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purinfelix · 7 months ago

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white ferrari ˚⟡˖ ࣪. - joao felix

pairing: joao felix x reader summary: you don’t really know how to respond when a familiar face shows up at your apartment doorstep, one you haven’t seen in almost half a year since a fated summer of both love and heartbreak. warnings: just a lot of angst <//3 w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i tried my hand at angst once more because I've been feeling unreasonably sad about joao leaving barca ... (this is all inspired by a singular white ferrari x joao edit i saw on tiktok) - hope you all enjoy!!

Get home, throw your keys onto the counter top and listen to the echo they make throughout your empty apartment. Kick your shoes off, undress, shower and then stare at yourself in the mirror for a little too long. If you’re feeling up to it, fix yourself something decent to eat, but most nights you go straight to throwing yourself into bed and scrolling on your phone in the dark until you feel tired enough to sleep, whenever that may be.

Sure, it’s a bit of a boring routine - some might even argue it’s sad - but it’s one you’ve grown far too use to to change up now. You’re just about to get to the latter steps of said routine when you hear a knock at your door - a sound that, at this time of night especially, is unusual.

Tentatively, you approach the door and crack it open just enough to whisper scream at whatever idiot is bothering you at this hour. That is, of course, before you realise it’s him.

He’s gotten a little tanner than the last time you say him, but of course that was last summer now, a bright memory in your mind that seems so far away you struggle to believe that he’s really here, in front of you. His hair’s the same, a little messier and longer albeit, and you really wish you could just get a look at his face but he’s trying his best to avoid eye contact with you, and you can’t help but pick up on the air of shame he’s giving off.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Joao?” you scoff quietly through the tiny crack in your door, but he doesn’t do anything other than offer a smile that is somehow equal parts sad and apologetic. Immediately you feel awful for trying to lighten the mood, but you can’t help it, as bittersweet as it is you’re actually stupidly excited to see him here.

That is, until you open the door wider for him and notice the luggages surrounding him, waiting to be dragged in - so you’re just another pit stop after all, he really hasn’t changed. You shut the door without mentioning it though, following him through the dark as he trudges in. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that you don’t need to tell him to take his shoes off at the door, where to put his bags, or even where your bedroom is. It’d almost be sweet, if thinking of all the times he’d been to your place before didn’t feel like twisting a knife through an already bled-dry wound.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” you call out, following him through the darkness, worry brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“Have you been keeping up with me?” he says, his voice soft as he finally turns around to face you, having made it to your bedroom.

“You mean, at your new club? Yeah, I’ve been trying to here and there, but I do have my own life after all,” you reply, desperate to make him understand that you’ve been trying to move on.

He offers an understanding nod before glancing around your room, “you got new bedsheets.”

“Yeah, quite a while ago actually but, I guess you wouldn’t have known.”

You’re still standing in the doorway of your bedroom, your arms folded over your chest, not really knowing why you suddenly feel so defensive at having him in your house, after so long of not seeing each other.

“Right,” he says, sitting at the edge of your bed a little awkwardly, as if it’s his first time doing so - and you both know it isn’t.

“Joao, what’s going o-”

“They’re letting me go,” he interrupts you, his eyes glued to the floor as he does.

“Wh- like the club? They’re not signing you again? But why? I thought you were doing well?” The questions pour out of your mouth before you realise it’s probably best not to pry, at least given the glimpse of his defeated expression you’re offered.

“I really wish I knew,” he sighs, “my old club is demanding a crazy amount of money for me though, so it might be that.”

Your heart softens a bit seeing him like this, and it suddenly occurs to you that perhaps the reason he came over tonight had less to do with the fact that he was seeing you and more with the fact he had to see someone. If you’re being honest, you know you should shrug and tell him ‘too bad’ and there’s a tiny part of you that wants to ask him why he never called after that one night, but you don’t.

Instead, you walk over to your bed, sit next to him and bring your hand up to cup his face. You let your thumb graze over it gently, trying to ignore the ache you feel in your heart when he looks up at you with such a gentleness in his eyes you feel like you might fall in love with him - again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come over tonight, I just, wanted to see you,” he mumbles into the palm of your hand, and it’s only now you notice he’s leaning in closer.

“It’s okay, I’ve been wanting to see you too,” you hear yourself admit, and it’s not until the words leave your lips do you realise how much you actually mean them. Your hand moves to stroking his hair, and you can visibly see him melt under your touch.

It makes you think of all those nights the two of you spent together, and how they were a little over half a year ago now. When he was the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed new loan to one of Spain’s biggest football clubs that you met at a beachside bar one summer night. How he almost seemed to glow in the sunset when he walked you home, telling you about how he was fitting in with his new teammates, how much better this club was than his old one, how much happier he was. And how happy you were to just listen to him, watch his beaming smile and the adoration in his eyes, to get a taste of his life.

Because, a taste was really all you ever got. It’s not like you were expecting the two of you to get married and live happily ever after but it tugged at your heart whenever he would show up at your doorstep or happen to bump into you at the farmers market he always knew you went to. He would show up almost every second day, and love you like it was breathing, only to slink away the next morning with whispers of “Just don’t tell anyone,” and “You understand, right?”. Since he was a big footballer, and a younger one at that, he couldn’t have anything damaging his chances right now, which was why the two of you could only meet in privacy. You hated it, and the sour feeling it left in your gut every time you watched him close your apartment door at early hours of the morning, but it wasn’t like you had any other option than to believe him - since your only other choice was to lose him, and that was out of the question.

But still, you managed to mess it up - that one warm evening when the two of you were walking side by side along the beach, as you so often seemed to do. Walking close enough that people knew you were friendly, but far enough so that no one would suspect anything more. You can remember looking down at his arms, shown off proudly by his rolled-up sleeves, and wanting nothing more than to hold his hand - if not for the physical contact, then to show everyone on this beach and beyond that he was yours. But you knew you couldn’t, so instead you resigned to asking slightly uncomfortable questions, all to make him think a little bit more about your relationship - and by extension, you.

“So,” you hummed, eyes looking down at the imprints of your feet in the sand, “do you think we’ll ever be like, a proper couple?” You cringe a little at how childish your wording sounds, but you’d be lying if you said you knew any other way to word it.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him glance up at you, a little taken aback by the suddenly confrontational question. “Uh, I thought we spoke about this,” he begins, and you immediately feel stupid for even asking, “I can’t really do relationships at the moment.”

“Well, we didn’t really speak about it, it was more you telling me, but I guess yeah,” you mumble, and you don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so snarky about this.

“I mean, this is fun, right? What we’re doing now? I don’t really have any problem with it.”

Of course he doesn’t.

“Right, I mean I don’t really either,” you’re lying through your teeth at this point, “but I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to do all the things couples do?”

“Sure,” he quips, and you can tell he hasn’t even give this, or you, a second thought before.

“So don’t you think there’ll be a day when we actually get to, you know, hold hands and stuff?”

“Maybe,” he hums, and you don’t miss the nonchalant, almost bored, tone in his voice and how he isn’t even bothering to look at you. “You know, I’m just really busy with training and games now so.”

”Right, I get that, I mean once this summer’s over I’ll have to get on with things too,” you say, giving him exactly the response you know he’s expecting.

He turns to look at you finally, giving you a proud smile at your words. “Well, I’ve got to get going now,” he says abruptly.

“Oh, okay,” you utter, “Call me, alright?”

“Yeah, sure!” he calls out, but he’s already halfway up the beach and you’re sure he’s barely heard you. And you stood there for a while, watching him jog away, your heart sinking further with every step he took in the opposite direction.

And of course, he never did call - and you’d be lying if you said you were totally surprised. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and all you were left with were those memories. Echoes of his laughter, the taste of his kisses, the ghost of his touch, all haunted your apartment which now felt hollow and empty. Of course, you managed to get on with it somehow, move past him and whatever had happened between you two.

And yet, here he was, again. You were still trying to shake the surprise that crept through you, but as you continued running your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner you can’t help but feel a sickening sense of deja vu. At seeing him here, at touching him like this, at him being here at all. Still, you think you could stay like this forever - but of course, you can’t and the heaviness in your heart urges you to break the silence before you do something you’re going to regret.

“So, what does this mean for you then?” It’s an awkward question, you can admit, and it shows on Joao’s face when he finally looks up at you - a little dazed and confused. You scoot a little bit away from him to lie down and he takes this as his sign to do the same.

“Hm? Oh, right,” he leans in a little closer as he lies down and for a split second you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he just lays his head down on your chest as he continues to talk, “I guess I’ll have to go back to my old club, I mean I’ve got no choice.”

“Right,” you say curtly, caught off guard by the suddenly affectionate gesture - and what might be disappointment at the fact he didn’t kiss you. You don’t push him off though, instead you continue to stroke his hair, looking down at him as he talks.

“I just,” he sighs, “I just thought I was doing well you know?” You nod understandingly and you can hear the frustrated disappointment in his tone, one you recognise from the times he’d lost games before and come over to rant all about them.

“I’m sure you were amazing,” you try your best to reassure him, and it seems to work as he nods against your chest. There’s a beat of silence, you feel his breathing slow and it’s only then you realise how tired he is - from how slow his movements have been this entire evening. You’re about to give in and let him fall asleep on you, but it’s his turn to break the silence this time.

“Today was actually the last game of the season,” his words aren’t the clearest, and you can tell he’s basically half asleep, “the rest of the team wanted to go out to celebrate but I just couldn’t go. Seeing them all smiling and laughing while knowing they’ve got a place at that club next season while I don’t, I just couldn’t do it, you know?”

You wish you could tell him how much you understand that feeling, but instead you just hum in agreement.

“I wanted to see you instead,” and for about the billionth time that night you find yourself taken aback by his words. “I’m sorry I never called.”

“I really wish you had, I missed you,” you respond, a little weary of how honest you’re being suddenly. But he needs to hear this, needs to know how he made you feel when he suddenly disappeared after weeks of loving you like nothing else mattered.

That is of course, before you recognise the soft rising and falling of his chest - he’s fallen asleep. Your heart aches a little at the sight, and you let out a sigh when you realise you’ve got no choice other than to lay there, arms wrapped around him, until you fall asleep too. You reach over to switch off your singular lamp, drowning the two of you in darkness. Staring out your window at the cool evening sky, you think about how much has changed since the two of you last lay together like this. How with the changing of the seasons you two became such different people, and moved on to different parts of your lives - but through it all, your feelings for him never seemed to fade, and for the first time in months it felt like you were being gifted some reciprocity. You could only hope Joao had changed enough to not repeat his morning routines, slipping away and leaving you alone once more. But until then, you were content with this - this small moment, that might not have mattered at all in the grand scheme of things, but was enough for you and your aching heart. If nothing more, to lay here with him in the darkness, the rhythm of his soft breathing lulling you to sleep, was enough.

#joao felix #joão félix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix oneshot #joao felix fic #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barça #fc barcelona #purinfelix #angst fic #jet writes ★

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akaashisbabygirl · 4 years ago

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you’re just a game he likes to play

pairings: akaashi x female!reader

genre: angst, romance, NSFW 18+

warnings: use of drugs, drinking, vaginal penetration, fingering, oral (female receiving), angst angst angst

words: 2.6k

a/n: i’m sorry for not posting as much. i’ve always wondered how people write really long fics, and here i am. i spent last night + this morning working on this, so i hope you all enjoy <3 this i planned to be a one shot so i probably won’t be doing a part two

‘are you awake right now?’

akaashi’s fingers ghosted over his phone, a slight cringe filling his mind as he thought about sending the message. eventually, everyone around him started to pick up on his quiet, drunken tone.

“who’s the girl you’re texting?” kenma asked.

“it’s no one...” he said back softly, locking his phone. as much as he tried to play it off as if he wasn’t texting anyone, he knew that one of the boys were going to comment about it sooner or later.

“come on man, we all know it’s hayami,” kuroo interrupted. akaashi knew kuroo meant it as a joke. as much as akaashi knew that kuroo was joking, yet there was still that smirk that rested on kuroo’s face that akaashi was so desperate to punch. it had been a year since akaashi had fallen out of love with hayami, a girl he knew he stood no chance with.

within that year, things had changed. he never used to drink or anything. he had changed so much. it bugged him whenever the other men talked about love and girls. he started to think why it couldn’t be him, why he couldn’t be the one talking about a girl he loves. he wanted to express the love he felt for the girl that ended up catching him by surprise when he least expected. the same type of love that everyone thought was for hayami.

one thing that akaashi was clear of was that he was deeply, and drunkenly in love with you.

like his friends knew, there had been a time in his life when he was in love with hayami. but after finding out that she had hooked up with one of his high school friends after she had told him that she loved him, akaashi started to fall out of love; and while he was in his broken state was when you came along. just when he needed.

everyone in the group was sure that akaashi was going to always be in love with hayami, only because she was said to be the hottest girl on campus; and he himself was a very good looking guy. everyone wanted her. unfortunately, akaashi’s friends couldn’t see that the love he had once felt for her had now died down into the pit of his chest.

however, despite telling himself that he had fallen out of love with hayami, he also hid behind the thoughts of your beautiful soft hair and the way you felt so small compared to him behind the fact that he still loved hayami. because, what is the point of loving someone who is just your closest friend?

akaashi brought the glass of alcohol to his lips once more, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat. he sighed as he just about finished his third glass. had the room gotten louder? it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t make out the words of what his friends were saying. it was just too loud.

he desperately wanted to text you. he wanted to send you cute messages about wanting to cuddle you, and kiss you and about how much he misses your touch and how he loves the feeling of your tiny body against his. after his third glass, those thoughts began to turn sexual. he felt different. had the others given him something?

he remembered asking kuroo earlier in the night for something that would ‘take his mind off of everything’, maybe kuroo had given him something. his hands held onto the glass again as he watched the man across from him fill his glass again.

his hands fiddled with his phone again. he so desperately wanted to message you right now, but his mind was clouded with sexual thoughts that he had never thought about before. he thought about how good he would be able to fill you up, how small you would be against him. he closed his eyes and sighed to the thought mentally. he wasn’t a pervert, at least he thought he wasn’t.

the two of you were just friends. he respected the boundaries of your friendship. he wasn’t going to push you, he didn’t even know if you felt the same way about him. but once again, his mind and everyone around him kept telling him that he was in love with hayami.

‘stick with the girl that all your friends know you love. you don’t wanna ruin your friendship with her’ said the narrator inside his mind, as if he was telling akaashi what to do instead of letting him figure this madness out on his own.

akaashi stood up from the chair, making his way to the bathroom. after minutes, he was looking at his messy reflection in the bathroom mirror. he knew it was time to go home. he could see it in his reflection. he was drunk. drunk and in love. he wanted you by his side right now. maybe fixing his jacket or his hair. how you would be on your tiptoes just to try and reach him. how fucking cute. or how you would stand on your tiptoes to try and reach his lips.

akaashi left the house, standing outside on the street waiting for a cab to pull up.

“what’s the address?” the man asked.

without a thought, he gave the man your street name. space and time had began to blur, his phone in his hands as the thought of you rushed throughout his mind.

you were in your room, sitting on your bed in an oversized shirt. your eyes scanned along the messages what you had just received from akaashi.

‘are you awake?’ 2:43AM

one missed call. 2:49AM

‘i miss you’ 2:54AM

‘i need your touch’ 2:58AM

one missed call. 3:02AM

‘need you so badly’ 3:06AM

he was high.

you knew he was. there was no way in hell akaashi would ever text you like this. he was in love with hayami. you were sure about this. you felt a stinging pain in your chest because it was obvious that you were deeply in love with akaashi keiji. you hated the way you were so badly separated from even being close to a relationship with him because the narrator in your mind always came back to remind you that akaashi was in fact in love with hayami.

your fingers typed back.

‘i am not hayami. you have the wrong contact’ 3:10AM

there was no reply back. you thought that maybe he reached hayami’s apartment and that he was currently somewhere with her right now. you threw a pillow over your head.

he was such an amazing man. you had fallen in love with the person that he is, how he would always be there whenever you needed him so desperately. he helped you when you were down. it made you mad that hayami only wanted akaashi for his popularity around campus and not for the amazing person that he is.

it was hard to try and get over those feeling that were painfully stabbing your heart. you wanted to be with him. god, you wanted to be with him so fucking badly. but you knew that it would never happen.

because akaashi was in love with hayami.

the sound of knocking on your door threw you out of your haze. you checked your phone. no new messages from him. you opened the door, your eyes widening as his drunken state stood right in front of you. you hated to admit that he always took your breath away, even right now. he was so tall compared to you.

“can i come in?” his voice asked softly.

you nodded your head, opening your door further so he could come inside.

akaashi sat himself down on your couch. he looked lost. he was lost. he watched as you sat down next to him, your eyes not even looking in his direction.

“are you... um... cold?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

you shook your head, silence running throughout the apartment.

“let me stay,” he blurted out. in fact, he had surprised you.

“you’re drunk,” you hated to admit the fact that his tone was deep and intoxicating.

your fingers gripped his chin harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. you looked directly into his eyes. “and i don’t want to sit here and listen to you drunkenly express your love for hayami. not tonight.”

he watched as you pulled away from him, “i don’t love hayami! i don’t love her, i don’t know why you would think that!”

you stood up, trying to leave the room. you didn’t want to be around him right now. however, his hand gripping onto your wrist stopped your movement entirely.

without thinking, your hand slapped his cheek. hard. you were so angry. angry at the fact that you kept putting up with the same shit after knowing he didn’t feel the same way about you. tears perked in the corners of your eyes as you tried to control your emotions.

his beautiful face was inches away from yours as he pulled you to sit back down on the couch. his soft lips met yours for the first time. the two of you sighed into the kiss, almost as if it was some sort of relief for the both of you. his kisses were gentle, even if he was messily drunk right now. he was always gentle with you.

a soft groan escaped his lips as you opened your mouth, his tongue finding its way easily. he softly whispered against the kiss, “let me taste you... please.”

so polite.

you pulled your lips from his, looking into his blue coloured eyes. your lips partly opened. he saw your shy little nod.

“that’s my girl.”

the next few minutes had went by slowly. his lips attacked yours, his large hands pulling your body to straddle his waist, your clothed cunt pressing against his growing erection. his hands helped you grind against him as his tongue explored your mouth. your hands held tightly onto his shoulders as his hands grasped your ass.

akaashi stood up, having you stand up with him. he walked you down to your bedroom, his lips stayed attached to yours.

the two of you made your way into the bedroom, akaashi’s jacket long discarded somewhere on the floor of the apartment. he gently pushed you down onto the bed.

his hands found your thighs, spreading your legs open. his touches were soft and careful. he didn’t want to hurt you.

“tell me what you want me to do.”

“i want you to touch me,” you said as he removed his shirt, “please touch me.”

his hand found your ankle and lifted your leg slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto your ankle. akaashi kissed his way up your leg, his fingers removing your underwear.

his hands pushed your skirt up, his hands now grasping your legs with a firm grip. all his attention was on your womanhood now.

“so fucking pretty.”

he gathered your slick with his tongue, before drawing circles on your clit. he loved how your moans started to grow in pitch.

you affected him more than the alcohol did.

your hands clenched onto the bedsheets so tightly. he listened to your moans as his tongue ran along your messy cunt. he knew that you were holding yourself back. he could tell that your hands were clenching tightly onto the bedsheets, holding yourself back from grinding on his face.

one of his hands moved from holding your thighs down to toy with your clit. he could feel your body shaking and squirming underneath his large build.

akaashi never pulled away. even when you were starting to cum on his tongue. one of your legs had made their way onto his shoulder, the other around your waist.

akaashi’s face was coated with your juices. he removed his fact from your cunt, looking at you.

“i need to ask you... do you want to continue?”

you almost wanted to cry out now. akaashi had just made you cum. he was here right now, in between your legs, shirtless looking at you. you loved him. you loved him so fucking much. you couldn’t believe that this was happening right now.

“i want to.”

“yeah?” he placed your leg back down onto the bed, “tell me exactly what you want from me.”

“i want you to fuck me. please... fuck me.”

akaashi gave you a little smirk as he reached for his belt. the sound his belt made caught your attention quickly, your eyes darting to his lower parts.

you watched as he removed his pants and boxers. the size of his length made you press your knees together.

“i-its not gonna fit,” you mumbled softly, a deep red blush spreading over your cheeks.

akaashi chuckled, “i’ll make sure it fits.”

his voice was soft. he made you feel okay, made you feel safe. akaashi helped you remove the shirt from your body, “look how pretty you are.”

akaashi’s fingers found your entrance in no time. he pushed two fingers into you, listening to how you started moaning again. he loved the feeling of your tight walls around his fingers. he watched you clench around his fingers and with the beautiful moans you were giving him, he was ready to make you cum again. his skilled digits curled inside of your cunt, a cry falling from your lips as he did so.

akaashi leaned down to kiss your open mouth. you could feel him smiling into your mouth.

“i’m ready,” you mumbled out against the kiss, “akaashi, fuck me, please.”

akaashi removed his fingers from you, gathering your juices with the tip of his cock. he made sure he coated himself before pushing the tip in. he could hear your small voice whimpering and your soft pants.

he looked at you, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to adjust to his size. he softly kissed both of your tears.

“s-so big,” you whispered against his lips as you felt akaashi slowly start thrusting.

he smirked, his head dipping down to your neck to suck and kiss your skin. he looked at you, your voice broken and whimpering. you were crying for his cock. you could feel him twitch inside of you. he pulled his dick out before pushing back in, looking at where your bodies were connected.

akaashi could see the little bulge on your lower stomach. he grabbed onto your small hand, placing it down on your lower stomach so you could feel him. he gave you another deep thrust. your body moved with his thrusts. akaashi watched as your little body shook uncontrollably whenever his hips met with yours.

even akaashi was under the impression that your small body wouldn’t be able to fit him, but it was almost as if you were made for him.

“you feel so good around my cock.”

akaashi angled your legs, hooking them to his arms. the new angle made your eyes roll to the back of your head. one of your hands grabbed a handful of his hair, making him throw his head back. your lips pressed softly along his jawline.

“s-so good, s-so fuckin’ good,” you moaned against his skin.

your forehead met with his as his thrusts became deeper and deeper. his voice was broken, his cock twitching.

“cum inside me,” you mumbled softly, soft enough for him to hear. his thrusts were deep and he could feel you climax around his length.

“i love you so fucking much,” he mumbled against your skin, “so fucking much that it hurts.”

“i know,” you cooed, kissing his cheek softly, “i love you too.”

he finished inside of you. you saying that was the last thing he remembered. he felt so safe in your arms, naked and bodies tangled. he knew his cum was dripping from your stretched hole. he fell asleep there in your arms.

you felt so at home, so safe in this moment. you shut your eyes too, falling asleep, enjoying this moment.

because deep down, you knew that in the morning, you weren’t hayami.

#nsfw—🎟#haikyuu smut #akaashi smut #akaashi keiji smut #keiji smut

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

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ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it.

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor.

- What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare.

- Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history.

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door.

- Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID?

- Just sign in front of your name.

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring.

- You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast.

- Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

- I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now.

- Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

- The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

- Oh, okay.

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous.

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd.

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider.

- Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N.

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach.

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

- Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

- I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

- Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers.

- I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it.

- Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

- I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

- They’re down the hall. - she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

- Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again.

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it.

- Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well.

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

- Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

- Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day.

- Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup.

- Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins.

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves.

- I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

- Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas.

- A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

- The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing.

- I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type.

- Lyric soprano, m’am.

- A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

- Julliard, m’am.

- Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

- Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

- Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting.

- That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

- Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained.

- It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

- It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

- Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status.

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically

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soramei · 4 years ago

Text

Intentional - Part 1

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 7.3k

Masterlist

A/N: hey yall this is my first ff im posting on tumblr :D im kinda scared to post but i hope anybody who stumbles on lil ol’ me will join me along the way :) also important!!! i made oc/reader asian cus i am lol (and this whole thing is basically a glorified self insert) so plz keep this in mind when reading!! oh god i didnt realize how slow this first part was sry...

The cold silence of the room felt like stabs at your inside. You commanded your feet to stop bouncing up and down as you unconsciously started to bite off the dead skin of your bottom lip. The white corporate light from above reflected off your brand new lanyard hanging delicately from your neck. You felt the coarse blue fabric rub against your neck as you mindlessly fiddled with your lanyard; the newly printed photo of your face stared back at you with a smile.

The creak of the door to your left was what broke you from your nervous fidgets. Whipping your head up from your lanyard, you immediately stood up ready to bow to whoever came through that door.

It was a girl. She looked around the same age as you, if not older. Her attire was what gave her away. Her appearance essentially mirrored yours: hair tied back into a ponytail with a white blouse and black work pants. She also had the familiar blue ‘JYPE’ labeled strap hanging from her neck.

“Hello,” you spoke meekly, scared to disturb the cold silence that had a hold on the room you were in.

“Hello,” she replied. “My name is Choi Na-eun, I’m the new social media strategist intern and today is my first day.”

This is so relieving, you thought, another newbie to share the stress with me.

“This is my first day too,” you perked up, “I’ll be starting as the new junior Chinese marketing assistant.”

Getting the acceptance email from JYP Entertainment was definitely a high point in your life. The feeling of butterflies swarming your insides as you clicked the email open only to see your acceptance was immediately locked as a core memory. All the years of memorizing thousands of Korean and English vocabulary flashcards, the panic attacks before your finance exams, and the many, many late night coffee breaks were worth it the moment you received your first legitimate job offer, and from the esteemed JYP Entertainment company no less.

“Chinese marketing?” Na-eun asked. “So you aren’t from here, I take it.”

You shook your head. “I am from China. I completed my degree a while ago with a major in Language and a minor in Business. To be honest, I’ve done internships back home, but it’s been my dream to move to a new country.”

All of what you said was true. Up until now, your surroundings have never changed in all of your twenty-three years living. From the walk with your grandmother to daycare to the vast campus of your university, the view of your city has never changed. Your social circle stayed stagnant since you were able to talk and your love life was — for a lack of a better word — uneventful.

It wasn’t until the day you decided to start applying for careers outside your home country that you felt hopeful. Hopeful that you could find an escape from your inert lifestyle and escape the burnout and stress that has been building up over the years. And so, on a day when you were feeling unusually confident, you gathered up the courage and spent hours sending out applications to organizations all over Asia that pertained to your specific degree. The applications were mainly for small jobs at small companies, however, your strange spike of motivation gave you the confidence to apply to the everso esteemed JYP Entertainment located in Korea. Of course you knew about this company — you and your friends played songs by ‘Twice’ nonstop back in highschool — but you didn’t realize the full power that this company had on the entertainment market until you did your full research. To say that you thought you had no chance was an understatement. This application was so far of a reach that you purposefully forced your mind to erase all memory of even applying.

However, with your education, your work experience, and whatever tiny bit of luck you had, you somehow made it through the initial application process. Then the next. And the next. Then the interview. And now, you were nervously sitting in this white painted room with Na-eun, in a completely new country, waiting for your manager to come greet you.

“So you’re from China? You’ve got to teach me chinese sometime.” Na-eun smiled.

You giggled in return while nodding your head. You were relieved that you’ve met a potential friend so early in your career in this company. This was one of your big worries. With your social circle being so stagnant for the majority of your life back in China, you rarely had the opportunity to meet new people, much less make new friends.

You were about to inquire more into Na-eun’s life when the door to your left abruptly opened. In the blink of an eye, three new people strutted in — two women and one man. They seemed to be higher status than you and Na-eun judging by their attire. All three were styled in some type of blazer and dress pants and there was no lanyard to be found on any of them.

“Hello new employees,” the man greeted. Judging by his face, he looked to be in his late thirties at the least. His hair was styled back neatly and his lips slanted up, giving him a fox-like appearance. “I am Executive Manager Kim. Joined beside me on the left is Social Media Manager An and to my right is Marketing Manager Chen.”

Both you and Na-eun immediately stood up to bow and introduce yourselves.

“Hello. My name is Choi Na-eun, I’m the new social media strategist intern.” Na-eun said.

“Hello. My name is y/n, I’m the new junior Chinese marketing assistant.” You repeated after her, copying exactly what she said. You did not want to screw anything up on your first day, especially your first impression.

Manager Kim reached over to Na-eun, introducing himself and giving her a firm handshake. He then slowly moved over to you, and reached for your hand.

“Y/n,” he gave time for your name to settle on his tongue as he gave a sly smile. “You’re not from here, aren't you?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No, sir. I’m from China where I studied language and business. I hope to do well here as the Chinese marketing assistant.” You replied, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so timid.

“I’m glad to hear,” Manager Kim chuckled, “I’m sure you’ll treat me and your other managers well.”

You felt an uncomfortable shiver pass through you as he brushed his thumb along your hand before letting go. This feeling was excused as nervousness, after all, this was your first day and your first time meeting your higher-ups.

You introduced yourself to Manager Chen, assuming that she would be the one you were to assist in your time here at JYPE. Judging by her last name, you presumed that she was Chinese as well.

“Forgive me for being so straight up Manager Chen, but are you Chinese?” You asked.

“That is alright, y/n,” she smiled, “I’m not. My Husband is, but I’ve lived in China for more than half my life. I don’t want to brag, but my mandarin has gotten proficient over the past decade or so.”

Proficient? It’s amazing. You thought. This first day was turning out better than you thought. Other than the weird feeling you received from Manager Kim, everything was turning out splendid. A potential friend and a manager that could speak your first language.

“Since it’s about noon right now,” Manager Kim took a look at his watch, “What do you all think about some lunch?”

The other managers nod their heads in agreement and gestures for you and Na-eun to follow them out of the waiting room you were in for so long.

The whole building seemed so clean. With every corner lit, by natural light or artificial light, you could clearly see that every room, every piece of furniture and decor had been purposefully placed. You couldn’t help but have a stupid look of awe plastered on your face as you mindlessly follow your superiors over to the cafeteria.

You turned your head over to Na-eun and gave her a tilt of the eyebrow, silently saying wow, this is where we work.

With the turn of a corner and several silent strides, your little group made it to the cafeteria.

The difference between your claustrophobic waiting room and this vast room was astonishing. With countless tables and romantic yellow lighting, this place almost resembled a five star restaurant. You’ve never seen a cafeteria as extravagant and clean as this before. However, to be fair, you’ve never had the experience of working with such a large corporation before.

The managers led you to the serving station where you grabbed yourself a tray and proceeded to spoon small portions of rice and side dishes onto your plate. This cuisine was different to what you were used to, but nonetheless looked delicious. You were prepared for the small cultural differences, especially with the food, but from everything you’ve witnessed so far, the culture shock would be easier to overcome than what you’ve anticipated.

“Have this soup y/n,” Manager Kim’s grating voice came from in front of you, interrupting your inner monologue. “It’s good for your complexion.”

As Manager Kim hands over the bowl of soup, you feel the sleeve of his blazer brush up against your shoulder, causing the pit of your stomach to drop.

First day nerves. That was what this feeling was. You thought.

You quietly thanked him with a small nod and walked briskly from the service line, trying to find where Na-eun went with the other two managers. Thankfully, they were just a step away and you quickly made your way over to the comfortable spot beside Na-eun. She gave you a small grin and you both followed your way to a table right in the middle of the room.

Soon, all five chairs of the table got filled and sounds of chopsticks tapping and scraping against plates and bowls filled your ears. An awkward silence dominates your table as you start to pick at your food.

“So,” Manager Chen cleared her throat, “after lunch I was thinking we should go to a meeting room and discuss Miss. Y/n’s role in our new project.”

“I was thinking the same for our new Intern Choi.” Manager An cut in, “What do you think, Manager Kim?”

“It all sounds good. I will be accompanying Manager Chen to her meeting room as I wish to also further discuss the preliminary steps for our project.” Manager Kim looked from Manager Chen over to you.

“Project?” You ask.

“We’ve had a very successful year with our idol groups and we wanted to ride this success and start marketing in China. Recently, we’ve noticed a very large and growing Chinese audience for this group. I’m sure you’re very curious now, however we can discuss further details once we are in the meeting room.” Manager Chen replies while taking a sip of the water in her glass.

Manager Chen appeared to be a very professional and respectable woman. With prominent collarbones and wide shoulders, she easily looked the part of a confident and adored manager. She needed minimal makeup to highlight her tall cheekbones, and even with a short heel on her feet she seemed to tower over you. However, her warm and comforting voice was what broke her intimidating demeanour. Just listening to her voice felt like you were back in your high school classroom with your favourite teacher explaining the motif of a sad love poem.

After some more awkward conversations mixed with a few work discussions, the five of you finished the delicious food on your trays.

“Please excuse me whilst I head to the restroom” Na-eun spoke up after your group finished clearing the table.

“Please excuse me as well.” You quickly followed, bowing as you both ventured off to the washrooms.

I should get her number so I’m not completely a loner in this place, you thought to yourself. And so, after a quick inner struggle to speak up, you finally decided to ask.

“Hey, should we exchange contacts? I don’t wanna look like the newbie eating in the cafeteria alone after today.” You chuckled.

“Totally!” Na-eun beamed. “I was actually thinking the same thing…”

And so, you both quickly exchanged each other's contact as you made your way to the restrooms.

The hall of the washrooms were narrow, hidden away from the main cafeteria. You walked in, deciding you only wanted to retouch your hair and makeup before your first official meeting. You carefully fix the loose hairs that somehow escaped the confines of your elastic and dab on a fresh layer of foundation before applying your lipstick which rubbed off while eating. Looking over at Na-eun, you see she’s quite in the zone redoing her mascara.

“Hey, I’ll just wait for you in the hall.” You said.

Na-eun gave you a disinterested nod back as she kept focusing on her mascara.

You walked to the end of the hall, leaned against the wall, and pulled out your phone. Smiling, you opened the virtual Tamagotchi app and saw your little friend staring back at you, bouncing up and down. The bundle of virtual pixels happily bounced as you fed and bathed it, making you happier in return. Playing this game, you were so entranced with your phone that the abrupt closing of the washroom doors broke you out of your hypnosis fast, causing you to flinch and drop your phone.

You looked up, only to see a brown haired man wearing a long sleeved black shirt. The hem of his sleeve fell, covering his hand as he bent down to pick up your phone. He stood back up, fully facing you now and you immediately recognized who he was. You weren’t a fool, of course you did all your research on the artists of JYPE before applying for the job. Looking down at you right now, holding your phone in his hand, was Bang Chan of Stray Kids.

The wispy tufts of his brown hair bounced over his forehead as he stepped over to you. He smiled, his dimple poking out of his cheek, and handed your phone back to you. “I think you dropped this.”

Blushing tomato red, you embarrassingly accepted the phone, trying not to make your shaking hands noticeable. It seemed like that failed, however, as you noticed him glance at your hands and dimple grow deeper.

“Thank you.” You meekly chirped and lowered your head, still in awe that you somehow bumped into a JYPE idol in the bathroom hallway of a cafeteria.

“It’s good that there’s no cracks.” Bang Chan said, looking in your eyes.

You looked back into his eyes. His smile never left his face, and you physically felt the warmth radiating off his body like rays from the sun. Some boring, objective part of your brain knew this interaction only lasted a fraction of a second, but you swore that time froze.

“Hyung!” A distant voice called.

Your trance was broken as Bang Chan looked over to the person calling his name. He turned back to you, politely bowed, and casually sauntered over to the man who called him.

What just happened? Your inner monologue ran, still trying to process the embarrassing interaction. The scent of his cologne lingered, swirling the atmosphere around your body.

Thankfully, you didn’t have too much time to dwell on this interaction as Na-eun finally opened the washroom doors and was making her way toward you.

You and Na-eun trailed behind the managers until you reached the set of elevators. It was there where you had to unfortunately separate from your comfort work buddy as she hopped in the elevator across from yours with Manager An. The other two managers led you to the elevator at the end and pressed the button for your destination floor. The ride in the elevator was silent. You stood there, fiddling with your nails.

Once the elevator gave the ding of arrival, the three of you headed down a hall where you presumed had the meeting room.

Manager Kim took a look at the watch on his wrist. “We are a minute late, everybody should be there already. Enter silently and respectfully.” He said in a stern voice.

You reached the frosted glass door of the meeting room and entered through the already opened door. The managers followed behind you with Manager Chen being the last one in and closing the door.

Your eyes widened at whom you saw.

There was Bang Chan, who sat in all his glory, staring right into your eyes with his mouth ajar. His shocked expression didn't last long, however, as he quickly composed himself to fit with the professional atmosphere of this room.

But why was he here? You thought. He’s an artist, isn’t this a management meeting?

Your inner monologue was broken by Manager Kim’s stern voice. “Y/n, why don’t you sit with me for today?” He asked with a slight tilt of the lips. His hand was hovering above your back, almost guiding you to the seat just right of the head chair.

Your heart rate quickened. There was no way that you could handle sitting right beside a high position manager on your first day. You barely knew what your duties entailed, you definitely could not handle the pressure of this seat today. You whipped your head around to look for Manager Chen. She was already sitting in her seat, looking like she was right at home.

“Manager Kim, if you don’t mind, I would like to sit in this position for today, '' a voice spoke up, “I have a lot of new ideas I’d like to share that are written in my notes.”

Bang Chan.

He paused a brief second, eyes switching between you and Manager Kim, and raised his iPad to show the screen filled with words.

“I don’t mind at all, go ahead.” Manager Kim monotonously replied. He then made his way to the head chair.

You looked over at Bang Chan, trying to subtly send the most grateful facial expression over to him. He returned your look, slightly grinning as his fingers tapped on the screen of his iPad and sat down to the right of Manager Kim. You looked over to see Manager Chen gesturing you to sit in the chair beside her and swiftly made your way over. At your seat, she handed you a notepad and pen, both adorned with the JYPE logo.

“Now, as of 1:02 p.m., September first, the meeting will officially begin.” Manager Kim clasped his hands together on top of the table. “As most of you already know, we are in the preliminary stages of planning a Chinese debut for our artist group ‘Stray Kids’. All we have right now is the estimated timeline, which is four months. We have a basic grasp of the concept we are working towards, however, as you all know, trends are always changing and growing. While we are working to create a new and original concept for Stray Kids, we also want the concept to gather as much audience reception as possible.”

Wow. That was a lot to take in. Your hands struggled to keep up with writing down what Manager Kim was saying. You knew this relatively new group was really starting to explode in the past year, but a debut in another country? This group must work really hard to even have the company consider a step as risky as this. So this is why Bang Chan is also involved in this meeting.

You peaked your head up from your notepad. Bang Chan sat across from you, one hand on his chin and the other one holding the pen to his tablet.

Manager Kim then carefully discussed the duties that each group in the room would take. Many of the jobs were directly involved with developing the concept itself, such as producing music, concept art, and theme development. Your pen never took a break from gliding on the notepad as you hurriedly jotted down everything that Manager Kim said.

Eventually, Manager Kim’s delegations moved to Manager Chen. “Manager Chen, I’ll let you take over from here.”

“Thank you Manager Kim,” Manager Chen cleared her throat. “While my main job here was to market Korean comebacks towards the Chinese audience, this new project changes things up a bit. Now, not only will I be in charge of marketing to the Chinese audience, but I will also be directly in charge of the concept itself. I will be working carefully with our team in China to monitor the trends which we can incorporate into our debut.

“This is my new assistant, y/n,” She turned and gestured to you. You politely nodded your head. “She will be gathering information on useful trends and reporting back to me, as well as some translating. Please report any ideas that you deem useful to her by the end of every week for her to sort through and deliver to me.”

You almost want to call Manager Chen crazy for giving you so much power, after all, you were only starting out as her assistant. Despite this, however, you were determined to go above and beyond with the new responsibilities given to you, after all, you knew that choosing to work in an organization as big as JYPE would take blood, sweat, and tears.

After some clarifications given by Manager Chen and a few more questions directed at her, Manager Kim took the reins back in his hands.

“Now, as I’m sure you all know, this is Bang Chan: the leader of Stray Kids. Although our management team is in charge of this debut, we like to include the opinions of artists whenever possible. He will make an appearance whenever he can and act as a representative of Stray Kids, sharing their ideas and opinions.” Manager Kim explained.

Bang Chan politely introduced himself, and quickly went on to express some concerns of his members. He made sure that each concern was answered thoroughly by Manager Kim before moving on to the next.

“As for our concept ideas,” Bang Chan’s soft brown eyes met yours, “will I have to report to y/n?”

You felt your ears redden.

“You could, yes,” Manager Kim straightened his back, “but if you find the weekly deadlines too much of a problem, you may just report to me or at any subsequent meeting.”

“No worries sir,” Bang Chan’s eyes lingered on yours for a fraction of a second more before grinning at Manager Kim, “I’m always punctual.”

The rest of the meeting consisted of more introductions and preliminary plans. After about an hour, everybody seemed satisfied with the contents of the meeting and were starting to pack up all their clutter on the table. You looked over at Manager Chen, silently asking what should I do next?

Manager Chen smiled. “Let's head to my floor. I can give you a quick tour, you can get settled at your desk. I have some paperwork that I’m almost done with; I’m sure you’ll have no problem finishing it for me.” She already was standing up and straightening over the creases of her jacket.

You stood up as well and followed behind Manager Chen like a lost baby duckling. You both made your way over to Manager Kim to bid farewell. You politely thanked him, said your goodbyes, and were about to leave when he stopped the two of you.

“Manager Chen, let’s go out for drinks tonight.” Manager Kim took a look at the intricate watch on his wrist. “With our whole team, of course. It’ll be a welcoming night and we can get to know the people on our team better.”

“That’s a great idea, Manager Kim,” Manager Chen nodded at his idea in approval. She turned on her iPad to quickly get a glimpse at her schedule. “What do you think y/n? Can you make it tonight? I know this is very last moment, but I think it’ll be a great opportunity for you to get to know your coworkers better.”

“I should be able to make it.” You definitely could make it. You had no plans anyways.

“Am I invited to this top secret party you’re all having?” A now very distinguishable voice came from behind you. Bang Chan stared at Manager Kim with a very mischievous expression.

“Would your manager allow it?” Manager Kim questioned, knitting his eyebrows.

“I’m on a diet, so I can’t drink alcohol or eat anything,” Bang Chan’s nose scrunched up in annoyance, “but I want to be as involved as I can. Just because I’m an idol doesn’t mean I can’t help behind the scenes as well.”

“Very well,” Manager Kim nodded with a fixed expression, “Let’s all meet at that restaurant about a block away west. I’ll go tell the others.” And with that, Manager Kim left you, Manager Chen, and Bang Chan to stand in awkward silence.

“Well,” Bang Chan cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, “I’ll get going as well to do some work now, but it was nice meeting the both of you.”

“You as well.” Manager Chen replied for the both of you and Bang Chan left soon after.

Manager Chen then led you to the elevators again and you headed up yet another few floors to reach your destination. You nervously fiddled with your hair as you silently waited behind your boss, looking up at the smooth lines of her blazer every few seconds. The elevator doors dinged, letting you know of its arrival. The two of you swiftly headed out the elevators and walked to what you presumed was Manager Chen’s office area. You kept following behind Manager Chen in silence before you stopped in front of a set of doors that looked identical to the ones at the previous meeting room. Manager Chen opened the doors for you, and you headed in.

You paused a step in, looking wide-eyed at the interior. The office was clean. A big glass desk sat right in the middle of the vast room in front of a huge set of windows. There were a couple of soft looking chairs placed right before the desk with a huge rug right underneath it. Over to your left, you spotted a water dispenser with a kettle right beside it. You stared at the room a bit longer before realizing you must have looked very stupid with that astonished look on your face.

“Is this your office, Manager Chen?” You asked.

“Yes. It seems that you like it,” She chuckled. You felt the heat rise to your ears.

“Since you’ll be working so close to me, I’m sure you’ll be happy to come here more often.”

“Thanks.” You awkwardly laughed. You blamed your bad response on the fact that you still weren’t familiar with the language, not your blatant awkwardness.

Manager Chen made her way over to her desk, picking up a small stack of papers. “These are some letters I’ve received from several designer companies in China. Since we are still in the very preliminary stages of this project, we would like to keep our options open for the stylists here.” She picks an annotated letter from the pile. “I’ve translated and created a summary of the main points of this letter. There are a few more left which I believe I can trust you with. Just do as I did with this letter and add the sample pictures along with it.”

You quickly complied, taking the stack of papers from her hands.

“I’ll show you to your new work space.” She led you out of your office and over to a cubicle that wasn’t too far away. It was considerably smaller compared to Manager Chen’s office, but you thought it had a certain coziness to it. Plus, working close to your coworkers could also boost your motivation. “Here is your desk, it’s not the most exciting thing, but you may bring photos or whatnot to decorate it. Now, I’ll let you settle in and get started on your work. You can meet me at my office around six, I can double check your work before we leave.”

You thanked her before she left and immediately got started on your work. You diligently translated the whole of the letters before picking out the main points that matched with Manager Chen’s example. After this was done, you included the photos that came with each letter and slipped them into their own cozy folder. This work was monotonous, sure, but it was something you needed on your hectic first day here.

You were so captivated by your work that you completely forgot about the time. The sun was starting to set, and you only remembered to look at the time after you tucked your last letter neatly in its folder. You briefly panicked, praying that you weren’t making your manager wait. Thankfully, it was only a quarter until six. You took the next fifteen minutes double checking your work, making sure to also check the time every once in a while. At exactly six, you left your desk and scurried over to the big doors of Manager Chen’s office.

Knocking a couple times, you waited patiently to be let in.

“Come in.”

You let yourself in, handing the papers to your manager, then sat quietly in one of the chairs before her desk, crossing your fingers together. You fiddled with your thumbs, patiently waiting for Manager Chen to speak up.

“Not bad, this is some decent work.” Manager Chen announced as soon as she finished glossing over your work. “I’ve noted some places that you can either fix or improve. I’ll scan them and hand you a copy tomorrow.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. A tidal wave of relief washed over you as you let yourself relax further into your chain. Not bad, this is some decent work. You proudly repeated this moment in your brain. Although you were disappointed with the mistakes that you let slip through, to get somewhat of a compliment on your first day meant a lot to you.

“Shall we get going now?” Manager Chen asked.

You grabbed your bag and stood up. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

_______

It seemed like all you were doing on your first day was following Manager Chen around like a lost puppy. The situation right now was no exception either, as you tried to copy her confident strides over to the restaurant a block down. You watched the busy rush hour streets and sidewalks fill with people, some people going home after a long day, some people going to party just like you.

Soon, after a few more minutes of walking, the both of you arrived at the small wooden doors of the restaurants. It seemed like the both of you were a bit late as Manager Kim was already waiting in front of the entrance with the rest of the team. Bang Chan was also there, head down looking at his phone.

“Sorry we’re late, have you been waiting for long?” Manager Chen somehow sounded confident despite making everybody wait on her.

Her voice seemed to have caught everybody’s attention. You watched as Bang Chan swiftly turned his head up from his phone, his eyes making contact with yours. You immediately focused your eyes somewhere else, trying to casually play off the fact that your eyes subconsciously drifted to him.

“We’ve only been waiting for a couple minutes.” Manager Kim gave a tight smile. “Let’s go in before you all get too cold.”

Your little group of around ten people slowly entered the doors, filling the restaurant. Manager Kim called over a waitress, signaling that you had ten people in your group, and let the waitress lead you all to a long wooden table.

The restaurant was nice, nothing too fancy, but that’s how you could tell the food was good. With dim lighting and tightly packed tables, it made you feel fuzzy and warm on the inside.

However, your thoughts on the restaurant were soon broken by a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, why don’t you sit with me?” Manager Kim’s lips curled up, “After all, this is a work gathering, how good of a boss would I be if I didn’t even treat my newest team member to a drink?”

Your brain was in shambles. You seriously didn’t feel comfortable sitting with him all night. However, the logical side of your brain was saying something different. He’s just being nice as a boss. You don’t know how people in this country act anyways, stop being paranoid.

It seemed like your inner turmoil was taking longer than necessary, as you heard another familiar voice speak up.

“Manager Kim-” Bang Chan called out.

“You don’t need to sit with me here, Bang Chan.” Manager Kim chuckled as he stared directly in Bang Chan’s eyes. “I’d rather not talk about work outside the office.”

You watched as Bang Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, looking back to you in reluctance. You smiled at him before turning your attention to Manager Kim. It was just one night, right? Plus, there’s no harm in establishing a good impression with your boss.

“I’ll sit with you, Manager Kim.” You smiled, “thanks for offering.”

And so, you took your seat next to Manager Kim at the table. Bang Chan, who was to your left, looked askance at Manager Kim for a brief second before his facial expression did a complete 180. His familiar, boy-ish smile was plastered on his face like it was the most natural thing.

When the menus came, everybody at the table — including you — started to order onslaughts of food and alcohol. After brief moments of casual chatter about topics such as the weather or how good the food was here, everything that was ordered arrived at your table.

You grabbed a can of beer and started sipping on it. You’ve drank before — of course — with your old friends at university, but it’s been at least a year since you last did. Better ease myself in. You thought.

However, your preconceived plans were ruined when a small glass of clear liquor got pushed in front of you.

“Y/n, surely you aren’t going to sip on that can all night.” The ends of Manager Kim’s lips curled up.

“Wasn’t planning to, sir.” You replied while tipping the glass up and into your mouth. The bitter liquid burned your throat as it went down. You took a moment to recollect your surroundings. Seems like your tolerance was higher than you thought.

“Bang Chan, do you not drink? Why not eat something then?” Manager Chen pointed to the food on the table.

“No can do ma’am, I’m on a strict diet. My manager would kill me.” Bang Chan pointed to his glass of water.

“In that case,” Manager Chen filled another glass, “Y/n, have another drink.” She slid the glass down the table in front of you.

You gladly accepted your second drink, downing the alcohol in one go. Your eyes instinctively squeezed together as you felt your throat burn. From the tips of your ears to the ends of your toes, your whole body felt warm and alive.

You lost track of the time. As your conversations got livelier, your head got fuzzier. You stopped counting your drinks after four, especially since so many people were eager to offer the new employee a drink. Although your vision was starting to blur, you could still think straight. I can still think, you thought to yourself, still — what a powerful buzz.

Your thoughts ran rampant in your mind as you stared at the lightbulb across the room. What a pretty light. So bright. Warm.

“Y/n.”

Was the light calling your name?

“Y/n!”

Your eyes focused again and snapped away from the lightbulb. Where was the voice coming from? You slowly turned your head. Bang Chan.

“Hi.” You smiled.

“Hi.” He smiled back. So bright. Warm. “It’s been hours and I haven’t even offered you a drink yet.”

You tried to focus your eyes on his face as he slid the glass over to you. One more drink wouldn’t hurt your buzz, right?

You gladly accepted, slowly moving your hand over to the glass to pick the clear liquid up. It went down in one go just like all the others.

Huh? Was this water?

You struggled to focus your eyes on the person who offered you the drink. “That was yummy.”

“I bet it was,” the talking blur chuckled, “How about another one?”

You nodded, then took the glass he slid towards you. It’s funny how water flows even when in a cup. Water. You needed to pee.

“Hey,” your words dragged out, “where’s uh, where’s the washroom?”

“Follow me. I’ll show you.” Manager Kim stood up and reached his hand out towards you. You didn’t want to take it, but it seemed like nobody was noticing his offer.

Reluctantly, you took his hand and stood up, only to stumble down again. Did your knees not want to listen?

“Whoa there, better hold on.” Manager Kim said.

“No, I can walk. I-I can walk.” You let go of Manager Kim and tried to focus all your brainpower on moving your feet in a straight line. This tactic only worked for a second, however, as your knees gave in and you stumbled down.

“It’s obvious that you can’t.” Manager Kim’s lips turned up. “It’s time for you to go home. I’ll take you back.”

What? No. You didn’t want Manager Kim to take you home, not after all the awkward events of today and the general vibe from him. You tried to express your thoughts, but nothing came out of your mouth.

“Manager Kim, you’ve been drinking!” Bang Chan’s voice came from some part of the room. “It’s not safe to drive, I’ll call a taxi for you.”

“What about Y/n here? I’ll get a taxi for us both.” Manager Kim said.

“I called my manager earlier to pick me up, we can drop her off along the way. It’s not a good idea to put two drunk people in a car. I’m completely sober right now, so let me do all the work.” Bang Chan grinned, patting Manager Kim on his shoulder.

“Is that what you want, Y/n?” Manager Kim glared.

You dizzily nodded.

“Alright. In that case, I can call my own taxi later.” Manager Kim grimaced.

“Stay safe, Manager Kim.” Bang Chan smiled. He turned to you. “My manager’s been waiting outside for a while now, do you want to leave now?”

You nodded. You tried to start walking again, but your damn knees just wouldn’t listen.

“Do you want to hold on to me?” Bang Chan knitted his brows together and held out an arm.

“I,” you slurred, “can walk.” You tried to start your feet again, only to end up stumbling down.

“I know you can,” Bang Chan said as he reached his hands out to stabilize you, “but — ah — I’m really tired after today. Can you hold on to my arm so I won’t fall out of exhaustion?”

You agreed to help him. Bang Chan waved to everybody still at the table before leading the two of you out to a black SUV. He allowed you to stumble your way in the back seats first before sliding in himself. He asked you for your address, which took many tries for you to accurately type it into his phone.

You leaned your head against the window, staring at passing blurred lights as Bang Chan’s manager started driving. Just being away from the loud and bright environment seemed to have cleared your head a little, but the pounding would not stop. You cursed yourself for being so irresponsible on your first day, especially because you were still alone in this new country.

“Hey,” you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder, “want some water?” You looked over to see Bang Chan holding out a plastic bottle with the lid screwed off.

You languidly reached your hand out for the bottle and gulped down as much water as you could in one breath before handing it back to him. The street lights started getting blurrier as you tried to fight exhaustion, the muscles in your eyelids starting to get more and more uncontrollable.

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re almost there. Ten more minutes.”

You couldn’t hear anything after that, however, as you felt your eyes give up on you and your body fall into a deep sleep.

“Y/n… Y/n.” A familiar voice called.

You fluttered your eyes open, your head pounding. Not knowing where you were, you surveyed your surroundings in a panic. It seemed as though you were in the back of a car… Parked outside of your apartment building?

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Bang Chan’s voice entered your ear. It all came rushing back to you; the restaurant, the drinking, entering the SUV.

“How long have we been parked here?” Your groggy voice sounded inhuman. You had to clear your throat a couple times.

“It’s only been twenty or so minutes. I’m not allowed to leave the car, are you able to get home alone? I can ask my manager to go with you.” Bang Chan scratched the back of his neck.

“I should be fine.” You mumbled, a bit embarrassed to have fallen asleep in the car of a person you just met that day. This wasn’t even his car, it was his manager’s.

“Hey… can I put my number in your phone?” Bang Chan avoided your eyes. “Just so you can tell me when you get home.” He quickly added.

“Okay.” You awkwardly handed him your phone with your contacts already opened. He quickly typed his phone number in before handing it back to you.

“Text me when you get home. Remember to lock your door, okay?”

You thank both him and his manager before hurrying back to your apartment. Your head was still pounding unrelentlessly as you pressed the elevator button for your floor. The events of today were still unprocessed in your brain. You met a potential friend, which was a highlight. However, you also met two higher up managers and an actual idol, only to get hilariously drunk in the presence of. At least it’ll make a good story to tell my mom. You thought.

In no time, you made it in your apartment and locked the door behind you, remembering what Bang Chan told you in the car. You texted the new number in your phone.

Y/n: Hi. It’s y/n. I just entered my apartment.

Not even a minute later, your phone lit up, signaling a new text message.

Bang Chan: great!! remember to lock the doooor hahaha ( ◕ω◕✿ )

You subconsciously grin at your phone. Cute. Throwing your phone haphazardly on your bed, you begrudgingly began your night routine. After washing up and throwing on a random shirt from your closet, you fell on your bed ready to sleep. You were about to close your eyes when your phone lit up again with a ding. It was another text.

Bang Chan: Hey… Just so you know, if you ever feel unsafe around the office just tell me okay? I’ll always try to help you in whatever way I can.

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #skz imagines #bang chan #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan smut

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javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

interlude I

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie

Word Count: 4.5k (or a “drabble”)

Rating: Explicit (there’s s** in this)

Summary: You invite Katie over for dinner, but Javi is late.

Notes: Okay so first, this is actually set after Part 2 of Triumvirate which I haven’t written yet, but today is also Dani @javierpcna‘s birthday and I wanted her to wake up to a short drabble, so here we are. Dani, my beloved, happy birthday!! I hope this is a small surprise, it took everything in me not to give anything away, I wanted to text you about it multiple times a day, and I do hope I wasn’t too obvious in the things we discussed. I hope there aren’t any embarrassing typos in this, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me if there are.

masterlist | join the taglist

***

It’s just dinner, nothing more.

Javi is late. You‘re used to it, and you’ve learned to live with it. His job is demanding, unpredictable, capricious, he keeps irregular hours, and you know he hates to keep you waiting, but sometimes it is out of his hands. Only tonight … tonight you’ve got plans, and he’s not here.

Katie is.

She’s been here for more than half an hour. And still there is no sign of Javi. If Katie had been anyone else, you would have been embarrassed by your boyfriend’s tardiness. But Katie knows. She works in the same field, the same office; she knows what it’s like when something comes up, she knows you can’t always keep the promises you make. All you can do is wait for a little while longer and then start dinner without Javi.

But it’s a hot day, and you’re both on the couch in the living room, enjoying cold drinks and idle conversation. Katie tells you about one of the men at the embassy who always wants to get into Javi’s good books but who is too much of an asshole to be taken seriously. You laugh at Katie’s impression of him, the way she pinches her eyes and hunches her shoulders and lowers her voice. It’s only when you’re breathless with laughter that Katie lets herself fall back into the cushions of the couch with a happy sigh.

She looks so proud that she’s making you laugh, and your chest tightens at the sight.

“God, it’s hot,” she complains with a grunt, pulling her shirt away from her chest. “Would it be okay if I undid some of the buttons?”

“Of course,” you answer with a nod.

Katie smiles a silent thank you and unbuttons her shirt until you can see the top of her breasts. Your eyes immediately snap back up to her face, and you hope she hasn’t noticed where they were a second earlier. Still, you feel your heart pick up speed.

It’s just dinner, nothing more.

“It’s kind of cruel they make you wear all of this,” you say with a nod at Katie’s outfit. “Especially considering the weather.”

Katie smirks but it’s more of a grimace than a smile. “It’s all about keeping up appearances,” she explains, taking a sip from her drink.

You know how much Javi hates having to wear a suit, but he always says it’s part of the job, especially his job, his position. And you busy yourself trying to recall what he told you the last time you were talking about this because three small droplets are currently making their way down Katie’s neck and into her cleavage. You don’t think she’s noticed, but you also don’t want to draw any attention to it because you don’t want her to know you’ve been looking.

“Javi says the same,” you tell her instead, a lame attempt to keep the conversation going.

It’s just dinner, nothing more.

Katie is right, it is hot, you feel it too, even though you’re wearing a light sundress. And it doesn’t help that the droplets are still making their steady way down, and it doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to lean forward and catch them on your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Katie asks you.

You realize you’ve been staring at her neck for too long, and it makes her look down, too. She wipes at the droplets before they reach their destination.

“Oh no, I think I’ve made a mess,” she says with a small, angry sigh.

“It’s fine,” you tell her quickly, trying to take the glass from her. You just brush your knuckles against it, spilling even more of the liquid.

Katie giggles breathlessly.

You can’t tell who starts it, but her lips are soft and hot against your own when you meet them, her tongue lazily grazing against yours. Your eyes are closed, all your senses are focused on her hot skin and wet kisses, and you feel too tired and wrung out from the heat to do much more than nip at her bottom lip. Katie sighs happily and brings up a hand to cup your cheek.

“Missed you,” she admits with a soft brush of her fingers against your skin.

You had no ulterior motive when you invited Katie. It was just supposed to be dinner – and nothing more. But she’s right here on the couch, right next to you, and you can feel the heat radiating off her body, setting your blood on fire until it moves through your veins like molten lava. And you realize there’s no such thing as just dinner with Katie because if her mere proximity to you is enough to make your stomach curl with desire then there’s no way you can pretend any longer.

You shift, so you can reach more of her, pressing kisses against the damp skin of her neck, feeling her pulse against your lips, and it makes you squirm. You bite the soft skin tentatively, eliciting a gasp from her, so you do it again, but she moves away from you only to pull you close again, crushing her lips against yours. You moan into her mouth, too desperate, too needy, but she likes it. Teeth clash, hot air comes out in soft gasps, your body’s heat mingles with hers, creating something like a cyclone, something that will gather its own momentum if you let it. Katie’s kisses are hungry, and so are yours; her encouraging moans are enough to make you grow damp with desire, damp like her skin, and you feel heat pool between your legs, a heat that has nothing to do with the one surrounding you.

She must feel it, too, feel a steady, unrelenting pull, because her hand is first on your thigh, covered in the soft fabric of your summer dress, then it is on your skin, covered in the glistening sheen of summer heat, and then her finger finds your center, finds your clit, finds the rapidly growing damp spot on your panties. It’s not enough, if anything, it makes things worse, like an itch that you scratch only once so it burns even more intensely. And Katie doesn’t even scratch the itch, she just touches is, probes it with innocent curiosity, while you moan loudly at her touch and feel your eyes close out of their own free will. All you can focus on is Katie’s slim finger pressed against you.

And her breath – her hot, urgent breath on the shell of your ear as she whispers, “Oh, so you do want this …”

You don’t even have time to tell her how much, how much you’ve been thinking about it, thinking about her, how you’re not yet ready to examine these feelings and what they mean for you, how you don’t know when and if and how you should talk to Javi about it, but all of this doesn’t matter when Katie pushes the thin fabric of your panties aside.

It doesn’t matter when Katie’s finger finds your clit.

You whimper and push yourself into her touch. You want to tell her how much you’ve missed her soft, sweet, chaste attention on you, but you’re so overwhelmed that all you can do is find her thigh and dig your nails into the fabric of her trousers. You feel yourself clench in time with the circular movements of Katie’s finger, you feel yourself burn with want, and when you open your eyes, you feel the air being knocked from your lungs. Katie’s eyes are on your face, she’s watching you intently, her gaze roaming over your slightly parted mouth, your burning cheeks, your tense neck. It’s like she’s waiting for some sort of confirmation, for you to tell her everything is okay, and you know that once you give her that, you won’t be able to come back from it. The thing is – you don’t want to come back from it.

You swallow hard. “More, please,” you whimper.

Katie’s eyes shine with something akin to relief as a soft puff of air tickles your cheek. You think about kissing her, about feeling her lips glide against your own, about her tongue mirroring her finger’s movements, before she shifts, leans back, and you freeze in panic. Did you make a mistake? Did she make one? Does she maybe not want this at all? But then her hand claws at your panties as she tears them off of you and pushes a finger into you, and every doubtful thought is forgotten. You clench around her immediately and by the way she bites her lip you know she can feel your desperation.

Everything comes to a stop for a few short seconds, even the cars and people and noises outside seem to be silenced, and it’s just the two of you, it’s just her inside of you and the air between you that you both share. You lean forward and kiss her chin, kiss her cheek, kiss her jaw, and then she captures your lips between hers. You expect it to be soft, but it’s not, she pushes against you urgently, and suddenly, as all the noises come back, you realize it’s not just you – she feels the same way.

Insecure.

Curious.

Turned on.

Katie pushes a second finger into you, and fucks you slowly, lazily, without urgency. And still, it sets you on fire. It makes you burn like she’s a flame and you’re too close to her, you feel like nothing can quench the desire burning your limbs, your throat, in the pit of your stomach. Her slow strokes only stoke it, they don’t bring the relief you thought they would. You feel hot and slick and sticky, you feel trapped in your dress, trapped between Katie’s fingers and her lips and her body and the couch at your back, and the only way to move on is to go forward, so you push yourself onto Katie’s fingers with a roll of your hips. You hear her sigh softly, so you repeat the motion, repeat it a third time, a fourth, a fifth, until she isn’t fucking you so much anymore as you’re fucking yourself on her fingers. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss this gives you, relaxing around her, trusting her to take care of you. Katie lets you for a while, she lets you take over until you feel like you’re in charge of the situation before she brushes her thumb against your clit, and you almost come.

Your eyes fly open to tell her that, to warn her to … ask her for permission? … you’re not sure yourself. Katie is looking at you in concentration, her cheeks red, her teeth digging into her bottom lip that is even redder, her eyelids low with hazy want. She looks so beautiful, and you feel a surge of pride at the thought that you are the one doing this to her. But then you see something behind her … and you freeze.

It’s Javi.

He is watching you with an expression that is utterly unreadable, and you only know he isn’t frozen because he is clenching and unclenching his right hand in rapid movements. You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say, all you can think about is what he might be thinking, but you can’t read his expression. Why can’t you read it? You grip Katie’s wrist and try to push yourself into a sitting position. Katie stills her hand and follows your gaze over her own shoulder. As soon as her eyes land on Javi, he steps towards you.

“Stop that,” he growls.

That’s all the evidence you need. You can tell you’ve fucked up by the way his eyelids lower, by the weight he puts into each step as he walks towards you, by the slight tremor in his voice. The intense pleasure you’ve been feeling this past quarter of an hour is replaced by intense panic, one you can taste on your tongue – metallic, sharp, bitter. All you can think about is to explain to him that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you will make sure you won’t see Katie ever again, that this doesn’t mean anything.

Liar, whispers a voice in your head. You fucking liar.

But Katie isn’t moving, her fingers are still inside of you as she watches Javi walk toward you. You squirm and try to push yourself off her – how does she not see the look in his eyes? How does he not want to run and hide?

“Stop that,” Javi repeats, and it sounds softer now, more exasperated.

You want to tell him that you’re trying, but before you can say anything, before just one weak sound leaves your lips, Katie uses her free hand to push you down into the couch again with so much determination that the air is punched from your lungs. She’s so much stronger than she looks, and if you didn’t feel like your entire world was falling apart, her strong grip on your hip would turn you on.

“What -?” you gasp.

Neither of them is offering you an answer. Katie’s eyes are on Javi and Javi’s eyes are on the floor, the coffee table, the wall … anywhere but on you. He lets himself fall into his old leather chair opposite the couch, not even taking off his worn leather jacket, and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He proceeds to light one as if he has all the time in the world, as if he was the only person in the room, coming home from an exhausting day at work, trying to unwind, as if there weren’t two women opposite him, his girlfriend and his colleague, one buried knuckles-deep in the other.

He leans back, the cigarette between his lips, and you forget how to breathe. It’s just him now, his intense, hard gaze on you, and you know you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. He pins you down like a fragile butterfly, and all you can do is take it. Katie also doesn’t move, she waits for Javi as a quiet tension settles around you. Javi takes a slow drag on his cigarette and regards you to with deep, dark calmness before he finally speaks.

“Go on then,” he says with a small nod, “make her come.”

You whimper pitifully, all the tension you’ve been holding in your muscles leaving your body as you flood Katie’s fingers with your arousal, as you clench around her tightly.

Katie smirks at Javi. “You know, I think she’d really like that,” she tells him.

Of course you would, there is nothing you want more right at this very moment, but it’s all so much. Katie picks up the pace again, and all you can do is sink back onto the couch and take it, as Javi watches the two of you casually, smoking his cigarette as if he’s standing on the sidewalk waiting for a taxi, as if he’s on his lunch break trying to delay the moment he has to go back upstairs to his desk. Katie’s eyes are on you but her gaze flickers over to Javi once in a while as if she’s looking for validation and praise from him. When she’s looking at you, you feel your throat close up, you feel like you can’t breathe, but when she’s looking at Javi, you’d do anything to pull her attention back towards you.

And Javi? Javi is looking at you, mostly, right at you, and his gaze never flickers, not for one second. You can’t remember the last time you were this wet, this desperate. Katie’s fingers are stroking you, are gliding in an out of you with ease, while Javi watches every movement with interest, while he watches to see what someone else is doing to you, while he studies your heaving chest, your trembling thighs, your hands balled into fists.

Then his eyes flicker down, and he watches Katie’s fingers, watches them disappear and reappear, her slim fingers, coated in your slick. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know exactly what he is thinking about. It makes your breath hitch, makes you grab Katie’s arm and hold on tight. Katie presses a quick kiss to your damp forehead, but Javi interrupts her.

“Slower,” he says, lighting another cigarette, “make her want it.”

Katie immediately follows his orders, slowing down, and for some reason, it feels much more intense now. You throw back your head, a throaty moan leaving your lips, as you feel Katie curl her fingers, as you feel her hit that one spot inside of you, the one Javi always finds with so much ease. She’s set on doing this right – she’s set on pleasuring you as much as she’s set on pleasing Javi. And it is too much, it already was too much when it was just Katie and you, but Javi watching you is the final straw. You’re so wound up you’re not even sure you’ll be able to come, no matter how well Katie is doing, no matter how much she’s trying to get this right. Your limbs are shaking, your fingers are tingling, your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, as you squeeze your eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by this situation you suddenly find yourself in.

Then you feel Katie hovering right next to you and you open your eyes again – everything else is blocked from your view by her long, wavy, brown hair. Her lips are next to your ear, you can feel her hot breath ghosting your even hotter skin. “Shhhh,” she whispers soothingly, and the air leaving her lips tickles you, drawing a high giggle from you.

From the other side of the coffee table, you hear Javi say, “Let her take care of you”.

With a small whimper, you let your head fall back until you’re flush against the backrest of the couch. The soft look in Katie’s eyes makes you want to give her anything she wants, anything at all, as long as she does what Javi is telling her to do.

“Please,” you breathe.

Katie doesn’t give any sign that she’s heard you, and then the penny drops: She only does what Javi is telling her to do. This might not be about just you and her, this might also be about her and him. You don’t quite know yet how to pigeonhole this information. But there’s something there, something you struggle to place, and everything becomes even more clouded when you look over at Javi and see the cigarette hang limply between his slightly parted lips.

You wish you could but a finger on it, bit all you know right now is that what Katie is doing isn’t enough, it only adds to the tightness between your legs without brining you the relief it should. And the only person who could give you that relief, not with actions but with words, is Javi.

So you turn your attention to him. “Javi, please.”

Javi shakes his head like waking up from a trance and puts out his second cigarette. He locks eyes with you, and there’s a strain in his voice when he answers your plea. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking.”

You swallow hard and look back at Katie, whose bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she waits for you to make the next move.

“Katie, please, I –”

But you don’t know how to end that sentence, you don’t know what you want from her anymore, all you know is that you want her to fuck you while Javi watches, and that realization hits you so unexpectedly that you cannot put it into words, even though you know it’s exactly what they both want to hear from you. Instead, you stop being passive, you stop just taking whatever Katie gives you, and you start to roll your hips again.

Katie lets out a surprised sound, something between a sigh and a moan with an edge of breathlessness to it. She flings back her hair with a snap of her neck and glances at Javi. “Is she always this inarticulate?” she asks him in an attempt to regain some control.

Javi has the audacity to chuckle, like this is just a game to him, but his voice is deep and raspy when he says, “Only when she’s desperate for it.”

It’s the way they talk about you like you’re not even there, like all their attention isn’t focused on you that makes you tighten around Katie’s fingers, that makes you pull her in even deeper.

“She’s so wet …,” Katie observes, her eyes shiny with lust, looking down at where she’s buried deep inside of you, “and tight.” And she scissors her fingers as she pulls them out slowly.

You fold in on yourself, mewling in desperation. Katie does it again and you tremble around her, holding onto whatever surface your hands can reach, a pillow, the couch, Katie’s arms, her legs. She makes you feel so good, and she gives you so much – her free hand softly strokes your hot skin, making it flare up even more, her lips find your exposed neck to leave hungry kisses, her mouth whispers to you, things you usually only hear in the darkness of the bedroom, and not in broad daylight with two sets of eyes on you.

And Javi isn’t just watching, he’s observing, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded tightly, and you want to know what he’s seeing, what he’s learning about you. Yes, he is enjoying himself, you can tell from the flush creeping up his neck, from the fact that he still hasn’t taken off his jacket, too transfixed by what he’s seeing, but there is more to it, maybe more than he’s willing to admit himself.

But he is excellent at hiding his feelings, at hiding the conclusion he comes to, at hiding his needs when there is a task to focus on, a puzzle to solve.

“Well,” he says, his eyes roaming across your upper body still covered by your dress, roaming across your naked legs, across Katie’s hand, across your slick coating her fingers, “seems to me like you’re doing a good job.”

Katie draws in a sharp breath and then draws you in for a deep kiss, and you can taste the pride on her lips and tongue, can feel the effect that praise has on her in the way she bites your lip, the way she moans against you, the way she curls her fingers just so.

“Please,” you whimper when she releases you, and your eyes snap back to Javi.

Katie’s hand comes up, her fingers closing around your chin, and she forces you to look back at her. “You heard him.” It’s almost a snarl, her voice raspy and gruff, her face a stern mask. “Ask me.”

And you do, you do it with so much conviction that her eyes grow wide. You do it because just as you know she wants to impress Javi, you want to impress her, you want to hear her praise you, flatter you, worship you.

“Please, I need to come,” you ramble as fast as your tongue can carry the words. “Please, please, let me come.”

Katie swallows hard, then pushes her chin out. “No.”

You feel tears of frustration prick at the corner of your eyes, and you do it again, you look at Javi, but before you can focus on him, Katie’s voice draws you back. “I told you to look at me.”

“Katie.” It’s barely a whisper, your voice strained from the effort of not making a complete fool of yourself by howling her name into the world. “Baby, please,” you go on, relishing how her cheeks are turning red at that. “Please let me come on your fingers.”

Without any warning, she pushes a third finger into you, and your voice turns from a whisper into a scream, one that is loud enough to echo to the end of the block. You push yourself off the couch and down onto Katie’s fingers, riding her, your hips rolling with a desperation that tastes like smoke and iron on your tongue.

“Doesn’t she make the prettiest sounds when she’s full?” Javi asks from somewhere far away.

Katie nods, and if she replies anything you don’t hear it because she chooses this moment to brush her thumb against your clit … just once. You fall back onto the couch, your legs spreading as wide as possible, one slung over Katie’s lap, the other trembling from the strain.

“Shit,” you whisper, over and over, as Katie does it again and again. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You like this, don’t you?” she asks you. “You like being on display for him like this.”

This time, you don’t look at Javi, even though the answer is yes. You love this, you love the feeling of having his full attention but being unable to participate, you love how he’s studying you, and you love that he is giving this to you, that he lets you have this, even though you don’t yet know what consequences it will bring and what it will mean for you. All you know is that you need this.

“I like you fucking me like this,” you answer.

Katie’s eyelids flutter and you feel a sharp exhale against your cheek. “You hear that, Javier?” she asks, but snarl in her voice is gone.

You don’t let him answer, this doesn’t concern him anymore, it’s between you and her now. You push down on her fingers again, roll your hips until the friction of her thumb against your clit makes you sigh in relief.

“Come on, Katie, fuck me,” you challenge her. “Show him what you can do.”

And she finally does. You feel her tremble inside of you and then she holds your hip, like she’s seen him hold it, and she pushes her fingers in deep, so deep she hits something within you that makes you lose all control. You come on her fingers, flood her hand and the couch, hear Javi’s hoarse gasp, and you can tell this is only the beginning, you know that he let you have this, but he expects something in return, and while you’re still coming, while you still hold Katie’s fingers inside of you in a chokehold, you already feel arousal unfurl in the pit of your stomach again, sharper, deeper, more urgent.

And you ask yourself what it would be like if your positions were reversed – what it would be like to watch Javi and Katie –

Katie stills her fingers, and before you can ask for anything, before she even has time to pull them out, Javi’s voice cuts through your pants, through Katie’s shallow moans, and it makes you both look at him, it makes Katie shiver and it makes your walls flutter and your eyes close with an indescribably deep desire.

“Do it again.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #agent peña x reader #agent peña x you #javier peña x reader x katie #javier peña x you x katie #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i'm working on part 2 i swear #have this in the meantime

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runtedfiction · 3 years ago

Text

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction

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idesofrevolution · 4 years ago

Photo

Here y’all go. Hope you like it.

Look at him, isn’t he adorable? I’d been watching him and his college friends playing ball every Saturday from my balcony. Each time, I’m hearing him talk about “slamming pussy” and “playin’ the game” as if he knows what that means. Jock boys always think the world of themselves, and sometimes for good reason. Every now and again, I look back on my own days at that age, fondly remembering all the bullshit trouble got myself into. I’m telling you- once you hit a certain age, you just want to relive those debaucherous days again; and hearing this little shit wasting those years degrading the ladies... I knew I could do so much better with his assets.

So into my mind popped a little idea. We’re living in a world of infinite possibilities, and using a few tricks and a whole lot of ingenuity you can really access some more unattainable goals. For instance, knowing the local voodoo priestess can be an invaluable advantage. Miss Marie had lived across the hall for as long as anyone could remember, and she had the respect and fear of everyone she met. So for a few hundred dollars and debt or two to her, she gave me a little gris gris which she insinuated could help little old me up my game.

With bag in hand, I had to make my move. That Saturday I watched with bated breath as the boys were shooting hoops and talking shit until the sun went down. When the streetlamps went on, one by one they departed and left the ladykiller waiting on his Uber. As he sat there flipping through Tinder on his phone, I whispered the incantation that Miss Marie had taught me. Three times I repeated it, never once breaking my gaze on him. Upon the fourth recitation, I saw him suddenly throw his phone on the ground in rage. He tossed the basketball across the street and started to pace back and forth. Calling down to him, I “checked in on him.”

“Hey! You alright?” He looked up to my balcony and grimaced.

“Shut the fuck up ya fruity bitch! Phone’s dead that’s all! Mind your business!” I chuckled and leaned against the railing, watching my hateful prey unknowingly within my clutches. Thinking his Uber was on it’s way, he sat down on the curb and pouted to himself. Five minutes turned to forty minutes and with his ride nowhere in sight, he played right into my hand. “Ay! Fag! Got a charger or somethin?” A smirk crawled across my face and I waved him over to my building and buzzed him up.

Now truth be told, I had no idea what to expect. Marie didn’t exactly explain how the gris gris would work, nor did she break down how to initiate the plan. So when he knocked on my door, I’d be lying if I said I was entirely understanding of what I was doing. I swung the heavy old door open and there he stood. Glistening with sweat and a scowl on his pretty boy face with his beat up skateboard in tow.

“So where’s the charger?” He looked me up and down, disapprovingly looking at my big belly and old biker tattoo sleeves. Back in the day, I rode with my crew from coast to coast, fuckin’ every stud, twink, and bear that came my way. But the years hadn’t been too kind to me, and from the look on his face he sure didn’t see me the way that those boys back then did. Convincing myself to swallow my pride, I tossed him an iPhone charger and pointed him to the living room outlet. Plugging it in, he plopped down on my couch, and completely ignored my existence. Muttering under his breath, I could tell his Uber had cancelled.

“You can stay here until your car gets here.” I leaned against the hallway arch, taking in his steaming muscles. He clearly worked out in addition to all the days and hours of basketball. And damn... did he smell like hours of and hours of basketball. It was my favorite scent- raw testosterone, absolute masculinity, untempered musk; and his was STRONG.

“Bet your ass I’m getting the fuck out of your creepin’ ass house when this car gets here.” He thought he was so hood, so badass. He had no clue. Soon, though, he’d learn how to be a real man. Soon he’d be more than just a basic pretty boy frat kid. He started coughing gently, trying to hide it behind his phone screen, but the coughs grew louder and heavier. “Yo, get me some water!” I smiled.

“Get it yourself, bitch.” He whipped his head in my direction and tried to jump up, but realized he could barely move. It was as if he had no breath. “Oh, you’re feelin weak, huh? Why don’t you call your friends and they can come pick you up.” He tried to reach for his phone, but his arm had all but given out. Panic set in behind his cruel, mean spirited eyes and for the first time I saw him for who he really was behind the muscles, good lucks, and put on swagger: a little homophobic bitch who was in over his head. I walked over to him and plopped down on the couch next to him. His smell was strong and virile, full of youthful pheromones that he knew were a gift straight from God. I tested the waters and lifted his limp arm, exposing his wet pits. Assaulted, I tell you, I was assaulted by the sharp fragrance that poured from the hairy confines. He could do no more than a whiny whimper as I buried my nose and tongue into his armpit.

“Well, fuck, kid. It’s been a fuckin’ bitch knowing you. But it’s gonna be one hell of a good time bein’ you.” I saw the last of his pathetic consciousness fade away. Where it went I neither knew nor cared; all that was left was his empty, hollow husk. Curious, I brought my fingers to his plump lips and pried. A sound I can only describe as stretching elastic rang through the room as I pulled and pulled. Looking inside, he was hollow, albeit padded with slick flesh that outlined his impressive musculature. Letting go, his face snapped back to normal. He was ready.

I eagerly stripped, thinking of all the adventures I could relive from within him; thinking of the numerous opportunities that I could snatch with his glorious body and my confident mind. Laying him down, I stuck my toe into his mouth and pushed. After a few thrusts downward, my foot slid down his throat. It took a solid minute for me to weasel my second foot into the tight confines of his slimy mouth and down his throat, but they were soon both slipping down his torso, through his muscled legs and landing in his tight feet. I was several sizes larger than he, so his tiny size 7s felt like a pair of tiny, wet rubber socks to my size 13s. Yet, after a little adjusting, they looked amazing at my size. I brought one to my face, pressing the damp soles on my nose, taking in the salty, rank funk that emanated from between his toes. I stood up, his mouth around my ankles making my a little wobbly. I grabbed his waist and pulled up, watching his legs slip over mine. The sheer size of my pudgy calves and thighs seemed to be suctioned into his, adding my mass to his musculature. He would be so much better at my 6′2 than his 5′9.

After a hefty tug, my bloated ass was sucked into his, tightening and firming into an ass any stud would kill to plow, and anyone would kill to plunge their tongue into. Sauntering over to my mirror, I saw a toned, gorgeous lower half, with my tubby top pouring over our waist. My cock was pressed tightly against my groin, since I’d forgotten to slip it into his when my ass was... compacted. I stuck my meaty hands beneath our skin and tried to grab my shaft, leading it towards his. The kid wasn’t packin’ anything impressive. I guess his ladies didn’t have high standards for dick. But I’ll tell you when my thick rod was slurped into his, it was like I was thrusting inside the tightest fleshjack I’ve ever used. Looking down, I smiled at a girthy, 10 inch, uncut fuckstick. I swiped my finger underneath my new foreskin and took a deep sniff. Fuck. Yes. It was unreal. The cocksmell was so strong yet so addictive, it was as if it was dripping manliness in odorous form.

I knew that there was building pressure from within, and that the midsection would be the hardest thrust. So, I readied myself. Getting my footing underneath, I took a deep breath and held it in. With as much strength as I could muster, I tugged upward and my bulging belly was gulped into his skin with a loud “shlorp.” This took my body a moment to adjust, with a hefty beer gut protruding from my stomach, but after a deep belch, a set of washboard abs was there before me. To my surprise, and glee, some of my tattoos had transferred to my new skin, which gave me hope for the sleeves I’d grown to love.

Speaking of which, it was time for me to thrust my arms into his, which seemed entirely easier than my stomach. I slipped on his arms like gloves, the sensation of touch returning to my fingertips as they slipped into his. Looking at the mirror, it seemed only a fraction of my sleeve transferred over. Oh well, better than nothing! His shoulders snapped over mine, and I stood there in all my nude glory- with his jaw around my throat. I was ready. I was so ready to begin anew. I grabbed the jaw, matching his bottom lip to mine, and pulled his face over mine like a silicone mask. It suctioned to my head and within seconds I opened my eyes to a new man.

I was incredible. My face was an amalgamation of both our likenesses, the best of both worlds. I winked at my new self, testing out my old cocky smoulder. I still got it, and hell, I would be using it a whole fuckin’ lot. A knock on the door woke me from my eyefucking and walked over to the door. Opening it, there stood Marie. She looked me up and down and rolled her eyes.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s a bonafide stud once again.” I smirked, and let her in. “Phew... Boy you’re fragrant. But then again, I’m sure the boys you fuck are into that sort of thing huh?” Smiling, I lifted my arms, and took in my scent. Better than poppers. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? You agreed to the terms, now it’s time to pay up.” I plopped down on the couch, preparing to hear the terms of my debt.

“What you need, baby?” She grabbed me by the cheeks, looking her straight in the eye. All color must’ve flooded from my face.

“Your big blue eyes aren’t gonna get you anywhere with me, son. You are to do as I say, do you hear me?” I nodded silently. “I need followers, boy. Followers. Those who are willing to do what I need done, and in exchange... I’ll add them to your little crew. When I tell you to get something done, I need it done, you hear me?” I nod. “Now when I say go get some more boys, ma cher, you understand what I’m saying, yeah?” I smile as she lets go of my cheeks. “Enjoy your immortality, baby. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she tosses me some clothes as she walks out my door.

It’s been three weeks since that day, and the old man in the flat is nowhere to be seen. His ‘son’ Sebastian has since taken over the lease, and become something of a staple in the community. Always makin the ladies swoon, and the guys drip. Always there to end a fight with a swift K.O. to the chin. Always happy to help a down-on-their-luck neighbor. But most importantly, always looking for new people call ‘family.’

WELP. Introducing a potentially new recurring character: Sebastian the Voodoo King. Let me know what you think of him through asks, and what you’d like to see him to HERE. Have a dope day, kids. Hope this is everything y’all wanted.

#male possession #male bodysuit #male transformation #badass transformation #swagification #jock possession #musk #smelly #gay possession #weird af #original #male takeover #revenge #jockification #body possession #male tf

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vslattae · 4 years ago

Text

TRUST

Part one part two

↝ ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢɢᴇsᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴘᴜs ғʟɪʀᴛ ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪᴍ ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ, ʜᴇs ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪs ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴋɪɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ?

this is a little unedited so if you see any mistakes...you didn’t :)

campusflirt!jungkook x semipopular!reader

warnings: language, jin (is kind of a dick) mentions of alcohol, weed, there’s a smudge of angst. jk is kind of a dumbass, tae and yoongi being soft for yn,

———————————————————————

let’s get straight to the point, college is fun but despite all the movies it was all lies. Some people have it worse and thank god you didn’t have it so bad.

you sat in taehyung and yoongis apartment it was a quiet night. “let’s go to namjoons party tomorrow night” taehyung glanced at you smiling. “sure we can go” you smile back grabbing your stuff to make it back down the hall to your apartment.

Once you wave goodbye you slowly make your way out and into your apartment. sighing you placed your bag down and noticed something under your bed stuffed in a box.

cautiously sitting down and opening the box, the memories flood in. jeon jungkook what the hell happened to us? Jungkook or his nickname you gave him “kookie” was your best friend growing up, until freshman year of high school when he met those dicks that just happened to be friends with your yoongi and tae.

Once jungkook found out about them the hours you spent sitting in your makeshift fort dissipated from minutes to hours to day then weeks..all the up until a few years. the only good thing is that you two happen to be at the same college, but obviously you don’t even know if he remembers you.

going through the small notes and pictures one stands out, it was the night jungkook took you to your eighth grade dance where you both shared for your first kiss.

giggling at the memory you never noticed the small tear that tumbles off your right cheek. you slide the box back underneath your bed to be forgotten and continue getting ready for bed.

beep beep beep

your alarm clock flashes 5:35 exactly one hour before sunrise, changing into shorts and a hoodie and running shoes you burst out the door into the nice breeze chasing the path that led to a small clift where you spend your early mornings.

The path passes by a small dance studio with huge open windows, you never pay attention to it because the windows are always dark but once you stop you noticed a guy with way blonde hair with hand tattoos. he sways to the music but a female pops out to hug the boy and you continue to run.

bzzz bzzz

it’s yoongi.

“hello?” you pick up

“yn taehyung isn’t here” his voice sounds worrying.

“what do you mean?” you stop glancing out to the scenery.

“yn he never came back he told me he went out for a walk and hasn’t been back. i’ve tried calling and nothing straight to voice mail.” your heart sinks wondering if something really bad happened to tae.

“i’m coming okay? well go check out places maybe he just crashed at a friends place.” your insides churning as you run to yoongis place.

now walking with yoongi around to a different apartment lot about 10 minutes away from yours, it belongs to seokjin or just jin. the name sounds familiar but you keep it to yourself.

arriving at the gray apartment building, yoongi marching straight up to room 202 and knocking on the door.

a very tall slim guy opening the door, his hair peeled with light brown hair and purple ends...this must be jin.

“is tae here” yoongi glares at jin the taller male. “please come in and she can come in too taes on the couch” he invites you both in. you get the stench of weed and a very high taehyung on the couch.

“tae jesus christ” you hit him on his arm he winces a little and whines, there’s a weird noise coming from down the hall you ignore it of course and try to pull taehyung up with the help of yoongi but you both fail and he pulls you down and wraps his arms around you.

“tae” you whine “yoongi get him off” yoongi pulls you out of taehyungs arms. The noise from the hall stop as you hear a whine and a guy making his way into the living room where it’s crowded with voices.

it’s the guy from the dance studio. the very toned blonde haired boy with the tattoos on his hand. he made his way towards you and froze.

it was jungkook. in the flesh...

“jungkook yoongi and his friend came to get tae” jin look at jungkook and he still stood frozen. eyes widened at your figure along with the beads of sweat stuck on his forehead.

“oh jin shit...this is yn the girl that lives down the hall from us” yoongi pointed to you while you shy waved.

“yn..?” jungkook looked at you and he wanted to do was scoop you in his arms and apologize for ghosting you and ignoring you...it pained him to watch you both slowly drift apart away from each other.

“can we talk..?” he looked at you while your thoughts ran wild. you thought he was dead for crying out loud..and he thought you moved away and never wanted to see me again.

nodding you got up and walked outside of the apartment. you noticed the space in between you two. you had no idea what you were gonna say at all thank god he opened his mouth otherwise you would have darted back up to grab tae and leave.

“so..how’ve you been?” he scratched the back of neck while glancing at you.

“i’ve been okay...you’ve changed” you try your hardest to hold back the tears that swelled in your chest begging to not cry in front of him. god that’s pathetic.

he quickly caught on and held you. “i am so sorry yn..i forgot about you..and i fucked up oh my...we lost so much time and i don’t even know what to do..” he rambled on.

“i thought you were dead kook...you stopped hanging out with me to be with those pot smoking fuck boys..what happened.” that’s when the first tear fell and the bitterness bubbled in the pit of your stomach.

he watches you stunned...he doesn’t what happened to him. it was just one of those you meet things. they were more interesting than you at the time so time slipped away and so did the jungkook you knew.

“yn...i’m sorry...what else do you want me to say?” he looked you searching for face. “it’s okay kook...your girl is inside and i have to go.” you look at very high tae who pushes himself onto your shoulders as he giggles.

he watched the three of you walking away, as he returns back into his apartment to finish the girl he was with.

the night came for you and your little duo to head over to namjoons. watching the mirror with your ripped jeans tiny crop and yoongis windbreaker. you tip on your favorite shoes and walk out with yoongi and tae. The walk is easy, the light breeze along with the dim lights that spread along the road.

Once you reach the medium size house, it’s crowded with college guys and girls and it reeks of cheap alcohol and shady smelling weed. the minute you step into the house your swarmed by yoongi and taehyungs friends. yoongi manage to wrap his arm around you while he pushed his way to rm and jimin.

“hi guys” jimin looks at the three of you.

“you didn’t tell me this many people were here” you whined glancing around watching taehyung come back to give you a red cup filled with whatever he was drinking. “yeah me either but uh i think jins coming with his guys” he tipped himself back on the couch.

sipping your drink you immediately choke on it, in your line of sight lays jungkook. He’s paired in black ripped jeans, a designer hoodie and a pair of black combat boots. His hair is a little messy along with the row of piercings that lay on his ears. his left hand holds a red cup as he’s surrounded by a few girls until he notices you.

“jesus i think i’m going to be sick...can someone come outside with me?” you stand up immediately holding your hand out to whoever grabs it first..that is until your eyes land in your palm with jungkooks tattooed hand as he pushes his way outside.

“thanks” you mumble sitting on the warm concrete not sparing a glance to the boy in front of you. your head is pounding with the amount of alcohol in your system along with the super loud ass music that blasted the house.

“yn..” jungkook calls out. you look up only to find the boy hovering over you and for the first time since yesterday you got a glimpse of jk. “i know the reason i stopped hanging out with you” he softly spoke. tilting your head you waited for him to continue. “i wasn’t good for you yn and you know that. i couldn’t introduce to the guys i hung out with. they’d tear you apart.” he finally admitted.

“what- jungkook...you just left that’s the thing. you couldn’t have just told me that you’d go missing?” you scoffed already much annoyed and read to go you stood up to tell the boys you were going home.

walking back into the house to greet your friends goodbye but they were nowhere to be found out all.

making your way back to your apartment unlocking the door and stepping inside, you shower the party off and get dressed no bothering to put a bra on.

knock knock knock

slowly inching your way to the door and opening it, you were thinking it was a drunk tae or yoongi but you were definitely wrong. and definitely sober.

jungkook was out there..you looked up at him and then it just clicked. “come in..” you noticed his eyes drifting towards the small shorts you put on.

once you were both seated on the couch time began to move slower and all it took was the drift of jungkooks hand to your thigh and you were now under his spell.

———————————————————————

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jeon jungguk #jungkook smut #bts jung jungkook #bts smut #jk smut #bts jk #bts rm #taehyung #yoongi

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monicashipslokius · 3 years ago

Text

Soulmates, Actually Pt 3

(read Part 1/Part 2)

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki paces the length of the small bathroom, turning after only two steps. On each turn they catch sight of themself in the mirror, as hard as they try not to. They don’t want to see the cowardice marring their own features. They don’t want to face themself, knowing they are standing here in relative safety at the cost of their soulmate’s.

Through the thin walls, Loki hears another pound on the front door. Mobius calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Loki stops pacing and presses their ear to the bathroom door, straining to hear outside of it.

After the creak of a door opening, Mobius says, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mobius M. Mobius?” Thor has a weakness for Midgard and its people. Even as he speaks to Mobius now, his voice isn’t quite as booming as Loki is accustomed to.

“That’s me. Are you selling something?”

“I...? No. May I enter?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. I’m kind of busy, you know?”

“I see,” Thor says. “Wait! I’m looking for someone.”

“Sorry,” Mobius says. The door creaks again, loud, like it tried to close but was blocked by a hard shoulder.

“I must insist,” Thor says, and there’s the booming authority Loki expected. Heavy footfalls step into the apartment. Loki instinctively leans away from the bathroom door. “Do you live here, or is this a closet?”

“Hey, why does everyone think that,” Mobius says, his following footsteps much softer. “My apartment is not that small.”

“It is,” Thor says, blunt as ever, though perhaps his own time on Midgard changed him a small amount, because he immediately adds, “But... nice. Very... brown.” A long, awkward pause. “Seeing this... I feel apologies are in order. I cannot imagine Loki hiding here.”

Loki knows that their usual love of decadent flair is what’s saving them now, but the words still sting. It’s one thing for them to think disparagingly about their new home. It is entirely another for someone else to speak badly of it. Even Thor.

Maybe especially Thor.

“It seems silly now,” Thor says. “I had heard you are their soulmate.”

“It doesn’t seem all that silly,” Mobius says, voice much softer.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says. “Only that you are not their type.”

“Oh? Too old?”

Thor laughs. “Too human. But consider yourself lucky, friend."

"I don't know, I'd think it'd be okay to be the soulmate of a god."

"Not this god," Thor says, and that familiar self-hatred claws at Loki's ribcage from the inside out. They place their hand over their chest, physically pressing down on the feeling, but it does not stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mobius clips his words short.

Loki braces themself as Thor continues, "They never stay with anyone for long. They haven’t met a person yet who could hold their interest.”

“Maybe they just hadn’t met the right person,” Mobius says, stronger.

"Right people tend not to hang around my brother. You may have noticed that they are..." Thor pauses and Loki holds their breath. "A villain." Thor, at least, sounds pained to say it, though that is little comfort for Loki.

The word shouldn't hurt them. It is true. Despite their glorious purpose, they will never be seen as a hero, but only ever as the one who stands in the hero's way.

“Or instead," Mobius says, stronger still. Irritation oozes from his words. "Maybe they got so used to being seen as a villain that they started to think that’s all they are.”

The scratching in Loki's chest slows until it ceases entirely. Mobius.

But the calming effect of Mobius's defensive fury does not linger.

Thor holds his tongue a moment, and in that moment, a thick dread buds in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor may be oblivious at times, but he is not totally obtuse. And Mobius is angry enough for even him to take notice.

“Have you seen Loki, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I think you should leave now,” Mobius says.

“So it’s true?” Thor asks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “You are Loki’s soulmate?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“They must be deceiving you. Tell me where they are, and I will take them back to Asgard. Then you will be safe.”

“Loki’s not going anywhere with you,” Mobius says, stupidly brave. Stupidly perfect.

Outside a storm brews. Thunder rumbles the walls, as loud as Thor’s voice. “Do not stand in my way, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“No, you don’t get to order me around,” Mobius says. “You barge into my home and try to kidnap my soulmate. You didn’t even do it at a reasonable hour. We were asleep!”

“I am a god.” Lightning cracks outside the window, the light so bright, it flashes under the door of the bathroom. “You are a human.”

Mobius huffs out a breath. “I’m not giving them up. You’ll just have to kill me.”

Every nerve in Loki’s body, every pulse in their brain, the very breath in their lungs - all scream, No!

The bathroom door flies off its hinges from the force of Loki pushing through. Their daggers are in their hands, their armor has replaced their silk pajamas - there is no room for softness here.

Mobius glances behind him from where he’s standing, blocking the bathroom from Thor in the kitchen. “You broke the door,” Mobius says, entirely too calm for a man who was just about to throw his life away.

“We are going to discuss your blatant disregard for your own fragile life,” Loki tells him, stalking forward to Mobius’s side.

“I had it under control,” Mobius says.

Loki sucks in a deep breath to try to tamper down their roaring rage. “No longer will you risk yourself for me.”

“No, sorry, Loki.” Mobius crosses his arms. “You don’t get to boss me around either. I told you, soulmates protect each other. And that’s that.”

“You stupid, brave, impossible man.”

“Dying for you would be worth it.”

“And what am I to do at that point? Hm? Bid your corpse a fond farewell and move along?”

Mobius startles, like he hadn’t thought ahead that far. “Yeah, I guess.”

If Loki wasn’t holding daggers, they would grip him by the shoulders and shake him. “You have no idea what you are to me. You have no perception of how long I have waited for you. For us. For this tiny little room. For everything we shared last night. And all that we will share.”

Mobius’s eyes widen. “Loki -”

“No, Mobius. You will not be throwing your life away. Not now. Not ever. Not while I have strength enough to hold a blade.”

Mobius blinks. The surprise on his face lasts a moment longer, then softens entirely into fondness. “Let’s go to the store later. Buy some stuff. Spruce this place up a little. We can get a plant or two. And maybe a new bathroom door.”

Loki exhales, and the harshest of their anger slips away. “Only if we also buy you new clothes.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Mobius is smiling now.

Loki almost mirrors it. Until he remembers their thunderous brother occupying the entire minuscule kitchen. Thor seems to lack his usual righteousness. Instead, he looks between Loki and Mobius like he has no idea what to make of them. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

A moment, Thor tries, “Brother, you...” He closes his mouth. Opens it. “You... actually care for this little man?”

Loki’s answer comes easier than even they expected, “Yes.”

“I’m not that little,” Mobius says.

Outside the storm clears away and starlight returns. Inside, Thor lowers his hammer to his side, no longer holding it ready to fight. He stares at Loki for a long moment. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Loki’s impulse is to argue. They aren’t yet numb to the pain of Odin’s deception. Of Loki’s own monstrous truth.

But instead of drudging forward that pain, Loki draws strength from Mobius beside them. From the comfort of their home. From the promise of buying new drapes and bed sheets.

“I’m not going back,” Loki says, hating the way their voice cracks. Mobius inches closer to their side, and they stand taller.

“You cannot rule Midgard,” Thor says.

Loki glances at Mobius, who gives them a soft smile.

“Mostly,” Loki says, “I want to buy drapes.”

Mobius’s smile widens, and he dips his head, as if to hide it. Loki loses themself in the sight of such softness and warmth, until they remember their brother again.

Thor watches them, his confusion palpable. “This is not at all as father said it was.”

Loki tenses at the mention of Odin.

“A lot’s different since yesterday,” Mobius says. “Dubuque can really change a person, you know?” Mobius winks at Loki, and a fresh wave of comfort rolls through them.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Dubuque.”

“Perhaps I could return without you,” Thor says, confusion shifting gradually into something more sure. “If you hand over the tesseract.”

Loki pointedly refrains from glancing at the coat closet. As, to Loki’s surprise, does Mobius. Surely he had seen them place the scepter within. Surely he could parse together what the tesseract could be.

“You wouldn’t need it to buy drapes.” Thor’s grip tightens on the handle of Mjolnir, but he does not yet raise it again.

Loki’s body tenses like a bowstring. There is no way out of this then, without a fight. “You have no comprehension of its power, brother. Of what I could have, what I could achieve with it in my possession. With what I’ve been promised.”

“Promised?” Thor asks. “Promised by who?”

A chill creeps over Loki’s skin, inch by slow inch. They think of the creatures that invade their mind, that found them when they fell from the Bifrost.

You could have this, they whisper, even now. You are nothing without this.

“Loki?” Mobius whispers. “Are you okay?”

Shaking their mind free from the dark grasp, Loki thoughts travel instead to those same creatures wrapping Mobius in their viciousness. Tearing him down. Exploiting his deepest vulnerabilities.

The cold runs deep, all consuming.

With the tesseract still in Loki’s possession, maybe they could protect Mobius. Or, the opposite. Maybe those creatures will never stop hunting them until Loki finally does as they command.

When it was Loki alone, forgotten and fallen, following the icy commands was no question, when both vengeance and a crown were promised.

But Loki is no longer alone.

To Loki’s surprise, concern covers Thor’s face as well, and he has taken a step closer, hand half-lifted, as if in a halted attempt to reach out to them.

“The tesseract will not bring you happiness, Loki,” Thor says, and motions toward Mobius. “Not in the way your soulmate can. You must make a choice.”

“They don’t have to chose,” Mobius says. “I’m staying with them, regardless of what they want to do.”

“But they must,” Thor tells him. “I will be leaving here with either Loki or the tesseract. I’d prefer to do it without a fight.”

Mobius takes a step forward. “I already told you, Loki isn’t going anywhere.”

“If forced, I will take you both to Asgard,” Thor says.

Loki thinks of Mobius standing before Odin, of all the brave, protective things he would say to the All-Father in Loki’s defense. And Loki thinks of how fast Odin would cut him down, Loki’s soulmate or not.

“No,” Loki says.

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki disappears their daggers, then goes to the closet and draws open the door. They reach through Mobius’s brown suits and retrieve the scepter. It’s cold in their hand.

They could grab Mobius and teleport away. Together, they could go anywhere. Thor would need time to track them down. But they’d have to keep running. They’d never be able to stop.

Loki thinks of Mobius, sweating in the desert. Humans are weak, fragile things. Mobius would not be able to sustain that kind of life.

The scepter, the creatures, whisper to Loki, He will die anyway. Why shouldn't you have more?

"All my life, I’ve been in your shadow,” Loki says to Thor. Thor lifts his hammer, readying for the fight to come. “This is my chance to carve my own path. To find my own throne. The Midgardians are hapless. They are in desperate need of a ruler.”

Loki looks at Mobius and finds him watching Thor, body tense like he intends to jump in the way if Thor were to attack. He will die anyway.

“There is no happiness in the promise of a throne, Loki.” Thor frowns, and after a brief, sideways glance at Mobius, his eyes turn sad. “We have waited the same for a soulmate. You have found yours, while I am still waiting. I ask you, who lives in envy of who?”

A new feeling twists inside Loki - something like... pity? For Thor? No. Impossible. Thor has had a life filled with all of his whims being catered to. Ever the favorite. The favored.

Yet.

Thor has no Mobius of his own.

He will die anyway. But. Not yet. Not yet.

“To be honest,” Mobius says, drawing Loki’s attention. “Humans are kind of a drag. We fight all the time, can’t agree on anything. I know that’s half why you think you can fix it all, but really, it sounds like a bigger headache than it’s worth.” He shrugs. “You and I, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got your back 100%. But... if you were King of Earth, do you get any vacation days? Cause I got some places I really want to take you.”

Looking at Mobius, hearing his words, listening to the steady cadence of his voice, Loki warms from the inside out.

“We need to go to the beach. You saw my jetski picture, right?” Mobius turns to Thor. “You ever been on a jetski?”

Thor blinks at him. “...No?”

“You’ll love it. It’s so much fun. Out on the waves, just you and the ocean - with the wind in your hair, and the sun all bright.” Mobius turns his smile back to Loki, and Loki doubts any sunshine could ever be as brilliant as him. “What do you think, Loki?”

The cruel whispers grow dim. Thoughts of, You are nothing without a crown, are replaced with, What worth is a crown without him?

The chill burns away, until the scepter is too cold, too painful to hold.

Loki moves closer to the kitchen. Thor raises his hammer. Mobius hurries forward.

But everyone stops when Loki surrenders the scepter - the tesseract - to Thor. As soon as it is gone from their hand, Loki feels a heavy weight lifted away. The chill leaves entirely, and their mind is silent once more.

“You’ve made the right choice, brother,” Thor says. They lower Mjolnir to the ground to look closer at the scepter.

“Odin will not be pleased when you return without me,” Loki says.

Thor hums. “I will pass along your promise to behave yourself.”

“I made no such promise.” With Loki’s new weightlessness, a small, sly smirk slips onto their lips. It's shaky and unsure, but Thor doesn't mention it.

Thor slides his gaze to Mobius. “I think you will have your hands too full to do otherwise, with how quickly this one throws himself into trouble.” He pitches his voice low. “I like him. He’s small, but brave.”

Pride swells in Loki. They didn’t need Thor’s approval, but having it...

“Mobius M. Mobius!” Thor walks to Mobius and draws him into a tight hug. “Now my brother. I await the day our paths cross again!”

Mobius awkwardly pats him on the back. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great.”

As they break, Loki begins to steer Thor toward the door. Thor looks as if he also wants to wrap Loki in a hug, but thankfully thinks better of it. Instead, he simply says, "We will see each other again."

"We will," Loki says, a promise. And for now, it is enough.

Thor starts forward, when Mobius calls out, “Wait, you forgot your hammer.”

Loki and Thor both turn away from the door, toward the kitchen - where Mobius stands, hand gripping Mjolnir’s handle, holding it up off the ground. He brings it forward and hands it to Thor, who stares at him, mouth agape.

Mobius says, “Surprisingly light?”

Loki bites back a smile. They knew their soulmate was no ordinary mortal.

Thor looks at Mobius like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Only to those who are worthy. You are small in stature, but not in heart, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mobius says. Softer, he adds, “I’m really not that small.”

When Thor is gone, with the slightly damaged front door bolted behind him, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Told you I’d get rid of him.”

Loki reaches out, grabs Mobius by the shoulders, and pulls him into their embrace. They do not let go for a long time.

Mobius holds them back, nose tucked into the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. “I would have followed you,” he says, voice muffled. “You want to be king? We’d make it happen. You didn’t have to give it up.”

Loki will tell him of the whispers and the cold, of the dark promises made. Later. “Perhaps another time,” they say. “Plenty of life to find a throne of my own.” Though as the words leave them, they know they are only half true. Plenty of time for Loki. No time at all for Mobius. The creatures no longer whisper in Loki's mind but they still hear their mocking, He will die.

“I was thinking we could get a couple chairs while we’re out.”

Loki can’t help and doesn’t stop their grin, even as their heart aches. “See? My fortune is already changing.”

“I’ll buy you the best throne,” Mobius says. “You ever heard of La-Z-Boy?”

Loki closes their eyes, presses their forehead to Mobius's shoulder, and wonders how, with the cruel inevitability of human mortality, they will ever go on without this man.

#i wrote this #lokius #wowki #loki x mobius #fair warning this is pretty long if you pop open the readmore #ao3 link will come tomorrow #thor /#part 3 of 5 #soulmate au #avengers 1 divergence

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

“The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

“Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

“If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

“Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

“Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours, the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

“I’m not going in.”

Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

“Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

“You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

“It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

“You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

“You don’t kno—”

He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels.

The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

“That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

“3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

“Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

“What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

“That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

“A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

“You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

“Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

“Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

“Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

“I feel like we’re camping.”

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

“I really don’t want to tal—”

“I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

“You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

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one-pissed-off-child · 3 years ago

Text

Only A Fool

I have been here for 300 years.

Anyway, here you go.

Phillipe didn’t listen to Camille.

He was tired, true (in this same moment, a thousand lifetimes away, he would have been much too tired and much too sullen to put up a fuss) and he had a long journey ahead of him. But Phillipe had given everything to this island. His years, his family’s funds, his dedication, and now he would give his children. He was owed, at least, a chance to see them for the first and last time.

So he went.

When his wife laid down to rest, still weary from the tribulations of birth, and when the old midwife stepped outside to fetch a bundle of calming herbs at the king’s behest, Phillipe went to see his daughters.

As he stepped into the hall, Phillipe came to the stark realization that he had no idea where the nursery was. In all the hours that they'd been here, Willa had not bothered to show him where the babes would be kept. Why would she? He was never meant to see them after all. They weren’t his to see.

But still, he searched undeterred, and eventually, he came across a room a few doors down from Camille’s birthing chamber, barred by an expertly crafted door engraved with three black roses. Beautiful flowers marked with the color of death. How symbolic.

Pushing into the room, Phillipe was reminded of the brief moment of calm that often comes within the eye of a storm. He felt himself relax as he took in the domesticity of it all.

Sunlight gently streamed in through the window, falling on three bassinets to the side of the room. He felt a small smile split his face as he approached the cradles. Seeing the small forms sleeping peacefully inside filled him with indescribable joy, he wished he knew their names. Phillipe’s smile morphed into a frown. He should know their names.

He started with the one cuddling the cloud pillow. Scooping her tiny form into his arms was a surreal experience. She barely weighed anything at all and staring down at her little face almost gave him the sensation of floating. It was often said that the queens retained no physical traits from their parents before them but he could see that this one had his jawline and ears. She would grow up to be beautiful.

Phillipe kissed her brow before settling her back into place.

The next one did not look much like him, although he could see a bit of Camille in the roundness of her face and himself in her strong nose. However, as he gently lifted the little girl out from underneath her horrid mobile, it quickly became clear the similarities between them lay in their personalities. He chuckled softly as she squirmed in his arms. His mother often told stories of how fitful Phillipe was as a child, even when asleep. His restlessness did not subside much as he grew older but rather worsened. All up until now in his manhood he had trouble keeping still. Phillipe suspected this child would be the same.

He pinched the tiny hand that slipped out of the swaddle and nearly cried when it latched around his fingers.

He tenderly set the second child down, careful to avoid disturbing -or touching- the dead reptiles, and turned his attention to the final cradle.

This last child was not like him in appearance nor mannerisms. She was so still that Phillipe almost feared for her health until he saw the healthy flush in her face. And she did not look like him at all but, he noted with no small amount of pride, she was almost the mirror image of Camille. Smallest out of the three by far, this one had to be the youngest.

Just as he kissed her cheek and prepared to set her down, big, black doll-like eyes suddenly fluttered open. He froze.

She didn't immediately start wailing like he assumed her to. In fact, she stared at him almost expectantly. As if she were waiting for him to do something. It almost felt like...a request.

To his credit, Phillipe did try to leave. Told himself to go before his traitorous thoughts could continue entertaining a notion that would likely get him killed. Yet still, even as his rational mind tried to reason with his body, he felt himself crumple to the floor. Those eyes that were so much like Camille's turned his legs to anchors.

There is a saying amongst the people of Fennbirn. At first glance, it seemed a strange one given this island’s seemingly unconditional adoration of their triplet queens. But the years taught him better.

Only a fool could love a queen

Then he truly must be the king of fools to have fallen in love with four of them.

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

Camille shot up with a gasp. Cold sweat ran down her forehead in rivulets. She gripped the sheets like a lifeline. She felt like throwing up. Camille groaned at the intense pounding in her skull. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her...victory.

Sleep. How could she? How could she when the ghosts of her sisters screamed in her ear; when she saw their dead and dying faces every time she closed her eyes; when the memories of her early days returned to her and all she could think of is the sweet little girls in those memories and how she murdered them?

Camille shook herself. Now was not time for regret. It wouldn’t do much good for anyone either way; what’s done is done is done. She was so close to everything she had dreamed of for seven years.  She could start over; live the life she had always wanted from the beginning. All she had to do was walk away and never turn back.

Yet, when she searched for her dream's face, she did not see him.

A cold pit of dread formed in her stomach.

Camille called for him, hoping he had simply stepped out for air. No answer. The pit in her stomach grew larger.

She desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to get some water or if not that then to get a better pillow or if not that then to use the chamber pot. One by one she checked the kitchen, each of the bedrooms, and the bathroom, and one by one they all were deemed empty.

Once it became evident that her husband was nowhere else in the house, Camille slowly made her way to the nursery. She pointedly ignored the bittersweet feelings that rose marked door summoned within her as she made her way into the room.

Inside, she found her husband, sitting on the ground and cradling one of the baby queens against his chest. Camille sighed heavily and approached the pair. She carded a hand through his auburn curls.

He looked up at her and- oh

He was crying.

Her love, soft-hearted though he may be, was not a well-known crier.

Pursing her lips, she carefully settled down next to him. "Come now, darling. Let us find Willa." But he was already shaking his head. He looked back at the child in his arms.

"I- I can't do this Camille. I'm sorry."

Camille's hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as she dredged up every last ounce of patience her tired body possessed. "I know this is hard for you but it's simply how we do things here. I promise that once we get to the mainland-"

“Did you hold them? Did you even touch them?”

“Phillipe-”

“Take her, Camille.”

Camille did not take her. “You’ve known that this would happen for years. I’ve told you time and time again that you can’t get attached. This is why I told you not to go. ”

"I can't just leave my daughters-"

"They aren't your daughters," Camille said gently, "They belong to the island and the Goddess only."

Phillipe tensed. "So you truly believe that it's right for us to just sail away and go about our lives knowing what they'll be subjected to here? That it's right to just hand them over after everything these people have done to you?"

“It is my duty as queen”, Camille said mechanically. She wasn’t even sure if they were her words (they weren’t. Not really).

“They’ve taken so much from us. I hear the way you cry out for your sisters at night. I've seen the scars on your arms and back. The Arrons, the temple, this entire damned island, they have given you nothing, nothing but heartache and pain. And as thanks for your suffering, you'd give them our children to torture?"

"They are not our children!", She snapped, then softer, "Please, enough of this. You know the island won't let them go. We can have a real family on the mainland."

Phillipe just sadly shook his head again. "I can't be with someone who would abandon her own daughters to a life of misery. If you force me to choose between you and them- it's them. I'm sorry", and Camille's heart shattered.

He finally turned from the infant to her. "I don't want to choose, please don't make me choose." He took her hand and rested it on the child's -Katharine, she numbly recalled- head. "This is our family. Don't let the island tear it apart."

Everything Phillipe was saying went against the very person Camille had been taught to be. What the temple taught her of being a vessel for the Goddess on earth. What the Arrons taught her about succeeding no matter what. The things Phillipe was suggesting were blasphemous and damn near sacrilegious (but she had stopped praying a long time ago). To go along with it would be to burn down years of meticulous planning. To spit in the face of all the teachings Camille received.

She looked from Phillipe and his pleading eyes to Mirabella and Arsinoe, blissfully sleeping through the turmoil in the room, to little Katharine, whose eyes and nose looked so much like her own.

Queens never pass on physical traits

She was tired of following the rules.

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

The Black Cottage was small, although it was not actually a cottage. Hidden away in the forest and surrounded by undergrowth, it was not an easy place to find, let alone reach. Few people were privy to the cottage’s exact location and every one except the queens were sworn to secrecy on pain of execution. This, of course, was to allow the Midwife to raise the ascending queens in peace as well as protect them in those few vulnerable years where they were not constantly guarded by a powerful foster family. The meticulous position now worked to their advantage as Queen and King rushed to secure the baby girls in the back of Willa’s old but sturdy wagon.

Phillipe tied down the wicker baskets that held his daughters with the rope they found in the kitchen while Camille shackled Willa's fastest horse, Sarin, to the front of the wagon.

Phillipe stopped suddenly. "Wait, should we bring nappies?"

Camille blinked. "What? You mean soil cloths?"

"Yes, who is going to change them?"

"I'd reckon you know more about these things than I do."

"But you're-"

She shot him a withering look. "I'm what? A woman?"

"Smarter than me", he finished.

Camille just rolled her eyes. "We can figure all that out once we're on the road. I'll go get the cloths." He nodded as Camille finished attending to the horses and turned back towards the house.

She stopped.

There in the meadow stood Willa. This was the first time Camille's seen her since the birthing. She had completely forgotten about her pseudo mother. Behind her, a small gasp indicated that Phillipe had similarly forgotten about the only other person in the house.

“Camille-”

“Get in the wagon.” She sucked in a breath and righted herself with a confidence she did not feel. “I will handle this.”

Still, Phillipe glanced between her and the old Midwife as though he expected Willa to summon a dagger out of thin air and bury it in Camille's eye. Knowing of the old woman's history as a poisoner, Camille could not even say his concern was unfounded. But he finally nodded once and got in the coach's seat.

She approached Willa with her head held high

Willa smiled as she drew near. "You were going to make off with my only wagon and best horse without even a goodbye? The gall of this generation."

Camille didn't know what to say. She stayed silent as she eyed the bag Willa had slung over her shoulder. Noticing the younger woman's tension, Willa's smile fell away.

"Relax girl. I'm not going to beat you to death with a rucksack." Her eyes hardened, "And I'm not going to try and stop you either."

Now Camille's silence was tinged with an air of shock.

"Those six years I spent raising the three of you were the happiest years of my life. I treasured every moment I spent watching you and Arden play in the river. Eating those horrible cookies that Nautica baked every winter," Willa raised one wrinkled hand to Camille's cheek. She didn't pull away. "You girls were the most important things in my life even after those black carriages came and took you away."

"I collected every piece of news about you three I could find. I celebrated every victory with you and every time I heard of Nautica's escapades with her multiple spouses or of Arden's ridiculous spars with the warriors from Bastian, I would think of our time here together."

"The pain I felt when I heard of their passing was the worst than anything I had ever experienced. I prayed I would not live long enough to feel it again."

Camille couldn't help it. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I killed them."

Willa nodded. "You did."

"I remember their faces. I remember the river, the cookies, all of it." Camille shook as she wept, "And I killed them."

"And now-", Willa said as she wiped her tears, "You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again."

"You failed your sisters and I failed the three of you. Do not fail your daughters." Camille nodded against Willa's hand.

Willa again smiled briefly.

“I’ll send for the houses in two hours. It will take one hour for the word to reach all of them and another three or so for the carriages to arrive. I suspect that should be just enough time for you to reach the landing. Provided you take the back roads of course.”

“I-yes. That should be enough.”

“Good. Now then,” She handed Camille the sack she had brought. Inside were blankets, soil cloths, medicinal herbs, clothes for infants, and a collection of peculiar items that she assumed were to the girls entertained. And quiet.

"Thank you", said Camille, and she meant it from the depths of her soul.

"A child needs not to thank her mother for doing a mother's duty." Then mother and daughter embraced for the last time. Camille stiffened as she pulled away.

“You’ll be-” executed. Brutally. Painfully.

The old crone just smiled. “I will be fine.” It was a lie.

The Midwife turned around and slowly made her way back into the house. Camille watched until her back disappeared behind the door before walking back to her husband and daughters.

To her family.

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

Jonathan Blackburn is a family man at heart.

Whenever his sister needed help wrangling her massive brood of eight, Jonathan was there. Whenever his mother needed him to drive the cattle because one of the work hands fell sick, Jonathan was there. And when Phillipe came to him seven years ago and told him of his plans to go to the legendary island of Fennbirn and pursue one of their triplet queens well, what other choice did Jonathan have than to go with him?

You could start a family of your own you know, Phillipe had said.

And Jonathan replied, How could I trust myself to start a new one if I can't take care of the one I have now?

So, when his little brother arrived at the landing three hours early in an old wagon with his wife at his side and a slumbering newborn in his arms, Jonathan took one look at his pleading face and called for the captain to take to sea.

Not a word was passed between them.

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

The Goddess took being robbed of her new queens about as well as Camille expected her to.

Within thirty minutes of leaving Bernadine's Landing, a vicious storm descended upon the mighty Rapshire, and thus, the battle began.

If there was one silver lining in this whole debacle, it's that every man aboard this ship was a mainlander. Not one of them batted an eye when she and Phillipe carried the girls aboard.

But as it goes, if there's an upside then there's a downside. No matter how good of a crew these men were, they were simply no match for the ferocity of the typhoon. There were many times in her life when Camille wished to be an elemental but none more so than today.

Down in the underbelly, Camille listened to the stomping and shouting above her head as the men tried everything in their power to keep the ship afloat. Phillipe was up there too, shouting orders with the rest of them.

A particularly strong gust of wind threatened to capsize the ship altogether and the young mother desperately kept hold of her children while struggling to stay sitting upright. Camille winced as the wails of Arsinoe and Katharine rose to match the crashing of thunder.

The eldest of the baby queens simply laughed. Where Camille greened every time the boat was violently rocked by the waves, Mirabella shrieked in delight and flapped her little arms about as if she were the one bringing this storm down on their heads.

Camille huffed. Elementals.

Once again, the ship rocked so violently that it was everything Camille could do to keep a tight grip on the baskets. She felt something slip out of her pocket and clatter to the ground. She looked down at it and paled.

A vile of nightshade. Willa had pressed it into her hand during their embrace. Such a poison was much too weak to have any effect on Camille. There was no question of who it was for.

You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.

Somehow she managed to grasp the vile with a shaking hand. She swallowed as she considered the task before her. Killing two teenage girls whose faces she hardly remembered was difficult enough but three infants?

Yet, letting the Goddess sweep them back to the island would be just as damning. A small bit of nightshade is incomparable to the suffering that the Arrons would inflict on Arsinoe. And Mirabella, she would be forced to live through the deaths and haunting memories of her sisters as Camille is. She uncorked the vile.

Yes, this is the kinder fate. A death by nightshade would be quick and painless. At her young age, not even Arsinoe's poisoner gift could protect her from a toxin this deadly.

She only wished that she could have made their last moments as joyous for her two youngest as they were for Mirabella.

Slowly, she kissed each of the girls goodbye. The silence was deafening as she pressed the vile to Katharine's lips and made to tip it back.

Silence?

Camille snatched the nightshade away before a drop of liquid could spill over.

The cabin was suddenly still. There was no booming thunder overhead. No screaming wind that nearly knocked them clean over. She couldn't even hear the rain anymore. It was as if the storm had never happened at all.

Camille dared to let herself hope.

And when Phillipe rushed downstairs to practically slam his mouth into hers, she knew her dreams finally came true

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

The sun on her skin was a blessing after being cooped up in that tiny cabin for what felt like hours. If the pleased cooing was anything to go by, it seemed Katharine agreed.

An arm wrapped around her waist and her husband and brother-in-law joined her at the bow of the ship. Each of them held her other two children.

Phillipe observed them with proud eyes. He stared down at his daughter in his arms as if she were the most perfect this in the world.

Phillipe looked at her again and she saw tears in his eyes for the second time in seven years.

"What are their names?"

Camille smiled through her own tears. "She-", Camille said, nodding to the babe in Phillipe's arms, "-is Mirabella. The eldest." The new father beamed.

She gestured to Jonathan. "She is Arsinoe. Middle child."

Jonothan grinned down at his wiggling niece. "Hello, little Arsinoe. I am your uncle Jon. I can already tell you're going to be as much of a handful as your father is."

"And this is Katharine. She is the youngest." Camille pressed a kiss to Katharine's head.

Phillipe repeated their names in order under his breath. Then louder and louder still until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"THEIR NAMES ARE MIRABELLA, ARSINOE, AND KATHARINE! I'M A FATHER!"

Jonathan whooped. "You heard him, gents! Hats off to the new parents!"

Camille laughed like she never had before as each and every man on board cheered and flung their hats into the ocean. Those that didn't have hats took the shirts off their backs and whipped them over their heads like madmen.

Distantly, the part of her that still thought of Fennbirn as home wondered what would happen to the island without its queens. Perhaps the people would learn to move on without them, even as their gifts faded. Or maybe the Goddess, in a fit of self-righteous anger, would turn her ire on the island that she’d birthed. Maybe she would command the seas to rise and swallow Fennbirn whole. Send a storm three times as terrible as the one she inflicted on Camille's family to wash everyone and everything away.

But as she watched her husband dance and cry and laugh and kiss their daughter all over her face, Camille found that she could not bring herself to care.

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toothpastecanyon · 3 years ago

Text

We Creatures, Chapter 2

When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

“I can’t take this anymore.”

Mizar looked over at him. “Can’t take what?”

“This walking through the-“ his foot caught on a stump, and he growled low. “We’re literally right next to a road, why don’t we walk along that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause no.” Mizar flashed a grin at him. “I thought you could float, dude.”

He could, couldn’t he? Yet when he tried, he… he didn’t really feel like it. Maybe bumbling around like a human was frustrating, but it was also familiar, and he felt like chasing that feeling. He liked the idea of hiking through the forest with his Mizar, it-

He tripped on a rock, growled, and torched the thing with so much fire it melted into a lava pit. Then he turned to Mizar.

“We’re taking the road.”

“No, we’re not. It’s too exposed up there, we’ll-“

Alcor snapped his fingers, and a human car dropped down in front of them. Mizar looked at it, then up at him.

“I can’t drive, dipstick.”

“I can.”

“Really.”

“I can!” He snapped, and opened a door. “Or - I could. I don’t know. It’s been a long time, okay?”

“How encouraging.”

“Just get in.”

Mizar stayed out for a second, but she sighed and made for the car. “Great. Gonna get away from elves just to die in a car accident. Perfect.”

“You don’t want to sit in the front with me?”

“In that teeny space?” Mizar spread herself out across the back seats. “Noo thank you. Ah… this is much better.”

Alcor raised an eyebrow at her, but he looked back towards the steering wheel. The knobs, the lights… It all looked a bit more complicated than he remembered, but that was okay, right? He was literally an omniscient demon, he could handle anything a human could do.

Alcor turned the keys, put his foot on the accelerator, and… stalled. There was a snicker from the back.

“W̳̖̦h͙͎͓ạ̮t̯̞͖!͙͉”

“No, no, continue!” Mizar put her hands under her chin. “I’m loving this plan of yours, man. It’s way more fun than what I had in mind.”

He shot her a glare, and then snapped his fingers. It roared to life, and she slumped down.

“Aww, boo. You’re no fun.”

Alcor started turning towards the road. “Where to?”

“Huh? Oh, west.”

“West?”

“Yeah!” She pointed. “Thaddaway… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Uh, where exactly were you going to have us walk to?”

“Oh, the nearest desert, I guess. Elves won’t have any dominion over us there.”

Alcor was staring at her. “We’re in New York.”

“Yeah?”

“The nearest desert is across the country.”

“Yup.”

“That’d take a month to walk.”

“Uh huh.” She watched him pinch his nose. “What, you don’t like walking?”

“I don’t… this is…” He dragged his hand down his face. “Did you even have a plan?”

“Hey, we were doing my plan! You’re the one who’s improvising- uh, what are you doing?”

“I’m not doing this.” Alcor was reaching a hand out. “I’m teleporting you, okay?”

“Wait, don’t-!”

He touched her arm… and then frowned. Touched her arm again. Nothing happened.

“What?” Alcor tried again, but she didn’t budge. “Ugh, why isn’t this working?!”

Mizar slapped his hand away. “I told you, elves did something to me. Can we please-”

“Elves shouldn’t be able to override my magic.” He tried teleporting her again, and growled when nothing happened. “I’ve never had this happen to me! Why can’t I do this?”

“Why can’t you stop treating me like a fucking idiot?”

Alcor blinked. He looked to Mizar, and saw her curled up in the corner of the car, hugging her legs. She glared back at him.

“You do think I’m an idiot, don’t you? You think I summoned a demon who can teleport people places and just decided I’d rather trek for days across the country? No! The only one who’s surprised by this is you, man!”

He raised his eyebrows. “But how-”

“Do I look like an elf to you? I don’t know how they did it, but it’s not important right now! They are coming to kill me! Drive!”

“But-”

“Drive!”

He flinched, and turned back to the steering wheel. Quickly he drove up to the road, checked for cars, and swung into the far lane. There they sat in silence for a while, trees whipping past them, Alcor glancing at Mizar through his rear view mirror every few minutes. She still looked tense, but the anger seemed to fade fairly quickly. It seemed they were both waiting for an opening.

Eventually, Mizar cleared her throat.

“Uh,” she started. “Sorry.”

Alcor shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I was being rude, I-”

“You weren’t being that rude.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Besides, you’ve got an excuse. You’re a literal demon; if the worst thing I can call you is rude, you’re being pretty damn nice!”

They both chuckled at that. Alcor found himself looking at his claws on the steering wheel, stretching his fingers a little. His smile faded a bit.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m trying. I’m trying.” He glanced at her. “I’m out of practice, really. I used to be better at this human stuff, but…”

“Yeah, you got a bit snappier with humanity a few centuries back. I remember - I remember reading about that.”

“Heh, yeah… and then I got bored of even doing that, I just-” he stopped himself. “Well, I don’t - I didn’t want this to be one of the first conversations I had with a new Mizar.”

“What, you’ve had better intros? Nooo.”

Alcor laughed, and it seemed the tension in the air had cleared. The road gently curved, and he sat back in his seat, watching the trees and the road signs glide past him. There was a sound as Mizar reached forward; she was poking at the radio.

“There’s a way to get… music to play out of this thing, right?”

“Yeah, you turn this knob.”

“What does it - oh. Why’s it making that sound?”

“That’s just static, you have to choose a- hold on. Have you never been in a car before?”

Mizar paused, and then shot him a grin. “City gal,” she said. “I’ve always used the underground.”

______________________________________________________________

They drove on into the evening and through the night, on long straight interstates that almost made Alcor feel like his eyes were glazing over. He kept the radio playing something lively, kept an eye on the forests and fields they passed, and kept an eye on the woman laying still on the back seat.

They’d talked for a while, but she’d gone silent hours ago. He didn’t know whether she was sleeping; he’d think she’d dozed off, but then he’d see the glint of open eyes from a passing streetlamp, or he’d hear her quietly ask how many hours it was to the next state.

He couldn’t check her aura, either. It was strangely opaque for a human, like making out shapes in the fog - she had to have some sort of charm on her, he was thinking.

Alcor felt the dewdrop in his pocket, and made a face in the side mirror. If she was robbing elves, having something like that would certainly make sense, right?

Yeah…

They drove on. The sky was brightening. A song ended on the radio, and a morning traffic report followed it. Mizar shifted, and he glanced up to see her stretch.

“Ugh…” she grumbled. “So tiny in here…”

“Good sleep?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Mizar rubbed her face. “Oh wow, we’re really making time. Cars were a good call, dude.”

“Yeah… you want to stop somewhere?”

“What?”

“We’ve been on the road for hours.” Alcor pointed at a sign. “Looks like there’s a gas station coming up, you can… I dunno, get something to eat? Do all the human stuff you need to do?”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Are you sure?”

Mizar hesitated. “I could really stretch my legs…” she mumbled, but then shook her head. “No, no, I can do that after we get to the desert, it’s fine.”

“That’s… that’s still over a day away.” He frowned at her. “You’re really not gonna-”

“Okay! Okay, we can take a break!”

“I mean, we don’t have to right now, I just-”

“No, you’re right!” she threw her hands up. “We should just stop here, you’re right!”

Making a face, Alcor flipped on his turn signal. He could see Mizar in the back, mulling something over.

“But, uh… Alcor?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think maybe you could, you know, go inside the store? I’ll just stay in the car.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“I don’t like people, is all.” She gave a laugh. “And they don’t like me. Oh, and could you park around the back? I’d like that better.”

“Why-”

“If you can’t, that’s fine. It’s just a request.” Her legs bounced a bit as they turned off the highway. “Just a request.”

Alcor raised his eyebrows, but when they pulled into the parking lot, he did make his way around the building and park next to some dumpsters. He shut the engine off, opened the door, and watched a flock of teacup griffins that had gathered around his car stubbornly refuse to move out of the way.

“Ugh,” Alcor tried stepping between them. “These things are worse than pigeons.”

“What things?” Mizar opened the door a crack. “Oh, these guys! Oh yeah, these are all over the city.”

She stuck her hand out, and one landed on her. Alcor snorted at that.

“You’ve made a friend, I see.” A pause. “Oh, wait, no, we’re not taking that thing across country-”

“Of course not.” She waved him away. “You go buy things. I’ll stay by the car.”

Alcor stayed there for a moment longer, and then made his way into the station. It was quiet in here; there were a couple road trippers filling up on coffee, and a bored teenager at the register who barely glanced up from his phone when he came in. Alcor suddenly realised he didn’t quite know what to buy - he hesitated, and then headed towards the candy section.

Yes, this looked familiar. And some Pitt Cola, he should get that too. A lot of that. After gathering up all his pickings, he started towards the door, and-

“Sir. Hey, sir. Sir.” Alcor turned around, and saw the cashier waving at him. “You have to pay for that.”

Alcor stared at him blankly.

“You can’t just walk out without paying. I’ll get in trouble.” He mimed taking something out of his wallet. “You have money? You can pay for it?”

“Money… money!” Alcor snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, I remember this! How much?”

“Come over here, let me ring you up.”

With a little skip in his step, Alcor made his way to the cash register and dumped a mountain of snacks on the counter. It took a while to scan them all; Alcor turned back to the growing line, and flashed them a smile.

“I’m on a road trip,” he said. The man behind him just stared into his coffee with a dead expression. “Yeah… good talk.”

“Alright, that’ll be… two hundred and fifty three dollars. And my manager says I can’t take bills over twenty, so…”

Bills… Alcor took a second to remember what those looked like, then manifested about fifteen of them and slid them over. He didn’t quite understand the exaggerated sigh he got when the cashier started breaking a twenty, but after a moment he got some smaller bills back and was shooed away.

Alcor started ripping into a candy bag as soon as he was out the door. All in all, a successful shopping trip!

Then he rounded the corner, and something immediately struck him as off. Different. He slowed as he approached the car, noticing the teacup griffins had abandoned the ground; he found them up on the roof, shaking and shrieking at him as he passed by. There was a bit of blood by the car, too - blood and feathers.

“Mizar,” Alcor breathed, then dashed forwards and threw open the door. “Mizar! Are you-!”

He froze. Mizar was still there - thank the stars - and staring at him with a startled expression. She was holding a burrito in her hands, and he pointed at it.

“Where did you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That burrito.”

“Burrito?” Her eyes darted towards the dumpster. “I… found it?”

“You- what?” He watched her stuff the rest in her mouth. “Wait, don’t tell me you-”

“Hey, let’s see what you got!” She grabbed one of the sodas. “Pitt… cola. Huh. I should try this!”

Alcor frowned at her.

“Oop, there’s that face again. The face where I gotta ask what’s wrong.” She tried unscrewing the top, then shook it and tried again. “What, I got something on my face? I killed your dog? What’s, what’s up?”

He shook his head. “What’s up is… I don’t know. You’re just very strange, you know that?”

“Hmm, if a demon tells me I’m strange, that’s gotta be some sort of compliment, right?” She smiled with her teeth. “Aren’t you the guy who said you’re out of practice with human stuff?”

“Hmmph…” He stepped back. “I guess.”

“Come on, big guy.” Mizar started trying to open the soda with her teeth. “Let’sh get o’ the road a’ain, eh?”

Alcor hesitated, and then sighed and got in the driver’s seat. There was a distinct stench when he got in - maybe his nose had gotten used to the smell of sewage while he was driving, and it suddenly hit him coming back. He glanced back at Mizar and found not a stain on her - even her socks were pure white.

Strange.

“Ack!” There was a pop as the soda exploded all over her face. “What the fuck, It’s all over me! Alcor!”

Alcor snorted a bit. “Oh, I can make a towel! Hang on a sec…”

After a little bit of cleaning up, they pulled out of the station, and hit the road as the sun crested over the distant hills. The light fell on the dumpsters, on the griffins nervously drifting back to the ground… on hooded figures, watching from the treelines.

They watched Alcor’s car pull onto the highway. Then they rose, stepped into trees, and melted through the bark.

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #magic lore #worldbuilding #toothwrites

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bitterlavenderwritings · 4 years ago

Text

lovely little thing

a/n: i haven’t written for hawks for a long time then this scenario settled in my head for some reason. what was supposed to be a drabble turned into a fic of sorts lol.

(take note that the reader acts aloof and doesn’t express herself often than most people, so if you feel like you can’t relate it’s alright for you to not read this.)

pairing/s: yan!hawks x reader

wc: 1 688

tags: kidnapping, yandere themes (obv), stalking, manipulation, implied drug use.

Any sane person would panic right now.

Waking up in an unfamiliar room should already set off alarms in your head that most people would immediately heed to. How did you get here? Were you taken by force? Where was your phone-

You moved to grasp anything, a headboard or whatever solid thing that’s closest to you. But there is nothing but silk sheets and pillows scattered around. Your eyes struggle to lift open,for some reason they feel heavier than usual. After a few blinks you open your eyes to see yourself in a huge cage-?

With shaking arms, you get up on your knees to survey your surroundings. It’s then you realize your wrists are bound with individual cuffs with long, thin chains locked in two small hooks at the very back of the cage. You give them light tugs, testing how heavy and durable they are. Despite it’s light weight, it would still be impossible for you to break them without any heavy tools.

But that wasn’t the most peculiar thing you were seeing right now, what puzzled you is the cage you were currently in.

It was huge, and had a lot of space. It wasn’t a box or any cage that resembled that of a dog’s. it was shaped like a bird’s cage, long gold thin bars encasing you in that stretched to the ceiling. It had intricate designs that made it look elegant and beautiful, something you would’ve appreciated if it weren’t for the fact that it held you captive.

You spot a small door, locked shut with a padlock that looks brand new. You give it a few shakes, rattling it a bit to test how tight it is. After a minute you give up, opting to observe everything else in hopes of finding a way out.

It’s odd how everything seems to be staged just for you. The room the cage is in is a lavish bedroom, the type you see on television. A four poster bed in the middle, a dainty dresser complete with a wide mirror on the opposite wall, and a walk in closet that seems to be closed as of the moment.

You look down at yourself, taking notice of the nightgown you’re wearing. It doesn’t seem to be one of yours, an expensive material that’s soft to the touch with pretty lace trimmings.

You feel so out of place, estranged to the unfamiliar room that speaks nothing of someone like you. You’re here for a reason, but you can’t put a finger on it.

Your inquiring thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an opening door. You stiffen in fear as you hear the door close again with the nearing footsteps of an unknown person. They take their time approaching you, light steps that seem to have a bit of a pep in them as they make their way to you.

You feel a gust of wind that billowed on your bare back, causing you to shiver for a moment. You desperately want to see them, your captor, the person responsible for your captivity. But you don’t move, choosing to stare at the blurry window that shines a glowing light to your meek frame that feels oh so small in the cage.

“Once again you’re not saying anything. Quiet as always, aren’t you baby bird?” That nickname...

Slowly, you turn behind you, eyes meeting a familiar pair of honey gold irises. He smiles, a soft curve that speaks of quiet triumph and glee. His gloved hands are grasping the bars softly, sending a message of possession and dominance.

You know him, hell, everybody does. Being a number two hero was no joke, especially for someone as young as him. His wings, a deep shade of red that spreads out at his back, flutter in light flaps as he takes his time looking at you.

He seems to be pleased, barely containing his excitement as he caresses the bars fondly. There’s a soft look in his eyes, the type a person would give to a dear lover of theirs.

But you’re not his lover, at least you think so.

There’s no mistaking the dark gleam in his eyes, something too hidden and cryptic for you to decipher. It’s sends an unpleasant feeling in your chest but you keep shut about it. Who knows what he might do if he’s displeased.

You remember how sharp and deadly those feathers can be, despite how soft and pretty they can look at first glance.

Fear settles in the pit of your stomach, but you ignore it. You had to know, why were you here and why you of all people. You only managed to utter one word.

“Why?” His eyes widens just for a tiny fraction, surprised at your newfound courage. His lips curl into a smirk, seemingly satisfied that you’re not screaming your lungs out or protesting like he’d expect any person would.

But of course you weren’t like most people, which is why he had chosen you in the first place.

“Do I really need a reason?” His smirk widens even wider at your raised eyebrow. To think you can still hold your own at a time like this, how interesting...

He reaches out through the small gaps of the cage, just wide enough for his right arm to fit and enter your rightful place. He preens at the thought, your new home, just where he is.

He holds a strand of hair in his fingers, playing with it as he looks at you endearingly. A spread of warmth fills his chest as he sees your usually blank face fluster at his touch.

“You’re mine, isn’t that easy to understand? Ever since that day I saved you, I’ve already claimed what’s rightfully mine.” Your brows furrow, taking in his words. He doesn’t hear a word of objection, but he knows you disagree despite your silence.

“Don’t you think I’m right, little birdie? I saved you from a painful death after all, that building would have crushed your frail body when that villain struck it’s concrete walls. Rescue wouldn’t have made it in time, so it was all my efforts that kept you alive and breathing ‘til this day.”

It’s then he sees it, a crack in your argument that you hold between your lips. He knows just how he can convince you to stay, and he won’t stop until you believe it completely yourself.

You’re a stubborn person, something he observed after keeping track of you ever since seeing you that day. You haven’t met him personally at the time, but he saw you first.

You looked blissfully in peace tending to your row of lilies, smiling softly to yourself unaware of the prying golden eyes of a hawk latched onto its prey.

He thought the flowers fit you perfectly, sweet innocence that blossomed beneath the loud, massive noises that dominated the crowd.

He’s kept watch of you since then, trailing behind you up in the skies where you couldn’t see him. He even went as far as to disguise himself, hiding his identity to speak a few words to you as a stranger.

He wasn’t even disappointed when you limited your interactions, choosing to utter a few words then cut off the conversation entirely. You disliked talking to people, especially strangers. So you made sure to make it obvious that you weren’t an open person anybody could just approach.

He liked that about you, something that set you apart from the rest. He thought it couldn’t get any better, but you surprised him again once more when he saved you that day.

You were grateful of course, despite your cold nature, you still had feelings and manners like any other person. But you didn’t gawk at him, or praised him endlessly like a god like his fan girls did.

You even refused when he offered to fly you home! Not wanting to abuse his generosity as you put it. You were blunt and wanted nothing more from him. He was instantly hooked.

He couldn’t possibly just let you go now, could he?

So when the time finally came, he didn’t hesitate to use your vulnerability to his advantage. You always left your windows wide open at night, preferring to sleep with the moonlight lighting up your dark room softly.

He found that habit of yours adorable, but also too dangerous. What if there was someone else like him who could reach your floor and possibly harm you? He couldn’t have that, no no. All the more reason to keep you safe and sound, he reasoned. But on his own terms.

It wasn’t that hard if he was being honest, you were already tired when you got home to begin with. So when he held the dampened cloth to your nose, your struggles weren’t that strong to budge him the slightest.

Within a few minutes you grew limp in his arms, making it easy for him to carry you up in the night sky, taking you home right where you belonged to.

Seeing you calm and collected on that cage nearly sent him to a frenzy. You sat like you belonged there, ignoring the way your eyes darted from you to him apprehensively.

“It’s okay now sweetie, I’ll take real good care of you.” He cooed as he held your face in his hands. Your skin was smooth and delicate to his touch, something he noted while admiring your beauty.

“You’ll see, sooner or later you won’t have to worry about a single thing.” He’ll make sure of it. He can already see it, you craving him as much as he does with yours. But first he has to be patient, he’s not deluded enough into thinking you won’t go down without your own defenses after all.

He’ll have to take his time breaking down each and every one of the walls you’ve built around yourself to finally lay a hand on how you truly feel. He grinned in anticipation.

You were an interesting, lovely little thing after all, and he’s gonna have so much fun with you.

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