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honeyedhoseok · 3 years

Text

Blue | 01

genre | jeon jungkook x reader; lifeguard!JK but this isn't really a lifeguard fic; soulmate!au if you squint; smut; angst

word count | 9.9K

summary | that summer with jungkook was blue--a shade that carries with it a tinge of melancholia that you should have accepted from the beginning.

or,

to say that you fell in love with a color was an overstatement, but to say that you fell in love with him was an understatement.

a/n | i've been writing this to avoid my responsibilities. hope you enjoy! <3

series masterlist

It rained the first day Jungkook worked at the pool.

You’d heard the news of a few new lifeguards starting that day, but you’d been too busy serving ice cream at the snack bar to really get anything other than a quick glance at the lifeguard stand before you were locking eyes with the next greedy customer in line.

It was the beginning of summer, with the air sitting hot, dry and heavy on the normal patrons of the pool: older moms who sunbathed and gossiped with their friends while their kids splashed in the shallow end and gave the lifeguards something to do. Teenagers too cool to actually get in the pool littered the sides, only dipping their feet in while using expensive Ray Ban frames like a headband to hold their hair out of their eyes while they talked with their friends.

The forecast had mentioned some scattered storms, but normally that just meant getting everyone to come inside for a few minutes until it passed. The storm that day, however, had plans of sticking around a little bit longer.

You were passing a cup of strawberry shortcake soft serve out the window when the first clap of thunder sounded, followed by a lightning storm that sent the lifeguards in a tizzy. Multiple whistles blew at the sudden appearance of a storm, and the atmosphere was a rush of splashing and commotion as people made their way out of the water and to their belongings scattered in chairs on the sides.

“Well, that came out of nowhere,” your coworker, Jihyo says, sidling up beside you to look at the clouds looming over what was supposed to be a normal day at the pool. “Wonder if we’ll get to go home early?”

“I hope not,” you reply. “I need these hours, damn it. The Blooming Festival is in a few weeks, and I plan on taking off at least three days to soak it all in.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve only mentioned it, maybe, every day I’ve worked with you so far?”

Serving ice cream at the pool was just a summer job. You were working there to make some money so you could do things with your friends, put gas in your car, and occasionally splurge on a new outfit or pair of shoes. It was supposed to be as normal as every other summer you’d worked there in between college semesters—until he showed up.

In fifteen minutes, the pool was shut down completely; all of the patrons were packed up and back in their cars after an announcement from your manager that the storm was forecasted to not let up for at least another hour and a half.

“Oh, we’re definitely going home,” Jihyo says, shutting the serving window and twisting the lock. “When’s the last time Seokjin shut down the pool indefinitely?”

You purse your lips, leaning back against the counter behind you and looking out at the pouring rain behind Jihyo. The wind was starting to pick up now, leaves and debris filling the once-clean surface of the cerulean water of the pool.

You start to make a bitter remark but the sound of heavy, slapping footsteps cuts you off, followed by a loud pounding at the back door. Jihyo looks toward the source of the noise with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her chin up stubbornly.

“More twelve-year-olds coming to demand that we restock Moose Tracks?”

“Hey, Moose Tracks is a classic!” you call at her back as she goes to unlock the door. “It’s not their fault you keep picking unpopular flavors to order each week—like Mint Chocolate Chip!”

The back door opens, and the shop is suddenly flooded with voices following Jihyo back into the small space.

“MCC is the goddamn classic, Y/N,” Jihyo says, stomping back into the conversation like she never left off. “Don’t ever bash it again, or I’ll stop ordering Sea Salt Caramel for your uncultured ass!”

You want to laugh, but you’re too distracted by the hoard of boys—lifeguards—trailing behind her. Yoongi and the two new guys crowd your space suddenly, and you find yourself backing up into one of the corners and trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt for just arguing with Jihyo over ice cream flavors, of all things.

The boys are soaking wet, puddles collecting at their feet on the tiled inside of the kitchen, but they seem unphased by it as they huddle in. Thankfully, one of them comes to your rescue.

“I’m with her,” he says, giving you a nod. His smile fills up his whole face as he talks, making his eyes turn into little crescent half-moons. “Sea Salt Caramel is where it’s at.”

The other lifeguard doesn’t say anything, gaze focused over your heads outside where the wind is knocking sunbathing chairs over. You realize then how tall he is—possibly half a foot or more than you—and the thought that if you were close enough, your nose wouldn’t even brush the dip of his clavicle, has your cheeks burning.

He and the half-moon lifeguard have similar builds: long, lean body statures, almond-shaped eyes, the same dark hair that falls in wet strands in their eyes. You wonder if they’re related. Maybe the taller one is the older brother, you think.

“The great ice cream debate,” Yoongi murmurs suddenly, sounding bored. “How about we have some and solve this problem once and for all?”

As he reaches for one of the serving spoons, Jihyo’s arm flies out, smacking it out of his hands. It falls with a clatter onto the counter, and he looks at her with an animated expression of surprise and disgust.

“Uh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “It’s like Seokjin’s only rule for us.”

“Seokjin can kiss my—“

As if on cue, the back door swings open and Yoongi shuts his mouth as Seokjin comes in, looking incredibly dry due to the floor-length plastic covering hanging from his umbrella.

Leave it to Seokjin to own something as extra as that, you think.

“Get comfy,” he says as he steps out of the plastic, shaking water off the top that splashes onto your scuffed, white Keds.

You gaze down, realizing only then that none of the lifeguards are wearing shoes. Yoongi’s pinky toe is edging dangerously close to a melted puddle of chocolate ice cream you forgot to clean up, but you don’t have the guts to tell him in front of your manager, so you shoo the thought away and focus on the grim look on Seokjin’s face. He’s chewing gum and looks slightly annoyed at the thought of all five of you huddled inside instead of doing work.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he says, “but I need you guys to stay here until the storm calms down. It should pass in an hour or two.”

Jihyo frowns. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll send you home.”

She grins triumphantly.

“And I’ll need you to come in early tomorrow to clean up that mess out there,” Seokjin adds, giving her a sickly-sweet smile. He blows a bubble with his pink chewing gum for emphasis, the pop resonating in the small space.

Yoongi frowns and Jihyo’s mouth drops open. The new lifeguards seem as surprised as the other two, and they eye Seokjin curiously, probably trying to figure out what kind of manager he is. Even after all this time working for him, you don’t really know the answer to that question, either.

“Any more questions?” he asks, tone leaning somewhat on annoyance. But then again, that’s how Seokjin always sounded.

Jihyo shakes her head and Yoongi gives him a deepened frown in answer.

“Good. You,” he says, looking pointedly at Yoongi and mimicking his annoyed expression. “See to it that Hoseok and Jungkook get acquainted with the rules.” He steps inside his clear cocoon of an umbrella, reaching down to zip it up above his head. “And I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go outside and clean up.”

Jungkook, you think. You know immediately that it’s his name because it just fits him. You feel yourself rolling the unspoken syllables around the inside of your mouth, wondering when you’ll get the first chance to say them aloud.

Yoongi salutes half-assedly, and Jihyo elbows him in the side after Seokjin turns around and makes his exit. After the back door is shut, the five of you visibly deflate, and Yoongi sucks his teeth.

“That guy,” he mutters. “One of these days—”

“I wish you’d learn your lesson and stop messing with him,” Jihyo says, interrupting whatever nasty comment was about to spill from his mouth. “It’s probably because of you that Seokjin wants us to stay, instead of going home in this god-awful weather.”

“Why doesn’t he like Yoongi?” Hoseok asks, eyes flickering to the chestnut-haired, simmering boy to his left.

“His most recent offense?” Jihyo ponders, crossing her arms over her chest as she thinks. “Not showing up for his shift—threedays in a row.”

“I was sick,” Yoongi says dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What did you want me to do? Not stay in bed and get better?”

“Oh, your bed must suddenly have relocated to the pool hall at five in the afternoon, huh?” she says, tilting her head to the side in mocking. “Snapchat locations don’t lie, Yoongi. If you’re going to play hooky, do it better.”

Hoseok chuckles. “Damn, man.”

Yoongi, never one to back down from an argument, flicks his brown fringe out of his eyes. “Why don’t you teach me then, Little Miss Stomachache?”

“I had cramps!” Jihyo says indignantly.

“You’ll learn that being around these two is like being around an old married couple,” you murmur to Jungkook and Hoseok as Yoongi and Jihyo’s voices rise louder and louder in contest. “They get along like cats and dogs.”

Jungkook grins at your comment, and you think your heart stops a little in your chest before starting an accelerated rhythm that has you feeling light. His lips pull back prettily over his teeth, his cheeks balling a little from the force of it.

“I’m thinking cats and dogs might actually be more civil than this, to be honest,” Hoseok says, gesturing to an annoyed Yoongi threatening to rub his clammy, wet feet on Jihyo’s bare, shorts-clad legs.

In the time that you had worked there, there were very few civil moments between Jihyo and Yoongi. You think that maybe they were civil when Yoongi first started, and you remember faintly a comment made by Jihyo that Yoongi was “cute” and maybe that they exchanged numbers at some point—but then rumors went around that Yoongi said Jihyo was too loud and controlling, and Jihyo said he was a selfish bastard, and you think they’ve been sworn enemies ever since.

“You’re probably right,” you say finally, giggling at Hoseok’s comment. You stop abruptly when you see Jungkook’s eyes fall to your mouth at the sight of it splitting open with a grin. They linger there for a moment before he speaks for the first time since entering you and Jihyo’s space.

“What did you say your name was, again?” he asks.

His voice is soft and low, almost a lilted hum, and it catches you off guard in comparison to his very boyish, young features. You expected it to be higher, to sound almost preteen-like, but it’s nothing of the sort—it immediately has you questioning how old he is in comparison to Hoseok.

“Y/N,” you say. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I guess.”

Jungkook smiles again, and this time it feels like one especially conjured up for you.

“Y/N,” he repeats, the sound of his tongue rolling over the syllables sends a little zap to your insides. “You um, have a little something there, on your shirt.”

He takes one hand out of his blue swim trunks and points to your breastbone, where a dark splotch of chocolate ice cream sits over your sternum.

“Aw, fuck!” you murmur, facing burning as you spin around on your heel, grabbing the nearest hand towel and dabbing at your shirt. “These kids—”

“It wouldn’t stain like that if it was Mint Chocolate Chip,” Jihyo sneers suddenly, cutting whatever Yoongi was about to say to her off. She grins triumphantly at the stain, returning to your argument from earlier. “Would it?”

You flip her the bird, still dabbing at the fabric—but you can’t help but revel a little in the cute smile Jungkook gives you as he watches you fuss over yourself, digging around the kitchen space for anything to save you from the ice cream on your shirt.

After that fated day, your mind lingered on Jungkook incessantly. At the pool, you glanced at him more often than not from the serving window of the ice cream stand, committing him to memory. You found yourself reminiscing over the upended triangular shape of his upper body, the lithe muscle covering his shoulder blades, the image of a whistle poised between his rosy lips, his teeth pressed tightly against the metal, his body wet and glistening as he rose out of the pool—

“You’re literally drooling, Y/N,” Jihyo says, breaking you out of your reverie by snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, go talk to him?”

“I will,” you say indignantly. “I told you—I’m waiting.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, nodding. “Still waiting.”

“Jesus,” Jihyo sighs. “I didn’t want to do this, but you know he’s only here for the summer, right?”

You freeze in the middle of cleaning the counter. “He’s what?”

“You heard me—you have less than three months, Y/N,” Jihyo says firmly. “I know rushing isn’t your style but, uh, you might not have a choice this time.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!”

You hate how your voice sounds pitiful and whiny, but your heart is literally sinking at this news—three months? Less than three months? Where was he going? What would you do with your time when he wasn’t there to look out the window at? It dawns on you suddenly that you won’t be there in three months, either. School started back at the end of August—your sophomore year.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were interested in him?” Jihyo crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been watching you fawn over him for all this time, just waiting and hoping you’d confide in me, but no.”

“What was I supposed to say?” you retort glumly. “That I like the lifeguard that seems the least interested in my existence? Yeah, no, I’ll save myself from that sadness train going nowhere, thank you very much.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Jihyo says with confidence, turning to the window. “Hey, Jungkook!”

You freeze. “What? What are you doing?”

Jungkook looks your way, raising an eyebrow above his black Ray Bans. Jihyo leans out of the serving window, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand.

She turns to you. “Look how easy this is going to be.”

You swallow to combat the sudden tightness in your throat, watching with bated breath as Jungkook climbs down the lifeguard ladder and walks to you two, his feet slapping a little on the wet cement surrounding the pool.

“What’s up?” he says, pushing his sunglasses back on his head and unknowingly releasing the full intensity of his doe-like eyes.

You inhale a small gasp that Jihyo obviously hears, because she lightly presses her Ked-clad foot on top of yours below the counter.

“Me, you, Y/N, Hoseok,” Jihyo says with a confidence you could never muster. “Dinner and a movie on the boardwalk this weekend?”

Jungkook’s eyes pass from hers to yours for a split second, and your pulse picks up speed in your veins. If he seems surprised from the random invitation, however, he doesn’t let it show on the easy-going expression that he wears.

“Sure,” he says. “Can you remind me when it gets a little closer? I’ll have to make sure my parents don’t have anything planned.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder, casually producing her phone from what feels like thin air. You blink down at her hand, realizing this was her plan all along.

“Put your number in,” she says. “I’ll make us a group chat. We should probably have one anyways, since we work together. You know?”

Jungkook nods and puts his number in before handing it back to her. A commotion happens in the water behind him, and he glances over his shoulder with concern. “I should probably head back,” he says. He gives you both a small smile before he flips his sunglasses down over his eyes again, hitting a slight jog back to the lifeguard stand.

When he’s out of earshot, Jihyo texts rapidly on her phone. When she’s done yours vibrates three times in your pocket: the start of the group chat, you’re sure.

“And that, my friend,” she says, giving you a grin that could rival the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas, “is how you get the ball rolling!”

Unfortunately, Jihyo’s plans—which she has annoyingly coined as Operation: Get Y/N Laid—don’t stop there.

On Thursday, just two days before the plans, she convinces Hoseok to come with her to something before the meet up that’s going to coincidentally make them late so that you and Jungkook have time to be alone.

When she tells you this, it’s as she’s making a double scoop chocolate cone, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge that comes over you to put your hands around her neck.

“Ack! Y/N! Let go!” she says between breaths with wide eyes. “I’m going to drop the ice—”

“You’re so dumb!” you yell, squeezing a little harder. “That’s such an obvious ploy to get us alone, he’s going to realize it!”

Jihyo finally squirms out of your grip by turning her head and licking your arm. The warmth of her tongue makes you recoil, and she gasps with relief as air floods back into her lungs, looking at the now-lopsided cone in her left hand.

“Now how am I supposed to give this to that little brat outside?” she says, frowning. “His mom will come and eat me alive if I hand this slop out of the window.”

“You probably deserve it,” you say sourly. You lean your hip into one of the counters, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take your plans back, Jihyo.”

“I can’t,” she says calmly. “Hoseok is already in on it.”

“He’s what?!”

“He’s in on Operation: Get Y/N Laid,” she says again, with that same ridiculous manner of calm, like you didn’t just make her life flash before her eyes thirty seconds ago. “Stop freaking out—he wants to give you some time alone just like I do. So, he’s not going to say anything to Jungkook. The plan will go on like normal, you will just have to do a little acting when we don’t show up on time. Got it?”

In all honesty, it’s not the worse plan she has ever come up with. But you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, so you keep your current frown plastered on your mouth for a little longer to let her know your displeasure with the sudden turn of events.

“Oh, don’t you go all pouty on me,” Jihyo says, wagging a finger at you as she trashes the cone you messed up and grabs another. She scoops more ice cream out of the container below her, giving you a look that reminds you of a mother watching her children open Christmas presents after telling them they weren’t getting anything for months. “You’ll thank me later—right after you tell me if Jungkook has anything worthy of talking about.”

“I’m sure he does,” you respond indignantly, falling right into her trap. “He’s intelligent.”

Jihyo hums a nod before brandishing the new cone, two scoops of chocolate perfectly centered and balanced on top of each other. “Before long this will be you two—are you a top or a bottom, though? I forgot.”

You groan in anguish as Jihyo lets out a cackle, opening the window to your stand and handing it out the impatient little boy that waits outside. You’re grateful for the breeze, although its simmering warmth does nothing for the same feeling that has settled high on your cheeks, dusting pigment there reminiscent of a similar shade of red Jungkook sometimes sports on his swim trunks.

The day of the boardwalk date, you find yourself sprawled out on the floor in front of your closet in your underwear and bra, contemplating why you ever purchased every single item of clothing in your closet.

These kinds of freak outs are normally reserved for the pressing dates in life—first day of college, nights out with the girls, birthdays—but today, you find yourself freaking out over the instance of having to wear the perfect outfit in order to feel comfortable around Jungkook.

Comfortable, and most importantly, pretty.

You shuffle through your two final picks, laying them across your bed in order to get the full effect of what they might look like on. They were both incredibly simple—your college wardrobe either consisted of exercise shorts and t-shirts and hoodies or going out clothes that were much too revealing for a fun night on the boardwalk. But you fret over them some more, so much that you almost have a nervous breakdown and text Jihyo to call the whole thing off.

But the slight hum of your phone vibrating your bed stops you before you can do so. It’s from Jungkook, and you heart beats a little off kilter at the sight of his name popping up on your phone screen.

Jungkook 5:15PM : We still meeting at 6?

It’s directed to your group chat with him, Jihyo and Hoseok. You take a deep breath. Jihyo had told you that she wasn’t going to respond to any messages until the last minute, to really sell her “emergency” that she had to bring Hoseok along on. You were driving separately, as was Jungkook, but the two of them had decided to conveniently carpool a day prior.

Y/N 5:18PM : I’ll be there! Park at Pier 14, it’s the closest one to the boardwalk

Jungkook 5:20PM : Yes ma’am 😊

You smile down at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip softly as you read the message over a few times before clicking the screen lock button. You prop your hands on your hips, deciding that it’s now or never. The nights got chilly in the summer when the sun wasn’t beating down as heavy, and you hated being cold. So, you choose the outfit on the right—a simple, oversized pullover and bike shorts, paired with some scuffed white sneakers, and rush into the bathroom to get ready so you’re not late.

You get to the pier at exactly 6:01 and search around for a parking space.

A part of you feels like this is a bad plan. Especially when you look down at your phone after cutting the engine and realize that Jihyo has texted you something that makes your stomach drop.

Jihyo 5:59PM : Haha…bad news

Jihyo 5:59PM : DON’T KILL ME

Y/N 6:02PM : Please, no!!! What is it!!

Jihyo 6:03PM : The check engine light on my car came on as I was leaving Hoseok’s. Don’t panic. We are waiting for AAA to come get us and take us back to his house so he can drive. I repeat: DON’T. PANIC.

“Okay, okay” you say to yourself, taking a few calming, deep breaths in. “At least she has a plan? This can still work out. I’m not panicking. Yet.”

Y/N 6:03PM : When are they estimated to be there?

Her messaging dots appear and disappear for a few minutes and your anxiety skyrockets.

Y/N 6:06PM : JIHYO

Jihyo 6:07PM : between 6:45-7PM…

Y/N 6:08PM : THE MOVIE STARTS AT 7:05 YOU ABSOLUTE

There’s a knock at your window that has you almost jumping out of your skin. When you look up, you’re met by the wide grin and big, childlike eyes of Jungkook. He peers at you through the tinted glass, looking a little sheepish at having scared you on accident.

All your anxiety about Jihyo having an actual emergency disappears as you unclick your seat belt and scramble out of the car to join him.

“I really didn’t mean to do that,” he says, stepping back and giving you space to swing your door open. “Is everything all right?”

“What?” you say. “Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. Well—sort of.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. “Did something happen?”

“Jihyo is having car trouble, so her and Hoseok are going to be late.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, shifting your weight from leg to leg. The outing was supposed to be all of you as a group—and originally, them being a little late wouldn’t have been such a problem. But you were thinking thirty minutes max, not an hour and a half!

You’re relieved when Jungkook shrugs. “Oh, okay,” he says. “Well, I’m still cool with walking around until the movie starts if you are ?”

You nod with enthusiasm. “Right—we’re already here, might as well go do some stuff?”

Jungkook smiles again, and you finally take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt under a black zip-up hoodie and a pair of chinos—a simpler outfit that looks way too good on his tall, lean frame. You hadn’t seen him in much other than his swim trunks because the only time you two really saw each other outside of this singular moment, was at work.

Of course, you weren’t complaining about that aspect. You could probably pencil out in detail the muscles of Jungkook’s upper chest and stomach, the way water rolled off them when he got out of the pool, the way they flexed when he pulled his whistle to his mouth. That is, if your drawing skills weren’t absolute shit—so bad at that a kindergartener could probably put you to shame with snapped Crayola’s and disproportionate stick figures.

The sun has already sunk below the horizon, taking with it all the heat and warmth of the day and leaving you with a slight breeze that could give you goosebumps if you let it, and a sky the deepened color of cornflowers.

It’s twilight, you realize, as you trail beside Jungkook from the parking lot cement onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A backlit, blue-hued time of day that you absolutely adored during the summertime because you still had just enough light accomplish the activities you wanted to.

Not that you needed to worry about light at a time like this—the bright boardwalk stadium lights are almost blinding, and because it’s the weekend, the two of you find yourself periodically weaving in and out of the crowd that seems to get busier and pushier the further you walk.

Jungkook takes the lead, his taller frame holding more of a reason for people to move out of the way than yours. You watch the back of his head the whole time, noticing the way his raven hair reflects the light—shiny and clean and looking incredibly soft.

“How about a snow cone?” he calls over his shoulder. “It looks like there might be somewhere for us to sit up there.”

He points ahead and you call out an agreement to him, hoping to be heard over the ruckus.

You realize that the crowd isn’t going to let up anytime soon—people have no qualms about walking in between you two, and you find yourself speeding up in order to not be further separated from him.

At some point Jungkook glances behind him again and realizes your struggle. He slows his pace, and you happen to look down and realize he is holding out the long sleeve of his hoodie for you to hold on to.

“Don’t get lost,” he says with a grin. “This snow cone will be worth it, I promise!”

You return his smile, holding onto his arm with a light touch as he continues to lead through the crowd. You curse Jihyo silently in your head—despite her fake emergency turning into a real emergency, she was right about one thing: time alone with Jungkook was something you couldn’t pass up.

When you finally make it to the snow cone cart, you let go of Jungkook’s arm quickly. He looks at you with suspicion as you snatch away, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a shit-eating grin, like he knew exactly what he was doing to your racing pulse by offering you his touch.

“What flavor do you want?” he asks, looking at the menu stand on the right. “My treat.”

You both immediately point to Tiger’s Blood, and Jungkook seems pleased with you.

“Good choice,” he says. “If you picked Pina Colada, I was going to lose it.”

You giggle. “You don’t like coconut?”

“No,” he says, frowning. “I snuck some of my mom’s Malibu one time without realizing and I almost barfed.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. You realize that you still don’t how old Jungkook is, and while he orders your snow cones, you look at him with scrutiny. There was something young about his eyes and face, the roundness of the tip of his nose and cheeks making you believe he was younger than you. But his body—good grief, his body—and the sharpness of his jawline and said otherwise.

When you’re both seated at a picnic table, you decide to ask him.

“Why?” he says. “How old do you think?”

You take a timid bite of your snow cone, relishing in the satisfying crunch of ice between your teeth. “Hmm, I know you’re college-age. Just wondering how old.”

“That story I told about sneaking alcohol was from a few years ago,” he says, laughing. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh.”

“You’re only nineteen, right?” he says, but it doesn’t seem like he cares much that you’re younger.

You nod. “But my birthday is in September.”

“So is mine,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll have to try to celebrate together, somehow.”

You try not to let on how happy his suggestion makes you—that months from now, you two will be friends that throw parties together, or possibly more—and you settle into your seat, munching happily on the cold treat that is slowly turning from ice to mush in the paper cone in your hands.

“So why the pool?” you say a few moments later. “Did you work at another one before ours?”

Jungkook blinks. “I have my CPR certification from another part time job I had at a gym,” he said. “I don’t know why they made us get it, honestly.”

You laugh. “Maybe in case one of the meatheads lifted too much at once?”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But the gym couldn’t work around my school schedule anymore. So, when I came home I saw the pool was looking for a new part-time lifeguard and I applied.”

“You only come home during the summer?”

Jungkook nods, but a look of annoyance flashes across his face before he answers. “There’s not much for me here, honestly. I like school and being on my own, away from my parents.”

“I get that.”

It was something you could both agree on. You didn’t realize freedom could taste so sweet until you moved into your dorm on campus. You could stay up when you wanted, sleep when you wanted, go out when you wanted. As long as you kept your grades up and didn’t lose your scholarship for your parent’s sake, you were literally allowed to do whatever your heart desired.

“It’s too far away to fly back and forth, anyways,” Jungkook adds, suddenly. He tilts his paper cone back, dumping all of the remaining liquid into his mouth before crumpling it in his left fist.

“How far?”

“California.”

“Oh. Why there?”

Somehow, you were taken aback to hear that he’d chosen a school so far from his home. You wonder suddenly if the sullen look he’d given your earlier had more to it than you realized.

Jungkook ignores your question—like you expected—and stands up. You scramble to finish the remains of your cone and he holds his hand out for your trash. You give it to him, feeling the slight brush of your fingers against his palm that reminds you of earlier when he’d offered his arm. He doesn’t this time, but you find yourself wishing he would again. Or that you two were close enough for you to reach out and grab it without his permission.

“That’s a story for later,” he says, giving you a look meant to soften the blow of his hard statement. “I don’t want to talk about it right now—it’ll ruin the mood.”

You nod slightly, bringing your bottom lip back between your teeth to gnaw on. You hadn’t meant to upset him.

“Is there anything you want to do?” he asks, looking around. “We have about thirty minutes before we should head back to the car for the drive-in movie.”

The boardwalk was in full swing as the night progressed, the sky now a deep shade of indigo behind him. You stand with him, leaning onto your tip toes in an effort to recognize any signs further down the wooden path.

“The arcade, maybe?” you suggest.

Jungkook fake clutches at his chest, staggering with clumsy steps to one side. “A woman after my own heart,” he says theatrically. “I might faint.”

You laugh loudly and roll your eyes to cover up your own heartbeat thumping wildly in your ears. You use the rush to match his energy: “I’m only saying it because I want you to win me a plushie.”

Jungkook smiles, his eyes full of light and mischief at getting to show off his skills. “That, madam, is a deal. Let’s go.”

Jihyo still hasn’t texted you by the time you and Jungkook exit the arcade.

You want to send a scolding text to her, but in reality, you don’t really care if they show up anymore. Jungkook seems to have forgotten they were coming—he doesn’t look at his phone once while you two flit from game to game in the arcade.

You’d watched from the side as he entered a water pistol race with a few other patrons of the boardwalk. He sat down on a stool right in the middle of everyone, leaning over the gun and closing one eye for better accuracy. His tongue poked out between his lips, his form rigid and unyielding until the announcer blew a whistle to start the race. You held back a laugh at his seriousness, pressing a hand to your mouth in case he looked over at you.

He did, but only once the flashing lights above his booth went off, signaling him as the winner. He’d hopped off the stool and raced over to you, placing a hand above your elbow before pulling you over to claim your reward from the prize table.

You chose a blue and white dolphin that was just big enough to be slightly comical. Jungkook carried it over his shoulder as you two walked back toward his car, giddy from the excitement of playing carnival games and teasing each other all the while.

“Okay, but you wouldn’t have even beaten me at basketball if yours didn’t come to my side and knock my shots off course constantly!” Jungkook insists. “You’re a sneaky little thing.”

“Why can’t you just admit my two-pointer is better than yours?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m almost six foot and you’re what—five-one? You simply can’t be a better shot that I am because of your genetics. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth drops open. “I’m literally five-three!”

“Minus two.”

“Oh, whatever!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, throwing his head back from the force of it. You pout alongside him, but you can’t help the telling smile that creeps onto your face. You like this side of Jungkook—it was so different from the stoic and quiet lifeguard you knew him as before.

“The drive-in is just a block that way, right?” he asks once you two come up on the parking lot. He shifts the dolphin higher on his shoulder, stopping in his tracks to turn and look at you. “I can drive us in my car, if you want.”

Your eyes widen a little at his suggestion. You didn’t even think about the fact that if Jihyo and Hoseok weren’t here, it would just be you and him watching the movie together.

“Oh—um, I mean,” you stumble over your answer. “If that’s okay with you?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he says with another laugh. He gestures to the stuffed animal perched on his shoulder. “Plus, we’ve got a nice seat cushion, here.”

You smile and nod before following him to his car. It’s a little navy SUV—something you didn’t expect him drive at all. He seemed like a “car guy” for some reason, one that would have driven something old and sturdy and loud.

“This is—cute,” you say, for lack of better wording.

Jungkook sucks his teeth. “Man, why does everyone say that?” He groans. “This thing is great on gas, okay? And look at all this trunk space! I mean, if you lived all the way in California—"

“Hey, hey,” you say, holding your hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, that was terrible wording. Did I say cute? I meant cutely efficient. You didn’t let me finish.”

Jungkook laughs again, nodding. “That’s what I thought you meant, yeah.”

He throws your dolphin in the backseat and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. Your cheeks are hot as you move past him to settle into the seat, giving him a timid smile as he shuts the door behind you. You watch him walk around the front of the vehicle, lit up by a neighboring car’s headlights for just a fraction of a second.

He’s handsome to you while doing the most mundane of things, and your heart hurts at the thought. You couldn’t have a crush on him. He was your coworker for one, and for two, he didn’t live there. He went to school across the country, and he was only home for three incredibly short months. There would be nothing to your relationship, so you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of having a crush on someone so, well—unavailable. You pinch yourself hard on the thigh as a seal of reminder: this could not, would not, happen.

The slam of the car door brings you back to reality. Jungkook presses the start button on his dashboard before clicking his seatbelt across his upper body.

“You good?” he says, looking over at you with a furrowed brow. When you nod, he backs the car out of the space, his hand on the back of your headrest for good measure.

You take a few uneven breaths in and out at the action, forcing yourself to remain looking out of the front windshield and to not turn your head towards him even a fraction. You know doing so would put your faces at an incredible proximity, and you what the hell did you just pinch yourself over if you weren’t going to stick with it!

“Any word from Jihyo and Hoseok?” he asks. “It would be cool if we could still get dinner with them afterwards, at least.”

You pull your phone out of your crossbody. The screen lights up to no new unread messages, so you sent Jihyo a quick text in your private chat.

Y/N 6:58PM : Update?

It sends but doesn’t get read immediately in normal Jihyo fashion.

“Hm, maybe the tow truck is there, and she can’t talk,” you say. “I hope everything’s all right.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “But this is fun—with just us two.” He pauses, glancing over at you. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say quickly, giving him a smile. “I’m having a great time.”

He seems sated by this information, but you’re not sure why. “I’m glad.”

Jungkook drives you to toward the movie parking lot—a grassy field with neat rows of cars guided by a parking attendant in a bright, orange vest—and Jungkook reverses in the directed spot in the middle row of cars. You can see the screen perfectly, but only out of the back window from the way he parked. That does little to deter your excitement, though.

“The screen is huge!” you say in awe, twisting in your seat.

You look on as it plays movie trailer previews for remaining months of the summer, and the thought flits across your mind just how many you might get to see with Jungkook before your time was up.

“You’ve never been to a drive-in?” Jungkook asks. “We gotta make this one extra special, then.”

You look over at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jungkook begins, unlocking the car doors, “I’m pulling out the big guns.”

He hops out and heads to the trunk of the car. You scramble after him, shutting the passenger door behind you and joining him where he stands with the trunk popped open. You watch as he lowers the second row of seats flat after moving the dolphin plushie and a conveniently-packed duvet. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he unfolds the blanket across the flattened seats, making you two a perfect spot to lay in the back of the car while watching the movie.

Jungkook sees the suspicion on your face and chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I just thought we might want to be comfortable if we’re going to be watching a movie for two hours, you know?”

You ignore him and climb in through the open trunk, settling down with the dolphin as a cushion for your back. “Where’s the popcorn?” you ask, laughing. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook holds up a finger. “One moment, m’lady.”

He takes off from the car and you sit up on your elbows, watching him jog up to a stand at the front of the drive-in parking lot that was selling snacks and drinks for the occasion. You pinch yourself again for good measure when he comes back a few moments later, reminding yourself of your pact. Just because you two were alone, in the back of Jungkook’s car, laying down, about to watch a movie together, alone, didn’t mean anything!

The scent of butter and salt fills your nostrils as Jungkook returns, handing you the popcorn and drinks as he climbs into the trunk and settles beside you. He sits cross-legged and digs into the pockets of his chinos to reveal candy in both hands.

“Sour straws or gummi bears?” he asks.

“Gummi bears, but I want a sour straw, too.”

Jungkook laughs. “Agreed.”

As you two dig in, the beginning of the movie flickers onto the big display screen. People pass by Jungkook’s car on their way to the food stands at the front, and you and Jungkook settle against the giant dolphin propped on the back of the front seats.

“I’ll have to figure out a way to repay you for all of this,” you say quietly in between sips of fizzy Coke. “You keep paying for everything before I can offer.”

“Would you rather us go Dutch?” he asks in the dark.

He’s incredibly close to you—his forearm brushes against yours when he moves because the dolphin only spans so far when you lay it down. It wasn’t the biggest prize, because you didn’t want to carry around a massive plushie, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest they had, either.

On screen, the heroine is introduced going about her daily life. She gets ready, brushes her teeth and hair, puts on her makeup for a normal day at school. When she pulls up to school, a sleek, black motorcycle is parked in her usual spot. A little ways from it, she notices the culprit—an extremely handsome guy holding a bike helmet within the crook of his arm as a swarm of cheerleaders surround him like he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I mean, I hate the thought of depending on other people.”

Jungkook turns to look at you as you say this, and when you glance at him, there’s an emotion plastered on his usually friendly face that you can’t pinpoint.

“Consider it our first date,” he says finally, with a shrug. “Then you don’t owe me anything and you’re not depending on me, either.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Oh—um—well—”

Jungkook tilts his head down as he bites into a sour straw, pulling the candy away from his clenched teeth so it makes a small pop as it separates. He nudges you with his shoulder that is already leaning against your own.

“Did you see that?” he asks with a chuckle. “The stunt doubles are so noticeable in this movie—they have totally different builds than the main characters.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a breathy laugh. A date. The word echoes within the chambers of your mind, repeating over and over like he just yelled it into a cave at the top of his lungs. It reverberates around your skull until you feel your skin buzzing from the meaning.

So much for your pact when he was saying things like that so casually. God, you couldn’t wait to get Jihyo alone to tell her everything.

The movie continues, and a glance down at your phone lets you know that it’s only thirty minutes in when Jihyo finally texts you back.

Jihyo 7:36PM : Hoseok and I aren’t going to make the movie. We’ll just explore the boardwalk until you two lovebirds are done and then we can get food!

You relay the information to Jungkook—leaving out the lovebirds bit. He nods in understanding.

“I figured they wouldn’t—but I’m glad we’ll get to see them,” he answers. “Hoseok texted me a while ago and said Jihyo’s engine light was on because she slams on her brakes too much. He thinks he has whiplash.”

You giggle. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“My little mom-car doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”

“I told you I liked it! I would totally pick my kids up from soccer at 6PM on Thursday in this!”

Jungkook throws a half-popped kernel at your forehead. “Rude.”

“You said the mom thing first!”

“Because I’m allowed to pick on Cheryl—she’s mine.”

“Cheryl?!” You dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Please—don’t tell me—”

Jungkook takes the weight of his shoulder pressed against yours and pushes you over with it before you can finish your sentence. You lean away from him but bring the force back with your own shoulder, fighting him for more room on the dolphin-plushie-turned-back-rest.

You two battle for a second, pushing against each other like children until Jungkook lifts his arm up and around you, cocooning you in his warmth and bringing you to rest fully on the right side of his body. He’s leaning a little against the corner of the back of the SUV and you are nestled within his side body, feeling the heat of his chest pressed against your cheek. You breathe in and out before you realize that maybe, you should move.

You go to sit up, but Jungkook says, “Wait, stay. You’re warm.”

It’s not you that’s warm—your face, sure—but Jungkook’s body feels like your own personal heater. You try to relax, leaning against him once again in a better cuddling position with your head resting on Jungkook’s chest, right below his collarbones. You can hear his heartbeat this way—thudding what you think is a little faster than normal underneath the layers of his thin hoodie and T-shirt.

“Are you comfortable? Can you see?”

You’re not sure, but you think he sounds a little breathless—from the sudden change in your positions, or the tussle before, you can’t tell which is the culprit.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting a little so that you’re more on your side rather than just leaning over onto him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he says, and again, it sounds like there’s a hint of smile in his voice.

You can’t focus on the movie after that. Jungkook is too close, his intoxicating scent swirling into your nostrils with every inhale, your head rising up and down with each breath he takes. This was what friends did, right? This was totally friendly. He just wanted you to be comfortable. You repeat this to yourself as Jungkook’s hand—that was once just dangling over your shoulder—begins to trace soft patterns into your side.

You close your eyes, focusing on slowing the thumping of your heart, timing your inhales to let him know that this is okay. This is totally fine. You aren’t freaking out. You’re just here, enjoying everything that Jungkook had to offer you.

It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe he was just touchy—some boys were like that, after all. Some friendly relationships included tons of skinship. You just weren’t used to it, and you needed to quickly acquaint yourself with the fact that this was how it would be with him if you continued to hang out.

Before you know it, you’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t catch most of the end of the movie. In fact, you don’t even realize it’s over until the credits are rolling and people are moving around you again, the sounds of car doors and trunks slamming as people get ready to move onto their next activity.

It’s only 9PM, but it’s dark outside—the blues of the sky that had enticed you so much once before had faded to an indescribable navy, a blue so deep that it looked black. If you focused, you could see the minute twinkling of stars past the stadium lights on the outskirts that blink on after the movie is over so everyone could exit in a timely and visible fashion.

Jungkook yawns, patting your side. “I think I fell asleep for a moment—I was so comfortable here.”

He laughs in spite of himself, and you give him a breathless chuckle in return. “Sorry if I made your side sore.” You get off of him, scooting over to give him a little room to sit up straight.

“Sore?” he asks incredulously. “Y/N, you’re like a feather. I’m not that breakable.”

Boy, did you know. Thoughts of his muscular stomach flash in your mind, and you will them away. He watch him reach up to close the trunk as people begin to move outside of the car, cocooning you two back into a comfortable darkness from the tints on the back windows.

“Still.”

“Still, what?” he says. There’s a small silence that ensues. “You’re so nervous around me. Is it me?”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. Your skin pricks with the same nervousness that you are about refute. “I mean—”

“I know I’m pretty standoffish at the pool, but I don’t mean to be that way,” he admits. “I just felt like I was in this new place with all of these established relationships and rules. You have Jihyo, and well, Hoseok and I are close, but we’re not best friends.” He pauses. “I was really surprised when Jihyo invited me out with you all.”

“Surprised,” you repeat quietly.

His words absolutely contradict the Jungkook you thought you knew. But maybe that’s how it would always be—you realizing he had his own motives and reasons for being the way he was, and you not understanding a bit of it until he decided to divulge you in them.

“Yeah, surprised,” he nods. “I feel out of place, here. If I’m being honest.”

“But you live here.”

“I don’t have any friends though, because I’m gone for nine months out of the year,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t have any in high school, either. It was just—I don’t know. I didn’t like it here, so I didn’t see a reason to have any ties.”

You can’t really wrap your head around it, but you realize Jungkook is being vulnerable to you in this moment. You don’t want to make him regret it, so you reach out to him—the closest thing to you is his hand, resting on the duvet between you two—and you run your fingers over the soft skin in a timid, unsure fashion.

“Jihyo and I will never say no to new additions to our friend circle,” you say with a smile. “It gives us reasons not to kill each other if someone else is watching.”

Jungkook chuckles a little, holding your gaze. The trunk of the car is still closed, and most of the crowd has dispersed to other parts of the beach where the boardwalk is still alive and filled with weekend nightlife.

“That’s good to know,” Jungkook says softly, looking down at your hands on the blanket. He slides his underneath yours and links his fingers through the spaces in between.

“Y/N—” he says, leaning closer to you, “—thanks. Really.”

You lean closer as well, feeling the magnetism of your two bodies being pulled together in the dark. Your breath comes out in unmeasured puffs, threatening to give away how nervous you are. You’re glad Jungkook can’t really see you anymore, and you’re certainly glad he can’t hear the unsteady beat of your heart as your faces inch closer and closer. As the quiet of the night cocoons you two like a soft blanket, there is no noise other than your heartbeat in your ears as Jungkook’s mouth hovers over your own.

You feel his unsteady sigh outwards as he says, “Are you sure you’re not—”

You use your remaining courage to stop him before he can finish his sentence, closing the distance between your mouths into a soft, sweet kiss. It stays that way for a moment—closed-mouth and innocent—before Jungkook brings his hand to the back of your head and deepens it, pressing his mouth hard against your own in a way that is a command all in its own.

Your lips part involuntarily and Jungkook’s tongue presses softly against the ridge of your mouth, tracing the outline until he is exploring the inside with ease and expertise. As your tongues lace together, you find yourself placing heavy hands on his chest, slightly wrinkling the collar of his shirt with your nails before you slide your hands up and over his shoulders and hook them together behind his neck.

Your head tilts to the right and you push back against him, following the energy and putting it into the most passionate kissing session you’ve had—well, ever. Jungkook places his hands on your hips and pulls you over him so that you are straddling his waist, his experience showing as he places you right on top of his hardening member. You have no choice but to feel it between your thighs and the thin material of your bike shorts—a decision you certainly didn’t realize would come in handy when you’d picked them out a few hours ago in your bedroom closet.

You two kiss and kiss and kiss, getting lost within each other for what feels like hours. You can’t allow yourself to disassociate and think about anything other than what was happening in the moment—although there was a part of your brain that couldn’t believe it was happening, surely.

You were kissing Jungkook. Jungkook was kissing you—no, it was more than that. He was touching you: his hands making a lazy trail up your back, in between your shoulder blades and over the hump of your shoulders until they entangled in your hair and kept your mouth criminal to his. He was breathing you in: making a trail away from your mouth, down your jaw and neck, where he settled on sucking small, reddened splotches into the thin skin just around the collar of your pullover. You want more of him, but more would have to wait.

Jungkook pauses underneath you, much more intact with the real world than you are because he shushes you politely so that you can hear it: the tell-tale sound of your phone humming the vibrations of an incoming call.

“It’s Jihyo,” he says in the darkness, allowing the brightness of your screen to illuminate your faces, inches apart. He hands it to you, and you clear your throat in an attempt to sound less breathless than you actually are as you greet your friend.

“Where are you?” she asks—but it sounds more like a demand. “I know the movie is over by now. You haven’t answered my texts. Are you okay?”

“What?” you say but shake your head. “I’m fine, sorry. Jungkook and I were trying to find our way out of the theatre parking lot. It’s really crowded over here so we had to wait for our turn.”

In the light of your phone pressed against your cheek, you can just barely make out Jungkook’s knowing smirk in the dark.

“Hoseok and I are waiting at Pier 14. Did you two still want to get dinner?”

Jungkook nods in answer, leaning forward a little to press his lips softly against the center of your throat while you talk. You take a calming breath in and out as he mouths at the skin there, swiping his tongue over the space lightly before continuing to kiss away any of your troubles. You close your eyes again, feeling like you’re disappearing under his soft touch before you realize Jihyo is still waiting on your answer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you manage. “Text me an address—you and Hoseok can choose. I don’t care.”

You hang up before she can protest. Your mouth hovers over Jungkook’s, lips pressed together in a solid line.

“That wasn’t very nice,” you admonish him, placing your hands on his firm shoulders. “I was trying to talk.”

“I know,” he says in a soft tone, breathing out a laugh. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You better.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss—one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes you feel lightheaded before he lets you go. You feel warm all over as you two crawl toward the front of his car, returning to your seats while stealing knowing glances at each other.

You don’t want to dwell on the thoughts too much, but a lot had changed in the last hour that you couldn’t even wrap your head around, much less understand and come to accept. Your lips tingle as your mind flies through the events again, attempting to see you and Jungkook from a third-person perspective in your mind, but really just focusing on the way it felt when he was kissing you, touching you, breathing you in.

You knew one thing for certain, though: your pact with yourself was up. You weren’t just diving into the shallow anymore. You were in the deep end.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #bts scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts butter #bts jungkook #honeyedhoseok #blue

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daitranscripts · 2 years

Text

Iron Bull Cutscene: From the Ashes

A Few Faces

Iron Bull Masterpost Related Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn

The PC approaches Bull by the tavern.

Iron Bull: Inquisitor, huh? Well, you’ve got the fortress for it. Speaking of which, when you’ve got a second, there’s something I wanna show you.

General: You had something to show me? PC: What did you want me to come see?

Iron Bull: Here, come on. I’ll show you.

The scene cuts to night, and the PC is in mercenary armor.

PC: Why am I dressed like this?

Iron Bull: You’ll see. Come on, it’ll be worth your time. I promise.

The two of them join a couple of soldiers playing cards. They sit.

Iron Bull: Evening. Iron Bull. My merc band just joined up.

Tanner: Tanner. I’m from Jader. Well, near Jader.

Mira: Mira. I was guard-captain for Lady Pendall. Signed on after shit blew up at the Conclave. Share a drink? Who’s your friend?

Iron Bull: This is Grim. [They don’t] talk much.

Dialogue options.

General: Nice to meet you. [1]

General: How’s it going? [2]

General: [Say little.] [3]

1 - General: Nice to meet you. PC: It’s a pleasure. Tanner: Hey, Grim, do I know you from somewhere?

2 - General: How’s it going? PC: They treating you all right out here? Mira: Seen worse. Tanner: Hey, Grim, do I know you from somewhere?

3 - General: [Say little.] PC: (Grunts.)

4 - Scene continues.

Iron Bull: So, you ready to kill some demons or Venatori… or whatever that Corypheus asshole is?

Mira: This isn’t just about killing. We’re helping the Inquisitor save the world and build the next empire.

Dialogue options:

General: The Inquisitor’s helping. PC: Sounds like the Inquisitor is doing some good work. [5]

General: The Inquisitor’s just a [person]. PC: The Inquisitor isn’t a god. [They’re] just a [person] trying to do the right thing. [5]

General: [Say little.] PC: (Grunts.) [5]

5 - Scene continues.

Iron Bull: Well, long as I get paid, I’m happy. That’s why I signed up.

Tanner: I just couldn’t spend my whole life on a farm. Needed to live a little, you know?

Iron Bull: What about you, Mira? Why’d you join up? I thought you were serving some noble.

Mira: I saw what happened at Haven. The Inquisitor staring down that monster and his Archdemon… I don’t sing the Chant of Light as much as I should, but you can’t see something like that and not believe.

Iron Bull: Well, Grim and I should find our tents. Thanks for the drink.

They leave and stop a bit away.

Iron Bull: I know every soldier under my command. You don’t have that option… but a few faces might help.

6 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Why did you act like that? [7]

General: This was good. [8] + Iron Bull slightly approves

General: Their attitudes surprised me. [9]

General: This was depressing. [10] - Iron Bull slightly disapproves

7 - Investigate: Why did you act like that? PC: You made it sound like you didn’t like the Inquisition. Iron Bull: People don’t always tell the truth when you’re polite. You gotta poke them a bit.

Dialogue options:

Special: They may think less of you. [11]

[Back to 6]

11 - Special: They may think less of you. PC: But those two soldiers might think you’re an asshole. Iron Bull: So? [Back to 6]

8 - General: This was good. PC: It was good to get their perspective. Iron Bull: Yeah. Sounds like we could use an easy win for boys like Tanner. And vets like Mira have seen enough to be wary. You’ve got a good army coming along. Remember that, no matter what comes next. [12]

9 - General: Their attitudes surprised me. PC: I knew some of the soldiers felt like that, but to actually hear it… Iron Bull: It’s hard to be just an idea sometimes. That’s all you are to most of them. It’s why you could stand right in front of them without being recognized. You’ve got a good army coming along. Remember that, no matter what comes next. [12]

10 - General: This was depressing. PC: I might be sending these soldiers to their deaths. Now I know their names. Iron Bull: If you’re sending them to their deaths, you can give them that much. You’ve got a good army coming along. Remember that, no matter what comes next. [12]

12 - Scene ends.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dai transcripts #dragon age dialogue #the iron bull #iron bull #bull #long post #there's so much stuff i need to get done before i can start the next main quest #it's fine #i'm fine

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havethetimeofyourstyles · 4 years

Text

Hey, Stranger

alright guys, gals, and non binary pals! I present to you ‘Sex with a Stranger (but not really a stranger)’! so excited to be a part of @berrynarrybanana ‘sex bucket list fic challenge! theres a ton of talented ass writers participating in this, so be sure to check it out!

here is 6.5k words of absolute filth and smut! literally this stuff is filthy i was shook myself

masterlist

A well deserved break was in your favor.

A long break that had to do with a lot of drinking and perhaps fucking, if you’re lucky enough tonight.

Work has been stressful lately. Being the CEO of an up and coming makeup brand has its perks. The new season called for a new line of makeup and the whole process would start again. The countless meetings with the design team, marketing team, and the factory; all while hoping everything runs smoothly.

It was the busiest season of the year trying to come up with new and better ideas for your brand, and hoping everyone likes it.

Needless to say, you needed a break. A well deserved break at that.

It’s been a while since you properly went out by yourself. You’re not even sure if you’ve ever been out by yourself, especially to a bar. It was a last minute decision that you told yourself that you were going to step out and have a drink after work, and it would’ve been too late to call anyone up considering it was 8 at night.

Work had been keeping you at the office later than usual, and you hated it. You were a firm believer of having downtime and taking care of your body and skin after work, but you get home so late that all you want to do is crash; not given enough time to relax.

But it was Friday night and you thought that a drink to celebrate the end of the working week was enough to go out.

You walked through the door of the bar, seeing that there were a good amount of people there, but it wasn’t too overcrowded. You took a seat at the counter, and the bartender had already seen you, making his way to you.

“Hi. Can I get a shot of tequila please?”

“Sure thing,” he replied and quickly took out a shot glass and reached for the tequila bottle that was at the top of the shelf, and poured it. “Want a lime? Or a chaser to go with that?” He asks as he sets the glass right in front of you.

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you.” Without a thought, you downed it, letting the burning liquid run down your throat. The bartender was still in front of you, an impressive look on his face. “Can I get another please?” He nods, and pours you another, which you gulp it quickly. He waits for you to ask for another, “I’m okay right now. I’ll call you if I want another, thanks,” he nods and serves his other customers.

You start eating the peanuts that were set right in front of you as you remembered that you didn’t have much to eat before; just a small salad with coffee for lunch. No wonder why you were so hungry, practically devouring the whole bowl of peanuts.

“Pretty impressive to down two shots in a row,” a man takes a seat right next to you. You couldn’t help but think how attractive he is. His hair was short and slightly curly at the top along. Overall, his face was just too pretty.

“Why, were you watching me?” You tease.

“How could I not when a pretty girl walks into a bar and orders two shots and downs them back to back?” He smirks and your face is hot. The two shots and very little food you’ve eaten had made your face fluster.

“Wow, that whole thing you said sounded like a song. Are you a musician?” He laughs, genuinely laughs. The whole head thrown back and his fist banging on the counter.

“Of some sorts. I’m Harry,” he takes his hand out to shake, and you take it.

“Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“And you are?”

“Whatever you want to call me tonight,” you smirk.

“Oh, so we’re playing like that, huh?” His brows raise and you nod, giving him a ‘mhm.’ “Well, if that’s the case, I reckon we’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight,” his eyes turn dark and you have no idea what you’re in for, but oh, you’re so ready for it.

“Tell me,” he starts and you raise your eyebrows, “tell me what you like being called.”

“Hmm. There’s a few that I can think of,” you think up, pretending to think.

“Yeah? Care to share?”

“I think I’ll save that for when it happens,” you tease.

“And when do you think it’ll happen?” He smirks.

The sexual tension between you two is insanely thick. With back and forth teasing and smirking, you two are building up the tension and connection, and there is absolutely no doubt that you have a connection with this stranger.

“I think it’ll happen a lot sooner than you think,” you give him a look as if you’re saying ‘how does that sound?’

“Do you mind if I touch you?” He suddenly asks.

“Quite the gentleman you are when you’re going to tear me up tonight,” you joke, but quite literally meaning it.

“Always a gentleman out of the bed, but don’t expect me to be nice to you in bed,” he tests.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to be. Want you to go for it. And by the way, yes you can touch me.”

Harry grabs your hand, caressing it. It had surprised you because you had expected him to go somewhere less innocent than holding hands. You feel the soft rubs of his thumb, gently rubbing over your skin, and the small touch of his sends electrical sparks throughout your body. You’ve never felt like this. The slightest touch of someone you don’t know and had just met had this effect on you, and it blew your mind.

“What are you trying to do, Harry?” You take a deep breath as he begins rubbing your leg. He starts off slow, starting at the knee, testing to see if it was okay, and when he looked up at you, he saw you nod and began circling his single finger across your thigh.

He made all sorts of patterns across your thigh, and you had wished that you were wearing a skirt or shorts just so you could feel it on your actual skin, but the thick barrier of denim was in the way.

Harry’s face was close to yours and you think he’s about to kiss you, but his face steers him next to your ear. You feel his run closer to your heated core, but not just there yet. He was running his finger in your inner thigh, making you squirm in your seat and hit breaths coming out of your mouth, hitting Harry’s ear.

“I’m trying to get you ready. Is that okay?” He finally answers your question, and you had totally forgotten that you had asked that due to the distraction of an insanely hot man teasing you to your death.

“Get me ready for what exactly?”

“I’m sure you know what.”

“Hmm, rather have you tell me,” you hear him take a breath in and out. What you don’t expect next was that his finger had made its way in between your thighs, pushing down on your clit. The feeling had totally shocked you, not expecting him to touch you in such an open and public place, but you honestly are far from caring.

“Wanna lick and eat your pussy when I take you back to my place. I want you to cum all over my mouth that your legs give out. Then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re sore. Gonna fuck you till you remember me for the next guy you wanna fuck because let’s face it, darling, all you’ll be thinking about is me. You’re gonna come back to my cock and begging me to fuck you over and over again,” he tells you sensually in your ear, all while pressing down on your clit and moving his thumb around. The friction between your thick jeans and his finger felt amazing, and it took so much in you to not buck your hips into his finger. “How does that sound?” He says, coming face to face with you.

The dominant side of him is showing heavily. But you were one to not put down a fight.

“That sounds great, in all honesty, and I would absolutely love that. But I’ll believe it when you show me. You could be all talk for all I know,” you’re practically challenging him to your death. You know this guy would fuck you good. Hell, the way he’s just talking to you is leaving you a stain on your panties from your arousal.

“You’re testing me, darling,” he shakes his head. “But if you really wanna know, how about I take you to my place right now and I’ll show you?” He stands from his stool.

You shrug your shoulders, “okay,” you stand as well, grabbing your purse. “But aren’t you gonna kiss me first?” Harry raises his eyebrows, shocked this woman is even asking that when he’s literally about to fuck her brains out. “What? All I’m thinking is that what if our first kiss is horrible when we get back to yours? So if the kiss is horrible then the sex will definitely be worse,” you know you’re on his last nerve, and you’re surprised he hasn’t moved on to the next girl to pull his moves on, but he seems to be enjoying the bantering.

“Okay, that’s fair. Can I kiss you darling?” Harry asks just like the gentleman he is.

“Yes. Please kiss me,” you plead.

Harry wastes no time in connecting your lips together. Soft lips that mold together when they become one. The taste of alcohol on each other’s tongue can drive you both drunk; drunk in one another’s taste, lips, hold. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his around your waist. The two of you both kiss each other in the middle of the bar, not giving a single fuck that people are still around and they can obviously see. You’re so caught up in him, he’s so caught up in you that neither of you don’t care to stop.

The only thing that does make you two stop was the drop of glass shattering, startling the both of you to pull away from one another. Some random guy had dropped his drink, making a complete mess on the ground, and all the attention was turned on him. Luckily, away from you and Harry.

“How was that?” He asks, in hopes that you would still let him take you home,

“It was good. Really good.” There was no point in playing with him if he’s actually good in bed. You knew that the first time he sat next to you. But god, that tongue is driving you crazy, and it’s sending so many thoughts of what else that tongue can do to your body.

“Then let’s save the rest for later, darling. Reckon we put on a show,” he chuckles, placing his hand on your lower back to guide you through the door. “Really not gonna tell me your name yet?”

“Hmm, nah. Maybe after you fuck me. I believe you’re already too attached,” you tease.

Harry laughs and shakes his head, and thinks this girl is gonna be the death of me.

The ride to his house was anything but awkward. Harry had called his driver, not wanting to risk driving even though he’s only had one drink, but really he just wanted to be close to you. You’ve never met someone who has their own personal driver, and it amazed you how much money this guy has. Not like you were interested in the money because frankly, you were only in it for the hot sex you’re about to have with, but damn! Hot stranger with hot sex and hot money? Why the fuck not.

As soon as the door shut and the car started moving, he grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. He told you that he was saving the kisses for later, but he couldn’t help it. Your lips were irresistible that he needed to feel it against his again, along with other places, but he’s only a handful of minutes away and then he’ll be graced with the beauty of her lips around his cock.

His aching and hard cock, to be exact.

Once the car comes to a stop, he thanks his driver and leads you out the car and to his front door. You stand behind him as he tries getting the right key into the slot, but he’s shaking and anxious because of his excitement.

You made the bold move to reach over and palm his bulge. Harry’s breath hitches in his throat as he continues fumbling with his keys. Your front is pressed to Harry’s back, squeezing him through his pants. You can tell he’s big and ready to be taken care of.

“Never gonna get in the house if you keep doing that,” he moans out, finally relieving some of the pressure that went straight to his cock.

“Sorry, couldn’t help but notice how hard you were when we were in the car, so I had to feel for myself,” you say against his back, kissing him through his shirt. He turns his head to the side, so you could hear what he’s about to say loud and clear.

“Keep it up or I’m fucking you against the door that you’ll be screaming my name so loud that you would wake up my neighbors.”

“You act like I’m opposed to that,” you giggle, but he takes your hands away from his dick, practically throwing it off.

He turns around slightly towards you, and his eyes darken, “be good.” You practically go silent after that as he turns back around.

He finally unlocks the door, pulling you instead to his house before smashing your lips against his. The quick movements had shocked you as you tried observing his wealthy home, but didn’t get a chance to due to his lips.

Heated kisses dominate your mouth as your back hits the closed door. His tongue repeatedly touches yours, making your knees weak, and if it wasn’t for Harry holding you so tight, you would have definitely fallen.

It was like you were finally waiting for this moment to come. The tension at the bar was so sharp that just upon meeting each other, there was a pool in your panties and a hard on in his pants.

And to which, the arousal you both had are both hot and ready to devour one another to pleasure.

“Can I touch you?” He one last time, knowing that this time you were turning in your full permission and submission. He already knew you were weak for him when you had said yes the first time, but again, he is a gentleman.

You nod and lift the hem of his shirt up a bit, raking your nails on his love handles as you earned a moan from his that directed to your mouth. Harry unbuttons your jeans and pulls down the zipper, not finding enough time to fully take your pants off before his hands are down your pants already. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it gently in slow circles and he feels your wetness lubricating his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers out. You only nod, not wanting to speak but only wanting your lips to be occupied by him. His finger finally touching your raw and bare pussy sent shivers down your spine. You were waiting for it ever since he had gotten close to you.

He pulls his lips back from yours and starts kissing your neck as he undos the buttons of your shirt, and lifts it up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and jeans. He trails down to your collarbones and works the latches of your bra, unhooking it to reveal your breasts.

“Your tits, holy shit,” he immediately takes on your nipples, sucking and biting it while grabbing the other and fondling it, and switches and does the same. Once he’s done, he kisses his way down to your stomach, pulling your jeans down fully along with your panties.

You had worn a red lace cheeky panty, feeling the most confident in sexy underwear. “Gonna have to see you in that another time, love,” the thought of him saying another time had made your heart drop. You couldn’t deny the connection between you two. Although not knowing him well enough emotionally, the physical connection was so strong.

“Fucking lick me already,” you pant out breathlessly, already feeling heated from his teasing kisses.

“Alright, alright,” you had expected him to lick you up already, but he still continues with kissing your skin and sometimes sucking on it, leaving a hickey. He kisses your pubic bone and thighs before hiking one leg up to rest on his shoulder, and starts licking a strike up your heated core.

Harry flicks his tongue on your clit many times before sucking on it as you're a moaning mess standing above him. You grab a fistful of his curls before slightly bucking your hips, grinding against his tongue. The sensation running through your body is powerful, and you're lucky your leg is on Harry’s shoulder or else you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, yessss,” you moan out as you continue grinding on his tongue. Harry stops you from moving by pulling back a little before inserting two fingers inside your pussy and continues flicking his tongue on your clit. His fingers curl up to meet the spongy spot inside of you, taking you to the brink of your orgasm. “Keep doing that,” he doesn’t stop fingering you and you continue with your motion from before, needing to feel pressure on your clit with his tongue.

“Taste so good, baby,” he says quickly before proceeding to lick and suck your clit.

“Mhm,” you whine out, “I’m gonna cum, baby,” you say as your hips buck.

“Cum on my face, please. Need it,” he urges out, continuing to curl his fingers into your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you had felt like a water balloon inside you had exploded, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of your orgasm. Harry lets go of your leg that was resting on his shoulder and kisses your clit once more and the inside of your thighs, before kissing up to your lips. When you put your foot down on the ground, you were welcomed by a wet floor. You tried looking down at the mess you’ve made, but Harry’s lips caught yours, and you feel his wet chin that’s dripping your inside fluids off of his chin and down to your chest and the taste of your orgasm on his lips, making the scene so erotic and filthy.

“Be careful, you might slip. Let’s go to the bedroom, yeah? Maybe you can make a mess on my sheet like you did my floor. Didn’t know I got squirted in my hands,” he grabs the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and your legs go around his waist. You were about to kiss him, feeling lost without it, but he needed to watch his step as he turned out, not wanting to slip and hurt both of you.

He carries you to the bedroom as you kiss his face and his neck, and it takes so much in him not to just fuck you where he’s standing. Once he finally sees the bed, he makes sure he’s close enough before he practically throws you on it. A squealing yelp comes out of your mouth as you giggle slightly.

Harry was still fully clothed as you’re fully naked, but you wanted to change that as soon as possible. You motion him to come towards you with your finger, and he walks towards the edge of the bed, standing above you. You sit on your knees on the bed, and lift his shirt up halfway so he could take it off. And once he does, you admire his body. His beautiful body that you’ve been aching to see. The one that doesn’t compare to anyone else, and all you want to do is love on him and fuck him.

“Fuck, look at you,” you breathe out before you kiss his neck and trail down to his chest. His tattooed chest was something you wanted to look out forever. You wanted to kiss each and every single one of his inked designs, but you do that to what is right in front of you. You kiss the swallow tattoos, kissing down the middle and stopping at his pecs. You lick one of his nipples and do the same to the other, and Harry had not expected you to do that at all, but he isn’t complaining. You then trail down to the butterfly on his stomach, kissing it loads before going down to the ferns that lay at the bottom. His body is so sexy, so magnifying, and you wanted to engulf every single inch of him.

You managed to get his belt off, and start working on the button and his zipper, pulling it down just enough to see the entirety of his underwear. Harry quickly takes off his jeans and kicks them to the side as he stands in just his underwear. You continue kissing his stomach, deciding that you weren’t done leaving a trail of your lips all over his body so he wouldn’t forget about this night. You fondle him over his briefs, relieving some of the pressure that is his hard cock, and Harry moans.

A smile is present on your mouth, happy to hear his sensual moan. “So hard for me already,” you look up through your lashes.

“Been hard since the moment I laid my eyes on you,” he looks down at you, and you smile, blushing at his statement.

You finally release the restraint that is his underwear, and his dick springs up. You lick your lips hungrily, looking up at him. “You’re so fucking big, holy shit.”

“Stroking my ego, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and stroking your cock,” you lick your hand and grab a hold of him, stroking your hand up and down, working him up. As your hand works against him, you suck the skin of his hip, leaving multiple hickeys on his skin.

You finally lick up his cock from base to tip, and take his tip inside your mouth, sucking lightly. You then take more of him, hollowing your cheeks.

“Yeah, baby. Do it like that,” Harry groans out. He pushes all of your hair to one side, so he could see your face. You were in an all fours position, and it was hurting your back and neck, but you didn’t care; only wanting Harry to feel the pleasure right now.

You start taking more of him, feeling the tip hit the back of your throat and your nose pressed up against his pubic bone. Harry moans get stuck in his throat and you release him.

“Like that? Like when you can feel the back of my throat? Like when you’re in my mouth? Huh…daddy?” The name had slipped and you didn’t expect it. But it had turned you on even more, and you were hoping it did the same to him.

And oh, it did.

His eyes turn dark as he looks down at you with his cock in your hand, pumping it. He smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair, bringing you up to his lips. Your forehead is pressed against his and his lips graze yours, and you want to desperately kiss them. And you try to, but he tugs your hair back.

“You wanna call me daddy? Yeah? Be a good little girl and suck daddy’s cock, and let’s see if you have the honor of calling me that. Got it?” You nod, not trusting your voice and also surprised how fast his tone changed. He pushes your head back down to his cock and you take him back in your mouth. Your mouth works on him, having to move from side to side because of the position you're in, which causes your whole body to move as well.

From Harry's view, he’s got the view of your naked back and your ass. He lets one hand go from your hair and reaches forward to slap one cheek causing you to moan around him. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he whispers out, feeling the vibrations from your moans straight to his dick.

The second time he said the pet name, it made you clench. It caused your thighs to slightly close and make you moan around his cock. And Harry notices and he thinks he hit the jackpot.

He pulls out of your mouth again and brings your face to his with both hands on the sides of your face.

“You like that, huh? Like being called a good girl? Didn’t wanna fucking tell me your name because you wanted me to call you good girl. Think you were being a good girl? I certainly don’t think so. Do you think so?” Your hair was a wild mess, mouth still wide open like his big cock had jammed it open. He slips his thumb in your mouth, “answer me.”

“No, don’t think I was.”

“Exactly, I didn’t think you were either. But since you wanna be called that so bad, prove to me that you are by sucking me good,” he lets go of you and you bend down to continue sucking him.

He starts bucking his hips, fucking your mouth, and hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag around him. It had felt amazing to him, having you gag around him, but decided to stop, not wanting to hurt you.

“Do it again? Want you to fuck my mouth,” you beg. He doesn’t hesitate to thrust into your mouth, starting off slowly though, not wanting to push you.

After a thrusting a few or more times, he starts holding your head when he reaches the back of your throat and your face is pushed up against his body. You tried your very best not to push away; opening your mouth wider than ever and relaxing your throat. Harry pulls you off of him and a string of saliva hangs from your lips to his tip.

“Fuck, you’re fucking mouth, baby,” he pulls your face up to meet his, giving you a heated kiss. “You may call me daddy. Your mouth is so filthy already. Sucking me so good. You definitely are a good girl.” He kisses your lips and moves down to your neck.

“Thank you, daddy.”

Now that foreplay is out of the way, he can’t wait to stuff himself inside of you. He had gone to get a condom, but you told him that you were clean and was on the pill, and said that he could go bare as long as he was clean. He immediately agreed and told you that he was clean and he just recently got tested, and if you wanted to see the result. You laughed, telling him no and that you trusted him.

You lay on your back against the pillows and he hovers over you, giving you a few kisses before he reaches between you and lined himself up with your pussy.

He finally pushes in and you both let out a moan in a sigh of relief. The feeling of the two of you connected, increased your arousal as Harry started thrusting in and out of you. Your hands were placed on his hips, pulling him close if possible; wanting him close as he pounds into you.

“Feels so good,” your head throws back onto the pillows. Harry grabs both of your arms from around his waist before lifting them up above your head, holding your wrists in one hand. The other hand places a hand on one of your breasts, squeezing it harshly.

“Yeah? Who feels good, baby?” He drives even deeper into you.

“You, daddy. You feel so good,” you practically scream out.

“God, baby girl, you feel amazing,” his head is thrown back in ecstasy, feeling you coat his cock with your arousal.

“Thank you, daddy,” you bite your lip and innocently look him in the eye, but you’re far from innocent,

“No, thank you. Just met and you’re already calling me daddy. Fuck, where have you been all my life?” He continued to thrust like there’s no tomorrow—harder, deeper, and all you could do is take it and moan.

“Been so…lost…without you. Harder, please.” You feel yourself start slipping. Your head begins to feel dizzy as he relentlessly attacks your pussy with his cock. The pain and pleasure had taken over your mind, swirling and jumbling your words and thoughts.

“My good baby girl wants it harder, huh?” You nod as you shut your eyes, feeling so much pleasure as Harry starts thrusting harder and faster, making a moaning mess out of you, his chest slightly sweaty from the movement and your back damped from the writhing above the sheet.

“You’re here now, aren’t you? You’re here and you’re mine. Right, baby? You’re mine now?” Harry’s dominant side is seeking through, needing the praise and the reassurance.

“Mhm…here and yours.”

“That’s right. Wanna be a good girl and ride my cock?” You nod and he pulls out of you, a whimper leaving your lips from the absence of him, and lays right next to you before pulling you on his body. You barely had any time to register what was happening, because it was all happening too fast for your liking, you found herself straddling him and he immediately lined himself up again, and pushed you down to sink onto him.

You slowly start grinding on him as you were still in her hazing state. Everything was so fuzzy, but you continued to bounce on him, wanting to make him happy.

“Good, baby girl. That’s so good,” he moans out, gripping your hips hard as he guides you up and down his cock. His hands trail up your stomach, stopping at your breasts to give them a harsh squeeze. He then reaches up to suck on them before covering them again with his hands. “Love your fucking tits.”

Your hands cover his big ones grabbing your tits, and it’s a sight for Harry. His baby girl was riding him, eyes closed, mouth open, him touching her tits, and her touching his hands touching her tits. He was practically in heaven.

“Gonna cum, daddy,” you whimper. You open your eyes and fall on his chest, all while still moving your hips. “Please, let me cum? Please, daddy?” You’re nose to nose with him, pleading to let you feel pleasure to the full extent.

“Hold it, baby. I’m nearly there,” he says, kissing your cheek. A pout formed on your lips and you whined a little, feeling like you’re going to explode anytime soon. But you wanted Harry to reach his high too, so you don’t say anything and you hold it.

“Fuck me then? Please, fuck me?”

“Hold on tight, okay?” Your arms wrap around his neck and your face is buried right next to his head. The gaps were closed between you two, and you’re so close to him that it was starting to get hot, but in the best way.

Harry wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you to him as he plants his feet onto the bed, and starting fucking up into you. His thrusting is fast and hard with skin slapping against each other and moans were only heard, and he’s there. He’s on the edge.

“Daddy…” you say softly in his ear, practically begging him to give you his permission. “Please.”

“Go ahead, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” And with that, you cum…hard. So does Harry; shooting his hot cum deep inside of you with a loud groan of relief escaping his lips. “God, yes.”

You softly grind down on him, riding your orgasm out until you feel a familiar squirting between your legs and on Harry's stomach.

“Mmm,” you whine out.

“Doing so well for me, baby girl. Cumming so hard for me, right?” You only nod, continuing to cry out.

He pushes you off of him and you whimper, feeling lost without his body pressed up against yours, even though he’s inside of you still. You’re sitting up, straddling him, and you start feeling pressure on your clit. Harry’s thumb presses against it and starts rubbing it fast.

“Ohh…” the feeling gets you to your next orgasm, grinding down on his cock as he rubs your clit.

“One more, yeah? Got one more in there for me?” He challenges.

“Mhm…for you, daddy.”

“That’s right. For daddy, yeah? Come one, baby. Squirt for me again.”

And you do, you squirt until your legs are shaking, and Harry’s body and sheet are covered in your juices. Your cries are loud, but it’s full of pleasure and the feeling of overwhelm. This just takes you more into a headspace, and with the shaking of your legs, it makes you even more dizzy.

You collapse on Harry’s chest, wrapping your arms around him, wanting to feel him close as possible. You bury your face in his neck, practically crying against his neck, and you feel his hands rub your back and his lips against your temple.

“Hey, hey. Why’re you crying?” He tries pulling your face out of his neck, but you whimper, not wanting to let go. “Come on, look at me, please?” His eyes had gone soft for the crying figure on top of him. He knew you were probably too overwhelmed and sensitive from all the pleasure, especially the full and hard orgasms.

After a few minutes, you pull your head out of his neck and he’s met with glossy eyes and damped cheeks. He kisses your lips quickly, before asking, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“Don’t wanna leave, daddy. You’re gonna kick me out now,” you sniffle.

“What? No, I’m not. Baby, you live here too. Not gonna kick you out,” Harry frowns.

“Yeah, you are because I’m supposed to be just a one night stand, and Daddy doesn’t do sleepovers and we just met.”

“Hey, I’m Harry, alright? Come back to me. It’s Harry. You know Harry, right?” You only nod your head. “Your brain is all fuzzy, thinking I’m just daddy and I’m supposed to kick you out. No, it’s not like that, okay? We were just playing, remember?” He scratches your head.

“Daddy’s not gonna leave or kick me out?” You look at him with your glossy eyes, begging him for you to stay.

“Daddy or Harry’s not gonna kick you out. Nor are they going to leave you. Ever.” He could feel you starting to relax on him, taking deep breaths rather than hearing your cries. “Come on, miss my girl. Want you back. It was nice ‘meeting’ you at the bar, but I miss you so much,” Harry says in soft and a hushed voice. He cradles her and hums, trying to get you to come back to the world.

After a few minutes, he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep in his hold, but you lift your head up, and he smiles.

“Hey there, pretty lady.”

“Harry?”

“Welcome back, stranger,” he kisses her nose and you smile at his affection.

“I went under again, huh?” Your face looked so defeated, like you were embarrassed. Sometimes you hated being in subspace because you have no clue and no control of how you’re acting.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. You’re completely safe when you are and stop worrying too much. There’s nothing you could do or say that would make me leave you. Married you, so you’re stuck with me.” You nod, feeling slightly better. Harry was always so good with reassurance and aftercare when you’re in subspace or not. He’s also so caring and that’s one of the many reasons why you love him.

“Thank you,” you say softly in his neck.

“Of course. Always gonna take care of you,” he hugs you closer for a moment, relishing every moment he gets when you’re in his arms. “Now, let’s go take a bath? Let me wash you up before we sleep.”

“Mmm. Don’t wanna move,” you say as you get comfortable on his body. “Feel so empty without you.”

“Not going anywhere, love. You could cling onto me while I get the bath ready, how does that sound?” He moves your hair, so he could see your beautiful and tired face. You lift your head up to look at him.

“No, what I meant was: I’m empty without you in me,” Harry’s mouth opens as if the realization just hit him; a soft ‘oh’ comes out.

“Want me in you? Without the fucking, huh? Just wanna feel warm and nice?” He smiles, often loving when you go into subspace because a little cockwarming is in his favor.

“Mhm. Please? Just for a little bit then we could take a bath.”

“Okay, whatever you want. We could also do it in the bath too, but let’s stay here for a moment,” you nod in agreement.

He reaches between you, stroking his dick to get it a little hard before lining himself up once again. His hips bucked and you pushed your hips down on him, both moaning in the relief of feeling full again.

“Feel so good, even like this, baby,” you say against his skin.

“Yeah? Keeping me warm, huh?” You nod and he kisses your face. “We should do this more often.”

“I always keep your cock warm though,” Harry laughs at your vulgar language, but he’s not surprised.

“I know that, but I didn’t mean that. I meant we should plan some nights where we don’t know each other and we meet up at the same place. Remember we always did that when we were dating? Got some of the best surprises out of each other.”

“Yeah, I remember. Back when I was able to fit into my maid costume,” you sigh.“But sure. I really liked today. I was going for something else, but daddy just slipped out and I know how much you love being called that, so I just went with it,” you start scratching the back of his neck, and he feels like he could fall asleep anytime, but he’d rather stay up and talk to you.

“Don’t deny that you don’t like calling me daddy either,” he sarcastically scoffs.

“You’re right. I do,” you giggle, knowing that it’s your favorite thing to call him besides your innocent pet names for him. “I’m gonna surprise you for what kind of role playing we’re gonna do when we pretend not to know each other.” You kiss his chest and he hums. You both feel so relaxed that you feel Harry getting soft inside of you, but he still feels warm.

“Okay, sounds good to me. As long as it’s with you then I have no reason to complain.”

You smile at him, feeling so loved and grateful you’re married to him. As you two lay close to one another, chest to chest, and sexually and emotionally connected, you’re appreciative for the stranger that’s not really a stranger, holding you in his arms.

feedback is very much appreciated! pls let me know what you think!

#the bucketlist fic challenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #husband!harry #daddy!harry #softdom!harry #harry styles filth #harry styles dirty imagine

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btsmosphere · 3 years

Text

Across the Tracks | KTH

~summary: Don’t cross the tracks. Never once did you question what you had been told your whole life – at least not until a certain boy makes that a bit more difficult...

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | drabble

~pairing: taehyung x reader (she/her) ~word count: 7.1k ~dystopian au, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, inspired by lady and the tramp ~rating: pg15 ~warnings: adoption, dystopia, violence, breaking and entering, arrest, electric shocks, burns, scars, swearing, probable overuse of the nickname ‘pidge’ oop

~a/n: hi guys, and thank you to everyone being so kind about the first part!! Again, cr to the wonderful, amazing @un2-verse for the initial idea, ilyy! Now, to everyone, enjoy the fic and don’t hesitate to come chat with me about it🥰

You weren’t exactly aware of moving. The moment you came to your senses was the same that your thick plastic bracelet connected with the back of a skull.

Still staring in shock at the figure that crumpled to all fours before you, you didn’t spare a moment to see as the other assailant was thrown off. The man was weakly moving, but the remnants of your fear mingling with the horror of your situation left a nasty taste in your mouth.

Meanwhile, your rescuer had turned their attention to you.

“Hey,” the familiarity of the voice was still lost on you, “hey, pidge?”

A hand landing on your shoulder finally forced your eyes to drift away from the man on the floor, currently stirring and groaning. When you faced Taehyung, it was to find soft, dark eyes watching you with a hint of concern.

Glancing back at the two men on the ground, Taehyung showed you his side profile for a second.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” his voice remained low, cautious.

He waited for you to go first, so you carefully stepped around the men, staying as far away from them as possible. Back in the connecting alley, you had to wait for Taehyung to reach your side to know where to go.

“What are you doing out here, huh, pidge?” he eyed you as you set off beside him.

Since you had started moving again, your hand had naturally gravitated over your shocker again, and you glanced down at it now.

“I… got lost,” your voice was small.

“You don’t strike me as the type to be anywhere near here, cub,” he spoke, deep voice cutting off for a moment as he peered around a corner before leading you down it, “so how’d you get lost?”

“I, um…” trailing off, you turned your eyes to the ground. How to tell him that you had run off like a child?

But he was alerted by your silence, looking back down at you.

“Pidge?”

“I- it was my fault-“ you started, throwing your hands out in defeat.

Taehyung stopped in his tracks beside you, startling you to halt as well. Though his hand began to reach out, slowly, he seemed to think twice and dropped it. Either way, you realised what he had noticed, the cause for his shock.

“They didn’t…” his head shook almost imperceptibly.

But you had already drawn back, pulling your handicapped wrist firmly into your chest, somehow self conscious under his sad stare.

Barely a blink, however, and the agonising stinging was shooting through you again. Involuntary cry leaving your lips, your knees seemed to give up as the electricity burned you.

But instead of meeting the stony ground, your body fell against another, two hands hurriedly pulling you against him by your upper arms. As the shock subsided, the ground returning to your feet, you pulled away. Your form still shook.

Gulping back the tears that had been startled to your eyes, you avoided his captivating gaze.

“You were right,” you sniffed

In the corner of your eye, you saw his hand lift. One finger brushed gently up your cheek, clearing back the hair that had fallen across it.

“I didn’t want to be, pidge,” his deep voice was like velvet, coating something so sad. “Let me see?”

Patiently, he waited until you eased the arm away from your chest. As you held it out, his fingers ghosted against your skin, just to hold the hand in place. Training his eyes intently on the device, he rotated your wrist.

At the same moment as him, you spotted the crack running up the plastic. A short laugh escaping as he looked up at you, Taehyung’s breath blew onto your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You did good, little cub,” he chuckled, “his head’s gonna hurt. But we gotta get this off.”

“Do you know how?”

Tilting his head, he seemed to give it some thought. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he looked down the alleyway, although when you followed his gaze you saw nothing.

“…yeah, I might have an idea,” he eventually nodded.

In a flash, a grin lit up his face, erasing the seriousness of before. Setting off again, your eyes widened as his hand slipped down from your wrist to grip your own.

Swallowing, you hurried after him, trying not to think too much about it.

In the end, you were quite glad for his touch. The neighbourhood he led you through made you uneasy; even more delapidated houses lined the streets, water splashing at each corner where the pipes were invariably broken, more graffiti littering the brickwork.

So although your eyes couldn’t help but wander, peering down every turn and darting to any small sound, you stuck close to his grounding presence.

Winding further through this unknown part of the city, the drizzle never ceased. Thankful for the brisk pace you were travelling at, you tried to control your shivering, clamping your jaw shut to stop your teeth chattering. Your blouse was all that protected you from the air, and it was being plastered against your skin.

However, Tae’s eyes missed nothing. Between checking the streets around you, he periodically looked back to you at his side.

When his hand first pulled away from yours, your fingers chased desperately after his, not wanting to lose a fraction of warmth.

“Hey,” he laughed, “don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Instead, he shook his arms from his black coat. Not waiting for you to take it, he dropped it directly onto your shoulders. As you shoved your arms inside, the warmth made you sigh.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he grinned, hand landing on your shoulder as he turned to look ahead. “We’re here.”

In front of you stood an enormous building. Large chimneys rose from its roof towards the sky. The dark of the walls seemed even blacker than the night, floodlights positioned periodically along its large perimeter fence doing little to illuminate the place.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Tae stood in front of you, throwing his arms out, inviting you to admire the place.

But you only eyed the man in front of you, his midnight hair dripping a little onto his black clothes. Not that he seemed to care, equally dark eyes glittering as he grabbed your hand again and practically jogged onwards.

“What are we doing?” you hissed.

Tracking his way along the fence, he suddenly stopped in front of you, not bothering to answer.

“After you.”

The way he bowed, twirling his hands, made him seem like a butler. However, there was no fancy entrance to match; he was ushering you through a narrow hole in the fence, raw ends of wire snaking inwards.

You looked back and forth at the boy, those eyes watching you hopefully, and the tear in the fence.

Sighing, you slipped through, only catching the hem of your trousers before safely emerging.

“Where are we?” you whispered as Tae joined your side.

“This is the car factory,” he said, “it’s going to get that shocker off.”

“Oh,” you frowned stepping forwards-

Only to have a hand stop you.

“Stay close to the fence,” he warned, easing you back so you walked between him and the perimeter.

Although your feet trailed after him, your heartbeat near enough doubled when you noticed his secrecy. This was not something you should be doing.

“We’re- we’re breaking in?!” you exclaimed, wary of your volume.

A smirk met you as Tae looked over his shoulder.

“Why, does that scare you, pidge?”

But as you spluttered for a response, another jolt of electricity shot down your arm.

Yelping, you clutched at the fence beside you. When you opened your eyes, all traces of playfulness had disappeared from Taehyung’s face – instead, he was closer, hands reaching for you as he lowered to your eye level, searching for your gaze.

Finding you staring back, his eyes darted down to the heavy shocker on your arm.

“You wanna get that off, don’t you?”

A shaky breath left you.

“Yes…”

“Then follow me.”

Taehyung had promised to be back.

Still nestled in his coat, your fingers fidgeted as you kept your eyes on the patch of darkness he had faded into. Maybe he’s going to leave you, your mind spun in circles, he’ll steal something and leave you to take the blame.

Your heart knocked steadily against your ribs, no sound louder than your breathing and the light spatter of drizzle.

You already knew he had a history with the controllers, and this didn’t look good for you. But, glancing nervously behind you at the gaping blackness that lay down every alley, you knew you would fare no better if you left either.

Teeth trapping your lower lip, you hunched your shoulders and kept waiting.

It wasn’t too long untill a loud wail cut through the night. Practically leaping with fright, you whipped around, trying to identify what was happening.

The moment you turned back, Taehyung was right in front of you-

And getting closer still.

“Run!” he called over the siren.

With no time to ask questions, you quickly spurred your feet into action, racing away from the building Tae had just come from.

“Did you get caught?” you panted.

“No,” somehow he managed to send you a grin, “that’s not where we were aiming for.”

Bewildered, you opened your mouth again, but a shout rung out. Across the yard, nearer to the factory, several figures were running towards the source of the alarm.

Luckily the far edge of the factory was finally drawing near, and with aching limbs you pushed forwards, falling against the bricks the moment you rounded out of sight. Taehyung was right beside you, exhilirated grin still fixed in place even as his chest heaved.

“What now?” you breathed.

“In here.”

Shoving himself away from the wall, Tae moved to the base of a long window. Bars ran the whole way up, slicing your view of the factory inside.

As you watched on with alarm, he reached for the lowest bar and used one small hop to boost himself up. Eyeing him as he clung onto the bars and looked down to you, you shook your head.

“This is crazy.”

For some reason that only seemed to make him smile wider.

“Come on then cub, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll- we’ll get caught..” you punctuated your unease with a glance behind you.

“Not if we’re quick.”

Chewing at your lip, you reminded yourself of the weight on your wrist, the uncomfortable burn still lingering there. You were just about ready to give in when he spoke again, those big eyes fixing themselves on yours once again.

“You can trust me, pidge.”

With only a small huff, you stepped forwards and hoisted yourself up behind him.

Maybe you were a little crazy, too, to be doing this. But despite the slight slick of drizzle on the cold metal, the climbing wasn’t too hard, more like climbing a ladder. You were well practiced in maneuvering your way up trees in the park, so you made quick work of the window.

At the top, you were met with another window, this time without bars. Presumably they didn’t expect anyone to reach it, as there was no lock apart from a latch that broke with enough force from Taehyung.

With his hands off the bars and shoving the pane up to let you in, however, your heart leapt once again to your mouth, this time spurring you on rather than causing hesitation.

Ducking inside, you quickly dropped onto wooden floor. The window scraped shut behind you, Tae’s hand finding yours again and pulling you to the right. Your footsteps fell softly within the shadows that climbed the walls, the dust drifting within slivers of moonlight that filtered through the windows.

Rows upon rows of abandoned workbenches stretched through the long, thin space. The next room was the same, though with more bits of machinery you couldn’t recognise also lined up on the countertops.

Slowing, Taehyung observed every one as you went past, but quickly tsked and sped up again, onto the next room.

“Aha!” he breathed in elation.

Though you could barely see a difference between this room and the last, you obliged as he led you, squeezing between benches, towards a machine that was bolted to the wall. Letting your hand fall from his, he investigated, closely examining every edge of the metal until he found a button.

As he pressed it down, a rumbling, though quiet, seemed to blare through the space.

Tae glanced back, but not at you, his eyes travelling to the doorways first.

“Come here,” he beckoned you.

Catching your wrist as you moved closer, he lifted it and placed it at the edge of a metal plate in the centre of the thing, illuminated by a dull yellow light that had flickered into life.

“What are you-“

“Stay still.”

Another button and the grating of metal made you both wince. At the firm grip on your wrist, you realised your hand had jolted from its place.

A metal column was steadily descending. Heading resolutely for your arm.

Just as your eyes widened in slight panic, Tae piped up-

“You know they use these things to shape the doors and stuff? This whole room, just for car doors! They use steel, it’s easy to mould-“

A gasp left your lips as you felt a small but definite tug on your arm. The metal had met with your bracelet, avoiding your wrist. Its pace barely slowed as it ploughed through the plastic as if it was butter, soon falling uselessly away from your wrist.

A gasp of joy left you as you were finally free to carress the irritated skin.

Cradling it, you rubbed gently to loosen your silver bracelet that had imprinted onto your skin when it was clamped underneath the shocker.

“Shit-“

You saw it at the same moment as Taehyung. A blazing red line was etched on your skin, winding around your wrist like another piece of jewellery.

“What’s this?” he was asking, fingers easing the gifted bracelet away from your skin.

“My parents gave it to me,” your eyes didn’t leave it, “when my papers came.”

“It’s silver.”

Blinking, you finally looked up at him.

“I think so.”

He drew his lip between his teeth.

But before either of you could speak again, a muffled shout broke you apart. Stepping in front of you, Taehyung moved forwards until he could see down from the window, jaw set.

With a curse, he spun around and grabbed your unharmed wrist, kicking the remnants of the shocker away under a bench.

“We need to go.”

Instantly alerted, your feet were already heading back the way you came, to the window, but you barely made it one stride before Taehyung was pulling you back. Eyes fixed ahead, he never returned your questioning stare as you flew through more doorways, past rows and rows until you were dizzy.

Somewhere below, a heavy clunk sounded as the main door to the building was opened.

And beyond the doorways you had passed through, at the other end of the building, footsteps could be heard echoing throught the space.

Shooting a look back in alarm, you thankfully found no one on your tail yet. The moment you looked forwards again, Tae was leading you down a rickety metal staircase, not caring about the din as you tore down it.

Feet landing on the ground floor, your eyes searched fruitlessly for a door.

“Tae, how do we-?”

The question froze in your throat as you turned around to him wrenching a grill off the wall.

“Quick, pidge,” he ushered you urgently forwards, “this vent comes out at the back, go!”

Both above and on this floor, footsteps were getting closer as you stared into the dark vent.

“What-“

“Just go, quick!” his hands pushed you gently forwards, but you could sense their jitteriness and took a deep breath, diving in headfirst.

There was enough room to get on your hands and knees, so you shuffled forwards as fast as you could, rounding a bend almost straight away. At the scraping of metal, you looked back to assure yourself Tae was behind you.

Only you were met with empty space.

Gaping, your mouth opened and closed in panic, knowing it unwise to speak up. Desperation was clawing at you however, the heavy footfalls of the guards audible even within the vent.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Taehyung’s voice floated through the grate, tone easy.

You gulped nonetheless.

“Lovely night we’re having,” he continued, oblivious to the way your heart was squeezing its way up your throat.

A bang rattled the metal covering just around the corner, Tae’s body slamming against it as you jumped away, hand flying to clamp over your mouth.

“What are you doing in here?” a voice you didn’t recognise snarled.

“Ah, well you see“ – how Tae was so calm you had no idea – “I was walking my dog and he saw this rabbit and chased it through the fence! I didn’t see where he went, I thought it might have been here, but as you can see, he’s not-“

“You think you’re funny, huh?” a new, equally unfriendly voice, interrupted.

“Well, I wouldn’t-“

Tae’s words were once again cut off with a harsh clatter of metal against brick. Jostling and scuffling was all you could hear for a moment, retreating further down the dark vent until the sounds grew fainter.

Eventually, near silence returned.

Sucking in a steadying breath, you inched back towards the grate, peering through a gap.

Taehyung was nowhere to be seen.

He was probably among the small gaggle of people walking away from you, but you couldn’t see well. Chest suddenly feeling tighter, you shrank back.

Glancing down the vent Tae had sent you into, it looked a lot smaller now. It felt like forever that you hesitated, the people in the factory disappearing completely from view while you grappled with the obvious conclusion.

If you were to follow Tae, nothing good could come of it except that two of you would be in trouble rather than one.

As much as you wanted him, it was perhaps a selfish part of you that knew you never wanted to cross paths with the controllers. It would surely destroy your conscience, your reputation.

So, with Tae’s words echoing in your head, you turned away.

This vent should come out at the back… okay, getting out shouldn’t be too hard. If you just got to the other side of the fence… but then, what would you do? You barely knew left from right in this area, how would you ever find your way back?

What if more people found you, tried to catch you like they had before?

A small voice reminded you that Taehyung wasn’t exactly a model citizen either, but at least he had helped you.

Not long later, you came face to face with another metal grate. Though it took you minute to shimmy it open, the metal rusty and screeching all the while, no one seemed to be alerted by the time you clambered out.

Fixing it back in place, you came to a stop.

The fence was only feet away from you, unlit as this was the back of the property. Beyond, you couldn’t make out much more than sparse bushes in the darkness.

Even the drizzle was dying now, forcing you to wallow in complete quiet as you remained frozen. The burning skin around your wrist still tingled, not allowing your pain to be forgotten.

You swallowed hard.

If you had felt alone before, you felt much more deserted now with the absence of Taehyung.

Wringing your hands, you glanced left as if it would bring you answers. With a sigh, you looked the other way down the building – only to jump out of your skin.

As you choked on a gasp, Taehyung’s grin only grew on his face, laughing at your fright.

“Taehyung! When did you get there? How did you-?”

“Didn’t think I’d leave you alone, did you, pidge?”

Still reeling in your shock, you merely blinked, prompting another deep laugh from him. Slinging an arm around your shoulder, he strode towards the fence, tilting his head to look down at you.

“Now, let’s get out of here, yeah? There’s a lot more to do.”

“But- Tae, what happened to you? How did you get away?”

Slipping through the fence first, you squinted at a cut on his head. It certainly hadn’t been there before.

“Plenty of practise, pidge,” he said, returning to your side. He offered up nothing more than a smile, but there was nothing behind it this time.

Sighing, you dropped the matter and fell into step beside him. Where his feet steered, you would follow, still none the wiser about exactly where you were. Though your fingers hovered over your wounded wrist, they dared not even skim the tender skin there.

After the fourth time it slipped down, making you wince, you quietly slipped your bracelet off and into your pocket.

“You hungry, pidge?” Tae nudged you after a few more minutes.

“I- I guess…” you shrugged, “I don’t want to trouble you-“

Tae actually laughed out loud then, throwing his head back. His arm landed across your shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“You’re no trouble, pidge. Never think that.”

“O-okay,” you returned, perplexed as he fixed you with a stare.

“First stop,” he announced then.

On reaching a run-down door, not even as tall as his shoulders, he clicked his heels, hands behind his back. When you laughed at him, he seemed satisfied and reached forward to rap on the door.

For a few moments, nothing happened, your eyes sliding between Tae and the door as he stood epectantly.

Eventually, the door – which was more like a plank – squeaked open, revealing a platinum-haired man. Poking his head out, a gummy grin lit up his face.

“Tae!”

“Hey Yoongi,” he greeted, stepping back so that you were visible, “I was hoping we could see Joon?”

Shuffling your feet, you watched Yoongi’s face darken slightly, casting his eyes over you.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, though his eyes never left you.

Melting away into the darkness inside, Yoongi was soon replaced by a taller man who hit his head on the doorframe as he came to meet you.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he smiled at you, still rubbing his crown, “Tae, what can I do for you?”

“This is Y/N, she’s had a rough night,” Tae ushered you forward, “do you have anything for burns?”

Carefullly, he raised your wrist to Namjoon. Pushing his glasses onto his head, Joon leant forwards, squinting at the damage with a low hiss.

“Yeah, I should have something,” he stood back, “how did that happen?”

“Shocker. Silver bracelet,” was all Tae offered in explanation.

“Gods, those disciplinariums ought to be shut down,” Joon shook his head, then, “I’ll be right back.”

It wasn’t long before he returned with the promised treatment, helping you apply a cream that instantly soothed your skin.

“Okay, we’d better be off,” Tae rubbed a hand over your back as he said farewell.

Thanking Namjoon, you nervously took the small tub of cream he pressed into your hand. Waving as you walked away, you found the shabby door had already closed.

“Did we pay him?” you muttered.

“Don’t you worry about that, pidge,” he just grinned.

“B-but mother and father told me-“

“Things are different here, cub,” he explained, “if you have the money for something, great. But this side of the tracks, dunno if you can tell, but we’re not exactly well-off.”

“Did we- did we steal?” you whispered, scandalised

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he chuckled. You only gaped.

“Stealing is wrong!”

“Some people on your side of the tracks ought to be told that, pidge,” he quirked his head, bitterness creeping onto his face, “they take everything from us, and then pretend to make it better by stealing our children too.”

Stunned into silence, you merely blinked up at him. His mouth was set in a grim line as he turned to you.

“I’m sorry, pidge, but you gotta understand. You’re from round here too, when it comes down to it. It’s not ‘lucky’ that you got picked up by some rich couple, it’s a damn shame you have to be on the other side to have a shot at a decent life.”

“I- I think I understand,” you swallowed, “but don’t the people here work? Like father does? Then you shouldn’t have to steal.”

Tae chewed on his lip as he led you into a small alley, still moving slowly.

“It’s a bit different for us, pidge,” he spoke, “we make stuff in the factories, it gets sold on the other side. We work for them, and they don’t pay us enough to buy the stuff we’re making.”

Letting his words sink in, turning them over in your mind as you tried to make sense of them, you broke the silence as you came towards the end of the alley. Your voice was quiet, uncertain. Tae made everything you had been taught seem… unfair.

“Is there… is there really no way? No way out?”

As Tae seemed to chew on his words, his steps slowed. You had come around the corner, warm light seeping into the darkness from the back window of the nearest building. Instead of a cramped alley, this space opened up into a small yard.

A single breath in had your mouth watering – a rich scent was emanating through a vent at the back.

Just as you took another, a shout.

“Hey, looks who’s here!”

The door was thrown open. Tae’s chuckle reverberated in your ears as you startled, stumbling back into his chest.

“Here’s dinner,” he smirked.

“My favourite tramp!” a man greeted as he hurried out, an apron swishing around his knees, “it’s been a while, Tae.”

“Hey, Jimin,” they exchanged a brief hug before Jimin’s eyes fell on you.

Under his keen gaze, you shrank back.

“Who’s this?” he tilted his head towards you, but addressed the question to Taehyung.

“This is Y/N,” Tae fell back to your side, arm falling over your shoulders once again. “We’re kind of hungry.”

“You could at least pretend you want to see me,” Jimin scoffed, but broke into a smile, “but fine, food it is.”

Though Jimin fixed Tae with a stare and a quirked eyebrow, he said nothing else before whipping back inside.

“Hey pidge,” Tae started, “come with me.”

Hand gliding back into place, to intertwine his fingers with yours, he gently pulled you forwards. Reaching the back window of what you now presumed to be a restaurant, a small alcove revealed a narrow set of steps.

“Careful now, pidge,” he warned.

Schooling the curious frown off your face, you obliged, climbing ahead of him.

As you reached the precipice, all the breath was stolen from your lungs.

The stairs opened onto a small roof terrace; nothing to see in itself, a derelict rail running around the edge and a small table perched to the side. But the view…

Never before had you seen your city like this. Sprawled out, vast even in the night that hid away the corners of it, and dotted with flecks of light. Head slowly turning, trying to take it all in, you let your mouth hang open. Behind every prick of light was another family, another life you may never cross over.

It was as if the constellations had landed, just for you.

“Pretty good, right?”

Though you were reluctant to tear you eyes from the city, you were rewarded for your efforts with Tae’s dazzling smile. Perfectly at ease, he basked in the timid glow of night.

When his eyes turned to you, the world stopped moving.

You thought maybe you could forgo all the sparkle of the lights for the burning dark of his eyes.

“Having fun, lovebirds?”

Jumping back from Taehyung at Jimin’s voice, you noticed just how close you had gotten.

Either way, a grateful smile made its way to your lips at the steaming plates of food he bore, carrying with them that heavenly scent from the yard down below. Pausing for a moment before he handed the food over, you saw Jimin’s eyes flick between the two of you.

But as Jimin retreated, Tae pulled out a chair for you, once again bowing as if this was a five star hotel rather than an old roof terrace.

If you were honest, you were a bit uneasy about the chair being able to hold you, but it dutifully remained intact, allowing you to enjoy your meal.

And enjoy it you did.

Senses overwhelmed, you weren’t sure where to look. The awe-inspiring city lay right there, but an equally handsome man was opposite you, the lights sparkling in his eyes even as he slurped at his pasta.

Perhaps it was the fact you were starving hungry, but the meal was just as heavenly as the view, tastebuds gorging on the delicious sauce. Though you longed to dig in as Tae was, your table manners were firmly drilled in, so you persevered with your fork, twirling the spaghetti neatly around.

Somewhere along the way, your manners did devolve. As Tae leant back, stretching with a satisfied sigh, you were scooping the stuff into your mouth.

It wasn’t until you found him staring at you, soft smile curving his lips, that you froze.

“Sorry-“ you mumbled, hastening to wipe at your mouth.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he chuckled, then cleared his throat. “I was – ahem – just wondering if you wouldn’t miss a couple forkfuls of that.”

Ah, so he was making heart eyes at the food. You could hardly blame him and simply nodded, allowing him to take a scoop.

Laughing at his somewhat guilty eyes, you shovelled another mouthful for yourself, still slurping at the pasta in a way mother would surely scold you for, if she could see.

To your alarm, however, you found yourself yanked sideways as you did so. Eyes widening, you found your lips pressed awkwardly to Tae’s, one strand of spaghetti holding you there. It took you a second to react, hurriedly biting down and pulling away the moment you came to your senses. Nervous laughter was startled from you as you averted your gaze, heat rising rapidly in your cheeks.

But Tae’s eyes never dropped.

The barest hint of a smirk still graced his lips, gently sliding away into nothing as he watched you. Eyes lingering, he swallowed.

When you looked up, his lips were parted slightly as he stared at you. If you blinked, you might well have missed it, though, as he hastily pulled his mouth back into a smile. Then he turned away, forcing his gaze back to the city before you.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

His voice was low and raspy, taking him by surprise. Clearing his throat, a short glance at you instilled his hope that you hadn’t noticed.

Each of you obligingly let silence settle, leaving the leftover spaghetti untouched.

Instead, you sat back, content in letting the cool air wrap itself around you. Playing dot-to-dot with the spots of light, you didn’t mind the barest breeze that teased stray strands of your hair. All the while you were aware of the warmth coming from Taehyung at your side.

A deep sigh left him, joining the course of the air as it brushed past you.

“You see that pidge?” his eyes stayed on the city as he sighed. “There’s a world beyond that. Not everywhere is like this. They don’t have this side of the tracks and that side.”

Pulled from your reverie, you gave into his magnetism, finally fixing your gaze on him again. Gesturing at nothing in particular, he continued.

“We could run away… let this place break itself apart and- and just go where we please.”

The sparkle in his eyes was almost enough to spark something in your heart too. But down there among the dark, was your home. Your brother.

“But Tae, my family…” you whispered. As soon as the words left your lips, your teeth clamped around your tongue, some faint wish of having never said those words.

Taehyung shook his head, gaze falling to his hands where they rested in his lap.

“When you aren’t tied down… when you aren’t tied down then you can think these things. They can’t keep you forever, you know. True chidren move out, become people… you shouldn’t have to stay and look pretty on the shelf for them, pidge. Your dreams don’t have to live where you close your eyes.”

He turned to you then. You couldn’t have breathed if you wanted to.

Again, it seemed you had fallen into this man’s magnetic pull, somehow closer than you remembered getting. His eyes were too powerful for you to pull away from, somehow wide and shining while something dark flickered beneath those irises.

It was a slow surge as he moved forwards, his breath falling onto your cheek, your lips.

The darkness of the night, the city, the terrace, blurred at the corners of your vision, unable to look away from the entrancing boy – every fleck of gold in his eyes, each eyelash, sloping down, and now dropping shut-

There was no impact as his lips met yours, feather-soft as they pressed together.

You moved together with ease, slotting into place perfectly as your lips brushed. That was all it took. The moment you confirmed what he was silently asking, he was pressing into your mouth, lips much more than a phantom and very, very real.

Fingers that were resting lightly at your jaw now fervently tugged you closer.

Your head was spinning by the time both his hands were on you. Moulding to his touch, you indulged in his mouth as he pulled you onto his lap, hand gliding over your back. Craving more of him, you eagerly pushed closer, leaving no space for the breeze to weave between your bodies.

Breath fell hot between you as the kiss broke at last, but you found you had been robbed of all words.

“Just stay with me for tonight, pidge.” Tae’s voice was breathy, casting itself to the wind inches from his lips. A hopeful grin spread onto his face. “What’s life without a little adventure?”

Exhaling, you nestled into him once again, casting your eyes back out to the glimmering lights of the city. And he seemed happy with that, arms curling securely around you while they still could.

That night, you both dreamed of running away.

Fingers were trailing winding paths through your hair, rousing you from sleep. It was only slow, the world piecing itself together inch by inch around you, but now you blinked blearily, light filtering through your lashes.

When the hand withdrew from your head, you pried your eyes further open, twisting around.

Taehyung was already looking at you. Soft smile playing on his lips, he ran his hand once more over your head at your pout.

“Sorry, cub, didn’t mean to wake you,” he chuckled.

“No, no,” you shook your head, fidgeting to an upright position as a yawn forced its way out, “wh-what time is it?”

Only a shrug answered, a vague wave towards the sky. Turning, you found the city sprawled out ahead of you, but this time bathed in light as a glow pierced the horizon.

Gnawing at your lip, you kept in your words. It was morning, and you had never been away from home this long, even if it wasn’t your parents waiting for you there. You already missed this moment, knowing you would have to go.

Tae pulled you to his chest again, arms snaking their way around your middle, the ghost of his lips on your neck-

Sighing heavily, you turned back to him, though you didn’t meet his eyes.

“Tae I- thank you, but, I should go home now.”

A moment of silence elapsed, Tae’s arms not budging from where they circled you.

Then, he deflated. Releasing you from his lap, he nodded, more to himself than anything.

“Alright, pidge. Let’s get you home.”

Descending from the terrace, you let the view fade from sight without looking back. The walk was steady, but it seemed to stretch on for hours with the torture of walking beside Tae, unable to give in to your urge to reach out for his hand.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to do that.

Idly observing as the houses you passed became freshly painted, weeds between the paving slabs turning to freshly mown lawns, you tried to reason with yourself. What would Jin and Hoseok think? Not only had you crossed the tracks, but you had broken into a building with the notorious Taehyung.

And then eaten delicious spaghetti with him.

And kissed him.

Resolving never to speak of it again, you cast your eyes down. Why was your common sense betraying you now? Don’t associate with the other side, that was unspoken rule number one. You were better off here, you were lucky to have mother and father.

But that wasn’t what Tae had told you.

And something in you believed him. After your whole life being shooed away from the true children, watching them go to school and learn and do all the things you couldn’t, you wondered why they had taken you in after all.

“What flowers do you like, pidge?”

Double-taking, you were ripped from your thoughts to find Tae calling from behind you.

“I- I don’t know…” you frowned, eyes travelling to the property he had stopped beside.

“Okay pidge, wait here,” he grinned, “gonna need something to remember me by, right?”

He jumped. He jumped, vaulting over the short front wall before you could even utter a sound of warning. Dashing forwards, you watched with wide eyes as you saw him tramp through the garden like it was his own.

“Tae! What are you-?”

Stopping in front of a pristine flower bed, Taehyung’s hands fell on his hips.

“You gotta have a little fun, pidge! It’s harmless, don’t worry! Now do you like yellow or purple best?”

“Uh, um, purple,” you quickly decided, hoping to hurry him along.

Glancing over your shoulder, you scanned the road for anyone watching, bouncing on the balls of your feet as your fingers tapped impatiently on the wall. Finding nothing, you looked back to find Tae focussed intently on the flowers in his fingers, twisting the stems together with his tongue poking out.

Against your better sense, a smile fought its way to the surface.

Then, to your left, voices. Whipping your head around, you searched for the source, which revealed itself as two men emerging around the corner.

Head to toe in black, they sported a small orange stripe on the shoulder of their uniform.

Your heart rocketed in your chest, feet instantly backpedalling, but the controllers already had their eyes on you.

“Tae!” you caught his attention.

As if in slow motion, you watched him find the controllers standing at the corner, watched them locate him, and watched them each start running.

Feet slamming onto the concrete beside you, Tae was already gripping your hand.

“Now’s where we get going,” he panted.

Not hesitating for a second, both of you sped off immediately. Still fairly close to the tracks, despite being on your side, Tae seemed much more familiar with the streets than you. At some point your hands broke apart as he threw himself into a narrow path between houses.

Skidding around the corner after him, you did your best to keep up. The heavy boots thudding close behind were certainly good motivation.

Another turn and a fence stood resolutely in your way. Unfazed, Tae barely slowed down as he hopped over it with ease.

Scrambling after him, your foot slipped, scraping your calf against the wood. Still, you jumped again, struggling to reach the other side. The barrier was nearly as tall as you, only letting you snatch a glimpse of Taehyung disappearing through another garden.

Your eyes stayed on him as a bruising grip pulled your shoulder.

You didn’t struggle as your arms were yanked behind your back, manhandling you against the wall with barely enough time to turn away. Harsh brick scratched at your face while metal dug into your wrists for the second time.

Shoving you forward roughly, your feet nearly lost the ground, but you caught yourself, watery eyes staying on the ground while the hands on your arms marched you away. All you could do was hold in the gasps that constricted your throat.

You couldn’t even look back.

It had been a minute or so since Taehyung last heard the footsteps. Allowing his legs to drag him to a stop, his back fell against a wall, chest heaving. Nonetheless, a wide smile lit up his face with exhilaration.

“You alright, pidge?” he turned, one shoulder staying on the wall as he rolled around to see you.

The street was empty.

Upright in an instant, Tae’s smile vanished in a second.

“Pidge?”

He was already half-yelling but couldn’t bring himself to care when everywhere he looked showed him a distinct lack of you. Spinning in circles, his eyes roamed desperately to no avail.

Breath falling in choppy pants, he set his body in motion again, driving himself to the last corner he turned, then the one before that and the next one… at every empty space, his heart dropped agonisingly.

No no no, he had lost you! He was supposed to be getting you back home, safe and sound.

As much as he didn’t want you to go, this was never in the plan.

Forced to give up, though he must have been running for some time, he dropped his gaze to the flowers still held loosely in his hand.

Petals collided with concrete as Taehyung turned away.

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sxfik · 3 years

Text

darling, you're the one i want

chapter one | two | three ....

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was never known for her luck, but she suspected it to be more like a curse when after almost 5 years, she bumps into her rival and the bane of her existence: Attorney Han Joon Hwi. What's worse? She has to work with him and she's sure that she'll either kill him or kiss him before this is all over

After Kang Sol B was freed from the clutched of her mother, her new found freedom spurred her into a night in bed with the mysterious Ji Ho. Yet, when he walks into her office the next day, she is faced with the realization that she is now working with the same man she slept with. What's worse? He's insufferable and she just might have to kiss him to shut him up.

a/n: hello hello! it's been almost a month since i've written a fic and probably even more time since i've truly been active on here. this fic is a product of me, @akinosakiya, @am-bi-vert and @thenerdywriter creating 20 different threads on twitter about an idea (which eventually got turned into a whole group chat just for hc and fic ideas). truly this fic is dedicated to all of them, the hanguk law school gc on tumblr and twitter. this fic is multi-chapter and written from 6 povs (basically it will be pretty long). as always, enjoy!

KANG SOL A was not known for her luck. Maybe it was a curse, or maybe just her destiny to be unlucky in life. She was irrevocably late this morning, despite setting 6 alarms and taking extra care the night before to ensure everything was in order before she left. But of course, in classic Sol A fashion, she was late despite every effort.

She was greeted with the shining sun and chirping birds as she speed walked towards her office building, her hair slightly disheveled in the breeze. Her hand clutched her briefcase as she speed walked towards the office, her lanyard swaying as she moved with purpose.

It had been almost 2 years since she started working for Kang's Toy Co. and 3 years since she graduated from Hanguk Law school. Life had been a rollercoaster since then, an endless ride of ups and downs as she tried to stabilize herself into her new life. She had clawed her way up from the struggle of her 1L year, getting to be an expert on late nights and sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, she graduated with an offer set up at Attorney Park's office which kickstarted her career and her life.

She'd be lying if she said everything was smooth from then on; it was quite the opposite. Just like she predicted, she had to take clients that she disliked and didn't trust, but when you were trying to make rent and put food on the table, it didn't matter. Luckily, she never had to compromise her beliefs too much during those years, and she was able to build her reputation as a trustable and hardworking lawyer in the community.

Soon enough, she was taking on higher profile clients, and gifted with the ability of being picky about who she defended. All of a sudden she was going to events and mingling with the upper class of Seoul. What was a poor girl, raised by a single mother, doing in such a ornate hall, sipping champagne that was worth more than anything she'd ever owned. Yet, those very same events led her to her name twin, Kang Sol B.

Kang Sol B, clean cut and straightforward, was one of her closest friends and CEO of the company she worked for. They met by chance at an event, after a particularly successful case, and somehow, the two women who were so unlike each other, hit it off. They ran into each other by chance again and they met for drinks. Sol B's level-headed, confident attitude balanced her energetic, eager mind. Not to mention, she fit right in with Ye-Seul and her dynamic, the three being thick as thieves. Soon enough, Sol was offered a job at her company as a corporate lawyer and she jumped on the chance at working with her. The rest was, as they say, history.

Shaking off her thoughts, her legs propelled her forward, her vision almost hazy and her mind clouded with the need to rush, rush, rush. The morning was particularly busy, with so many employees rushing into work and walking in their own world. Still, today was especially important as the company is announcing a joint enterprise between two of the biggest toy companies in Seoul. She picked up her pace, nearing the entrance, when, in her frenzy, she crashed into the oncoming figure.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry!"

Her head shot up, her eyes widening at the familiar voice. And there he stood, in all his glory, Han Joon Hwi: Second Round Judicial Exam Passer, and the bane of her existence.

She had the unfortunate luck of meeting Joon Hwi during their 1L, during a particularly intense class where she was grilled to death by her professor. The actual ordeal was a haze, all she could remember was her throat tightening and instant panic flooding her mind and body. Joon hwi, thinking himself some kind of knight-in-shining armor, swooped in to save her, answering in her stead.

And then, he decided to rival her during one of their constitutional code classes, arguing in favor of a law that was, in her mind, despicable. "You have to look at it in perspective," he coolly replied to her smoldering anger when she questioned him on how he could support such a thing. It was set in stone, then, that Kang Sol A did not like Han Joon Hwi.

From the moment they met, it was like he was specifically designed to drive her crazy. The way he smirked, the way his whip smart comebacks would leave her stumped, the way his arms filled out that stupid white shirt, the way he'd look at her like he could see right through her. Just about everything about him made her want to scream.

Dislike was an understatement when it came to Joon Hwi. It was more like a never ending annoyance, his presence and every move frustrating her, making her lungs tight and her heart race with exasperation and irritation.

She was nicknamed Lady Justice, after a particular comment from Joon Hwi himself. If it was to shame her, it clearly didn't work as it only fueled her headstrong attitude. In fact, it spurred her into more arguments with the illustrious Joon Hwi, the temperature constantly rising as they would circle each other and argue until their lungs burned and they were breathing heavy. The whole school would gather to see them spar, the tension so thick that they wouldn't notice the crowd they would draw as soon as the two would even look at each other.

He was the genius of her school, that much she couldn't deny. Still, the what he said about her in their final year...

His hand gripped her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts in an attempt to support her, and his warm touch seared into her cold skin as he pulled her up slightly. Joon Hwi blinked back at her, his face shocked before settling into a familiar smirk that drove her up the wall.

"Long time no see, huh, Lady Justice?" his eyebrow quirked up slightly as he took her in, and the scowl settled into her face. Like this day could have gotten any worse, it was just her luck to meet him.

"Not quite long enough, Attorney Han," she quipped back, snapping her arm away from his grip. She blew out a soft breath, in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes to face him properly. He continued to look down at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he chuckled in response.

He didn't look any different than he did 3 years ago, except that his shoulders had grown broader, his chest a little firmer. He wore a black coat, and underneath, his signature black suit that he had worn during his internships during school. His hair was styled differently, now styled up rather than down in bangs that used to give him an innocent look back in their law school years. It suited him.

"So, you work for Kang now?" he asked her, rushing forward to catch up with her fast pace. Her hand gripped tighter on her bag as she picked up her pace, trying her best to not let his sudden presence taint her morning.

"No, I'm definitely just walking towards the building with the large sign that says KANG TOY CO. for absolutely no reason," she replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"You haven't changed one bit, Kang Sol," he laughed, tilting his head forward, blinking and looking at her as if he knew something she didn't.

She paused in her tracks, looking up to the man who scrambled to turn to face her. "Why are you here, Joon Hwi?" she asked him, suspicious of his sudden presence.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and she could feel the irritation build in her chest as she looked up at him, impossibly confused. They stayed in place, their feet glued to the pavement and she forgot all about her earlier mission to get to her office asap. His face hadn't changed too much from their school days, his expression overflowing with mirth and mischief. But his face did hold a tiredness that wasn't seen before, as if the time has taken a toll on him. What happened to you, Han Joon Hwi, for your face to hold exhaustion that was never seen before?

"You'll find out," he replied curtly, before spinning back and walking towards the building. Her office building. She rushed forward now, trying to catch up with him as she looked up curiously, but he avoided her looks as they walked into the office.

They marched on in, flashing her badge at the entrance of the office, and Joon hwi, somehow, managed to follow. Did he start working here and never let her know? Does he even work as a lawyer? How could she not know? She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind as she walked into the elevator, and he marched in right by her side.

People filed in one after the other into the elevator, everyone in their morning rush to get to their cubicles and start their days. The elevators was filled to the brim, yet Kang Sol was still aware of Joon Hwi's presence, almost like her mind was blaring an alarm that He wasn't supposed to be here.

She momentarily shut her brain off, a task that she trained herself on after her struggles in her 1L, choosing to focus on the people milling around the elevator. Her eyes would flit through every person, and then the ceiling, and most importantly, she refused to let her mind stray to Han Joon Hwi, despite the curiosity eating her from the inside out.

The elevator was next to empty when she reached her floor, and she picked up her pace as she marched out of the elevator before he could. Sol kept her gaze trained ahead, but her body was feeling for the presence of someone else marching behind her.

Somehow, he managed to get ahead, probably with those stupidly long legs of his. His hand jutted out to open the door to the meeting room, and he paused, turning slightly towards her.

"Ladies first," he said, his expression almost neutral. If it wasn't for the slight crinkle near his eyes as he smiled, she would have taken the gesture as genuine and not intended to mock her. The gesture morphed from chivalry to a taunt that he knew something she didn't.

"Thank you, Attorney Han," she shot him a tight smile, before marching her way towards her teammates.

Ye-seul, her best friend and fellow lawyer, caught Sol's gaze and patted to the seat next to her and finally, Sol sank down into her chair, letting out a final sigh of relief.

"You're only a couple minutes late, the director isn't here yet," she said, taking a sip from her hot coffee. Ye-seul narrowed her eyes at her, and then looked up at Joon Hwi, before looking back down at her.

"Oh thank god," Sol, opened up her briefcase, getting out one of her legal pads and a pen incase she needed to take notes, as she expertly avoided her best friend's questioning gaze. The silence between them stretched, as Sol tapped her pen against the paper impatiently and Ye-seul let her gaze bore into her.

"Why was Han Joon–"

"Good morning," the baritone voice of Director Yang boomed across the meeting room, his voice loud despite the lack of a microphone. "Let's go through this meeting smoothly, as it is a very important day for both Kang Toy Co and Seo Media. Today, we have gathered to announce a collaboration for a toy line between both companies."

Applause filled the room as the director paused, looking at each team assembled in the room. Oh. So that's why Han Joon Hwi is here.

"As such, we will be needing our talented lawyer teams from both companies to help draw the legal terms and details between the two companies, as well as negotiate the terms for the toy line itself. This is an exciting time for both companies and we hope that this partnership is fruitful for both parties. Now, I will be announcing the teams and their assignments for this coming quarter and in preparation for the toy line itself," he paused, flipping through the notes he held at the center of the room.

"I'm proud to announce that Attorney Kang Sol and Team One from Kang Toys will be working with Attorney Han Joon Hwi and Team One from Seo Media." Sol's eyes shot up to Joon hwi, both their eyes wide with surprise. "Your teams will be heading the terms of the collaboration as well as working closely with both CEOs for any legal issues that come up," Director Yang nodded to both parties, before continuing down his list.

Her eyes were still on his, her mouth close to gaping open before she quickly shut it and avoided his gaze. Out of all the people, it had to be her that was paired up with him.

Kang Sol A had bad luck, indeed, but she was starting to think it was more like a curse instead.

#mine #solhwi #law school #jtbc drama #jtbc law school #law school jtbc #law school netflix #law school kdrama #kang sol a #kang sol b #han joon hwi #seo ji ho #jeon ye seul #min bok gi #jo ye beom #jtbc #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 25

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2005

It was the semi-finales for girl’s lacrosse. Miraculously, I was made captain as a freshman. Which meant, for some reason, people were offended and thought that I should be picked on more. Fact of the matter is that lacrosse is a game of strategy. Together; with the help of my teammates, we would play to win. Being captain wasn’t a choice, Finstock made me captain and the role was a big shoe to fill. But here we are, semi-finales.

As we made our way out to the play, I looked at the stands. Mom, Dad, Uncle Noah, Stiles, Scott on one end. Laura and Derek on the other side.

There were fifteen minutes left in the game, the score was tied. We needed to make one more goal to win and get to the finales. For this next play, I was face to face with the other team captain, waiting for the pearl to be thrown.

“You don’t deserve to be captain.” The girl glared, her eyes looked like they wanted to melt through my helmet and into my brain.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I worked my ass off for four years to be captain. What makes you so special?”

I blinked at her, a little confused as to where this hostility was coming from, “I’m just playing a game.”

“A real captain knows the lacrosse is more than a game.” She smirked, “When we win this, I’m getting a scholarship to So Cal, so why don’t you just do what freshman do best and lose.” On one hand I felt bad for her. She probably had parents that pushed and pushed for her to be the best. And I also felt bad because I knew we were gonna win.

The ref blew the whistle starting play. And everything was going according to plan. That was until I was passed the pearl. I ran with it, tossing it to another player. Meaning that it was completely unnecessary for me to be tackled and would be considered aggressive. But that didn’t stop the other captain from using her entire body to slam me into the ground. One minute I was standing and the next I had was on the ground. My chest felt tight, like I was straining to breathe. When I opened my eyes, I saw her face over mine, smirking down at me.

“HEY!” I heard Finstock’s booming voice, “Ref! Aren’t you gonna call that?!” No whistle, either the ref hadn’t seen it or he was allowing it. But Derek wasn’t allowing it. I heard multiple shouts and then watched the player who stood above me get shoved away, Derek replaced her. He knelt down, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Derek, what are you doing?” I groaned.

“Can you get up?” He asked, trying to help me sit up. I hissed at the movement.

Derek turned back to the bench, “Get a medic!” And only then did the whistle blow. The girl had given plenty of excuses, but they still gave her team a three minute penalty that made them lose the game. Looks like I had been right.

I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with a concussion but I would be fine just in time for the finales. The whole time in the waiting room, in the room itself, and even when we got home, Derek had been right beside me, holding my hand.

I had grown to hate hospitals and everything about them since the last time I had been to one I had been stabbed. The gowns with the open backs that were way too open to the public. That smell that was a cross between cleaner and the latex and rubber of gloves. The beds that were as hard as a rock and were covered in paper that would crinkle and make noise even if you weren't moving. That apprehensiveness that would build up in your stomach every time you heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Thankfully, I didn't have to go through any of that. Since I was a pregnant werewolf, going to the hospital in Beacon Hills was a definite no-no, so the next best option is Dr. Deaton, a veterinarian and a makeshift supernatural doctor. Not to mention a full blown druid in this day and age. But from what I've learned in the past couple years, old magic was very much alive.

I was sitting on the metal table used for the animals, swinging my legs back and forth, waiting for Deaton to come back from getting my medical records emailed to him by Melissa. He could have gotten them himself, he just figured it would be less illegal if he got them from a nurse.

Thoughts were racing through my head for no rhyme or reason. Since I became a werewolf, every scar or scratch on my body had become only a memory. My stab wound, the acid burns on my legs, the cuts on my face from being tortured all those months ago which really felt more like a lifetime. It had been a different life, a life fabricated through magic and spells. A life that almost didn't feel like mine anymore.

"Sorry, for the wait, (Y/N)." Deaton walked into the room, his eyes scanning over the stack of papers in his hands.

"You're alright, Doc." I smiled, leaning back on my hands, "So how am I looking?"

“Very pregnant.”

"Nothing gets past you, huh?” I smirked. To be fair, I was approaching the three and a half month mark. Deaton smiled, taking my vitals and a vial of blood.

“So I’ve been made aware that Mr. Hale is the father.” He said, pressing a cotton ball to my skin after removing the needle, “How's that going?"

“About as well as you can imagine.”

“So not at all?” He asked. I nodded, shrugging my shoulders.

"Everything looks normal," He smiled as he wrote everything down on his clipboard, "Just need to get a look at the little guy." He looked up, "You said it was a boy, right?" He asked, moving over to get the sonographer that I’m sure had never been used on a human before.

“Unless the baby’s sprouting a third arm. That'd be cool." I smiled, “But yeah, that’s what the ultrasound tech in Scotland said.”

He chuckled and shook his head, "Alright, lay back and lift your shirt up." I laid back on the table, lifting my shirt up. The jelly he put on my stomach was cold and reminded me of the goo that had encased Jackson when he was a lizard person. He moved the sensor over my stomach and looked into the monitor. Ultrasounds were usually a little hard to see anyway, just like a fancy warschak paintings. And the fetus? Kinda like a funky jellybean.

“There we are.” He grinned, “Little werewolf.”

Craning my neck, I looked up at him, "You can tell he's a werewolf?"

"No.” He took the monitor off, handing me a paper towel so I could wipe off my stomach, “But odds are since his parents are both werewolves, it would make sense that the child would be also. However, you had the dormant gene, maybe your child will too." He turned off the sonographer.

“Have any names picked out?”

"I have a few... I liked Jacob, which Derek hated because it was too ‘Twilight’. Then there's one other but I don't know about it." The name that Derek loved more than anything for some reason, "Nicholas." And damn was it good.

"What about Nicholas Jacob? Just use both of them."

"Or I could name him after Stiles" I smirked to myself, "Mieczyslaw Nicholas.”

"Maybe that would be a little too much."

“Stiles is a little too much.” I smiled to myself

"So Nicholas?" Sheriff looked at me from across the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. I hummed and nodded, sipping my hot cocoa.

"Nicholas?” He asked again.

"Mieczyslaw?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He raised his eyebrows, "It was his mother's father's name."

“I remember Grandpa Mitch, trust me." I smiled, holding my mug in both hands, “I was thinking maybe Nicholas Noah.” I avoided looking in his eyes. Emotional talks were never really his strong suit, especially after Aunt Claudia. I wanted to honor him somehow.

He smiled, blinking a few times, “Sounds pretty good to me.” After a moment he asked: "What are you going to do now?"

I finished my drink and stood up to put it in the sink, "My plan, right now at least, is that I'm going to stay here to have the baby... Then...” I washed out the mug, “Then I'm not sure. I don't know if I want to go back to Scotland or stay here." He stood up as well and pulled me into his arms for a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around him, blinking my own tears away.

Uncle Noah stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head, "Whatever your decision, I'll be there for you. Whenever you need me. I'll always, always be there for you."

My pajamas had taken a turn for the worst. No more t-shirts and shorts, it’s moo moos and nightgowns from now on. I pulled my night gown over my head, smoothing out the skirt. Did I look like I had raided a grandmother’s closet? Absolutely. I looked down at my stomach, rubbing my hand over my bump.

"Are you a little alien?" I smiled after a moment, listening deeply to his little heartbeat, “Nice.” I glanced over at my desk, then pulled back my blankets to get into bed. I stopped, my head snapping back towards the window where there were red eyes staring back at me.

Now, if this was two years ago I would be losing my mind over the fact that there were red eyes staring at me. But since I've gone through emotional Hell, I was feeling rather annoyed by some alpha that just thought they could mosey around my house, around my window, and around my goddamn personal space. I stalked over to the window and slammed it open.

"Listen, pal, you have about five seconds to get out my yard or I swear by all that is damnable, I will put you through so much pain that your great-grandchildren will be sore."

The eyes came closer, revealing a familiar crooked jaw, "Nice to see you too."

"You could have just come through the front door, ya know? If Stiles can make a spare key to your house, then he can make you one for his." Scott only looked at me seriously. It was like the kid from three months ago was gone and all there was left was a battle hardened man.

"Can I please come in?" I stepped away from the window, watching him crawl inside and stand up.

"I've been great, Scott, I've only been in Scotland for months, crying and wondering why none of my friends or family were contacting me. How have you been?" Was it petty? Absolutely, but the hormones were raging. Even if Derek told everyone to stop talking to me, what hold did he have over anyone when Scott was around?

"I'm sorry about that, I really am. But I came to-"

I cut him off, after finally connecting, "Who did you kill?"

“What?”

"To become an alpha, who did you take it from?"

"I didn't kill anyone!” He said in an exasperated voice, “Why does everyone ask that? Not killing people has been my thing since Peter bit me." He ran his hand through his shorter hair, it suit him.

It then dawned on me. The one thing that had little to no documentation of. Even the Lunar Circle had just the basics. It was the stuff of legend, a hear say. I didn't think it was possible.

"A true alpha." He stared at me for a second and blinked a couple times.

"You're a true alpha." I grinned, "Oh my god, Scott, this is unbelievable." I grabbed his shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze, "Tell me everything. I wanna know how it happened and what situation you were in. How were you feeling? Were you hurt? Was your body under so much stress that it just happened?”

Scott grabbed my hands and placed them by my sides, "(Y/N), maybe another time I came here for a reason."

"Oh, right, of course." Probably looking ridiculous, “What’s on your mind?”

"I really don't think it's safe for you here."

"Here we go agai-"

"Will you just listen to me before you start whining?" He growled. That certainly shut me up. I raised my eyebrows at him, but I guess I should hear him out. I motioned for him to continue.

"I'm not so much worried about you.” He said, “I know you can take care of yourself. I'm worried about..." He paused, "Uh..."

“Nicholas.”

"Yeah, I'm worried about Nicholas." He sat in my computer chair and leaned forward, "The pack we're facing don't care who they kill or why, all they want is to hurt us. You're my friend, (Y/N). I don't want anything to happen to you. And I don't want anything to happen to your kid. Please." He rolled forward and took my hands in his, "Please, go back to Scotland. I promise you, you won't be in the dark. You don't deserve to be left out. I'll call myself, and if not me, Stiles will. It's not safe for you.” I looked down, gnawing on my lip. Scott was right, he was completely right. It wasn't safe. I couldn't be a tough alpha when I had so much to live for. Keeping this kid safe is my top priority. As much as I wanted to stay home, it wasn’t safe.

"You'll tell me when it's safe to come back?"

"You have my word."

I sighed, looking up at him with a half-smile, "I may be stubborn as hell, but that doesn't mean I can't admit when someone's right. And you're right, Scott. I'll go."

He closed his eyes, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He dropped my hands and rolled back, "I'm so glad you agreed with my first speech, if you hadn't I would have been improvising for my life." He chuckled.

Shaking my head, I grinned at him, “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

"So you're going back?" Uncle Noah looked over his coffee with tired eyes, spying my luggage that had only been unpacked for two days. It was a new day and another plane ride.

"It's not safe for me. It's not safe for any of you." I rested my head on his shoulder, "But I know that will never stop you from helping the ones you care about."

A small smile pulled at his lips, "You're way too good at reading me."

"Well, I've only known you my whole life."

He set down his coffee and hugged me tight, like this was the last time he would see me. I know he was worried about me and Stiles, it was in his nature. This was the best option for me. As much as I wanted to stay and fight. I couldn't fight if my child was kidnapped and hell knows what would happen to him.

Giving him one last squeeze, I pulled away, the honking outside meant that Stiles had pulled in and was ready to drop me off at the airport.

"I'll call you when I land. Or text you. Depends on the time." I kissed his cheek, "Bye Uncle Noah."

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Stay safe." I kissed his cheek. My head held high, I grabbed my bag and my rolling luggage and went out the door. Stiles grabbed my bags, opening the back of Roscoe to throw my luggage in. That was until a familiar black Camero pulled into the driveway, blocking Stiles in.

"God. Dammit." I muttered to myself. My life was just going swell, wasn't it? I looked down at my stomach and sighed. I felt the burn of acid reflux in my throat, my child showing obvious discomfort as well. Me too, little man. Me too.

There was no way around it, I couldn’t leave without talking with him. Not that I should have to begin with. I sucked.

Derek got out of the car, coming around quickly and standing in front of me.

“Derek, I don’t think you should be here.” Stiles stepped forward. Very sweet, but realistically Stiles wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing against Derek. They stared each other down, the air just filled with masculinity.

“Stiles...” I said, grabbing my bags, “If he wants to take me to the airport, let him.”

Stiles eyes widened, “You’re really giving him the time of day? Really?”

Sighing, I pulled Stiles into my arms and hugged him tightly. He hesitated, but hugged me back.

“I know that this seems like a bad idea, and most of my ideas are bad, but I got this. Trust me.” I smiled and kissed his cheek, “I love you.” He pulled away, looking between Derek and I.

“I love you too. Scott and I will let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

“You better.” I turned back to Derek, trying to keep up the attitude I had to keep Stiles at ease. I held out my bags. He took them without a word and we both started the trip to the airport. It was hard to get a read on him at the moment. He emotions were dull, nothing that stood out. He still looked as tense as ever. His brows were knitted together and his piercing green eyes looked hard.

“So...” He said after a while, “What are you going to do about...” He trailed off.

“Him?” I looked down at my stomach, “I’m just preparing and getting ready for him. I picked a name too. Nicholas.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, but he hid it, “Hmm.”

“Derek....” Now or never, “I just need to know why?”

He inhaled deeply, “I wish I could tell you. I don’t even remember it happening. Like I was under a spell and I couldn’t break out of it.” So he had experienced what I had when I was under Matt’s control. In this situation, in Beacon Hills, there was no reason not to believe him. His heart told me it was true.

“I’m sorry that I hit you.”

“I don’t blame you.” He glanced over at me, “If I felt the same thing you did, I would probably lose control too.”

“I’m tired of people taking advantage of you. If I see that bitch-” I hadn’t realized that my eyes had turned red.

“(Y/N)...” He reached over his right hand, placing it on my knee, “Calm down.” I took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. Just the simplest touch could calm me down and it was something that I missed.

“Nicholas, huh? I like it.”

Happiness welled up in my chest, “I sure hope so since you picked it.”

“I didn’t think you liked it.”

I sat back up and opened my eyes, “What are you talking about? I’ve always liked that name.”

“Riiiiight.”

By the time the conversation ended, we were at the airport. I reached for the handle to open the door when he reached over to stop me.

“I let you leave alone last time, I’m walking you in."

We got inside and checked in, the only thing left was for me to board. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn't take me to the airport last time, because now that he was here, I didn't want to leave him.

"How selfish would it be for me to ask you to drop your life here and come with me?" I leaned on his arm.

"Very. Trust me, the thought crossed my mind. I'm needed here. I have to be here for Cora."

I smiled slightly, "We're gonna get through this. Soon we'll be together again and we can have that big happy family that you deserve. That we deserve."

Derek sighed, resting his head on top of mine, "Is it cliche to hope that this all ends tomorrow?"

My smile faltered, "Don't believe in miracles, Derek."

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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

Read part 26 here!

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#derek hale x reader #teen wolf fic #teen wolf x reader #derek hale fic

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bbdaydreams · 4 years

Text

Courage My Love// Semi Eita

Pairing: Semi Eita x Reader

Summary: You like Semi and come up with a plan to confess to him, unfortunately it takes a turn. You meet again a couple years later by chance.

Chapter three: That’s What You Get

Series Masterlist•<previous•next>

—————

After explaining to his friends what he had just witnessed, Semi excused himself to get some water before he blew up. Semi knew how he could be when he became overwhelmed with his thoughts. He could bark and bite hard with whatever words came out of his mouth if he didn’t think rationally enough. But it’s not easy to suppress actions when trying to figure out your emotions.

“Hi, Semi,” you spoke in shock, not expecting to see him when he opened the door you were about to push.

“Hey,” he responded plainly.

“I have good news I wanted to share with-“

“I know, you and Tendou are together. Congrats,” Semi cut you off, walking past you and into the room full of people.

All you could do was watch his figure disappear into the crowd as you stood disappointed. “I was gonna tell you about my band,” you mumbled to no one before stepping out to get some water since you didn’t trust the punch bowl. When you came back inside you spent the majority of the time left with your new friends and gave them the news first instead. They were just as excited as you where when you first found out.

“We have some good news too!” Haruka spoke.

“We think we came up with the music to go along with one of the songs,” Yui said.

“Let’s put it together this weekend!” Izumi finished.

The following school day you decided to stop by some of your old teachers rooms in between classes and say your goodbye and thanks to them since it was the last week of school for the third years. While passing by the first years side of the building, you saw Goshiki and decided to greet him since you rarely had the opportunity to see him. “Goshiki, hi,” you smiled at him which resulted in him widening his eyes and stiffening when he realized you were in front of him.

“I- uh, hello y/n. I have to really go now you see and I uh... bye!” he exclaimed before gripping his bag and scurrying off.

“That’s odd,” you thought to yourself. In the times you’ve spoken to Goshiki he was always very interested in your conversations and got disappointed when either of you had to end it. He wasn’t even making eye contact with you throughout the whole thing. If anything, it seemed like he was terrified of you.

The next day you passed by the second year’s side. You were about to put your hand on the handle but before you could, the door was pushed from the other side. “Ow!” you exclaimed while rubbing the side of your head since the metal door hit you unexpectedly.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry!” Jiro exclaimed before using one hand to hold your shoulder and the other to help you soothe the pain. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly, not really. That hurt pretty bad, Jiro,” you told him with tears brimming your eyes. Guilt filled his heterochromatic eyes as he helped you. As he was apologizing for his actions he felt a glare on him. Looking up and past you, he saw his band leader with his eyes locked on him as he walked past with Ranmaru and Subaru. Tensing up, Jiro immediately excused himself from you and ran over to his band mates but you were too engrossed with the pain to notice who he ran off to.

That’s the second time someone you thought you were friends with completely brushed you off and it hurt. You weren’t the closest with them but at the end of the day it’s not fun being treated like a passerby. Could you be overthinking which made your emotions overreact? Maybe, but you didn’t wanna have your last possible interaction with anyone to be like that. You have a week left, who knows if you’ll see anyone again after graduating.

Deciding to skip visiting your second year teachers because of the pain you were in, you went to the practice room instead. When you arrived you could hear the girls voices as well as a males that sounded familiar.

“Shirabu? Why are you here?”

“Y/n, hey- what happened to your face?” Shirabu asked before putting down his bag when he noticed you holding onto your face. “Let me see, please.” You put your hands down and let him carefully examine your face. “Scale of one to ten, how bad does this hurt?”

“Six? It was a twelve when it first happened,” you responded, wincing when he gently touched your cheek and brow bone.

“Well good news, it’s nothing too bad, just a little bruised,” he stated turning to pick up his belongings. “I came here to talk with Haruka about some homework before heading to practice.”

“Y/n, what happened?” Haruka asked with her arms open to give you a hug. Yui and Izumi were there as well and walked over to place a hand on your shoulder for comfort.

“I went to go open a door to get into the second years building and Jiro got to it before I did so it accidentally hit me.”

“Did he at least apologize?” Izumi asked while rubbing your back.

“Yeah but then he ran off. We were just fine and then it was like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Stupid, Semi,” Shirabu muttered.

“What’s he got to do with it, bowl-cut?” Yui asked.

Shirabu ignored her insult and turned to you. “Semi told us to stop talking to you this morning at practice so we don’t mention anything about you to him. Since Jiro acted that way I assume he also told whoever else is in his band.”

You were speechless. You knew Semi like the back of your hand, something like this seems so out of character for him. “Are you being serious?” You weren’t close with Shirabu. You really just knew him as a brat because that’s what Semi would refer to him as so it’s not like you could fully trust him. But at the same time you couldn’t picture him as a liar.

“It’s true.”

Without any reason holding you back, you dropped your bag and turned to sprint to the room you knew your former friend would be in. The girls and Shirabu startled by your actions ran after you as well.

“Y/n, wait up!” Izumi yelled after you but it was no use, you just kept going.

“Where are you going?” Haruka asked.

Shirabu being in the lead of your band members was able to pick up on the direction you were going. “The gym!” He said before breaking off with the group to take a different path.

Haruka and Izumi stopped running, confused on if they should keep following you for him. “Girls let’s go, we gotta back her up.” Yui spoke as she passed the two.

“Right!” They responded before picking up the pace again in an attempt to catch up to you.

In all honesty you had no clue what you were gonna do when you saw him. You just know you wanted to give him a piece of your mind even if it meant disrupting the volleyball team’s practice. Right now, all you could see was red. You had no clue why he would do something like that and what his issue with you was for him to do something like this to you. You’ve never felt a rage towards him until now.

“Gotcha!” Shirabu announced when he finally caught up to you right outside of the gym. He wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight.

“Get me go!” You yelled while squirming to get out of his grip.

“Y/n!” Izumi called out when they reached you.

“Shirabu, let me go!”

“No!”

“What is going on?” Ushijima asked when he opened gym doors, confused by the scene in front of him.

“Where the hell is he?” You asked.

“What are you doing here?” Semi asked as he approached the scene after hearing your voice.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You asked the former setter while the current one held your arms back.

“Don’t touch her, let her go,” Semi warned the second year before turning back to you. In Shirabu fashion, he complied but held his glare. “What do you mean what’s my fucking problem?”

“Why would you tell people to stop talking to me? I thought we could talk about our problems instead of doing stupid petty shit like this.”

“Then why the hell are you causing a scene in front of so many people instead of coming to me in private? Explain that?” Semi asked, tone getting louder with each word.

“You started it first! It’s one thing to keep our business between us but when you bring other people into it that’s just messed up!”

The more your volume increased, the more his patience was wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up and come talk about this after practice? You’re being such a bitch right now!”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I ever fell for someone like you. You’re such an asshole Semi, ya know that?”

Semi froze at your confession but couldn’t let his pride lose. “Is that why you’re dating one of my best friends now, huh? You’re the one who started this mess.”

Now you’ve had enough. Without warning, you charged at him only to be stopped by your boyfriend. “Alrighty, I’ll take this. Time to go,” Tendou spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “I’m skipping practice Wakatoshi! Tell the juniors I’ll see them tomorrow morning! Ladies, I’ll take care of her,” he spoke while walking away from the group to take you to your dorm.

Leaving the group dumbfounded all you could do was fall limp as Tendou carried you. Letting silent tears fall down your face, you looked at the ground.

“You can’t just go starting fights, ya know?” Tendou spoke softly.

“I know,” you mumbled. You sounded so broken. Semi and you were done. There’s no going back. Your friendship was completely destroyed after that fight and it didn’t help that you even let your true feelings slip. “I’m sorry I told him I liked him even though I’m with you.”

“It’s okay. I know you were heated in the moment. What he said also pissed me off a little. Can you unlock your door?” He told you as he placed you down. You turned to unlock the door and made your way to your bed as Tendou followed you. He pulled back the blanket and let you go in first before he joined you. Tendou laid on his side as you did the same, facing each other. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked while rubbing your back.

“No,” you told him, exhausted from the screaming match and the burn along your throat from it. “I hate yelling,” you told him as you buried your face into his neck.

“I know. Me too. Can I asked what happened to your face? I see you got a boo boo,” Tendou cooed, trying to make you laugh to which he succeeded.

“I got a door to the face.”

“That sounds like fun! I should get hit by one too so we match.”

The rest of the afternoon, Tendou spent it comforting you.

Semi spent it getting yelled at my Ranmaru and Subaru for being mean to you after Jiro told them about the door incident and the new school gossip.

“You goddamn idiot!” Subaru barked as he gripped Semi’s shirt collar.

“Why did you think that was a good idea?!” Ranmaru joined in on the scolding.

Semi just stood taking the heat from his band mates. He was tired and had his mind cloudy from your argument.

“Are you gonna fucking speak up or what?”

“I don’t know...” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I said I don’t know why! Now get the hell off me!” Semi yelled as he gripped Subaru’s wrist and yanked it off of him. Semi looked into his school mates eyes before looking at Jiro who was sitting on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. “It’s not my fault he hit her in the face with a door,” Semi spat, making the underclass man raise his head.

Jiro furrowed his eyebrows before opening his mouth but Ranmaru wasn’t having it. “Don’t put the blame on him when you’re the one that threatened him. Apologize to him.”

“No. Why the hell would I? It’s his fault.”

Subaru and Ranmaru were about to grab Semi again but stopped when hearing the raven haired boy speak up. “I’m not the one that didn’t have the balls to tell them how they felt! She loved you, Semi! You’re the one that was too blind to notice and then decided to go off with some other girl instead of confessing to Y/n! You told us about how you were feeling and we told you what it was! We all know you liked her, the whole school knew! Even your date which is why she broke up with you at the dance! You were just too late to realize and now you’ve lost her. You have no one to blame but yourself for not talking to her earlier. That’s what you get!”

Jiro’s outburst left the older three boys stunned. They never would’ve expected him to speak up like he just did but that’s when they collectively agreed that they need to calm down.

“I’m sorry for yelling in your home, Ranmaru,” Jiro said while bowing his head in the process.

“Lift your head up, it’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling too.”

“Me three,” Subaru added on. They all looked at their leader, waiting for him to speak up.

“I’m sorry. Jiro, you’re right. I shouldn’t have directed my anger towards you when I’m just upset with myself. I am sincerely sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jiro smiled. Semi smiled back and jumped on the couch next to him only to put his arm around him and use his other hand to mess with his hair. The guys laughed a bit with each other. Things felt the way they should.

“C’mon you guys, we’re at my parents place for practice and we have to head back to the dorms soon. Let’s play a couple songs,” Ranmaru stated.

The remainder of the week you and the girls spent it at the studio the record label provided so you could record your demo.

Semi spent it trying to find you to apologize directly. He knew your school schedule but you weren’t at any the locations you were supposed to be. He’s tried visiting your dorm, but you were never there and couldn’t come in the evening because of practice and the other things he had to finish up before graduating and everyone in the hallways would give him a glare. He even tried asking Shirabu about the practice room but he wouldn’t budge in giving out the information he knew.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up-“

“I’m sorry but the person you are trying to call is not available. At the tone, please leave a message or try calling again later.”

“No ring... that means... I’ve been blocked?”

—————

a/n: for a semi fic this whole chapter is very anti semi

taglist: @pluviophilefangirl @yourstarvic @sunaswife

#haikyu #haikyuu!!#semi eita #semi eita x reader #semi haikyuu #semi x reader #haikyu angst #haikyu x reader

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bubonickitten · 3 years

Text

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 29: discussion of Jon’s & Daisy’s restrictive diets & associated physical/mental deterioration (and potential parallels with disordered eating etc.); arguing & relationship disputes (that are not immediately resolved in-chapter); self-harm (burning oneself with a lit cigarette); cigarette smoking; discussion of suicidal ideation; panic & anxiety symptoms; discussions of grief & loss; cyclical mental health issues (post-traumatic anniversary reactions; related self-loathing, internalized victim blaming, & survivor’s guilt; generally speaking, Jon’s relapsing into self-isolating, worse-than-usual headspace, esp towards the end of the chapter); depiction of parental neglect/rejection (Martin's mother). SPOILERS through S5.

There’s also a Hunt-themed statement that contains descriptions of indiscriminate violence & unprovoked warfare against a civilian population. Oh, and a cliffhanger.

Let me know if I missed anything!

_________________

“Statements ends,” Jon says, somewhat breathless as he fumbles to stop the recording.

“You alright?” Daisy asks.

“Fine.” The word is punctuated by a click and a whirr as the recorder resumes spooling.

“Are you, though?”

“Yes.” Scowling, Jon jabs his finger at the stop button – only for it to keep recording.

“It’s the Hunt, isn’t it.” Daisy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry it’s been so prominent for the last few. I’m… not quite scraping the bottom of the barrel yet, but–”

“It’s fine, Daisy.”

“Still, I–”

“I said it’s fine–!” Jon winces at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m just – on edge, I suppose.”

Which is an understatement, really.

Because it’s September. It’s September, and after September is October, and October is–

Well. These days, he can’t even look at a calendar – can’t even look at the time and date on his phone – without icy dread coursing through his veins.

Sporadic flashbacks have become an everyday occurrence, set off by the smallest of stimuli: a dropped glass shattering on the breakroom floor becomes a window bursting inward into shards; a thunderstorm heralds a fissuring sky, marred by hundreds upon thousands of greedy, unblinking voyeurs; his own voice is a doomsday harbinger, a key crammed into a lock he can’t keep from unbolting. The memories are too immediate, too vivid to feel past-tense.

It’s to be expected. Studies, common knowledge, and anecdotal evidence all point to the impact of anniversaries on mental health. He knows what a textbook post-traumatic stress response looks like. Monster or not, in this particular sense he remains overwhelmingly human. No matter how much he rationalizes it, though, intellectually understanding a psychological phenomenon does little to soften the lived experience of it.

And it does nothing to temper the chilling knowledge – bordering on conviction – that it may happen again.

“Would be worrisome if you weren’t stressed out, considering… you know. Everything.” Daisy leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out in front of her, and rolls her shoulders. “Speaking of the Hunt. Any new developments?”

“I mean… nothing since yesterday? Everything I know, Basira knows.”

“Basira… isn’t keeping me updated,” Daisy says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ah,” Jon says, with tact to spare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Daisy sighs. “She thinks that I think she’s wasting her time.”

“And do you?”

Daisy gives a jerky shrug. “Don’t you?”

“Not… necessarily,” Jon hedges. Truthfully, his answer to that question is as mercurial as his moods these days, shifting from hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. Daisy gives him an unimpressed look. “I won’t lie and say I’m optimistic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

“You sound like Martin.”

“Well, he spent ample time drilling it into me,” Jon says with a wry smile. “I don’t have the same capacity for hope as he does, but improbable doesn’t mean impossible. If I’d had it my way, I’d have lain down and died ages ago. I’m only here now because of him.”

“Mental health check,” Daisy says automatically.

“Not thinking of hurting myself,” Jon replies, just as rote. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’ve told you, I’m physically incapable of killing myself even if I wanted to.”

“That doesn’t stop you brooding.”

“Anyway, I wasn’t referring to anything recent.”

“Weren’t you, though?” At his blank look, Daisy gives an impatient sigh. “It hasn’t even been a year since you woke up, Sims. Up until six months ago, you were wandering an apocalyptic wasteland–”

“…I found myself utterly alone. Facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action. I never did, though–”

“–I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – my mind had all but seized up, and I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed–”

“–there was nothing I could do to save him – he died – so did any hope I had of – doing good in the world–”

“–there’s a sort of numbness that you adopt after months or years of bombing–”

“–I did spend a lot of time just… slumped in despair – had no reason to think it would help, but I could see no choice but waiting for death–”

“–hoping against hope that – it wouldn’t be forever–”

“Hey!” Daisy’s voice finally breaks through the rush of static. Or perhaps it was the pressure: Jon looks down to see her bony fingers caging his own in a bruising grip.

“Sorry,” he says, catching himself as he starts to list woozily.

“Not to say ‘I told you so,’ but…” Daisy gives his hands another light squeeze. “You sort of just proved my point there.”

“I’m well aware that I’m – traumatized, or whatever–”

“Not ‘or whatever’–”

“–but I’m not a danger to myself, so could we please just move on?” Jon mumbles, averting his eyes. “You wanted a Hunt update.”

Daisy scrutinizes him for a long moment before she allows the conversational pivot to stand.

“Basira said you’ve heard back from that Head Librarian,” she says, “but she blew me off when I started prying.”

“Zhang Xiaoling,” Jon says, his shoulders relaxing. “She was able to confirm some of Jonah’s intel. They do have a statement about a book matching that description in their records, and she agreed to forward a copy once it’s been digitized. They’re further along in their digitization process than we are–”

Daisy snorts. “Probably because they’re actually working on it.”

“That, and they have the benefit of a Head Librarian who actually has a background in archival studies,” Jon says drily. “In any case, they have a large archive, so it’s a work in progress. She’s processed our inquiry, though, and she says she has someone on it. We should hear back by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Huh,” Daisy says. “Sounds…”

“Like a functioning archive?”

“I was going to say ‘streamlined,’ but sure.”

“The wonders of a hiring process that prioritizes job qualifications as opposed to a candidate’s apocalyptic potential.”

“What are the chances their institution is also led by a centuries-old corpse with a god complex?”

“Non-zero, I imagine.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, don’t say that.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have evidence one way or the other.”

“It doesn’t. Does she know about…” Daisy waves her hand vaguely. “All of this? The Fears, Rituals… Jonah?”

The question gives Jon pause. He thinks back to his meeting with Xiaoling all those years ago – well, last June, from her perspective.

“Some of it, I think,” he says slowly. “She seemed familiar with some of the Archivist’s abilities. There were parts of my visit that struck me as odd at the time. I didn’t realize until later that she had been speaking both Chinese and English at different points in our conversation.”

Daisy frowns. “She didn’t clue you in?”

“She didn’t, no. But…”

Elias made a good choice, the Librarian’s voice echoes in Jon’s mind. I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him.

It does tickle me, Jonah’s voice chimes in, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose.

“I don’t know if she’s aware of Elias’ true identity.” Jon swallows with some difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. “Or his intentions.”

“So is it really smart to trust her?”

“If she’s in communication with him, there’s nothing she can tell him that he doesn’t already know. We’re just following up on information he gave us. And he’s likely spying on our correspondence whether she’s in contact with him or not. Not much we can do about that.”

“She could have her own ulterior motives,” Daisy says.

“True enough, but… I got the sense that her primary interest is curation. Studying phenomena, building a knowledge base–”

“In service to cosmic evil,” Daisy says pointedly.

“W-well, yes, but – I don’t think she has delusions of godhood herself, and I don’t think Jonah has tempted her with the idea.” Jon huffs to himself. “He wouldn’t want to share his throne.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not saying we trust her or the Research Centre as a whole. I had reservations about their motives then and I still do. It’s not unthinkable that they’re a front for something more sinister in the same way that the Institute is. But… I don’t think there’s any especial danger in utilizing their library.”

“Sims,” Daisy sighs, “your danger meter is broken beyond repair.”

“In my defense,” Jon says, bracing one arm on the desk to leverage himself to his feet, “at this point, everything is just differing degrees of dangerous.”

As the two of them leave the tunnels, Jon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. When he glances at the screen, he sees a text notification from Naomi – in addition to two missed calls. He frowns to himself. The two of them text regularly, but she rarely calls.

“What’s up?” Daisy asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Naomi,” Jon says distractedly, already returning the call. Naomi picks up on the first ring.

“Jon?” Naomi’s voice sounds thick and tear-clogged.

A cold weight settles in Jon’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“I j-just” – Naomi pauses to clear her throat – “just needed to hear a familiar voice.”

“What happened?” Jon asks – and realizes too late that in his urgency to discover the source of her distress, he’s poured too much of himself into the question.

“Nothing.” What starts out as a self-deprecating little laugh quickly deteriorates into a half-sob. “Nothing new, anyway. It’s always like this, this time of year. Evan and I didn’t have an exact date planned, but we’d talked about an autumn wedding. Thought it would be fitting, since we met in September, you know? Tomorrow is our anniversary, actually. Or – or it would’ve been. A-and then by the time I’ve picked myself back up, the holidays will have crept up on me, and that’s always hard, and – and then before I know it, it’s March, a-and that’s its own kind of anniversary, and it’s just… it’s a lot.”

“Oh, I – Naomi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” she says with a sniff. “Don’t think I would’ve been able to get it all out, otherwise.”

“S-still, I–”

“It’ll be three years this March. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I spend six months out of the year feeling like I’m still stumbling through that cemetery, and I just…”

This time last year, Jon thinks with a lurch, I was still the monster in her nightmares.

And even now, he still pulls her there whenever they’re both asleep.

“When does that stop?” Naomi laughs again, a desperate, pleading thing. “When does the healing come in?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. “Anniversaries are… they’re hard enough on their own. It doesn’t help that… well, it’s difficult to heal from something when you’re still living it.”

“What do you mean? Evan’s dead,” Naomi says, her voice breaking on the word. “He’s not coming back. It’s… it’s over.”

“There are still the dreams. The narrative might have changed, but the stage dressing is still the same.” Jon draws his shoulders in, one arm pressed tight to his stomach. “Keeping the memory fresh.”

“It’s not so bad.” Naomi sniffles again. “Better than being alone.”

“‘Alone’ or ‘nightmares’ shouldn’t be your only options.”

“I have my own nightmares, you know,” Naomi counters, sounding slightly annoyed. “When I’m asleep and you’re not. And they’re worse, because in them, I actually am alone. Nothing supernatural about it. It’s just… me.” She sighs. “This time last year – and the year before – I didn’t have anyone. And I just… I didn’t – I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” Jon says. “Not anymore.”

“I – I know, but I…” Naomi takes a breath. “I was… I was thinking – maybe tomorrow I could come by.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says gently, “truly I am – but it’s not safe. Especially for you, especially right now. Not with Peter here.”

Naomi is already the equivalent of an unfinished meal to the Lonely. That, together with her association with Jon, is more than enough to mark her as a potential target should Peter take notice of her.

“Feels safer than being alone,” Naomi says. “The Duchess helps – a lot – but I…” She lets out a fond but tearful chuckle. “I can’t expect her to grasp the nuances of… grief, or loneliness, or what have you.”

“How about this,” Jon says. “We tell Georgie what’s going on – as much or as little as you’d like, even if it’s as simple as ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’ I doubt she’d be opposed to having you over.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I mean, I – I’ve not spent much time with her outside of just… spamming the group chat with cat photos. I like her, but she’s your friend. I’m just… a friend of a friend.”

Nestled between the words is a familiar sentiment, unarticulated and nonetheless resounding, echoing all of the earnest conviction it had when first she made such a confession: All my friends had been his friends, and once he was gone it didn’t feel right to see them. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone…

“People can have more than one friend,” Jon says. “I can’t speak for Georgie, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to talk to you if she didn’t like you.”

Indeed, that might be the reason Jon was able to open up to Georgie in the first place. He observed early on that she had no qualms disengaging from people whom she had no interest in getting to know. Whatever Jon might have felt about himself on any given day, the simple fact of the matter was that Georgie would never have let him get so close if she hadn’t seen something redeeming in him.

And she likely wouldn’t be letting him stay close now if she didn’t still see something worth salvaging.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he says. “I won’t pressure you. But I think Georgie would be more receptive to friendship than you expect. And I think – I think you’d get along with Melanie, too.” Naomi is silent on the other end of the line. “At the risk of overstepping, I… I know being alone feels like the natural state of things, but it doesn’t have to be. If you want, I can talk to Georgie. Lay the groundwork. I won’t give her any of the details – it’s not my story to tell – I’ll just let her know that you’re feeling alone and could use some companionship.”

“Okay,” Naomi whispers. “Just… let her know she’s not obligated.”

“I will. On the extremely off chance she says no, or if she’s busy tomorrow, I can keep you company remotely. We can spend the whole day holding up the office landline if you want.”

“It’s a Friday.”

“And?”

“It’s a work day?”

“Naomi, my job is wholly comprised of monologuing to any tape recorder that manifests within a six-foot radius and doing my utmost to render my department as counterproductive to both the Institute’s professed and clandestine organizational objectives as humanly or inhumanly possible.” Naomi barks out a startled laugh. “I won’t be fired no matter what I do – which is a shame, seeing as it became my foremost professional development goal somewhere between finding out my boss murdered my predecessor and virtually dying in an explosion at a haunted wax museum. Barring a sudden and unexpected apocalyptic threat – which, admittedly, is unlikely but not unthinkable– I’ve already cleared my non-existent schedule for you.”

“Okay.” Naomi makes a sound somewhere between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Thanks. Really.”

“Any time.”

_________________

The statement is an unnerving, circuitous thing: a firsthand account from an unnamed member of the Drake-Norris expedition in 1589. In many ways, it’s eerily similar to the last statement Jon accessed from Pu Songling’s archives: Second Lieutenant Charles Fleming’s shellshocked, guilt-fueled confession of atrocities committed under orders.

The historical record is rife with accounts of Francis Drake’s cruelty, Jon knows: his role in the transatlantic slave trade, the unprovoked massacres committed in his name, the preemptive strikes that incited further bloodshed. The statement giver speaks in awestruck horror of the bloodlust lurking in the man’s eyes, the vitriolic fervor with which he undertook his campaign to seek out and destroy the remnants of the Spanish fleet – and the depths of his rage when his efforts ended in defeat. Humiliated, he turned his vengeful eye to the Galician estuaries.

The writer tells plainly of his own complicity in the sacking of Vigo, razing the town to the ground and slaughtering its inhabitants with indiscriminate zeal. For four days Drake’s men carried out their rampage, retreating only when reinforcements arrived to stem the tide.

“You may ask yourself,” the Archivist reads on, “how it is that a man born into the reign of Good Queen Bess sits before you today, some four centuries past his due?

“You see, as we left the shores of Galicia that day, I heard from behind us a vicious braying, as if someone had set loose a great host of hounds. They were close – close enough for me to sense their stinking breath hot on the back of my neck. Such a thing was impossible, for we were by that time far from shore, having already rowed half the distance between the beach and the waiting armada. That did not stop me dreading the dogs lunging and tearing into me at any moment.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I let out a whimper.

“As the seconds ticked by and the pack failed to descend upon us, my curiosity grew to outweigh my terror. I turned to look – and was thus ensnared. It was, I realize now, the instant at which I became beholden to the blood. My greatest folly.

“Perhaps I oughtn’t have been so surprised to see no hounds surging toward us atop the waves, but you must understand that the proximity of their snarling was far more convincing than their visual absence. In looking behind us, though, I was able to appreciate the havoc we left in our wake: the great plumes of ash rising from the smoldering rubble, backlit by a flickering orange glow, and wails of despair so profound as to combat the noise of the wind, the waves – even the discordant shrieking of the hounds.

“It was a scene of such devastation as I had never seen before or since. Looking back, I think upon the acrid stench of charred flesh on the breeze with horror and… indescribable remorse. It shames me now to admit that at that time, I had never felt such… rapture.

“That was when a motion caught my eye. Between the distance and the billowing smoke, it should have been impossible to discern such detail, yet there he was: quarry I had left for dead, emerging from the debris and staggering away from the ruins of his… wretched life. As he looked out to behold our retreat, I could see the grief playing on his face, the fury, the fear – but what most set my blood to boiling was the spark of relief I saw in his eyes.

“It awakened something in me – a famished and merciless thing, composed of tooth and claw and a mind beginning and ending and utterly encompassed by the call of the pack. With a roaring in my ears and a single-minded violence supplanting my sensibilities, I deserted the rowboat and swam to shore. A chorus of howls carried me forward, and I let them be my wings, steering me down the swiftest, straightest path to my target.

“I slowed for nothing, and I made certain my prey did not live through the night.

“As you can likely guess, the chase did not end there. Those baying devils who had so called me forth continued to hound my steps, nipping at my heels, spurring me ever onward to the next quarry. Those who once knew me would scarcely have recognized what I became. Whenever I dared look into a mirror, I would see in myself a dogged, seething violence so akin to that which had lived in the eyes of my former commander. A cruelty that once had frightened and repulsed me had become the blood and breath of me.

“For a time I sought to refrain from the chase. The longer I refused the call, the weaker I became. The hounds’ breath on my neck grew hotter; their braying swelled louder. I found myself wasting away: always hungry, never sated. Eventually my faculties began to slip. I would lose myself to such… bestialimpulses, and only the stain of blood on my teeth would return to me my reason. It pains me to confess to you now that it did not take long before I ceased my resistance entirely.

“It was at the turn of the sixteenth century that I happened upon the artefacts now in your possession. Their previous owner was a formidable adversary. I spent nearly a fortnight tracking him before I managed to run him down, and he fought like a tempest before he fell.

“Ordinarily I did not linger after a kill, instinct hastening me ever onward to the next great game. As I turned to leave, though, I was overcome by the sense that the hunt was… unfinished. Troubled, I reached down to check the man’s pulse. I was reassured to find him quite dead, but as I drew back, I noticed the brooch.

“It was a simple thing made of tarnished copper, fashioned into an incomplete ring, the ends of which resembled the heads of dogs. The moment my fingers brushed that ornament, I knew it was meant for me. It went into my pocket with nary a conscious thought.

“The itch of the hunt was still crawling down my spine, though; the frantic snuffling of phantom hounds yet filling the air all around me. I continued to search his person until I found what was calling out to me: a thin volume bound in leather. Curiosity ever my folly, I opened it.

“Up until that point, I had never learned to read nor write Latin with any degree of mastery. Yet I could understand the text within with perfect clarity. The script did not transform to English before my eyes, nor did the book render me proficient in the language. No, I simply… beheld the pages, and the meaning flowed into me.

“The story tells of Herla, legendary king of the Britons, who visits the dwarf king’s realm. Upon leaving, he is gifted a hound and warned not to dismount his horse until the dog leaps down. When Herla and his men return to the human world, they discover that not days but centuries have passed: all those they had known have long since perished, and the Saxons have taken possession of the land. In their distress, some of the men dismount, whereupon they turn to dust. Herla warns the survivors to stay in their saddles, to wait until the dog leaps down.

“‘The dog has not yet alighted,’ the author tells us, ‘and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay.’

“The next several pages are unreadable. The language resembles none I have ever encountered, and I have yet to find a soul who can decipher it. I can however attest its hypnotic qualities. I have spent many hours mired in those words, but I could not for the life of me tell you what I saw there. Others to whom I presented the text found themselves either enthralled or agitated, though none could recall such episodes once lucidity returned to them. I expect you mean to unravel its secrets, but you may do well to let its mystery stand.

“The final passage – a single page, this written in English – tells of Herla’s escape: how, weary and driven to despair, he casts the dog from the saddle and into the River Wye. The instant the hound hits the water, Herla and his band crumble into dust, at last meeting the same fate they spent so many hundreds of years trying to outpace.

“I have had hundreds of years of my own since first reading the tale to digest its message, and that is why I come to you today. Although I have killed several times since these items came into my possession – it should come as no surprise that there are those who covet them – I have not sought out a single hunt since I vanquished the man who yielded me these trinkets. The hounds at my heel have not ceased their clamoring, but so long as the brooch is on my person, they cannot sink their teeth in me. I am always hungry, yes – but I am no longer starving.

“But I am also weary. I have come to understand that even as the hounds can never catch me, they will never leave me. In my four hundred years, I have played the role of both the hunter and the hunted, and have learned that they share the same ultimate plight. Whether I be predator or prey, I am trapped in the throes of an endless pursuit. So long as I should live, my blood shall never quiet.

“And that is the key: so long as I should live. Even now, the fervor in my blood insists that the hunt is eternal, but I know now that one cannot outrun one’s end forever. Much like my constant, howling companions, Death will always be nipping at my heels. In that sense, he is perhaps the ultimate hunter. Just as I have delivered to him so many souls, neither can I escape his judgment. If ever I am to rest, I must bow to his supremacy.

“And so, like Herla, I shall cast the dog away from the saddle. I leave it in your care now, and the book. I should be so lucky to exit this life with the dignity I denied so many others, though I fear I shall be found undeserving of such a swift end. I can only hope that, whatever my comeuppance should be, I shall have the grace to accept it without complaint.”

With a heavy exhale, Jon depresses the stop button on the recorder, then puts his head in his hands, putting pressure on his closed eyes.

“You alright?” Basira asks.

“More than I’d like,” Jon mutters.

“If I thought there was any chance this guy was still alive, I wouldn’t have given you the statement to read.”

“I know. Just…” Jon waves his hand vaguely.

“Unpleasant, yeah.”

And rejuvenating, Jon thinks bitterly. It’s only been a few days since his last statement from Daisy, and already he had begun to feel famished.

“They sent along some supplemental records,” Basira says, rifling through printouts. “The statement is cross-referenced with two objects in their Collections Storage – here.”

The document she slides across the desk contains two catalog listings:

Item No. 9820702-1

Description: Pennanular brooch, copper alloy. Geometric and interlace motifs. Confronted zoomorphic terminals (canine profile). Moderate surface oxidization and patination. Dimensions: 5.5cm x 4.5cm body; 12.5cm pin. Artefact dated ca. 500–700 CE.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports mediating effect on the Hunter’s affliction (unverified). Item implicated in subject’s alleged abnormal longevity (unverified). Further study suggests dormancy and/or lack of reactivity to unafflicted subjects (see associated Investigation Log).

Storage: Special Collections – Inorganic Storage, Container Unit No. 982-05. Acid-free board housing, etherfoam packing. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain stable temperature (16-20°C); relative humidity, 32-35%; light levels, <300 lux. Handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §3.5.3: Artefact Preservation – Metals – Copper and Copper Alloys.

Access: Upon request. Curator approval required prior to initial visit. Applicants may submit statement of intent to Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator for clearance. Terms, procedures, and degree of supervision subject to Curator’s discretion.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-2.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-1;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-1.01 through -1.03.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-2;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §3.6.4: Antiquities – Adornments and Jewelry (Inert).

Item No. 9820702-2

Description: Bound manuscript. Front and back covers unembellished leather (source undetermined) stretched over wood board (source undetermined). Leather cord binding (calf, bovine). Paper and parchment leaves. Ink corrosion and paper degradation present but minimal (fair condition inconsistent with age and media). Dimensions: 8.8cm x 14.0cm x 2.5cm. Artefact dated ca. 1190–1450 CE.

Contents: Eighteen (18) pages total, one-sided.

· Title page (1) iron gall ink on parchment (sheepskin): Gualterius Mappus – De nugis curialium – xi. De Herla rege

· Pages two (2) through four (4) iron gall ink on paper (hemp pulp, linen fiber): Medieval Latin (ca. 12th century) script.

· Pages five (5) through sixteen (16) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): alphabetic script (unknown roots); refer to Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.03 for comparative linguistic analysis (inconclusive).

· Page seventeen (17) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): Middle English (ca. 15th century) script.

· Page eighteen (18) parchment (sheepskin): blank.

Transcripts and translations (where possible) provided in Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01*.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports total comprehension of Latin portions of the text despite lack of proficiency. Text alleged to diverge from source material (De nugis curialium – Map, Walter, fl. 1200). Both claims verified upon further examination (see associated Investigation Log). Probable association with the Hunter’s affliction.

Storage: Special Collections – Secure Storage. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain temperature at 20-22°C; relative humidity, 32-36%; light levels, ≤50 lux. Housing and handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §2.5.5: Document Preservation – Premodern Inks – Iron Gall and §9.2: Special Precautions – Occult and Esoteric Texts.

Access: Restricted.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-1.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-2;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-2.01* through -2.07;

· Incident Report No. 9930214.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-1;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §2.1.1: Archival Media – Occult Books (Active);

· Interdepartmental Bulletin No. 9941002, “The Library of Jurgen Leitner: Lessons Learned.”

*Addendum, 16th February, 1993:Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01 reclassified as Restricted Access. Direct all inquiries to Pu Songling Research Library Head Librarian or Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator.

“So?” Basira prods. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, assuming the statement is a reliable account, it seems…”

“Promising, right?” Basira says, her eagerness tinted with relief. “If we can–”

She stops abruptly as the tape recorder on the table clicks back on.

“I think that’s our cue to move this conversation elsewhere,” Jon says.

Not that it will stop the tape recorders from listening in, but he has no desire to make Jonah’s surveillance any easier for him.

_________________

It takes some hemming and hawing, but Jon manages to convince Basira that this really ought to be a group discussion. As she recaps the statement and shares her own remarks, Jon keeps a close eye on the other two people in the room. Martin is listening attentively, leaning forward slightly but otherwise at ease. Daisy, though… she’s all corded muscles and jittery legs, taut and precarious on the edge of her seat.

All the while, Basira appears impervious to the storm brewing in Daisy’s eyes, even as Martin catches on and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek, darting nervous glances between the two of them. By the time Basira finishes her overview, the tension in the air is palpable, nearly electric.

For several seconds, no one speaks.

“So,” Martin says, his voice a bit pitchy. He clears his throat before continuing. “Magical, Fear-resistant brooch, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of,” Jon says. “Remember what I told you about Mikaele Salesa?”

“The apocalypse-proof bubble? Yeah.”

“That camera of his didn’t just protect him from the Eye, it hid him from the Powers in general.”

“What was the catch?” Daisy asks pointedly. “Got to be a catch.”

“Does there?” Martin asks. His hesitant smile falls at Daisy’s blank stare, and he tilts his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s… not entirely benign, no,” Jon says. “In Salesa’s statement, he called it a ‘battery’–”

“–charging itself on all the quiet worries that come from living in hiding, and then when the sanctuary collapses, all that fear flows out at once. No doubt, if my oasis breaks before I die, the Eye will get quite the feast from me, but in this new world–”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Martin says, resting a hand on Jon’s arm.

Jon bites his tongue, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath in, only daring to speak once the tingling on his lips subsides. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Martin offers him a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t want you getting bogged down.”

“That’s one term for it,” Jon says, not quite under his breath. It’s true enough, though. Sometimes it feels like the Archive is pressed up against the door, watching for the tiniest crack, waiting for any opportunity to surge through and drag him under. Lately, Martin has grown uncannily adept at sensing when to interrupt these lapses before they spiral out of control – likely because they’ve been growing more frequent.

“That’s what I thought,” Daisy says. Puzzled at the apparent non-sequitur, Jon glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him. All of her attention is focused on Basira. “This thing is probably the same. It’s not some… some harmless miracle solution. If we mess around with it, it’s bound to blow up in our faces sooner or later.”

“I’m… not sure about that, actually,” Jon says. “The brooch didn’t free the Hunter, it just made it so he couldn’t be caught. I think that’s what it was feeding on – the Hunter’s gradual awareness that he was no different from the hunted, that sensation of being perpetually stalked from the shadows by a greater predator. It spent centuries charging itself on that fear, and it culminated in the realization that he would never escape it. He would always be waiting for the axe to fall, and Hunt was happy to keep him as perpetual prey. If he wanted the chase to end, he had to give up the artefact – and once it was no longer keeping him in stasis, he had a choice to make.”

“Go back to hunting, or let it catch him.” Daisy breathes a humorless laugh. “The Hunt, or the End.”

“But it would keep you alive,” Basira says. “It would buy us time to find a way to free you for real.”

“What about the Leitner?” Martin asks. “That’s what Jonah sent us after in the first place.”

“Turns out it’s not actually from Leitner’s library,” Jon says. “No bookplate, and it seems the statement giver had it in his possession since the 1500s. It’s… difficult to tell from the statement whether it had any significant effect on him. He called it ‘hypnotic,’ but he was already a Hunter by the time he found it. I imagine it might have different effects on someone not already under the Hunt’s influence.”

“He sort of alluded to that.” Basira takes a moment to peruse the statement, running her finger along the page until she finds the relevant line. “Here – they ‘found themselves either enthralled or agitated.’ A bit obscure, but… he says it like it’s an afterthought. If it outright turned anyone into a Hunter, he probably would’ve said so.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous,” Daisy says.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Basira replies coolly. “The record references a transcript, so I assume they had someone read it at some point. And it also mentions an incident report.”

“What was the incident?” Martin asks.

“Don’t know,” Basira says. “They didn’t provide any of the supplemental documentation, just the catalogue listing and the statement itself. But they acquired the book in ‘82 and didn’t make the transcript restricted until ‘93, so… either it was dormant when they first studied it and became active later, or they didn’t study it closely enough to activate its effects, or it doesn’t affect everyone the same way, or – or maybe their workplace safety guidelines just changed and they decided not to risk studying it anymore.”

“Jonah did say something about its effects varying depending on how much of it a person reads, right?” Martin asks. “Though who knows where he got that from.”

“There might be some truth to that,” Basira says. “The catalogue entry does describe what’s on the title page, so I’m assuming that part at least is safe. I’m most curious about the untranslated chunk in the middle.”

And I’m a universal translator, Jon thinks, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Basira’s eyes flick to him, as if reading his mind.

“I… suppose I could–”

“No,” Martin and Daisy say simultaneously.

Jon scowls. “You didn’t even let me finish the–”

“You threw yourself into the Buried – twice – to save me,” Daisy says severely. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself at every opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t be–”

“What, re-traumatizing yourself by reading a Leitner?” Jon shuts his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together. “It’s not worth it, Sims.”

“Daisy,” Basira begins, but Daisy cuts her off.

“No. I’m not having him throw himself to the wolves just because you’re curious.”

Basira flinches, hurt momentarily crossing her face before her expression goes stony.

“You really think that’s what this is about?” she says, her voice shaking. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake? Me being curious?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not,” Daisy says, and then her expression softens. “And I love that about you, I do – you’re brilliant, Basira – and driven, and passionate, and…” She sighs. “But sometimes… sometimes you need to let things go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon notices Martin cross and uncross his legs, his lower lip captured between his teeth. When Jon catches his eye, Martin jerks his chin minutely at Basira and Daisy, a grimace on his face. All Jon can offer is a helpless, equally awkward shrug. Near as he can tell, Basira and Daisy seem to have momentarily forgotten that they have an audience, and judging from their locked eyes and thunderous expressions, he doubts either of them would appreciate a reminder right this second.

“Let you go, you mean,” Basira says tersely. “When you say ‘it’s not worth it,’ what you really mean is that you’re not worth it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

The cavalier tone is the last straw, it seems.

“Why won’t you just let me help you?” Basira slams her hand down on the rickety table, straining its wobbly legs. “You’re just so ready to–” She lets out a frustrated groan. “You never used to give up this easily.”

“Maybe should’ve done,” Daisy says flatly. “Might’ve lowered my body count.”

“Giving up Hunting doesn’t have to mean giving up on living,” Basira says. “I might have finally found an alternative, and you won’t even consider–”

“I’m not doing anything that’s going to hurt someone, and that includes exposing Jon to a fucking Leitner.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters testily, the friction finally getting the better of his nerves. “Don’t I get a say?”

“No, you don’t,” Daisy says, rounding on him. Now that all of her brimming agitation is funneled in his direction, he regrets saying anything at all. “Because lately, whenever I ask you if you want to hurt yourself, the best you can give me is ‘it doesn’t matter because I can’t die anyway.’”

“Jon?” Martin says urgently, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Th-that’s not what I–”

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Daisy speaks over Jon’s stammering. “You’re thinking like a condemned man with a rope around his neck and something to prove, and I’m not going to be the noose you use to hang yourself with.”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Basira says heatedly. “You get on my case about double standards–”

“That’s enough!” Martin bursts out. “This isn’t helping. Daisy’s right, Jon. You’re not going anywhere near that book – I don’t want to hear it,” he adds before Jon can retort. “Not now, anyway. We’ll talk later. But Basira’s right, too,” Martin says, turning his attention to Daisy. “You can’t make amends by dying, and you can’t do better going forward if you’re not alive to try.”

“Who says I deserve a chance?” Daisy says.

“Whatever you think you ‘deserve’” – Martin gives Jon a meaningful glance as he says it – “you’ve got a chance, and people who want to help you through it, and you ought to consider that before you assume you’d do more good dead than alive.” He exhales a sharp breath. “Anyway, forget the Leitner, and forget what Jonah said about it. The brooch seems like the more promising option here.”

“I agree,” Jon says, cowed. “Between the book and the brooch, the statement giver credited the latter with keeping the Hunt at bay. And perhaps my bias is showing, but truthfully I – I’m not inclined to see those books as anything but tragedies waiting to happen.”

“What’s the difference?” Daisy says flatly. “It took a decade for something bad enough to happen for them to make the Leitner’s transcript restricted. The brooch could be just as much of a time bomb. Just because it doesn’t have any ‘incidents’ connected with it now doesn’t mean it never will.”

She isn’t wrong. Looking back, Jon had found it infuriating that Leitner would continue meddling with the books even after he witnessed the horror they wrought, all while claiming to have learned from his hubris. Just because this particular artefact isn’t a book doesn’t make it any less ominous.

And yet…

“I think it’s already shown its more sinister side,” Jon says slowly.

“You think,” Daisy scoffs.

“It doesn’t give a Hunter strength, it makes them perpetual prey. It… won’t be pleasant for you, I’m sure,” Jon admits, “but Basira’s right – it could keep you alive while we search for a better solution.”

“There might not be a better solution,” Daisy says stubbornly.

“Which is what I said before you browbeat me into taking statements from you,” Jon counters.

“I didn’t browbeat–” Jon raises his eyebrows. Daisy gives a flustered groan. “It’s just – it’s different, okay?”

Much as Jon wants to disagree, he knows better than to argue. They’d only end up talking in circles.

“I think it’s an avenue worth pursuing,” he says. “Given the alternatives.”

“Please, Daisy,” Basira says. “Just… consider it, at least.”

The for me remains unspoken, but Jon can hear it loud and clear. As can Daisy, it seems – the defiant set to her jaw falters for a moment before she tenses again.

“Fine,” she says grudgingly. “But if it starts to go south–”

“If it manifests any new properties, we’ll prioritize containing it over interacting with it,” Jon says.

“You promise?” Daisy asks, but she looks at Basira when she says it. It takes a moment, but Basira does nod.

“Do you think Pu Songling will let us have it?” Martin asks. “Seems like their protocols are…”

“Rigorous?” Jon supplies.

“You’d almost think they were running an academic institution or something,” Basira says drily.

“Yeah, but treating the artefacts like museum pieces, it’s… it’s weird, isn’t it?” Martin says. “It’s not as if they’re fragile, right? They’re held together by… nightmare alchemy, or whatever.”

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” Jon says. “I know the Librarian has a degree in information science. And I recall her telling me that the Curator is an historian with a background in museology. But you’re right – it would be nice if Leitners were as delicate as the average old manuscript.”

“At least they’re flammable,” Daisy mutters.

“We spoke with the Head Curator,” Basira says. “She’s willing to work out a trade.”

“A trade?” Martin asks.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Jon says. “An artefact for an artefact. I get the impression that the Librarian and the Curator are both very… collections-oriented. True to their titles, I suppose.”

“Hold up,” Daisy says. “‘The Librarian,’ ‘the Curator’ – are those just job titles, or are they, like… Beholding Avatar titles?” Jon blinks at her, perplexed. “I mean – the way you keep saying them, it’s sort of like…”

“What, ‘Archivist’?” Jon gnaws on his thumbnail as he pauses to consider. “I… don’t know, actually. I wasn’t really doing it consciously? It just…” He shrugs helplessly. “It felt right.”

“Is it coming from the Eye, then?”

“I have no idea, Basira.” Jon leans forward, props his elbows on his knees, and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hm.”

“In any case…” Jon exhales slowly, forcing himself to sit up straight again. “They seem to take the research and curation aspects of their roles to heart. They aren’t reckless with their pursuits, they take ample precautions, but the scholars at Pu Songling do study the items that come into their possession. And from what I understand, the Curator takes avid interest in adding to their collection. Same as the Archivist’s role is to record stories. To what extent her efforts are driven by her connection to the Eye versus her own innate curiosity, I couldn’t tell you, no more than I can make that distinction in myself.”

“Sort of a chicken-or-egg situation, then,” Daisy says.

“From an evolutionary perspective, the egg came first,” Jon says automatically. “Amniotic eggs have been around for over three hundred million years. Birds originated in the Jurassic, true galliforms didn’t evolve until at least the Late Cretaceous, phasianids don’t appear in the fossil record until about thirty million years ago, and chickens as we know them were only domesticated about eight thousand years ago–”

“Oh my god,” Daisy groans, putting her head in her hands.

“What?” Jon says, heat rising in his cheeks as Martin muffles a snicker beneath his hand. “I’m not wrong.”

“Pu Songling’s Collections Department is larger than our Artefact Storage,” Basira interjects, “but the, uh… Curator has a shortlist of artefacts she’s been on the lookout for. I checked our records and found a match. A ring – probably belongs to the Vast, based on the reports surrounding it. Looks like the Institute purchased it from Salesa in 2014, shortly before his disappearance. The Curator considers it an ‘equitable exchange,’ but she still wants to assess the ring in person before making the trade.”

“And we still have to talk to Sonja,” Jon adds. “On the one hand, she likely wouldn’t object to being rid of an artefact, but on the other hand… I imagine she won’t be keen on letting it out into the world.”

“I think it would be a harder sell if you were just going to swap it out for another artefact – something unfamiliar that they’d have to develop all new protocols for,” Martin says. “But yeah, even if you won’t be making the brooch her problem, she’ll probably still want to know what we want with it. And I can see her pressing the Curator on why she wants the ring when she gets here.”

“The Curator won’t be coming here,” Basira says evenly, casting a surreptitious glance at Daisy to gauge her reaction. “Says she’s too busy to travel.”

“So you have to haul the ring up to her,” Daisy says.

“I mean” – Basira breathes an uneasy laugh – “it’s a ring. Not much hauling involved–”

“Oh, don’t start–”

“–and there are precautions I can take. Looks like Artefact Storage has relatively thorough documentation for this one.”

“‘Relatively’?” Daisy repeats, unimpressed. “You were just complaining about how sparse their records are. ‘Relatively’ isn’t saying much.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Basira rubs at her face. “I have to do this. Just… trust me.”

“You know I do–”

“Then let me have your back,” Basira says, practically pleading. “Let me help you.”

“Fine,” Daisy mutters, her posture going slack. “Do what you want.”

It’s not exactly a resounding endorsement, but it’s as good as they’re likely to get.

_________________

Despite Daisy’s lack of enthusiasm, Basira immediately throws herself into making arrangements. The Curator at Pu Songling is more than accommodating, seemingly as eager as Basira to make the trade. The real challenge is the Head of Artefact Storage.

It takes over a week of cajoling, lengthy justifications, and a concerted, collaborative effort from Basira, Jon, and Martin before Sonja finally, albeit reluctantly, agrees to discuss the matter with the Curator. Over the following days, Basira and Jon facilitate negotiations between the two: mediating a fair amount of (professional, but nevertheless pointed) verbal sparring early on, and later arbitrating the terms and conditions of the trade.

“You’d think that in the course of dealing with literal supernatural evil on a daily basis,” Basira gripes at one point, “bureaucracy wouldn’t be the biggest priority.”

“I’ve found that the bureaucratic process gives me ample time to make assessments,” Sonja says, unruffled. “Red tape has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Sometimes that’s a procrastinating student who woke up this morning, realized their deadline is next week, and ‘needs access to our materials, like, yesterday,’” she says, complete with finger quotes and a mocking tone. “And sometimes it’s some shady rich snob who’s been consistently cagey about his motives, and eventually he starts to go from impatient and entitled to desperate and frustrated, and that’s when the red flags start popping up crimson. After a while, you learn to distinguish the mundane sort of desperation from the more sinister sort.”

“Huh,” Jon says, smiling to himself. He knew Sonja was clever, but he never knew she was so calculating. It seems Jonah made the same mistake with Sonja as he did with Gertrude – overestimating a person’s curiosity and malleability, underestimating their prudence and pragmatism, and then promoting them to a position where they were free to act in a decidedly un-Beholding-like manner.

Once Sonja is sufficiently assured that the Curator has no intentions of utilizing the artefact or allowing it to venture beyond the secure confines of Pu Songling’s Collections Storage, the process starts to go a bit more smoothly. As expected, Sonja is amenable to the prospect of having one less piece of malignant costume jewelry, as she puts it, provided the Archival staff take full responsibility – both for the ring once Basira signs it out and for the artefact they receive in exchange.

“The ring has a compulsion effect,” Sonja tells them. “Makes people want to put it on – and once it’s on your finger, it’s not coming off until you hit the ground. Luckily it’s not a particularly active artefact, at least not compared to some of the other things we have here. I wouldn’t call it safe, obviously, but” – she raps her knuckles on the wooden beads of the bracelet on her opposite wrist – “it’s never breached containment.”

The how and why become abundantly clear upon seeing the closed ring box, so caked in earth and grime that it’s impossible to make out the color or material underneath.

“Buried, I take it,” Basira murmurs, giving Jon a sidelong glance.

“Yeah.” Jon grimaces at the phantom taste of soil on his tongue. “An artefact to contain an artefact.”

“Looks like the Curator is getting a twofer,” Basira says.

“Fine by me,” Sonja says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s the box it came in, actually. Don’t know why it works, but it does, and that’s all I care about. So long as you keep it closed, the worst you’ll get is vertigo. As far as we’ve observed, anyway. There’s always a chance that an artefact has more secrets than it lets on at first glance. Assuming you know everything there is to know is a good way to end up in a casket.”

“We’re well aware,” Jon says. “Believe me.”

“Seriously, though – if this goes tits up, I don’t want to hear it,” Sonja says sternly, all but wagging a finger. “And if you call up here a few months from now to tell me that you’ve got a rogue artefact wreaking havoc in the Archives, and I’ve got to put my people at risk to contain it, I will unleash unholy hell.”

The funny thing is, Jon believes her.

_________________

Despite the progress they’re making on obtaining the Hunter’s brooch, dissent continues to simmer within the group – particularly where Daisy is concerned. As the escalating tension in the Archives becomes ever more tangible, Martin begins to feel claustrophobic under the weight of all the things left unspoken.

Daisy is consistently ill-tempered: bellicose in one moment and taciturn in the next, frequently seeking out solitude whenever her agitation gets the best of her. Martin suspects that her volatile mood has as much to do with her deteriorating condition as it does to do with her lingering aversion to the rest of the group’s efforts. Although she and Basira haven’t had another row – so far as Martin is aware, anyway – there’s been an undeniable friction between them. On the worst days, Basira keeps to herself, burying her head in her research while Daisy slinks off to some dark corner of the Archives to brood until Jon comes to drag her away from her thoughts.

Not that Jon is much better. He’s been sullen lately, growing more withdrawn, sleeping less and jumping at shadows even more than usual. Martin often catches him in a trance, staring vacantly into space and droning horrors under his breath. More and more he lapses into statement clips mid-sentence, regardless of how recently he’s had a statement. Sometimes, all it takes is a momentary slip for Jon to lose his footing and devolve into a frenzied litany of back-to-back, fragmentary horror stories. On a few recent occasions he’s lost his voice entirely, though luckily it’s only been for an hour or two at a time.

(So far, Jon says morosely after each episode.)

Most unsettling, though, is the chronic faraway look in his eye, like he’s seeing something else. Like he’s somewhere else, lost across an unbridgeable divide.

Martin is well-acquainted with the sensation of feeling alone in the presence of others. That doesn’t make it any less distressing. It’s not that Jon intends to be distant. He might not even be aware of it; would likely be mortified if he knew just how much that detachment stirred Martin’s longstanding fears of isolation and abandonment. Jon’s still affectionate, after all. Although he seems reluctant to actively seek out comfort these days, he’s still prompt to take an outstretched hand, to lean into a kind touch, to accept a proffered embrace. Still makes a concerted effort to muster, however feebly, a soft smile whenever Martin enters a room. Still attempts to be present and attentive and open.

But sometimes it feels like Jon is out of reach, separated from the rest of the world, watching it pass him by through layers of frosted glass. Martin knows the feeling. What he doesn’t know is how to fix it.

Before long, Basira is set to leave for Beijing, an artefact of the Vast nestled away in her luggage amidst assurances to Sonja that, yes, under no circumstances will Basira attempt to take it on a plane or into the open ocean because, no, Basira does not have a death wish, thank you very much.

Martin half-expects another quarrel to break out on the eve of Basira’s departure, but Daisy is oddly subdued. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to part ways with angry words and unresolved arguments, or perhaps she’s simply come to accept the rest of the group’s decision to move forward with the plan. Considering the dark circles under her eyes, though, it’s just as likely that she’s simply too fatigued to start a fight.

A few days later, Martin descends the ladder into the tunnels to find Jon standing at his makeshift desk, staring down at the map unfurled across its surface – the product of the group’s ongoing efforts to survey the sprawling tunnel system of the former Millbank Prison. The blueprint-in-progress is an equally sprawling thing: sheets of mismatched paper layered one atop the next and taped together, its irregular borders comprised of haphazard angles and dog-eared edges.

The hand-drawn map on its surface is chaotic, reflecting the penmanship of four different authors. Jon’s contributions might be the messiest – the burn scar contracture on his dominant hand renders his lines shaky at best, and his handwriting has always been a tad chickenscratch. Daisy’s isn’t much better. Conversely, Basira’s additions are the neatest, her strokes as steady as the persona she tries to project to the world. Martin’s are passable, if only because, unlike Jon or Daisy, he actually has the patience to use rulers and book edges to trace straight paths.

To be fair, it would probably look a mess no matter how painstaking they were in constructing it. The tunnels are as labyrinthine as expected: a vast network of arterial corridors with offshoots along their lengths, branching into three- or four-way forks, most of which lead to dead ends. Occasionally, they find a path that loops back around and connects other parts of the maze, creating a series of meandering, convoluted closed circuits. It’s difficult to tell just by looking, but they are (Martin hopes) making progress. At the rate they’re going, they have to be on track to find the Panopticon before the winter solstice.

In any case, as Martin approaches the desk, he sees that familiar vacant look on Jon’s face, as if he isn’t actually seeing what’s in front of him. The effect is underscored by the cigarette burning away in his hand, hanging limp and forgotten at his side. Martin clears his throat lightly, in deference to Jon’s hair-trigger startle reflex. He doesn’t count the fact that Jon doesn’t jump at all as a success. If anything, it’s cause for concern.

“Jon?” Martin tries. There’s a slight delay before Jon glances over, giving Martin no acknowledgment aside from a sluggish blink before lowering his head again.

“I, uh…” Martin offers a weak smile, attempting to keep his tone light. He gestures at the cigarette. “I thought you quit?”

Jon shrugs, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes. “Not like it’ll kill me.”

“Might catch up with you later, though,” Martin says, scratching at his neck. “You know, once we find a way out of here.”

“There is no ‘out’ for me,” Jon says mulishly.

“You don’t know that. Or Know it.” Jon’s only reaction is to press his lips tightly together, like he’s biting back a retort. “Look, I’m not trying to nag you, I just wor– Jon!” Martin yelps as he watches Jon put his cigarette out on the back of his hand.

Martin lunges forward, grabbing Jon’s hand and yanking it close to inspect the damage. It’s the same hand that Jude shook, already textured and pitted with webs of hypertrophic scarring. Somehow, Jon managed to plant this newest burn on a patch of previously-undamaged skin, sandwiched between two bands of knotted tissue.

The contours of her fingers, Martin recognizes with a queasy lurch – followed by another when he thinks to wonder whether Jon sought out that scrap of healthy skin on purpose just now.

Jon barely reacts, staring into space with wide eyes and dilated pupils. Martin looks down again to see the circular singe mark already knitting itself back together, leaving only a small, shiny patch of discoloration ringed with a dusting of ash. In all likelihood, even that will be gone by morning.

If only all wounds would heal so easily.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Martin hisses, fighting to keep his voice even. He brushes a soothing thumb over the spot, as if to apologize to the abused skin on Jon’s behalf.

Jogged out of his reverie by Martin’s sharp tone, Jon stares daggers at him, his mouth open as if to unleash a scathing reprimand, the set of his jaw so reminiscent of those early days in the Archives. An instant later, though, he withers, cringing away and fixing his eyes on the floor.

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, at least having the decency to sound contrite. “Wasn’t really paying attention.”

It’s not the first time Martin’s witnessed a self-inflicted injury. When pressed, Jon always claims that it’s not a deliberate, planned form of self-punishment, but rather a reflex reaction that kicks in when he starts feeling adrift in time. Somewhere along the line, it seems, he convinced himself that physical pain is as good a shortcut as any – a sort of panic button to bring him back to the present when he needs grounding.

Whatever his intentions, though, and no matter what rationalizations Jon wants to dole out, it’s not a healthy coping mechanism. And it’s difficult for Martin to believe that self-punishment doesn’t factor at all, considering Jon’s obsessive guilt spirals and his blasé attitude towards being hurt.

“‘S already healed,” Jon says with a spiritless shrug. He drops the snuffed-out remainder of his cigarette on the floor and unnecessarily grinds it under his heel.

“That’s not the point.” Martin doesn’t realize how tightly he’s grasping Jon’s hand until Jon winces. Although Martin relaxes his grip somewhat, he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter how quickly your body heals, or that you’ve had worse, or whatever other justifications you want to make. You’re still getting hurt. That’s not okay, and – and if it were me in your shoes, you’d be telling me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s hair falls to cover his face as he ducks his head.

It’s fine, Martin almost says – except it’s not, is it?

“Come on,” he says instead, guiding Jon to sit in the nearest chair before taking a seat next to him. Where before Jon was all stiff limbs and rigid spine, now he looks like he’s given up the ghost, drooping like a wilting flower.

Though he allows Martin to keep hold of his hand, Jon doesn’t return the pressure. And Jon’s skin is freezing – no doubt partly due to the damp chill of the tunnels, and partly because he has, by his own admission, always had shit circulation. Combined with his limp fingers and loose grip, though, the overall effect is far too reminiscent of those months spent keeping vigil over Jon’s hospital bed, his hand nothing but cold, dead weight in Martin’s.

It took too long for Martin to admit that he had been foolish to hope that Jon was still in there somewhere, aware of Martin’s presence, fighting to regain consciousness. The whole time, Martin was just keeping his own company. Jon wasn’t just unreachable – he wasn’t there at all.

(Martin had been wrong about that in the end. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever forgive himself for not being there when Jon woke up.)

Martin bites his lip as he formulates a response. He’s learned over the years that when Jon is like this, it’s best to strike a careful balance between docility and defiance. Push too hard too fast, and Jon will dig his heels in; approach him too tentatively, and he’s liable to interpret concern as pity; force him to talk about his feelings, and he’ll bolt; smother him with tenderness, and he’ll balk.

Granted, Jon has become much more receptive to tenderness over the years. Most of the time, anyway. When his skewed self-worth and convictions about what he does and doesn’t deserve don’t get in the way.

“At the risk of being a nag–”

“You’re not a nag,” Jon says softly.

“When’s the last time you had a statement?”

“A few days ago.” The response is too quick, too automatic.

“A few days ago,” Martin repeats, allowing a bit of disbelief to seep into his voice.

Jon nods stiffly. “Monday, I think.”

“Today is Tuesday.”

“I–” Jon cuts off his own retort, turning to blink owlishly at Martin. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, his heart sinking. Jon must be losing time again. “So you had a statement yesterday?”

“No, I – I don’t…” Jon squints up at the ceiling, wracking his brain. “I don’t think so? It’s – I think I would recall if it had been shorter than one day.”

“So, last Monday?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Jon says, growing testy. “I suppose. Must’ve been.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” The admission is devoid of all the simmering agitation that had been there only moments before. Now, he just sounds tired.

“Well… I think you might be due for one.” Although Martin had been striving for gentle suggestion, there’s a harsh edge to the words. Rather than get Jon’s hackles up again, though, he seems to crumple under what he doubtless reads as an accusation.

“You’re right,” he says hoarsely. “And I’m sorry. I know lately I’ve been…”

“Tetchy,” Martin offers, just as Jon says, “a bit of a prick.”

“Your words, not mine,” Martin says with a tentative grin. Jon returns his own feeble half-smile, but it quickly falters.

“I’ve almost exhausted Daisy’s catalogue,” he confesses. “Only a handful left now. I’ve got to make them last until the solstice.”

An apprehensive chill runs down Martin’s spine at that. “And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

There’s virtually no chance that Jon, prone to rumination as he is, hasn’t been dwelling on it.

“Basira said she has a few statements, right?” Martin asks. “Which… if you already have a statement about an encounter, can you still get nourishment from other statements about it, so long as it’s coming from someone else’s point of view?”

“Probably.” Jon shrugs one shoulder. “The factual details of the encounter are less important than the subject’s emotional response. Different perspective, different story, different lived experience of fear.”

“Then… you have my statement about the Flesh attack, but there’s still Basira’s. And – and maybe Melanie–”

“I’m not taking another statement from Melanie,” Jon says tersely. “She’s been tethered to me for too long without say, and I’m not dragging her back in.”

“But if it’s consensual–”

“It won’t be, because I don’t consent.”

“If the alternative is literally starving–”

“I’ll find another alternative. Or I won’t. But I’m not asking Melanie for a statement.” Jon keeps his head bowed, but he looks up at Martin through his lashes. “The first time she quit, I was worried that she might show up in my nightmares again, but she didn’t. I don’t know if her severance from the Eye will keepher out of my nightmares if she gives me a new statement, and… I can’t risk it. I can’t do that to her. Even if the nightmares weren’t an issue… I’m not going to ask her to relive yet another traumatic experience for my benefit–”

“–I shall choose to die rather than take part in such an unholy meal–”

Jon claps a hand over his mouth, a panicked look in his eye.

“…nor shall I take my own life, whatever extremity my suffering may reach,” he tacks on, too much of an afterthought for comfort.

“Which means we need to plan for the future,” Martin says, forcing calm into his voice despite the way his heart picks up its pace.

“But it can’t involve Melanie,” Jon says – gentler than before, but still firm.

“No, you’re – you’re right,” Martin relents. “It wouldn’t be fair to her. But we could still ask Basira.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise, his expression rapidly going pinched and closed off again.

“Lately,” Martin says, licking his lips nervously, “lately it feels like you’ve been shutting everyone out again. It isn’t healthy–”

“Healthy?” Jon’s glare could burn a hole in the floor. “I don’t need to be healthy, I just need to be whatever it wants.”

Once, Martin might have been daunted by Jon’s scathing tone. By now, he knows that Jon is all bluster – and that the brunt of it is turned inward, against his own self.

“Please, Jon. Tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

Those, apparently, are the magic words, because Jon finally capitulates.

“It’s October,” he tells the floor.

“It… is October, yeah.” Bewildered, Martin waits for elaboration. When a minute passes with no response forthcoming, he prompts, “Is that… bad…?”

“Historically, yes, it has been,” Jon says with a tired, frayed-sounding chuckle.

“I… Jon, I need you to help me out here,” Martin says helplessly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“October is when it happens, Martin.” Jon glances at Martin once, quickly, before returning his gaze to the ground. He’s twisting one hand around the opposite wrist now, fingers curled tightly enough to blanch his knuckles. “The eighteenth. When everything goes wrong.”

“You mean…”

Jon’s sharp inhale becomes a choked exhale, which in turn abruptly cuts off as the Archive takes its cue.

“…what settled over me wasn’t dread; there wasn’t enough uncertainty for that. It was doom. I was certain that some sort of disaster was on the horizon–”

“–something bad. Something unspeakable. And I would have helped make it happen–”

“–the fear never really went away. I’ve heard that being exposed to the source of your terror over and over again can help break its power over you, numb you to it, but in my experience it just teaches you to hide from it. Sometimes that might mean hiding in a quiet corner of your mind, but–”

“–soon enough, I could no longer fool myself–”

“–the calm I had been getting accustomed to had been torn away completely, and where it had been was just this horrible, ice-cold terror–”

“–that – we can’t escape the ruins of our own future–”

“–a future where – humanity was violently and utterly supplanted, and wiped out by a new category of being–”

“–there are terrible things coming – things that, if we knew them, would leave us weak and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us–”

“–I think in my heart, I have been waiting for this moment. For the final axe to fall–”

“–we create the world in a lot of ways. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that, when we’re not being careful, we can change it–”

There’s a breathless pause before Jon continues, in a nearly inaudible whisper: “What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible?”

“It is,” Martin says firmly, “and we’re on it. What happened last time won’t happen again. We won’t let it.”

Jon doesn’t acknowledge the reassurance.

“I should’ve known,” he says with a quiet ferocity, in his own voice this time. “It was too peaceful. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to last. And – and on some level I did know – I knew it wasn’t over – but I just… I didn’t want to be the one to shatter the illusion, I suppose.” His expression goes taut. “Didn’t much matter what I wanted, in the end. But I still should’ve seen it coming. Can’t let my guard down again.”

“How could you have known?” Martin doesn’t intend for it to come out as exasperated. He tries to reel it back, to gentle his tone. “You’ve said yourself that you can’t predict the future–”

“No, but I knew Jonah had plans for me. And I knew nothing good could come of feeding the Eye, but I kept on anyway.”

“It’s not like you were doing it for fun, Jon! You needed it to survive, and Jonah took advantage of that. Or…” No – that makes it sound purely opportunistic, doesn’t it? In reality, it was all part of Jonah’s long game from the start. “He made you dependent on statements specifically becausehe wanted to take advantage of that.”

“I made choices,” Jon says tonelessly. “I can’t absolve myself of responsibility just because Jonah was nudging me in a particular direction.”

“You were manipulated,” Martin insists, “and I’m not having you apologize for surviving it. For not starving to death.”

“You don’t understand,” Jon says, growing more distressed, reaching up with both hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. “When that box of statements finally arrived, I… I couldn’t shoo you away fast enough. I was hungry, yes, but I wasn’t starving yet. I could’ve waited longer, but I just… I wanted one–”

“–should have fought harder against the temptation – but my curiosity was too strong–”

“You shouldn’t have to wait until you’re literally on death’s doorstep before you fulfill a basic need,” Martin interrupts.

“I should when that ‘basic need’ entails serving the Beholding,” Jon says heatedly. “And I – I should’ve known better – should’ve known not to jump headlong into the first statement that caught my eye. I’d known for a while that the Beholding leads me away from statements it doesn’t want me to know. It logically follows that it would lead me towards statements that would strengthen it. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve been suspicious of anything in that box that called out to me. It didn’t… it didn’t feel any different, but I – I suppose that somewhere along the line I just got used to… to wandering down whatever path I was led. I didn’t think, I never stop to think–”

“If anything, Jon, you overthink. You’re overthinking right now.”

Martin has known for a long time now that Jon will latch onto the smallest details, allow his thoughts to branch into an impossible number of routes and tangents, tie together loose threads in countless permutations in the interest of considering all possible conclusions, no matter how outlandish. He will apply Occam's razor in one moment before tossing it into the bin, only to fish it out again: lather, rinse, repeat. His mind is a noisy, cluttered conspiracy corkboard, and he’ll hang himself with red string if given half a chance, just to feel like he’s in control of something.

“It’s easy to look back and criticize your past self,” Martin says, “but he didn’t know what you do. If we knew the outcome to every action, maybe we wouldn’t make mistakes, but we’re only human–”

“Not all of us.”

“–so we just have to do the best with what we have in the moment,” Martin continues, paying no heed to Jon’s grumbled comment. No good will come of guiding him down that rabbit trail right now. Anyway, Martin has a more pressing concern–

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this sooner?” he blurts out, immediately wincing at his lack of tact. “That came out wrong–”

“Why didn’t I tell you how quick I was to chase you out of the house and sink my teeth into a statement the moment temptation presented itself?” Jon scoffs. “Because I’m ashamed. Why else?”

“No, not–” Martin scrubs a hand over his face. It’s a struggle, sometimes, not to grab Jon by the shoulders and shake him until all of that stubborn self-loathing falls away. “About the fact that you’ve got a – a post-traumatic anniversary event coming up, I mean. You haven’t been well, and I thought I understood why – thought it was just… all of it, in general. But here I come to find you’ve been agonizing over the upcoming date of the single worse day of your life–”

“One of the worst,” Jon says quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t lose you until much later.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat at that, a sharp pang shooting through his chest.

“Well… you’ve got me now,” he says meekly. “So – so you don’t have to suffer in silence, is what I’m saying. What happened to you – no, what was done to you – it was horrible, and it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“Either I’ve always been caught up in someone else’s web, passively having things happen to me with no control over my life–”

“–the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear – so acute that I could later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis–”

Jon bites down on one knuckle, eyes shut tight as he waits for the compulsion to subside.

“Or,” he says after a minute, “or I do have control, and I can change the outcome, which makes me culpable. I don’t know which prospect I hate more. Which probably says some unflattering things about me.”

“It’s not that simple–”

“It is,” Jon says viciously. “If there is another path, then I should’ve found it last time!” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a steadying breath. When he speaks again, he’s no longer bordering on shouting, but there’s a quaver in his voice, a fragility that Martin finds more disconcerting than any flash of anger. “The way I see it, there are two options. One, what happened in my future was inevitable and nothing I could’ve done would’ve changed it – which certainly doesn’t bode well for this timeline. Or, the outcome can be changed, in which case my choices matter, and had I just made better choices, maybe I could have prevented all of this from ever happening in the first place.”

“You’re not being fair,” Martin says, his hands clenching into fists – but Jon isn’t listening.

“Doesn’t make much difference, I suppose. The consequences are the same either way–”

“–billions of – people making their way through life who had no idea what was right above their heads–”

“–would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters–”

“–minds so strange and colossal that we would never know they were minds at all–”

“–idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing–”

“–there, caught up in a series of events that I didn’t understand but that terrified me – I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done–”

“–running was pointless. To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do–”

“–I don’t know if you have ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I have ever experienced–”

“–I do not suppose I need to dwell on the pain, but please know that I would sooner die than endure it again–”

“Would you?” Martin says abruptly. Jon won’t look at him. “Jon, I need to know if you’re feeling like hurting yourself.”

“What would it matter if I was?” Jon still won’t look at him. “I’m categorically incapable of hurting myself in any way that matters.”

Martin blinks in disbelief. “Okay, that’s blatantly untrue.”

Jon has been a glaring portrait of self-neglect for as long as Martin has known him. That simple lack of consideration for himself, together with compounding survivor’s guilt, was the perfect stepping stone to active self-endangerment. Now that Jon’s convinced himself he’s invulnerable to a normal human death, he’s all the more careless with himself.

“I don’t want to die,” Jon whispers. “That’s the problem.”

“What—?”

“Before, I was unknowingly putting the entire world at risk by – by waking up after the Unknowing, by crawling out of the Buried, by escaping the Hunters, by continuing to read statements like it was – like it was something routine, as unremarkable as – as taking tea. Now, though – now I know better. I know what Jonah is planning, I saw what I’m capable of, and still I… I don’t want to die.”

“Well… good,” Martin says. “You should want to live–”

“It doesn’t much matter what I want–”

“–I never wanted to weigh up the value of a life, to set it on the scales against my own, but that’s a choice that I am forced into–”

“–doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – powerless–”

“–a lynchpin for this new ritual – a record of fear–”

Shit, Martin thinks the instant he recognizes the statement. It’s the worst of them all, virtually guaranteed to send Jon spiraling.

“–both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you – a living chronicle of terror – a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom–”

“Okay, okay, stay with me–”

“–the Chosen one is simply that: someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck–”

“Jon, can you hear me? Jon–”

“–I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but my god, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was–”

Martin reaches over, taking both of Jon’s hands in his own and squeezing tightly. The pressure seems to do the trick: lucidity sparks in Jon’s eyes and he takes a deep, ragged breath, as if coming up for air.

“There you are. Are you okay?” Martin rubs both thumbs over the backs of Jon’s hands in rhythmic, soothing motions. “Hey, it’s–”

“I don’t want your kindness!” Jon snaps, jerking backwards and snatching his hands out from Martin’s grip.

Both of them lapse into a stunned silence. As mortification dawns on Jon’s face, Martin can feel the color rising in his cheeks. It only takes a few seconds for the blood rushing in his ears to be drowned out by another voice.

Martin can remember with cutting clarity the days prior to his mother’s departure to the nursing home. She had been in (somewhat) rare form, her already-short fuse dwindled down to nothing, sniping at him around the clock, full of caustic observations and spiteful accusations.

I don’t want your help, she had sneered as she entered the cab, swatting his hand away.

It was one of the last things she ever said to him.

“Well, tough,” Martin bites out, “because you deserve it, and you never should’ve had to go without it, and you’re not going to change my mind about that, so you may as well stop trying!”

“Martin, I – I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

He saw, Martin realizes all at once, his skin crawling with humiliation.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” Martin says, rising to his feet.

Jon reaches out a hand. “Martin–”

“I just need a breather, okay?” Martin says, a pleading note to his voice. His lungs are constricting, his chest is tightening, there’s a lump in his throat, and he really doesn’t want to have a panic attack in the tunnels – or in front of Jon. “I’m not – I’m not angry, okay, I just need some air.”

Jon opens his mouth, then immediately closes it, clutches his hands to his chest, and gives a tiny nod that Martin just barely glimpses before turning to flee.

_________________

“Stop crying,” Jon hisses at himself, furiously scrubbing at his face as the tears slide down his cheeks. “Stop it.”

He plasters the heels of his hands over his closed eyelids. It does nothing to stem the flow, only brings to mind images of pressing himself bodily against a door to hold it closed, only for the crack to continue widening, millimeter after millimeter, the flood on the other side trickling through the gap, rivulets swelling into rivers, frigid eddies biting at his ankles, a whitewater undertow threatening to drag him below the waves–

“Enjoying our own company, are we?”

Once, Jon might have been humiliated to be caught mid-breakdown, raw-voiced and puffy-eyed, especially by Peter Lukas of all people. Several lifetimes spent in thrall to cosmic horrors have a way of putting things in perspective.

“What do you want?” Jon says with as much ire as he can muster.

Peter hums to himself, starting a slow, back-and-forth pace in front of Jon. “It occurred to me that I’ve been derelict in my duties as far as the Archives are concerned–”

“That’s just now occurring to you?”

“–and, as such, I thought it was high time that I met the infamous Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“Well,” Jon scoffs, gesturing at himself, “you’ve met him.”

“I must admit, I was expecting something a bit more… hm.” Peter taps a finger against his lips. “Formidable.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The scathing sarcasm is rendered pitiful by an ill-timed, involuntary sniffle. Jon can’t bring himself to care.

“The state you’re in, you hardly seem fit to work.” A pause. “Have you ever considered taking some time off?”

“A six-months hospital stay has a way of eating up your PTO, oddly enough. I’m told that payroll already has already had to make special exceptions for my ‘unprecedented’ circumstances.” Jon chuckles to himself. “On multiple occasions. Did you know the Institute considers a kidnapping in the line of duty to be an ‘unexcused absence?’”

“I think you’ll find that Elias and I have different management styles,” Peter says mildly. “I’m open to making allowances – particularly since your department can function so smoothly in your absence. Your assistants have proven themselves to be quite capable of working independently – and seeing as your approach to supervision borders on fraternization, I imagine they would be more productive without excess drama to distract them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Jon says acerbically.

“No need.” Jon squints at him, and Peter stare him down. “It’s not a request, Archivist. It’s an order.”

There was a time, not long ago, that sneaking up on the Archivist would have been difficult. Only Helen had consistently managed to ambush him, and that was because she didn’t waste time sneaking – she manifested and launched the jump scare in the same instant, giving him no chance to See her approach. Readjusting to a binocular point of view had been a process, but rarely does he find himself yearning for the panoramic field of vision that had been foisted upon him during the apocalypse.

Occasionally, though, there are moments when 360° sight would come in handy. Too late, Jon realizes this is one of those moments.

By the time he notices the tendrils of encroaching fog, they’re already curling around from behind him, pooling at his feet, ghosting across the back of his neck, affixing themselves around his wrists.

“It’s alright,” Peter says placidly, almost soothingly. “You can let go now.”

Jon shivers as his heart pumps ice through his veins, fingers and toes going numb as he struggles for breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no–

“I am not Lonely anymore,” Jon gasps out through chattering teeth.

“No,” Peter says with an air of nonchalance. Then he smiles, sharp and cold and cruel and the only detail Jon can still discern through the fog. “But you will be.”

___

End Notes:

Daisy: hey siri, google what to do if i suspect my bff has been possessed by the ghost of a fussy paleornithologist Jon: why are you booing me????? i’m right

Pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet? Probably bc of the statement. I could’ve split it into two, but, uh. I like that cliffhanger where it is. >:3c (Sorry for that, btw.)

Quite a bit of Archive-speak this chapter. Citations as follows: Section 1: 122/124/011/007/047/155. The Xiaoling quote is from MAG 105; the Jonah quote is ofc from 160; the Naomi quote is from 013. Section 3: 181. Section 5: 058 x2; 144/130/086/143/121/149/134/144/143/069; 147; 017; 147; 057/160/106/111/067/121/129/098; 155/128/160; 160 x3. Section 6: 170, of course.

I’m taking wild liberties with Pu Songling Research Centre’s whole deal. I’m conceptualizing their spookier departments as being like… actually academia-oriented, instead of “local Victorian corpse with illusions of godhood throws a bunch of traumatized nerds with no relevant archival experience into a basement, what happens next will shock you”. Xiaoling is out here like “our digitization is still a work in progress, I’m sure you know how it is” and Jon Sims is like “digitization who? i don’t know her”. (Listen, he tried once. Tape recorder was haunted, he got kidnapped a bunch, there were worms and things, he died (he got better), his boss used him as a battering ram to open a door to Fearpocalypse Hell – it was a lot.)

Likewise, we didn’t get much info about Sonja in canon, so I’m having fun envisioning her as a certified Force To Be Reckoned With (and a bit of a Mama Bear wrt her assistants). Most of the Institute is leery of the Archives (& especially Jon) but Sonja’s seen a lot of shit and Jon Sims doesn’t even rank on her list of Top Spooky Scary Things.

re: the statement – it’s not clear in-text, but I want to clarify that I’m not conceptualizing Francis Drake as being influenced by the Hunt. Fictionalizing aspects of history is tricky, and I’d feel personally uncomfortable chalking up Drake’s real life atrocities to supernatural influence, even in fiction. In the case of this particular fictional member of his crew, he was (like Drake’s real-life crew) complicit in following Drake’s orders for entirely mundane reasons and was only marked by the Hunt at the point in his statement where he first recounts hearing the Hunt chasing after him.

At some point in writing this chapter, I had 137 tabs open in my browser for Research Purposes and like 20 of those were bc my dumb ass seriously considered writing that statement in Elizabethan English before going “what are you DOING, actually.” If I’d tried, it would have come off as inauthentic at best, if not ridiculous, bc I’m unfamiliar with English linguistic trends of the 1500s, and I’d basically be badly mimicking Shakespearean English, which isn’t necessarily indicative of how everyone spoke at the time, and I don’t know what colloquial speech would look like for this particular unnamed character I trotted out as exposition fodder, and it was probably unnecessary to formulate a whole-ass personal history for him for the sake of Historical Realism for a single section of a single chapter of a fanfic, and… In the end, I decided that this pseudo-immortal rando can tell his life story in modernized English, as a treat (to me) (and also to those of you who don’t think of slogging through bastardized Elizabethan prose as a fun endeavor).

Speaking of research – shoutout to this dissertation that had an English translation of the Herla story in Walter Map’s De nugis curialium, and if you want to read the whole story, you can find it on pages 16-18 of that paper. I feel it’s important for you all to know that IMMEDIATELY after Map dramatically proclaims, “the dog has not yet alighted, and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay,” he goes on to say in the next breath “buuuut some people say they all jumped into the River Wye and died, so ymmv. ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ anyways, can I interest you in more Fucked Up If True tales?” (Herla throwing the dog into the river wasn’t in the original story though. I made that part up.)

Thank you so much for reading! <3

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers #magnuspod

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