logan groaned, in the sort of tone that said he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“We’re not like most people though, are we?” Remus grinned, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You’re most certainly not. I’m barely a person.” Logan replied with finality.

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

Case 6: the one who pushed their luck.

And then shortly after;

“Come on man, don’t do this.” The masked person pleaded, hanging onto the fire-escape for dear life. Literally.

Remus raised an eyebrow, making a show of contemplating the request. “Hmm, I don’t know. You did try to pull a gun on me.”

“It wasn’t loaded, jackass!”

Remus tutted and held his foot over the person’s clammy hands. They shook violently at the unspoken threat. “And now you’re gonna wake up the whole neighbourhood too? No consideration!”

His joking tone must have angered them, because they began struggling to hoist themself back up again, red in the face with strain. “I swear, when I get up there-”

Promptly losing his interest in hearing the rest of that threat, Remus stood on their fingers, causing them to let go of the fire-escape and plummet to the street below with a strangled yell.

“Whoopsie daisy.”

He leaned over the banister, whistling innocently as a familiar presence appeared next to him. Logan joined him in peering down at the body, eyebrow raised.

“At least this one was merely an accident?” He guessed by the cause of death, a twinge of hope in his voice.

“Nah, they’ve tried breaking in at least 3 times this year. It was getting annoying.”

As Logan scolded him for his recklessness, Remus decided not to comment on it when their topic of conversation turned back towards the casual banter they usually shared. The two of them stood on the fire escape until the sun was on the edge of the horizon and Remus had to dash back to his apartment to avoid being seen by the early-commuters.

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

Case 8: the innocent.

And then:

Remus curiously nudged the raccoon with the tip of his boot. He’d just stumbled upon it and it still looked fresh; given that he was standing by a busy road, it was no wonder what had happened.

He was making a mental note to come back and collect the bones at a later date, when Logan appeared in-front of him in a blink, looking completely unsurprised this time around.

Remus on the other hand startled before regaining his bearings and shooting the deity a smile. “Our paths are looking less parallel by the day huh, Psychopomp-ous?”

Logan raised his eyebrows appreciatively at the word play. “It appears so. It’s quite the pleasant surprise to find you not getting into trouble for once.”

“There’s always tomorrow.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows back. “That said, I really didn’t expect to see you. I was wondering for a while if you dealt with this kind of thing too, y’know.”

Logan looked down, seeming to really notice the raccoon for the first time. He nodded after a beat. ”She had a life too. My brother brought her into the world, and so I must escort her out.”

”Yeah? Anything of note happen?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised with genuine curiosity. He’d file away the latter half of Logan’s statement for later prodding.

”...She had a family. They stayed together under the porch of an old couple.”

“Ah, to be a racoon living under a porch.” Remus lamented dreamily. “I’m glad she got to live such a rich and fulfilling life before becoming road kill. I’m truly jealous.”

“In the wild, your lifespan would most likely be around 2–3 years as a raccoon.” Logan pointed out, attempting to contradict his idealistic tone.

“Exactly. The life.”

That earned a pinched expression from Logan that made Remus titter.

“Just messing with you, prim reaper~. Now, do you have any idea how long it’s going to take for her to decompose? I have a new piece of decor to make.”

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

Case 11: the matchbox.

Remus watched from afar as the house on Psyche Avenue burned. It was bright and brilliant, so of course the firefighters were already on the scene, trying to calm the fire and save the occupant inside.

They’d be much too late; the trafficker was already unconscious and likely burning to death, along with any evidence Remus might have left behind. It was the perfect crime.

Satisfied with today’s work, he took a drag of a cigarette, delighted when Logan appeared beside him instead of with the dirtbag who deserved to burn forever (and since it was a mystery whether he'd end up with such a fate, it only seemed fitting for Remus to play god and speed up the process.)

“Those kill, you know.” Logan said in greeting.

“That makes two of us.” Remus grinned sharply, even when Logan rolled his eyes and pinched out the end of his cigarette.

For the second time in a month, the two of them overlooked the sky together, illuminated by the amber blazes of the fire. It almost felt like a date.

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

Case 13: the one with bad luck.

He was back in the alley that had imprinted itself so clearly in his memory, knife buried in the chest of a would-be assailant. Remus was boredly watching the blood seep between the bricks when Logan finally appeared to deal with the body.

“You’re late!” Remus complained with a whine. “This guy’s practically cold already.”

“Apologies. There was a flash flood across the country, and it took more of my focus to handle than I would've liked."

Remus hummed. He thought he heard something about that on the news. Mother nature could be cruel indeed. Perhaps even worse than Remus himself.

“Anyone nearby?” He checked.

“Not in a half-mile radius, no. However, the police may be on their way.”

“Plenty of time, then.” Remus said as he pulled Logan down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It had been months since that first drunk sloppy kiss happened, and less time since it had become a regular greeting. Remus would never get tired of the feeling of cold skin against his lips. It was like kissing marble-- if marble had a sassy mouth and a sexy amount of knowledge.

Logan pulled back first, smudging away the trail of blood running from Remus' nostril. “Did you have any trouble?”

“Nah, you should see the other guy.”

That earned a laugh-- a quiet chime that made Remus’ heart flutter. “I see them. Good job, you’re getting rather skilled at that.”

“Why, thank you~.” Remus preened under the praise. “It only took a couple tries, but I think I finally got the technique down pat.”

“Hmm. Speaking of 'Pat', my brother doesn’t seem to like this much. He’s not unappreciative of your choices in target, although he appears to be rather disapproving on the amount of times I've been called to your side."

Logan didn't talk about his brother much: the deity of life. From what little Remus had learned from his prying and Logan’s own complaints, he seemed like a bit of a killjoy. He blew a raspberry in response.

"Tell Patton to stop making so many criminals and maybe I'll consider it."

The corner of Logan's lips quirked up. "I don't think I will, as humorous as I'm sure that would be. It doesn't quite work like that."

Remus shrugged, watching as Logan looked off to the side.

"...It seems I’m needed elsewhere."

”You can’t stay? We barely got to talk.” Remus said with a pout.

“Unfortunately so.” Logan turned to the body; what he should have been there for. It wasn’t long before his focus was back on Remus, though. “That said... It’s a busy night. Perhaps we’ll meet again sooner than expected.”

Remus’ frown tipped back into a smile as he watched Logan vanish. He then turned on his heel and retrieved his knife before walking off into the night. If he was going to make good on Logan’s expectations, he better get to work.

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

Case 0: the one who death followed.

It soon became an established pattern; Remus would come across someone shady, and he’d put together a detailed- or straight-forward- plot on how to get rid of them. By now his city must have noticed the string of deaths, but with such a random means and very little evidence, Remus was free to continue as he pleased.

In a sense, he was untouchable with Logan by his side, pointing out anything he left behind and giving warning for any potential witnesses. Especially when he gave up on persuading Remus away from this path. It's not like the moral argument could be made anymore; the city had seen a drastic decrease in crime once Remus had taken out a lot of big players (even if there was an air of fear that lingered in the back of everyone's minds, wondering if they'd be next up on the chopping block).

All in all, it was enough to make Remus cocky; perhaps even enough so to lead to his downfall. But how was he ever going to give up now? All his life he’d been hoping for some sort of excitement to fulfil him, and he finally found it in a surprise meeting with a deity of death. Death had gone from a distant longing to something familiar and welcome; something he could use to right wrongs and feel a sense of purpose with.

And as long as he was able to exchange a life for one more meeting with his beloved partner in crime, he would do his best to stay ahead of the game.

(No matter who was out there, trying to stop the two of them.)

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

Writing taglist: @just-perhaps @sashootkahoot @anxious-l0ser @illogical-immunity @overlad-of-the-snakes @varthandi @whisperinginthevoid @and-this-sword @creamiiteaa-xx

Deityfucker au taglist: @arodynamic-enby @its-the-usda-certified-trashman @overlad-of-the-snakes @aromanticwhore @haha-phrog @hetalianhufflepuff @emeryyleaf @winter-wandering @gaylotusthatexists @8bituin

#my writing #sanders sides #intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #(others are mentioned)#deityfucker au #death tw #violence tw #crime tw #weapon tw #swearing tw #injury tw #(lots of warnings for this one. take care!)

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

Text

Five Minutes | Feysand

I got this request from an ao3 user who later clarified they would like a "wrong bed fic" and I honestly don't even know what that is?!!! But of course I will give it a go...

The Day Court had the most beautiful theatre. Where the artists' quarter in Velaris was a passionate, bohemian little community, the theatre company of the Day Court was a high art rooted in millennia of culture and esteem. Rhys and Feyre were ushered down an honest-to-goodness red carpet on their way in, and their private box somewhere near the soaring arched ceiling was upholstered in rich, ox-blood velvet. Every ten years an invite went to all the courts for the grand opening of the Day Court's newest opera, and the event was the social gathering of the decade. The grandeur and class of the night was unrivalled across Prythian. And yet Rhys could not stop staring at Feyre's ass in that dress.

After being married for ten years, he really thought the urge to bend her over the nearest table would have dimmed. But there they were, given in the best seats in the house, with a production ten years in the making on its way, and all Rhys could do was drag his gaze over the curves of his mate's hind quarters. She was talking to someone, he had no idea who in the mother it was, and he was trying to look like he was listening as well while he snaked his arm around her and stroked his fingers over her hip.

In his defence, Feyre had spent a large portion of the last decade running after Nyx and wearing comfortable clothes that didn't mind getting all manner of stains and spills on them. Not that she wasn't achingly sexy in tights and one of his old sweaters, in fact his clothes on her drove him wild. But it had been a little while since she had worn something that hugged her like this, cupped her breasts and clung to her waist, hips and thighs before pooling on the floor. It was obscene. How were they in public right now?

Watch your hands, Feyre warned in his mind. We have company.

I can't help it, Rhys responded silkily. I just want to peel this thing off of you. Or maybe tear it to shreds with my teeth.

Well you'll have to wait, Feyre shot back. Believe it or not, I actually want to see this play. And besides, this dress was made by Emerie, you couldn't tear it if you tried.

Rhys bared his teeth in her mind. Would you like me to try? he asked. He slid a midnight claw over her mind. She batted him away.

I said later, she said. Now behave.

At that moment, a silver bell rang out over the theater, and Helion's voice drifted through the air with an amplifying spell.

"Welcome, dearest guests," the High Lord said. "I am so pleased you all could make it. If you would like to take your seats, the show will begin in five minutes."

Feyre bade goodbye to the guest she was talking to- Rhys just gave a curt nod, not at all caring who they were- and slid her arm around Rhys' waist as they walked off to their box. As soon as the guest had turned, Rhys squeezed a handful of her backside. Feyre swatted his chest.

"What's going on with you?" she asked. "Nothing," Rhys said, his lips against her temple. He drew the curtain to their private box. "You look incredible tonight." "Well thank you," Feyre said. "You're not bad yourself." She kissed him, and made to sit down next to Rhys, but he pulled her into his lap instead. Cupped his hands over her rear and pulled her lips back to his.

"Let's take a little walk," he said into her mouth. His hands squeezed at her waist. "Rhys, we're at a show." "He said five minutes," Rhys argued, and licked his tongue up the side of her throat. Feyre shivered. "Five is not so long," she said. Rhys grinned against her neck. "Five is plenty," he said, and then winnowed.

Feyre found herself in a darkened bedroom, door closed and curtains drawn, and Rhys pressing her down onto cool sheets. "Where are we?" she whispered. "Mmm," Rhys murmured. "I don't know, it's been so long since I've been in Helion's house. I just remember there being a bed here."

He pushed the skirts of Feyre's dress up her legs, and put his mouth right on her core, over her underwear. Feyre gasped at the suddenness of it.

"On someone else's bed?" she asked. Rhys pulled her underwear to the side, and licked her all the way up to her clit. "They'll never know," he said, and then she heard the clink of his belt buckle as Rhys resumed his attentions. A minute later, his face was back up over hers, lips wet from being between her legs.

"Ten years," he mused. "And I still just want to spend hours licking your every scrap of skin." "Five minutes," Feyre reminded him, and he grinned. "I can make you come in five minutes," he said, and kissed her at the same time as sliding straight inside her.

Feyre moaned into Rhys' mouth, and Rhys pulled back. "Hush now, darling," he whispered. "We're in someone else's house." His eyes sparkled. "I am going to fuck you hard until you come, and you are not going to make a single sound. Do you understand?"

Feyre nodded, and Rhys caught up her lips again. Started rocking into her, and then matching the movements of his tongue to his hips. Feyre's heart beat strong beneath him, and he hooked one of her legs over his elbow to get a deeper angle. Feyre huffed out a breath, but stayed silent.

"Good girl," Rhys crooned, and licked his thumb before placing it over her clit. He moved faster now, and kept up a steady and pounding pace.

"Do you know," he said in her ear, "I have been absolutely out of my mind all day, watching you." He moved his lips to the hollow under her jaw. "You, and your incredible ass in this fucking dress." Rhys began pressing kisses down her throat, open-mouthed kisses, kisses that gave way to a bite and a suck. "And all I've wanted to do for hours is get you alone." And all the while, he kept up his relentless rhythm. Feyre's breathing was coming in shallow pants now, and she had her bottom lip clenched between her teeth to keep her from crying out.

"Is that good, Feyre darling?" he asked her. She just nodded. His thumb pushed down a little more on her clit. "I love watching you like this," he told her. Driving his hips home. "On you back for me. With me deep inside you, right where I'm supposed to be. Do you know how fucking good you look?" He stopped speaking then, bit off a groan and listed to the incessant squeak and protest of the bed creaking. Feyre's mouth was moving with silent sounds. He smiled down at her.

"Are you close honey? Do you want to come for me?" Feyre nodded again. "Almost. I'm going to count down from five, and you can come when I tell you to." Feyre's eyes burned in the dark.

"Five," Rhys murmured. He leaned back a little, changing the angle and getting deeper still. "Four." His thumb moved in tight circles over her clit. "Three," he said, and now his own breaths were coming ragged. "Two." He sped up, his hips now moving erratically. "One," he ground out, close to the edge now and loving the view of Feyre writhing in tortured silence. "Now," he commanded, and Feyre exploded around him at the same time as he came hard inside her, clamping down on his own moans as Feyre's nails scratched at his back.

Rhys fell to Feyre's side and tugged her body into hers. "Good girl," he breathed again, and kissed her until they were falling asleep and somewhere far away, an opening curtain was rising.

Four hours later, Helion opened his bedroom door to find the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court in his bed. They blinked at him when he flicked the light on.

"Well," he said, voice full of merry amusement. "Is it my birthday already?"

*****

This is a little rushed because it's almost 1am but it's also the first time I've been able to post all week and I hate that. So I'm sorry if it's a bit of a mess! I miss you guys when I get too busy x

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist

MASTERLIST

UPDATE: There's now a Part 2!!! By special request.

#prompt fill #feysand #feysand fics

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elrielllll · 4 years ago

Text

I just want to help

A/N: Hey guys! So this is an extra scene from one of my previous mini fics, I just want to help. Remember that?😅 You don’t have to read the other 3 parts to understand this one, but if you fancy some elriel angst- it’s right here !

I missed writing these two in this universe so much, so I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1432

~~~~~~~~~~

She was tired. She was sick of it. She was fed up. And she wanted out. Those were the thoughts that were running on repeat through Elain’s head.

It was midnight, or sometime after that, she wasn’t really sure, and she was alone. She was in the garden, eyes closed, letting the night's wind kiss her cheeks, feeling the gentle sting as it touched the tracks the tears had left on her skin. The robe she was wearing was thin, it was the first one she’d come across and Elain couldn’t bear to go back inside, and her toes curled into the damp soil in protest to the thought.

Why did he do this?

Elain… she just didn’t understand. She only wanted to help him, to heal him, to make him see that he had a friend.

He’d come home injured. It...it had physically hurt Elain to see him in pain. Alone. In pain. And then he let her heal him and she’d thought that she may have finally gotten through to him, broken past the harsh words, looks, the dismissals. She knew of course, that it was all an act, a defence but it had knocked her back time and time again. He had said thank you. That she did a good job and she helped him.

But then he’d closed the door in her face, and with the sound of the lock clicking the echoes of his past words floated towards her.

I don’t want you here.

Leave.

I don’t. Want to be friends with you.

I don’t want your help.

Usually less would have put her off. But that wasn’t the worst thing. No, the worst was how they clanged around in her hollow chest. Elain wished that she could say that it was a new feeling for her, but of course it wasn’t. But maybe- maybe worse than that was the look he’d gotten in his eyes when she’d told him she wasn’t going to let him push her away.

“I’m not going anywhere Azriel. You can push me away all you like but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already got shot for you, what worse is there?”

“A lot.”

“Then I guess I’m going to find out.”

And it was there- right there in his eyes. Hope

“You should leave.”

“Probably.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“That’s a shame. Because I’m not going.”

And again- hope.

“You’re staying?”

“Yes.”

Hope.

It was that memory- of that hope that seemed to haunt her more than anything else. It was like she was an addict, she wanted more and more of it until his eyes were shining like honey and the cloud of doubt was gone. Through all this, even if she was crying, in the garden, in the middle of the night because of him…she couldn’t hate him. And she still couldn’t stay away.

Elain could fight for something just as well as anybody else.

And she truly believed that he deserved a chance.

Slowly, through all this thinking, her breathing had evened out and the tears had stopped. She felt strangely at peace. It was odd, and there was no way for her to describe why she felt like that, how on earth she wasn’t angry or upset, she didn’t know.

Maybe it was her visions? Maybe they knew something she didn’t yet. Maybe he was worth it.

Lots of maybes and no certainties. That seemed to be Elain’s new certain.

The wind picked up the speed, whipping around her bare ankles and she shivered, opening her eyes and pulling her robe tighter around herself. She was aware of her hair falling out of it’s messy braid but she didn’t have the effort to move it. Then the gust of wind died away, and in its place was measured footsteps.

They whispered on the grass and a single shadow coiled around her foot. She smiled down at it gently, fondly almost. She was fascinated by them, how they worked, why and where they came from and why this one in particular seemed to like her. Much the same questions she had for the male they belonged to- though perhaps excluding the last one.

She was tired. She was sick of it. She wasn’t really fed up. She didn’t want out.

A throat cleared lowly behind her and she lifted her head. She stayed quiet, and slowly, so slowly he moved to her side.

Elain felt like she was moving through water, like the peace she’d felt was making her sluggish as she glanced to where he stood. He was close enough that she could reach out to him and touch his hand.

She didn’t.

He didn’t speak, and he didn’t look at her. So she didn’t speak and she didn’t look at him. Instead she looked at the patch of poppies that had been struggling recently. They were doing better now, a lot better. It had seemed that an extra bit of love and time was all that they’d needed.

A rough sound from her right caught her attention. She let her gaze flick to Azriel and saw him swallow heavily before clearing his throat for the third time that night. So Elain took pity on him.

“How’s your side? A lot of pain?”

He didn’t look at her when he spoke. She thought that perhaps he was seeing his own Elain right in front of him.

“No,” he said roughly. “No, you did a really good job. Thank you.”

Elain dipped her head. “Of course.”

There was a pause and the air sat heavy between them. Then he said: “ you’re crying.” He must have looked at her then. Elain was uncomfortable with how much that made her feel.

“I was,” she said simply and she caught him nodding tightly out of the corner of her eye. His shoulders tensed.

“I-” he started- then stopped himself. His jaw clenched and his shadows drew closer to him. The one by her foot remained.

“Why are you here Azriel?” Elain finally asked. She was tired. She was sick of it.

He was silent for a long time. Maybe thinking, maybe ignoring her, she didn’t know.

When he spoke, it was so low that she barely caught it.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Elain wasn’t sure that she’d heard him correctly. But then he spoke clearer. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Maybe it was the garden that made him open, showing her the faintest hint of himself through that fissure that she’d managed to create. He said it again, to her this time.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Azriel glanced at her in surprise, and in all honesty, Elain was surprised by herself too. That was normally the kind of thing she said in her head and kept for her alone.

“You don’t have to be alone Azriel,” she repeated, taking in a deep breath that tasted of flowers.

His voice was like silk. “Are you lonely?”

Elain didn’t want to pretend. “Sometimes. But I’m working on it.”

That seemed to strike him. He didn’t speak for a while and she didn’t push him.

Eventually he moved towards her, his shadows moving until they encased them both.

“You’re cold,” he said and Elain couldn’t help the smile.

“And you’re very observant.”

Maybe his smile was like a whisper and that was why she couldn’t hear it. He lightly shrugged out of his jacket and held it up tightly between his hands. “May I?” he asked and Elain nodded. He reached around her to drape the jacket over her and Elain’s breath caught as his breath brushed her cheek and his fingertips lightly trailed her arms. The scent of him surrounded her and she couldn’t fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

He was gone as soon as he arrived. As he stepped back he told her, “I have to go. I’m sorry.” With a powerful beat of his wings and a new gust of wind he took off, leaving her to watch his silhouette against the bright night sky.

Elain thought that maybe his apology was for more than just leaving.

She snuggled further into his jacket, warm from his body and let herself feel covered by his scent. It was heavy, like he was here with her.

Elain was about to walk back inside when she felt a tickle on her ankle. Looking down she saw that he’d left that little shadow with her. A smile pulled on her lips and she gripped the lapels of his jacket tighter.

She was tired.

~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you for reading!!

Tags:

@classywastelandpirate @sleeping-and-books @meowsekai @awkward-avocado-s @superspiritfestival @abraxos-is-toothless @stars-falling @thesirenwashere @queen-of-glass @nite0wl29 @negativenesta @illyrian-bookworm @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @b00kworm @tswaney17@welcometothespeaknowworldtour @cursebreaker29 @thewayshedreamed @perseusannabeth @bamchikawowow @qoingcrazy @lovemollywho @tyheronthorn @gorl-power @fucking-winchester-trash @keshavomit @a-happybird @mysweetvilllain @thefangirlofhp @woodland-mist @maastrash @empress-ofbloodshed @courtofjurdan @dreamerforever-5 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @maybekindasortaace @elriel-incorrect-quotes @verifiefangirl @myshadowsingeraz @ireallyshouldsleeprn @januarysears @illyriangarbage @lord-douglas-the-third @laylaameer01 @illyrianwitchling @awesomelena555 @laylaameer01 @fatimafares123 @illyrian-lover-flower @ireallyshouldsleeprn

#elriel #elriel angst #elrielllll angst #elrielllll fics #elriellllll #elriellllll writes #elrielllll i just want to help #i just want to help #i just want to help extra scene #elain #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel

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sly-merlin · 4 years ago

Text

Killing Me - 3 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre : angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings : curse words, mention of murder, guns, knives. smut and drinking.

new entries : yugyeom, jungkook , wonwoo

words : 4.2k

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

curiosity got the cat hitched!

K.M masterlist

prev next

taglist ::t :: (not tagging the old ones because they have read it already bt if u want , lemme know! ) @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @suhweo @exfolitae @minejungwoo

{ 11:15 }

Look before you leap. Had you remembered the saying, you’d not be sitting in front of a mafia boss, regretting your former imprudent actions. Taeyong was sitting on a high back executive chair, aura screaming authority, his high and mighty self, making you feel inferior. His eyes bore into yours as if he could read your soul with his intense gaze.

Your stare equally harmonized with his fierce one.

A loud fake cough from someone interrupted you from ogling at the boss. He indeed looked like a feast, anyone would falter! Getting your much needed attention at this point, taeyong dismissed others from his office with a flick of his hand. The only ones to stay behind in the vicinity of the four walls were you, taeyong and a blue haired man. Out of all, he looked most annoyed with your presence.

“Jaehyun, sit down, it’s going to take a while.” taeyong directed him and the man occupied the empty seat beside you. You could already feel him eyeing you down.

“Miss y/n. I’m not going to beat around the bush. So, listen sensibly.”

Your blood ran cold at his cold and blank declaration. The fierceness of his eyes was seeping through his words making you cower in your position. Your firm resolve to fight for your life was already breaking down and this was just a start.

“I know this is too sudden and It’s normal being apprehensive of this situation but you are not on a very strong front here. Marry yuta or - you know the consequences. And I don’t want you to choose on impulse. This is going to be your last opportunity, so be wise! Nobody wants to die y/n and you certainly don’t! I have a proposal for you. It’s for your own good but if you still decides against me, I promise I’ll grant your last wish without any hesitance and believe me, I always keep my word” he finished, placing his gun on the table to prove his point. You nodded briefly after taking in everything. He continued-

“You will marry yuta, say by the end of this week. But as you sign the registration papers, I’ll provide you the ownership of 3 exclusive properties in gangnam with only one small, harmless condition. You’ll hold title not as miss y/l/n but as Mrs Nakamoto. Moreover, you won’t have to do any job. Your living expenses, all will be managed from our side. Yuta alone is capable of providing you a black card. You can live hassle free. A house, security, what else could anyone want! You won’t have to change a thing in your life. Think of it as an up-gradation.”

You felt like being kicked in the teeth. This man was trying to bargain your whole future with his riches.

“Sounds promising?” He enquired. You pondered over what he said to find any single error to turn the tables but that was out of question until you knew his demands fully. And it wasn’t very promising. when did choosing between life and death became so difficult!

“You can’t assure me my freedom! connecting me with neos is more like booking a room for me to rotten in jail. The security you are talking about is for you I guess. And yuta is more like a noose for me. I’ll be dead one way or another” you uttered, releasing the air you were holding while speaking.

You heard jaehyun snort beside you.

“Your safety will be my top priority and yes, you will be associating with neos, but that is something you don’t need to be worry about. For the outer world, you will be the wife of yuta”.

“What difference would it make?” his explanations going beyond your head.

“Let me explain like this. Have you ever seen a neo member’s face prior to this or heard anyone getting caught?”

“I guess no.”you answered without hesitation.

“Neos doesn’t have faces .…but these faces do have names for commoners like you.”

“You mean double-life?”

“Have you ever heard of moon industries?”

“Who doesn’t have? Moon industries are the 3rd biggest sponsors and investers for almost everything in Korea.”

“Yeah, yuta works there. Anything clicks for you?

You refuse with motion of your head.

“You’ll not be marrying yuta from neos but nakamoto yuta who works in moon industries. Like that, you won’t be getting in any trouble . A legitimate life. You can do anything you want except open your pretty mouth”.

you didn’t like being called that!

“I don’t understand, you said nobody knows you people then what am I even doing here. How that officer did even recognise yuta. I shouldn’t even be here, if your identities are so hidden.”

“See jaehyun, I told you she’s more than just book smart. Listen y/n, mafia doesn’t work like the way you might be thinking. We can’t spill everything to you even if you decide to die the very next moment.

It was hard to believe that he planned all of this while you were held captive, within 9 hours. Taeyong was extremely meticulous and expeditious as well. But there was one more question left and you knew he couldn’t answer it. Nothing came without flaws afterall!

“Why are you being so ‘generous’ to me? My bio data of few pages can’t make you trust me so definitely. You are practically giving me an offer to rant you all to police. I’m sure you don’t grease the palms of all officers and if I-

“Me and you both know that you won’t do it unless you are fed up with your life and that would leave to start de novo!” his words indicated conclusiveness, his raised brows challenging you to refuse him. For now his surety signalled safety, but you still had one defence left or as everyone called it – a plea. It was better to beg than to be between Scylla and Charybdis.

“Is there no other way. I promise you with my life I won’t ever say anything. You can put spies over me or do whatever you want to keep a check on me.” your desperation to fight for your life was evident in your appeal.

“Yes! There is one more solution!” jaehyun chimed, facing you from his seat. He was grinning eye to eye. “We can sell you to an underground escort ring where you’ll happily live until you die and there’d be no neo or yuta or police or career. I’m sure you are shrewd enough to survive there”. nobody mentioned this before!

“If you can’t shut your mouth, then leave jaehyun.” taeyong scolded and he went back to his original position. Jaehyun seemed to be enjoying your state. He hit you with harsh reality you were still unaware of. Maybe,you were really on their mercy now,

“He is joking right?”

“No, he is telling the truth but I want you to make a choice. That hell-hole is not for someone like you. You can do better. Take this as a shortcut to a nice life.”

“How can I believe that you won’t be putting me in the some escort ring as he said to shut my mouth?”

“If I wanted, you won’t be sitting here anymore.”he deadpanned

You were silent. Your mind went blank. No words came to grace your lips. You were trapped and though there were plenty of options, there was none for you. Either you live and marry yuta or die. There was no other way to live.

“And what if my life doesn’t turn out all good?” you asked timidly.

“Then I’ll let you leave. And without any condition”

Finally some hope. You could leave. You would definitely leave.

“Is yuta okay with it?”

“His position is not better than yours.”

“I’m not going to leave university then.”

“Suit yourself! Just don’t convert yourself into a nuisance for us.”

You nodded with head hanging low. You had been beating the air till now, which resulted in nothing but defeat. Taeyong got what he wanted in the end.

“Call jaemin and haechan. Before she goes home, we need to give her a gift. And you made a good choice, you won’t regret it, take my word for it.”

[1 p.m]

Twelve hours has passed. As you were walking towards your dorm, you pinched yourself several times but your reality was now a nightmare from which you’d never wake up. Defeated, you entered your dorm only to lie down in the bed, to regret your life decisions. Graciously, chelin was out till midnight with her boyfriend, so you had all the time in the world. The last 12 hours kept playing in your head like a broken record. You were happy in the club drinking yesterday. if maybe you’d not left them behind, you’d still be incharge of your life game. then that police officer, living off of some mafia group, doyoung , johnny,jaehyun , taeyong and him, the source of your plight. You were suddenly feeling like a kite which till now was flying freely in the air but its thread was now in the grasp of someone who wanted to tie you down by the same, if you think of it, the scales were never balanced! You were always at the losing end. Beggars are never the choosers after all. Sleep unknowingly took over your tired limb while you were wallowing in self-pity.

A ping.

The notification of a text woke you up from your peaceful sleep. You were out for about 4 hours but it felt good as your head was no more pounding. The text was from Jungkook about a party his friend group was organising to celebrate the upcoming finals. they were just partying yesterday with you and now this.

Another ping.

Same text from yugyeom. You sighed in frustration.

Both of your best friends lived in the same place and were always joined by the hip and you were sure they were together at the moment as well but where there’s a question to annoy you, they won’t let the opportunity pass.

You deliberated about telling them everything but you refrained as taeyong’s threat was not a gun without bullet. He warned you before coming and you were supposed to keep your mouth shut. It was better to keep them away from trouble. You were extremely alone.

Another ping.

They were asking about your whereabouts. You never informed them you reached home yesterday. Their worry was visible through their multiple scolding motherly texts. You would have laughed at their antics but your own humorous state rendered you incompetent to feel any joy.

It was not difficult to make them believe that you overslept as everyone knew your shitty professors treated you more like a slave and less like their researcher. But refusing to meet them and declining free alcohol was making them sceptical. You had no option other than going but you’d be anywhere than at a party right now. But maybe some commotion of drunk university students and blasting music could take your thoughts away for some time.

However, first there was another task to be taken care of! You searched ‘Moon Industries’ on naver. There were numerous articles praising their new successful new ventures. You opened their official website, the list of board of directors and associates was not too long. The photo of head director looked too familiar. Maybe it was that short man. And then him. There was no photo but his name was written just few places below moon tail. Taeyong was not bluffing. Nakamoto was an important name and maybe everyone there was, however, it was beyond your intellect as how they managed to do it. There was no way out now. One thing that wasn’t adding up was the properties .your brainwaves couldn’t find a conclusion to those. There was no reason for him to do that when you weren’t left with any choice ultimately. Maybe you’ll find out tomorrow.

You got out of clothes that adorned your body since yesterday. Their smell was enough to make you gag. How could someone fell asleep in these! The cold water of the shower eased your mind fairly. Your eyes were drooping again but sleeping would do you no good. You could run away from your problem like everybody else. Just this once. After showering, you took a brief look at your wardrobe. It was just a college party, with same people so dressing up to impress them was out of tone for you. Not that you were dolling up anyways. You could just wear your pyjama and still outshine any flashy titties out there. At least that’s what kookie and gyeom had been feeding you till now. You took out a black full sleeve v- neck blouse with white shorts. It hugged your upper body tightly leaving just enough space for some air. You looked good and felt good too. Being in no mood to do makeup, you opted for a nude lip to complete your look. You wore the bracelet that you were not supposed to part with but out of habit, you had removed it earlier to shower. Now it adorned your wrist again. It was a band. A gift by taeyong. The bracelet was a tracking device, not that jaemin wasn’t hacking your phone already but they needed to be double sure, just in case. Not like you were going to rant them out. you felt like Taeyong’s threatening voice would never leave your ears.

Yugyeom’s call replaced the voice. They were already waiting for you. You decided to drown yourself in alcohol for one day and enjoy with your friends. The party was at nearby club situated at 10 min distance. Your dorm was nearer to the gates so it was always easy to go out. Slipping into your shoes, you made your way out.

“You will regret this, taeyong” though yuta didn’t show in front of you in basement, he was furious at taeyong for making his life decisions. “First her and now this! the mistake I made was not that big. Slip ups happen with everyone here, including you. So why it’s only me, who’s getting –

“Not a slip up but a blunder yuta” taeyong fumed at him. “Last time, mark almost died because of you. It was my mistake I let it slide. You aren’t getting any more chances. My decision is final” his voice went deeper as he spoke.

“I regret it tae, you know it” his voice filled with guilt. “But don’t feed me the lies. This is not the only reason you’re doing this for. There is something you aren’t telling us”

“There might be. But you already know what you need to! So celebrate your month long vacation. Go to work with taeil hyung. She’s coming tomorrow again and we’ll discuss other matters with her. Be present here. Don’t disappear like you did in the morning.”

Yuta huffed and decided to leave instead of wasting his time on his leader.

“And leave your gun here”

“WHAT NOW?”

“Don’t shout and leave your gun. Corporates don’t carry guns in this country.” taeyong replied calmly, almost in a mocking tone. Yuta removed the gun from holster and handed it to taeyong before turning towards the door.

“Other one as well” taeyong demanded with a smirk.

“Huh, now you’ll ask for my dagger as well!” yuta sneered at him while removing the other pistol from back of the pants.

“I’m not that cruel, yu. Keep your sweetheart with you. It’ll remind you of the absence of your other toys.”. “And don’t forget. Tomorrow at 4. sharp.”

Instead of responding, yuta showed him a middle finger before actually going out.

Mark was standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for yuta already.

“What happened hyung?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing. You are going to be the best man in my wedding” yuta replied nonchalantly. But mark knew there was more to it. Yuta won’t settle down just because he was told to!

“To her?”

“Yeah, who else. Taeyong is getting short on his brain. We might need to replace him soon” he joked but mark could see right past him.

“Hyung. What are you thinking?” he asked cautiously in a scared tone.

“Ruin her life. I’ll make her regret being alive.”

And yuta walked away, leaving worried mark behind him. He didn’t go after him. He knew better not to.

The party was at full blast when you reached. It was always a nice change watching studious snu students washing away their worries. Your soulmates were nowhere to be found but you spotted chelin sitting with her friends on the stairs. It seemed like everyone who knew was there. Your classmates, juniors. Club was filled with students of all ages. Being multi-storey with a parking lot and near the uni., these factors were enough for making it a perfect party spot. After talking to a few fellow classmates, you went upstairs, brushing past chain’s group, who seemed to be too drunk to notice you. There were Jungkook and yugyeom with few others sports physiotherapy students. Being master’s students, you all just went to parties for alcohol and hook-ups and nothing else. And that’s what you were planning to do from the start.

“y/l/n” as yugyeom noticed you, he and Jungkook ran to give you a bear hug.

“I don’t want to smell your armpits, losers. Get away” you huffed while struggling in their tight grip.

“sowwyyyy, we forgot you are under average” jungkook teased you, gyeom giving him a hifi in return.

“You both are so damn irritating.”

“We adore you too, darling” Jungkook knew how much you hated being called that. But alcohol in his system was making him daring. After giving a fist hit to his gut, which did nothing to his sculptured abs, you made your way to the drinks. One, two, three, and within 5 minutes you had enough alcohol in your system to provide much needed numbness to your brain.

“Whoa shortie, what’s with you today? At least wait for us to join you.” kook chimed in with another nickname you hated with your guts.

“You both are already drunk, meaning kook your boyfriend is here and gyeom, your girlfriend. You both are going to forget me in few minutes anyway.”

As if on cue, yugyeom’s girl yeong came into view, giving you a proper hug.

“I’m so sorry y/n, but we have to go. Our department has to work for the fundraiser tomorrow and I’m a designated driver here.” she explained sheepishly. Not like you were dying to talk to them today. The loner, the better.

“Plz take them away. I’ll send you a thank you card tomorrow for your act of kindness.” you said sarcastically, resulting in both of them making faces at you.

“Bye y/n we’ll mwisss uuu” Jungkook lunged at you with a back breaking hug. Then came gyeom and in a minute they were both out of your sight.

Those being out of your way meant no one was there to stop you. Once your body was flooding in alcohol, You made your way to the dance floor. You loved music and dancing came mechanically with that. You were swaying your body, mingling with the music when you felt a pair of hands controlling your movements. You accepted his well-known touch. You both moved side to side for a few minutes before he impatiently lead you towards the back of the club. He was always an eager one, not that you ever denied him. Noticing few people already in each others faces, he moved to the other side, heading towards the car parking. Sprinting towards his car, he hurriedly opened the back car door to lead you in.

“Not here, wonwoo.” he viewed you with his raised brow. “Back!”

“Who am I to refuse you, baby” he said, directing you towards the trunk. He opened it with one swift motion. His legs were swinging outside as he sat on the edge. Pulling you towards him, he kissed you hungrily like hadn’t feasted on you a few days ago. Wonwoo loved your touch, and same was the case with you. That was it, nothing more to description.

“Looks like someone missed me” you whispered in between the kisses.

“You are at a perfect height for me here. God, why didn’t I think of this earlier” and kept attacking your lips until they were plump enough to satisfy him. His tongue asked for entrance, which your lips provided without any hesitation. Your hands were mingled in his hair tugging at the hair roots, earning few groans from him. Somewhere while kissing, you ended up on his right thigh which you were roughly grinding by now.

“As much as I would love you to cum on my thigh, I want to take you raw. So please be patient” he requested while stopping your movements with one hand. His other hand was caressing your back and waist, making you bite him on his lips.

“Shit, you can’t wait huh” he jested at you. he dropped you on your feet, one hand resting against your wet core from behind, other angling your neck to place wet kisses on your collarbones. You whimpered and squirmed against his touch. He had that effect on you. You weren’t sure what drew you both back towards each other after each week but the pull was compelling to you.

After gratified with his artwork he stood up to replace your positions. You were now sitting on edge while he towered over you. Hastily your hand went to remove his belt but seeing you struggling, he took up the task for himself. You removed your own shorts in meantime and placed them where his pants were now. Fortunately for others, the party inside was still lively to engage them and there was no fear of getting caught, not that wonwoo cared. He could take you anytime, anywhere.

He had to lower himself to hold you but he was so used to it by now. Without a warning, he slided you towards his standing body to kiss you ravenously. Your hands did their work on his boxers and started pumping his already hard length. No words were spoken as your silky underwear was removed from your hips. He backed you against the surface to the point you were lying down, his hand on back of your head to support you. His length slipped into you making you whimper loudly. He was big, from everywhere. Skin slapping was the only sound that could be heard in the quite parking lot at this hour of night. His hand on your hip was holding you tight, your legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked and kissed you in his brute mode. If it was not for his arms, you’d have collapsed then and there.

“Fuck y/n. how can you be so tight” he hissed against your lips.

“Shut u-up.” your voice got stuck in your throat. The only thing in your control were your hands on wonwoo’s nape, holding him towards you. The muscles in your abdomen, which could be felt by him, went stiff, your back arching at familiar sensation. His own kisses went sloppier indicating he was also closer. You both released at the same time, warm liquid spilling out of your conjoined bodies. He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead before removing himself from you.

Before you could touch your panties stuck between your legs, he stopped you.

“Wait lemme find something to clean you up” he quickly got dressed, while you sat there with your intertwined legs. He came back from front with a handkerchief. He cleaned you before helping you with your shorts. You were glad for wearing loose shorts as they were easy to transfer with your shoes. With his arm on upper side of trunk, his hunched figure stared you down suspiciously.

“What’s up with you today?”

Not him as well.

“Nothing, I overslept and I’m still tired. So I’ll be going now.” you declared implying that you won’t tell him.

“Okay, as you say. Are you free next Friday though” he asked taking his chances. Again.

“Don’t start again woo? At least you can leave me in peace. I’m going .bye bye. See you after finals. maybe.” you slipped away from under his arm towards the gate of parking lot, only looking behind to wave him goodbye. His followed suit.

You were gone but he’d never stopped trying.

You mentally thanked your friends for giving you an invite as many things were clear in your head now. It was definitely the alcohol and wonwoo but you were much calmer now.

A ping.

Jaemin: don’t forget about tomorrow, noona. Taeyong hyung told me to remind you.

You scoffed at his text. Noona. Some overhyped kid he was!

But his message made you understand that all this was permanent. Sober you or drunken,Your life was changing forever. The tomorrow you were waiting till now was altered.

You went home with same dejection. Taeyong’s last words echoing in your head.

“Life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

feedback is appreciated. it serves as motivation for writers! so please leave some honest feedback to help me improve! thanks for reading!!

#tag are not working #nct #nct 127 #nct yuta #killing me yuta #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct arrange marriage #nct smut #nct mafia #nct angst #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta mafia au #yuta arrange marriage #yuta smut #nct series #yuta series

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verymuchimmortalcat · 4 years ago

Text

Maribat March Day 4: Internet Friends

ao3

@maribatmarch-2k21

Marinette looked up from her phone as she heard a notification go off on her laptop. She had just finished posting the pictures from the photo shoot for her first official line. After years of making items for mainly Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, she had released her first line under the pseudonym of MDC at the age of 17, a year after Hawkmoth’s defeat. One message from Arrow Girl, it was a message from Cissie, which given that she had just released a new line wasn’t that surprising it just meant that Cissie had stayed up past midnight again. It should be around 3 am for her right now. Opening the message, she laughs.

Arrow Girl: HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW MDC LINE, M????????

ITS SOOO PRETTY

WHO AM I KIDDING YOU LIVE IN PARIS AND WANNA BE A DESIGNER YOU’VE DEFINITELY SEEN IT ALREADY

So, yeah Cissie didn’t know she was MDC and sue her, Marinette found it funny how Cissie ranted about her designs to her. It’s not like Cissie didn’t laugh when Marinette obsessed over the costumes on TV and the people wearing them.

Designs&Coffee: Ya, I did

Which one’s your favourite piece?

Arrow Girl: The second one

It’s a master piece

Designs&Coffee: I love that one the most too!!!!!

That was true, the only thing Cissie didn’t know was that she designed that piece.

“Marinette, Adrien’s here,” her mother called suddenly.

“Coming Maman,” she replied.

Designs&Coffee: I’ve got to go, my mom’s calling

Talk later. You should sleep.

Arrow Girl: Says the girl with Coffee in her username

Bye.

Closing her laptop, Marinette headed downstairs, grabbing the Black Cat miraculous on her way. Adrien visited from London once a month but he had left behind his miraculous saying that he’d rather put it all behind with everything his father did. But both him and Plagg missed each other so Plagg came along on their monthly visits. Marinette still wore her earrings and Tikki went with her everywhere but she was more of a pocket best friend at this point then a pocket goddess who gave her the ability to become a superhero. Both Cat Noir and Ladybug had retired after Hawkmoth, they dealt with a miraculous threat and if another arose, they’d be there to help, but for right now the two of them were focusing on their goals and dreams outside superheroing. That was actually how she had ended up talking to Cissie, some random person had started questioning young heroes retiring online, and Cissie and Marinette had both jumped to the defence and they had just continued talking. That had been about six months ago. Now, they spoke almost every day.

Marinette hugged Adrien as soon as she saw him, calling out a bye to her parents she dragged him out of the bakery and they headed to the park. They had a few hours to catch up before they had to meet Alya and Nino.

.oOo.

A week or so later, Cissie was stuck in the makeup chair when she heard the notification that she had set for M’s messages go off.

Designs&Coffee: DID YOU KNOW THERE’S A NEW CISSIE KING-JONES MOVIE COMING OUT IN A FEW MONTHS.

IM SO FREAKING EXCITED

Arrow Girl: I could tell.

Designs&Coffee: I feel like you should be more excited.

ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING ACTRESSESS WHO SHARES A NAME WITH YOU IS STARRING IN A MOVIE

Sometimes, Cissie wondered how M didn’t figure it out. Her username was Arrow girl, she knew her first name was Cissie and M knew that she was working in the movie industry. But then M treated her like a normal human being and not like those other fans and Cissie really didn’t want that to change that at first, she knew now that she would not treat her differently but Cissie had no idea how to go about telling her that I’m the actress you fangirl about.

However, before she could reply to M she was called so they could start shooting. Telling her that she had to go, she’d talk later and that she should take her own advice about sleep, she rushes out onto set.

.oOo.

A few months later, Cissie’s agent gets her an audition for a period drama set in the 1800s when women walked around with corsets and large skirts and Cissie for some reason agreed to audition. So, she auditioned and got the part. The first week on set was just them going over the beginning measurements for the costumes and other things like that. When she asked the director, who was going to be designing the costumes, he said that it was a rather high-profile designer who would be arriving in L.A. next week. That confused Cissie, this movie wasn’t that much of a big deal that they got a high-profile designer. She decided to ask the assistant director who seemed to be a boy around her age, so maybe seventeen or eighteen, who seemed to be always wearing a cap and headphones.

She went ahead and introduced herself to him, holding out her hand and saying, “Hi! I’m Cissie King-Jones.”

He laughed and shook her hand, “I know dudette, you’re the star in the movie. I’m Nino Lahiffe.”

He had an accent she thought was French but she wasn’t quite sure. “I was wondering about the designer, the director said it was a high-profile designer and that they would be arriving next week-“

“And then he asked you to talk to me?” he asked with a smile.

“No? Should he have?”

He chuckled, “The designer is one of my best friends, we’ve been friends since we were about five. She wanted to work on something different and when I suggested this she agreed immediately. Honestly, I think she only agreed because you’re on this movie but who knows with her.”

“Well then, I look forward to meeting her.”

.oOo.

Marinette had arrived in L.A. the day before and was now headed to set with Nino. She was nearly shaking with excitement; she was going to meet the Cissie King-Jones. Nino was laughing at her excitement, “you’re being mean,” she said.

“And you’re acting like a little child, when all of us know when you actually meet her, you’ll be too busy in your designing mode to actually say anything to her, so I took the liberty to do so for you.”

“You did what?” she screeched, earning weird looks from people around them.

“I told her that her being in the movie was probably the actual reason you agreed to work on it. Which is undeniably the truth. Feel free to thank me later.”

“I’m never going to thank you. She probably thinks I’m some crazy fan now.”

“You need to stop catastrophising, Mari. It’ll all be fine in the end.”

“Why am I friends with you?”

“We’ve been friends for too long and now you no longer know how to survive without me.”

She snorted at that, “keep telling yourself that, Nino. Keep telling yourself that.”

.oOo.

Cissie was talking to one of the other members in the cast, when she saw Nino walk in with a petite girl, with shoulder length black hair and blue eyes, who was carrying a few sketch books and a bag that looked really heavy to be carried by someone that small.

When the makeup artist told her she was done, Cissie headed in the direction of Nino and who was probably the designer. Joining the two of them, she held her hand out to the designer, “you must be the designer, I’m Cissie King-Jones.”

“Hi, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Cissie definitely didn’t know that name, her confusion must’ve been clear on her face because Marinette laughed, “I don’t go by that in the fashion industry, I’m MDC.”

Cissie took a bit to process that bit of information, she was meeting one of her favourite designers ever who was apparently a fan of hers. She was in heaven, she had to be.

“I love your work. Your new line was breath taking. I loved the second piece the most, the colours and design were amazing,” she blurted out, before she could think clearly.

Marinette just laughed, a clear sounding laugh, and said, “Thank you, I’m really glad to hear that. The second piece on the line happens to be my favourite too. And I think your work is amazing too.”

Cissie smiled, “Thank you.”

And then they proceeded to talk while Marinette showed her the designs and ideas she had.

.oOo.

Marinette and Nino returned to the hotel late in the evening and were hanging out in his room.

“I told you that you need to stop catastrophising and everything turned out fine.”

“Why yes, thank you Nino,” she drawled sarcastically.

“I thought you were never going to thank me?”

“Sarcasm, my dear friend. Sarcasm.”

“So, you were being sarcastic when you said you would never thank me ‘cause it sure didn’t sound like it.”

Throwing a pillow at his face and calling out a Good night Marinette ran to her room. She opened her laptop to check if she had missed any messages. There were 10 messages from Arrow Girl. Opening their chat Marinette wondered what Cissie had sent. What she saw left her feeling shocked and incredibly stupid. In hindsight it was extremely obvious but then again she didn’t know Adrien was Cat Noir until he detransformed in front of her.

Arrow Girl: M!!!!!!!!!!!

I MET MDC TODAY AND MADE A COMPLETE FOOL OF MYSELF

SHE’S DOING THE COSTUMES IN THE NEW MOVIE IM DOING

AND LIKE HER FRIEND TOLD ME YESTERDAY THAT SHE LIKES MY WORK

AND THAT WAS PROBABLY WHY SHE HAD AGREED TO WORK ON THIS PROJECT

AND THEN I GO UP TO HER AND INTRODUCE MYSELF AND SHE INTRODUCES HERSELF WITH HER REAL NAME AND I MUSTVE HAD A BLANK EXPRESSION CUZ THEN SHE SAID I GO BY MDC

AND THEN I BLANKED OUT

AND IF THAT WASN’T BAD ENOUGH I BLURTED OUT I LOVE YOUR WORK YOUR NEW LINE WAS BREATH TAKING AND I LOVED THE SECOND PIECE THE MOST AND THAT THE COLOURS AND DESIGNS WERE AMAZING

AND THEN SHE WAS SO SWEET AND NICE TO ME AND THANKED ME AND SAID THE SECOND PIECE WAS HER FAVOURITE TOO AND THAT SHE THOUGHT MY WORK WAS AMAZING

M!!!!!!! ANSWER ME PLEASE IM DYING OF HUMILIATION.

She thought about her reply for about a minute and the sent it off.

Designs&Coffee: I’m sure she didn’t think you were awkward.

She was probably concentrating more on the fact that she was talking to CISSIE KING-JONES

Her response was instantaneous.

Arrow Girl: How can you be so sure?

Also how did you finally figure out that I’m that Cissie

Designs&Coffee: I’m so sure because I’m that M

As in the M in MDC. Also how I figured you were that Cissie

Hi again! I’m Marinette. I’m 17 and sorta run a fashion empire

Arrow Girl: Cissie King-Jones. I’m seventeen too and currently an actress.

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief, she was worried that this might’ve ended badly

Arrow Girl: Wanna actually hang out tomorrow?

Designs&Coffee: sure!

.oOo.

Cissie woke up two mornings later to nearly a hundred notifications on her phone. About twenty of the notifications were from news channels, which was strange she was supposed to get those only when her name was mentioned in an article and 20 articles in a day were strange. There were another fifty from Bart, which happened occasionally. Ten each from Cassie and Marinette. And a few messages each from Tim, Kon, Greta and Anita.

Checking the news articles first because they would probably give some insight on the dozens of messages, she saw that someone had seen her out with Marinette yesterday and taken a photo which the tabloids had eaten up like starved wolves.

Bart had clearly lost patience fast, his messages were getting more and more pleading as she scrolled through all fifty. Laughing she told him that she had just woken up and would answer all his questions, and she and Marinette weren’t together it was just a misunderstanding, like the one Tim deals with all the time. Kon, Anita and Greta used to the several articles that came with Tim had picked out articles that had the most ridiculous theories and had sent it to her. Cassie had done the same along with several other questions. Choosing to answer Cassie first, she calls Cassie and spends nearly an hour talking to her even though it took Cissie only five minutes to explain the whole tabloid mess. Tim had sent a message saying “welcome to the world where if you’re seen outside your house with someone, everyone is going to believe you’re in a relationship.” Cissie just responded with a laughing face emoji.

Marinette had apologised for her friends’ behaviour, strange as that was. Saying that if she gets e-mails from Adrien Agreste, Luka Couffaine, Alya Césaire or Kagami Tsurugi it would be best to ignore them. They were just over protective and annoying. Cissie pointedly ignored how Marinette had casually brought up four very prominent people in the world. Apparently Marinette’s friends not used to the whole invasiveness of paparazzi had decided to deliver Cissie a shovel talk over e-mail before Marinette could clear up the confusion with her friends. She had also added that they were supposed to apologise and to please tell her if they didn’t.

And that was when she remembered her own friends’ highly similar behaviour and sent a text in the Young Justice group chat that she’d use them as moving target practice if they decide to induct her into their group with threats, and then sent another message to Tim to stop whatever extensive background check he was doing. She groaned as she got a smiley face in reply. Then the notification she had set for Marinette went off.

Designs&Coffee: I’ve been meaning to ask you about why you had all the points you had for young heroes retiring???? so, uh, why did you?

Groaning she flopped back onto the bed, this was going to be one hell of a day.

So my thoughts on how it would go ahead:

Marinette and Cissie meet up to talk about her text but Cissie doesn't really tell her about Arrowette. She changes the topic, after all Marinette was also ready with several points on the same topic. Maybe they eventually tell each other maybe they don't, i don't exactly know.

Marinette's friends calm down pretty soon after, Alya takes some more time but eventually calms down too.

When Cissie says, 'Marinette had casually brought up four very prominent people in the world', Its because at this point Adrien's run as a model still hasn't died out with it being only a year after Hawkmoth's defeat. Kagami is a world famous fencer, Luka joins Jagged Stone on tour and becomes pretty famous too and Alya listened to Marinette, (It ends up being Marinette and Adrien after the reveal who get through to her), she ends up making a name for herself in the year after Hawmoth's defeat, though her work still focuses around heroes/vigilantes which is why Cissie knows her, she's not really that prominent outside France.

Sometime after Cissie finishes talking to Cassie and sees Marinette's text Bart shows up demanding answers. They don't actually know it's Marinette, as in they don't know her name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn't really well known, MDC is, and no one knows who MDC is. Tim would probably do a facial recognition scan find out who she is and continue on with his extensive background check and probably figures out she's MDC somewhere along the way. Traya asks about Marinette the next time she sees Cissie

#maribatmarch2021 #ml x dc #maribat #but not really #none of the batfam are actually there #tim's mentioned tho #my writing

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