#missing the way he always spun around with that strange incredulous look

[halfdeadwallfly]

every day missing people who probably don't think of me at all

[moonctzeny]

First Times

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

He pulls you closer to him, making your face rest on his naked chest. He smelled like sweat and that intense body spray, like those days he came back from his basketball practice to meet you under the treehouse. He smelled like home.

pairing: childhood friend/ceo! jaehyun x fem! reader

genre: smut, angst

word count: 6.584k

warnings: loss of virginity, then not so virgin sex lol, squirting

summary: “Jaehyun had been your best friend ever since you were 7 years old, but after a certain incident he disappears, without informing you of his whereabouts. You had come to terms with the fact that you’ll never see him again until your paths cross unexpectedly, meeting as boss and employee”

a/n: I feel like ceo! jaehyun fics are overwritten so I tried to focus more on the childhood friends to lovers aspect, giving it a little twist

———————————————————————

There was no way that was him.

When you were 10 years old you couldn’t wait to have your first kiss. You were plain obsessed with the romance dramas that were playing on tv, your mom complaining about having to witness the same unrealistic tropes over and over again, but you stayed frozen in front of the screen.

Why were the characters so caught up in the thought of seeing each other? Why were they willing to risk everything they had for the other person? You were curious to find out about the love the grown ups talked about, and playing mommy and daddy with the neighbor’s son, Jaehyun, wasn’t cutting it anymore.

He was waiting for you in his treehouse, preparing his toys for your playdate. A table of pots and cutlery on one side of the room and a battlefield with ships on the other. He preferred when you two dueled for the “fate of your country”, but he knew you liked to play house so he compromised. One hour of what you like and one hour of what he liked, that’s what his mom had said.

You stomped inside, your pout not matching his excited smile.

“Finally, you’re here! Can we play my games first? My uncle got me new soldiers, look!” He ran up to you, a bunch of different green miniatures in his hands. You didn’t bother to spare him a glance, too caught up in your personal drama.

“I don’t want to play games,” you whined, “I want a boyfriend!”

Jaehyun blinked a couple times, confused. “But you have one, me. I am your friend and I am a boy”

You threw your head back in frustration, groaning so loudly that the rest of the neighborhood probably heard you. “Noo it’s not the same! We don’t kiss on the lips and stuff!”

The little boy came closer to you, scowling. He was starting to get really impatient with your whining over these dramas that you liked so much. So what if you don’t kiss and stuff? It’s no big deal anyways!

He grabbed your ears, bringing you closer to his face and he gave you a small peck. Your first kiss.

“There. Will you play with me now?”

When you turned 18 you exchanged your love for dramas with a love for art. You also exchanged your calculus workbooks for oil paints and acrylics, busy with piecing together a portfolio that would get you accepted into art school. There was one thing that stayed stable in your life, however, that followed you from childhood into adolescence.

“Hey, sorry for being late, basketball practice took longer than I expected”, Jaehyun apologized and joined you at his backyard. The treehouse had gotten too old for inhabiting but the trunk you were currently lied against served its purpose as your current hangout after school.

“Hey”, you sniffled and he finally noticed how watery your eyes were. He dropped his sportsbag immediately, and sat next to you on the slightly moist grass, your arms touching.

“I’m guessing Mark denied your offer to go to the prom with you?”

You nodded, hiding your face in his embrace before he sees you crying. Being Jaehyun’s friend wasn’t always easy. His easygoing personality and good looks on top of being president of four school clubs made him one of the most popular kids in high school. You reminded yourself that he’s still the same boy you’ve always known, that you don’t have to feel threatened by the army of girls always clinging by his sides, but it was hard. It was hard to recount your rejection from this morning when he probably has never truly felt that feeling before. Even with his college applications pending, you knew he’d be successful. Any institution would be crazy to miss up on him, and the rest of the world felt that way about him too.

“I don’t wanna talk about it”, you mumble, leaning back before you stain his t-shirt even more, “Did Mina find the dress she is gonna wear after all?”

Your genuine worry for his prom date, even after your failed promposal, broke his heart. You were always so empathetic, so selfless, so nice to him. He didn’t have it in him to let you stay in your state of misery.

“Nothing”, he blurted, rushing to explain after seeing the confused look on your face, “she bailed on me last minute”.

That was a lie, but you didn’t have to know that. Jaehyun cancelling on his date would be a dick move, he knew that, but you being happy was his priority. It always has, at least as long as he was still here. “So if you didn’t mind, I was thinking we go together? As friends of course”

“Jae! I love you!”

You tackled him with a hug, the grass tickling his neck and he just laughed at the adorable screech you let out. You both stayed there enjoying the chill evening, talking about renting cars and matching outfits.

He let you rant about the dress you’ve chosen to wear and he promised to convince his parents to leave his house empty for the after party.

The prom night was the last time you saw Jung Jaehyun. There you two were, sprawled out on his bed and tired off your asses, spending what seemed like the most fun night of your life together. Your feet were in blisters from all the dancing, head spinning from the after-party vodka. Jaehyun had turned his head towards you, tie undone and staring at a piece of glitter that had fallen on your collarbone. He looked as handsome as ever in his suit, red eyes glued on you and a satisfied smile on his face.

“Your parents are gonna be so mad when they see the mess on their carpet. I told you not to get Jungwoo drunk”

Jaehyun laughed, his deep laugh reverbrating through the room. “Not if you tell them in the morning. They can’t get mad at you. You told your mom you’re staying over, right?”

You nodded, maybe shaking your head a lot longer than needed but your tipsy self wanted to make sure you got your message across.

“You know”, you started with a snicker, “she gave me like a million condoms for tonight. Probably thought I was planning on losing my virginity like any teenager with a social life”

He kept staring at you, eyes lazily taking in the sight of your pretty smile. “Yeah, same with my dad. I think that’s the only reason why they gave me the house”

You whipped your head to face him at the speed of light, mouth gaped open and  staring at him incredulously. “Jae, you’re a virgin??”

It was hard to believe. I mean sure, you hadn’t had any experience in the sex department either but you were, well, you. Shy with new people, horrible at flirting and a bit standoff-ish if you were being honest. But your best friend, as likable and good looking as he was, had never been with a girl before?

“Well, yeah, I was just kinda- I was waiting for the right person, you know? Someone to make it memorable”

You sighed, relating with his words but also...

“I just wish I could get it over with”, you confess and you saw Jaehyun gulp visibly. He was glancing at the nothingness on his ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

“Yeah”

The silence lasted for a few minutes, only the distant sound of a passing police car interrupting it. He sat on his knees, the conversation sobering him up significantly. “Remember when you wanted to have your first kiss and I just did it so you wouldn’t complain about it anymore?”

You smile fondly at the memory, waiting for him to continue. There was somewhere he was getting at.

“Well, we both want to not be virgins anymore, right? So let’s just do it”

You felt an electric tension growing between you. It was like you were holding two magnets, begging to touch each other but you still held them apart, because if you let go you just knew things would never be the same again.

Jaehyun leaned in, dunking his head at the last minute and kissing your neck instead. It was tentative, a kiss that tested the waters. He was still holding back, wanting to make sure you wanted this as much as he wanted it too. You scooted closer to him, placing your legs to frame his closed knees, putting his face gently in your hands.

His pupils were dilated, shifting to a million places but your voice managed to make him concentrate to your eyes solely. You could hear his heartbeat bumping in his chest.

“Jae, I love you. You have to trust me, ok?”

“Okay” he nodded, eyes wide open and sincere, “I love you too, so much”

You kiss him finally, and the room around you spun even more. The feeling was strangely comfortable, yet your lungs were struggling to do their job. In that moment, it felt like everything in the world was the way it was supposed to be, and you two were a part of that bigger, perfectly orchestrated picture. 

He grabbed you by your waist, bringing you over his lap. His fingers danced from your thighs to the zipper of your dress, the cool midnight air spreading goosebumps on your back. You help him out by pulling your straps down, staying in your strapless bra.

“If I knew what was gonna happen tonight I would wear cuter underwear”, you mutter and Jaehyun chuckles. Why did your heart skip a beat at the sound? It’d be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at your best friend a minute too long in the past, but tonight- Tonight the effect he had on you held an intensity that you’ve never felt before.

“Underwear can only help you out so much. They can’t do wonders”

“Wow Jae, way to make me drier that the Sahara desert”

He dipped back down to your throat, sucking at the soft skin over your collarbones and earning an embarassingly high-pitched moan from you. You felt him smile against your neck as he licked over the nibbled flesh in little circles, wishing he would repeat that motion on another part of your body.

“We’ll see about that”

As if he wanted to prove his point, he grinds you over his erection, lighting your insides on fire. Your dress was short, meaning that you could feel all of him-and it seemed like a whole lot- over your panties that were damping up.

“Show me your tits and I’ll show you mine”

Jaehyun laughed at your comment; ridiculous yet successful at calming his ragged breath down. The buttons of his dress shirt opened one by one, each of them revealing another inch of his smooth chest. His skin was glowing, and his abs proved that puberty was starting to work its wonders on him.

You trace your fingers over two moles on his chest, leaving soft kisses over them. You could feel his pulse on your lips, fast and pumping blood all over his body. Despite his attempts at staying collected over the loss of his virginity, you realized that he was probably as nervous and scared as you are.

“Your turn”, he whispered, bringing you back into the moment. You reach back to unclasp your bra, freeing your boobs, and a smile cracked on your lips at Jaehyun’s reaction.

He stayed frozen and gawking at your chest, hands twitching and not knowing what to do with the sight you so generously offered him. Bringing his hands into your own, you place them over your mounds, guiding him into squeezing them. He continues on his own, pinching your nipples as he leans forward for another kiss, probably to hide his evident blush from you.

The making out continued, leaving you both with only your underpants on. He places you on your back, and starts petting your clit over your panties, the motion so soft it drove you insane. Hungry for more. 

You started whining, grinding forwards against his fingers and he chuckled, pulling the fabric away to leave you uncovered. The chilly air was quickly exchanged with the feeling of his warm digits, causing a different kind of shivering. 

When he inserted the first finger in you, you felt like your whole body was burning up with a high fever. You’d done this again, with your ex-boyfriend in summer camp but it definitely didn’t feel as sinful and delicious and pleasureable as this. It pulled at a knot in your stomach, begging to be untangled and Jaehyun was taking his sweet time with you. Quick circles on your swollen bud and a nibble on your neck, that’s what it took for him to enjoy you shaking through an orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful”

You looked angelic with the sweat trickling down your chest, skin glowing in the limelight and Jaehyun would just sit and stare if it wasn’t for the tent in his boxers that was screaming for attention. Pulling at the soft fabric, you sprung him free and the boldness that came when you did started to evaporate. It hit you in that moment, that he had seen all of you and now you saw all of him- yes you had been best friends for years but this intimacy was unprecedented. And you liked the feeling.

You put him in your grasp, moving your fist in a pivoting motion with his precum as your lubricant. He throws his head back with a grunt that almost made you cum a second time and urged you to pick up the pace. Unsure of what to do next, you licked your other palm and started to massage his balls hoping he liked it. He did by the sound of his moans, but stopped you abruptly, scaring you that you accidentally did something wrong in your inexperience.

“If you continue like this I’m gonna cum. Let’s do this“

You swallow on nothing and reach to your jacket on the floor for the condoms your mum gave you. 

“Want a pink one? A green maybe? Blue?”, you joke and he pets your hair lovingly, looking down at you.

“Blue. Your favourite colour”

You smiled warmly at his response, satisfied with your decision to share this moment with your best friend. With someone who knew you so well.

Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the rubber over his hardness with shaking hands, following the instructions as best as you could. Jaehyun leaned down over you, planting a dozen kisses over your face as he positioned himself over your entrance.

“Ready?”

You nodded, giving him permission to dip his tip in, the first inches stretching you out nicely. The wetness caused by your orgasm helped your situation a lot, the slickness allowing him to dive a little deeper. Then, the stinging started, making you hiss and he kissed you immediately, trying to soothe you.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. We have to go through the hard part now ok?”

The nickname playing over and over again in your head gave you the patience needed to endure him bottoming out, along with the first thrusts. It was uncomfortable, but the feeling of him inside you, of the two of you coming together as one, released some chemical in your brain that made most of the pain go away. He took his fingers from your hips to gently pat away the teardrops staining your cheeks.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so well”

His words and the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls drew a moan out of your half open mouth, the sound carrying on the air you two shared and landing on Jaehyun’s lips. There was a tension on your belly and something told you it wasn’t just physical, more like an emotional revelation, a fire already ignited but flared up by this incident. Your feelings towards your childhood friend, a love that was more than platonic.

For you, at least.

Jaehyun was young and you felt so tight around him that he didn’t take long to finish. He pulled out last minute, taking the condom out and spilling spurts of his cum all over your stomach. It earned a scowl and an eyebrow raise from you but the way he apologized, saying you “looked too beautiful to resist”, was too cute to stay mad at.

You laid back on his bed, holding hands and trying to register what just happened. The ocassional car drove by, the lights illuminating Jaehyun’s eyes that you noted were glossy. Maybe it was just as intense for him, you thought and squeezed his hands a little tighter.

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

He pulls you closer to him, making your face rest on his naked chest. He smelled like sweat and that intense body spray, like those days he came back from his basketball practice to meet you under the treehouse. He smelled like home.

 “Forever”

Forever must have a different meaning in the Jungs’s dictionary, because after that night, Jaehyun was unreachable. You tried to text him, call him, only to be ignored and faced with stupid excuses.

You thought long and hard about why your best friend suddenly decided to ghost you. Maybe he didn’t like the sex. Understandable, since it was your first time, but it’s not like you promised him a night of mind blowing love making or anything. You decided that he probably felt too awkward to talk to you after that night and you told yourself to give him some space.

Three days passed, then another, then a week and still no sign of Jaehyun. Tired of the radio silence and irritated by his attitude, you got ready to visit him at his house, confront him one-on-one.

No, you didn’t wear your favourite perfume for him. It just so happened that you chose to put on that dress he had complimented you on before. You didn’t hope for him to call you beautiful again, or have a retake of the prom night fun. The butterflies in your stomach were probably the heavy lunch you ate. Yes, it was all coincidental.

You walked down the stairs with a pep in your step, storming through your parents in the kitchen.

“And were are you going so happy, young lady?”, your dad chirps and you smile at him.

“I’m gonna go see Jaehyun real quick!”

“Real quick? To a different country? He came back already?”

You stilled at the sound of your mother’s words, confused.

“A different country? I’m going down the street to the Jungs, mom”

“Honey, the Jungs are there but not Jaehyun. He moved abroad to study Business. Didn’t he tell you?”

The ground beneath your feet seemed to melt and pull you under the third level of hell. How could he get accepted to a university and not tell you? How could he move countries and not even say goodbye? How dare he make you fall in love with him, give you the best night of your life and then leave you hanging like that?

You ran upstairs to your room, wailing in what seemed like a mixture of rage and sadness. You felt so dumb, in your sundress and shaved pussy and cute underwear you chose out for him. It was all so, so unfair and the feeling ate you alive. The feeling that you hated Jung Jaehyun.

So now, when he stands from across the room, all suited up but with the additional rank of CEO on his shoulders you couldn’t believe that it was him.

Your portfolio did get you into an art school after all, majoring in product design. Your innovative work of rebranding the latest releases, taking on the aesthetic part of the marketing, landed you a great deal in J industries. The product was good and your skills were better, so when the sales went off the roof you weren’t surprised. What you didn’t expect however, was that the boss of your boss, who was currently staring at you from across the launch party, was your childhood best friend.

Ex-best friend.

“Damn, y/n, Mr. Jung hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night, huh?”, said Sook, the assistant marketing director who was working by your side on the project.

“Well, he should have come over and congratulate me by now. I did help save his company”

She laughed lightly, unaware for how deeply rooted your dislike for the man really was. You continue your conversation when you suddenly see her turn visibly tense, sweeping her hands on the front of her dress. Oh, you should have watched what you wished for.

“M-Mr. Jung, how are you enjoying this party? This is y/n, she did most of the designs for the campaign-”

Eyes widening in shock, you get lost in some passerbys, meddling with the other coworkers in the gathering. Sook left a little yelp when she realized you had dissolved into thin air in seconds. You could still faintly hear her apologizing merrily.

“Oh I swear she was sitting right next to me Mr. Jung”

Chatting up with friends and even strangers, you made sure you never stayed in the same place for too long. Jaehyun’s eyes were still boring holes into your face no matter where you went, a smirk plastered on his own every time he caught you checking out for him.

In a last attemp to turn invisible, you find cover on a small couch, slightly hidden by some ballon decorations and you shoved a book to your face, faking interest. But alas, a dip in the furniture next to you and the familiar woody smell soon rang a bell of danger in your head.

“You know your book is upside down, right?”

Wincing at your fatal mistake, you turn around to be faced with a pair of brown eyes you thought you’d never see again. You noticed how they’re glowing in pride and ambition and remembered how they shined that night from tears, how you tried to read through him, just like now.

“Jung. Got bored of your little staring game?”

Jaehyun had grown an inch or two since you last saw him, you notice, standing even taller in his exemplary posture. He still stuck with his long hairstyle, locks styled back sleekly and exposing his defined cheekbones. His skin was even paler than usual, glowing in the dark room. Being a CEO probably meant staying inside a lot, making tanning for his complexion almost impossible.

“Considering you applied to my company, y/n, I figured you’d come to me now as well”

Why was he using that voice around you? You‘d made fun of him numerous times in the past for that deep tone, only coming up when he was trying to woo some girl.

“I didn’t know it was your dumb company”, you start, rolling your eyes in annoyance, “I’m surprised you even remember my name”

“How could I forget the girl I went to prom with?” And took my virginity, you wanted to add but knew he censored his words on purpose. “Also, Sook mentioned your name like, five minutes ago”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about”

His silence was uncomfortable, thickening the atmosphere even more. You saw regret and guilt in his features, lips struggling to find the right words and hands fumbling with his tie.

“I know you’re mad, rightfully so. But please, come over to my place for a drink. For old time’s sake”. The deep voice was persistent and that’s when you realized that Jaehyun wasn’t a teenager anymore. So many years had passed since that summer, enough to mature you both physically and emotionally, yet the wound stung still so freshly.

“You can’t just choose when to re-enter my life so easily”, you huffed and started to walk away from him, when you felt his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

“y/n, please. I’ve missed you. One drink, that’s it”

It was so annoying, you thought as you entered his condo, how his dimples were still so effective at convincing you. It was quite luxurious, definitely bigger than your apartment and by the looks of the fancy furniture, his hard work as CEO surely paid off. 

“You like it?”

“Not as much as your treehouse but it’s okay”, you reply him and he grins at the reminiscence of your old shenanigans as children.

“I’ll bring the wine”

You snooped around a bit more, examining the decorations of his living room. It was quite minimalistic, an abstract painting or two, a weird sculpture, no family pictures in sight. You always hated places like that, so lifeless, so impersonal. Jaehyun had too rich of a personality for that.

He sat on his leather couch, placing two glasses of white wine in front of him and motioning you to sit down as well. You took a seat as far away from his as possible and he winced at the distance you kept, now also turning physical. 

Jaehyun started a conversation by asking you about your work at the company, then moving on to your personal life. You politely answered him, even joked about how single you are. He started recounting the start of his company, how he got the idea to begin from scratch and the hardships that came with it. As it was expected from the bachelor’s vibes his place emitted, CEO position didn’t allow for enough free time for him to meet someone new, let alone something serious. Your little meet up seemed to be going well. Too well to be exact. One glass down and you finally had enough of feigning ‘happy old friends catching up’.

“Why did you bring me here Jaehyun? Really bring me here”

The man sighed at your tone, running his fingers through his hair and messing their gelled-up styling. Getting up from his position, he finishes up his second glass and sits closer to you, body facing yours.

“I guess... I owe you an apology. For back then. I should have told you I’m moving abroad”

“Yes, Jaehyun, you should have. Especially after what we did before you left”

He closed his eyes in shame, glossy after he reopened them. A serious expression darkened his features, looking as solemn as that last night you saw him before his disappearance and hanging from your lips. “Do you regret it? Going through with it?”

“No”, you answer immediately, because it was the truth. All the guys you’ve slept with in your time as an adult, though more experienced than high-school Jaehyun, were missing that one factor that none other than your best friend could offer you. Connection, vulnerability, care. True love.

He sighs, once again, clearly relieved by your answer but still speaking in a bittersweet tone.

“Good, I would really hate myself if you did. I was just, so scared you’d forget about me. I had to know you’d remember me. Then you said this whole thing about wanting to have our first time and-“. You knew it was the wine in his system that caused his rambling. Jaehyun wasn’t one to stumble on his words, definitely not sentimental like that. But alcohol seemed to bring you closer when in need and at the right time so you let it, once again, and you let him finish. “-and you looked so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself. If I knew you’d grow up to look like this I would have never-“

He stopped himself mid sentence, regretting sharing more. You, however, weren’t done with this conversation yet. There were so many years spent repenting your friendship, so many questions running through your head, and you weren’t leaving this room until they got answered.

“If you didn’t want me to forget you that much then why not tell me you got accepted to a university abroad? I was your best friend!”. Your words were emotionally charged, unwillingly making your voice turn up in volume. It was as if you turned back into the little girl crying in her bedroom, finally getting the chance to say all those things she was screaming in her pillow. “I would be so happy for you, I loved you”

“Yes you did! You literally said that every single day!”, Jaehyun yelled back, startling you, “And every single time it was as if you jabbed a knife in my chest! Did you know how much it killed me? To hear this from my best friend I’d been in love with for the past 10 years?”

“You- you were in love with me?”, you ask dumbly, voice light in disbelief, a stark difference from Jaehyun’s a second ago.

He settled his breathing, hands fixing his hair once again in abashment.

“I knew that if I told you I had to go abroad you would get all sad and start crying and I wouldn’t be able to see you like that. I knew that the moment you’d tell me you miss me I would drop everything to be with you. That night that we had sex.. I didn’t plan it but I thought it would be better for you if I made you hate me. And when I saw you again today- it felt like not one day had passed since high school. I didn’t know how to approach you, what to say. I’m sorry”

You sat there in shock, connecting the dots in your brain. All the feelings you were trying to repress around him, the lingering glances and butterflies in your stomach, were reqruited all along. You knew exactly what he meant earlier, about time seeming to freeze. The way he looked at you now, all teary eyed and red and shaking was utterly and overwhelmingly the warm Jaehyun that met you every night after school. And you wouldn’t let another day go to waste.

You lean forward, capturing his lips into a kiss long overdue. It was tentative and you started pulling back when he places both hands on the sides of your neck, keeping you from letting go. His fingertips grasp part of your hair and you lean your face sideways, melting into the kiss and his touch. A lick on his bottom lip and now your tongues were touching, groaning at how much better he got at this and wanting to put his skill to better use. Tugging on his soft locks, he moans and his baritone voice made the hairs on your arms stand on edge.

You moved your hands on his chest, palming the defined muscles and deciding you wanted to treat your eyes, ripping his shirt open in one move. Jaehyun grabs the meat of your thighs, hands gripping the edge of your dress and pulling it upwards until it falls over your head. He dipped into your neck immediately, sucking and nibbling passionately right in the middle, your moans sounding breathless with the pressure he puts on your throat. Trailing down, he left a path of open mouthed kisses, now focusing on the mounds of your breasts that your bra wasn’t covering. A flick of his wrist and the piece of underwear was gone, lips surrounding your nipple, releasing it with a loud pop.

You moan out his name and his growl’s animalistic, nails digging on the softness of your hips.

“Fuck I love that sound”

He probably made it a goal to hear it again as he started kissing on your inner thighs, the bruises he left behind teasing you to the point of begging. You lift you hips to discard the skimpy underwear you chose for tonight, Jaehyun’s breath fanning your clit. A few kitten licks and your back is already lifting from the leather, his hands intertwining with yours to keep you in place.

Practice makes perfect and Jaehyun must have had a lot of it, the interchanging of sucking, licking and spitting on your pussy making you lose your mind in the most delicious way. You were in the midst of murmuring a mix of praises when he finally finds that spot that has you trembling under his tongue. Riding out your high, you grind against his face, the pleasure not leaving any room for shame. Chest heaving and vision restored, you glance down at Jaehyun, looking as irresistible as ever wiping his wet lips and chin.

You were fully prepared and willing to return the favor so you motioned him to stand up, positioning the back of your neck over the hand rest of the couch. After opening your mouth wide he got the point, quickly ridding himself off his pants and boxer briefs, spitting profanities at how hot you looked for him right now.

You were upside down, but you could very well see Jaehyun’s hard and angry cock staring back at you. You always thought that maybe, since he was your first, you might have overestimated his size in your head. But your brain apparently hadn’t manipulated that memory in the slightest because that length and grith would definitely be a challenge for you. And hell, did you want to take it on.

He pushes through your lips, and your tongue is quick to engulf him. Licking up and down his shaft as best as you could, made Jaehyun grip the couch in an effort to keep his knees from buckling from pleasure. The position allowed him to push even deeper inside you, filling up your throat. He places his fingers over the bulge on your throat, watching it itently with every move of his hips.

Your eyes teared up and your throat started to burn but the sounds Jaehyun let out with every thrust made it all worth it. He finally pulls out, a string of saliva and precum landing on your lips and he is quick to to clean you up with his fingers. Collecting the wetness, he pushes his digits inside your mouth, and something changes in his glare, eyes darkening in the most lustful expression.

“I need you inside me”, you mumble with his fingers inside of you and he nods, asking if he should go get a condom. You search through the contains of your handbag, hands trembling with the way he is pushed up agaist you, erection digging in the softness of your ass as he’s nibling the skin on your shoulders. 

You handed him the square foil and as soon as he takes it in his grasp, he pushed you down to the arm rest, back against the cushion and legs in the air. Moving your hand between your legs, you distracted him by playing with your pussy, speading the juices around and pushing your folds apart to direct him to your opening.

The first thrust felt divine, thick cock filling you nicely and making your head fall back in pleasure. Jaehyun threw your legs over his shoulders, eyes glued to yours as he kissed your calves, picking up his pace. The moans started rolling off your tongue, echoing inside the big lounge and accompanied by the skin slapping sound of your bodies.

“I missed your body so much”, he muttered as he gripped your waist, setting an incredible pace that had your feet flexing. You turned your head to the side, catching your reflection on the huge window leading to the balcony. Tits bouncing, Jaehyun’s flexed arms, his dick digging inside you. What a sight.

“See something you like?”, he chuckled darkly and you smiled up at him, grazing your nails over his biceps.

“Show me something to remember you by”

Jae halted his thrusts, turning you over to your stomach swiftly, ass in the air. He kneaded his hands over your ass, giving it a little spank and spread your cheeks apart. Placing his right knee on the arm rest, he dives inside you again, and the moan you let out barely sounded like you. His cock was so deep inside you that you had to close your eyes to relish the feeling of fullness, amplified by the light pain of the stretch. Jaehyun collected your hair in his fist, pulling your upper body against his chest as he wrapped an arm around your own.

“Open your eyes. See how nicely you take my cock. Think you’ll forget that?”, he growls in your ear, thumb digging in your cheek and palm slightly muting your sounds. The dirty talk, his cock grazing against the spot that drove you crazy and Jaehyun’s godly reflection pounding the shit out of you brought you over the edge again. He didn’t let you take any time off, hips continuing to bruise against you as feverly as before, and you thought you just might combust.

“Jaehyun, p-please, it’s too much”, you plead with as much power is left in your system, and he pulls out, only to start rubbing quick circles over your clit that had you thrashing in his arms.

You melt into his arms, a pressing feeling in your belly that you had never felt before and soon you climax for the third time, droplets of cum squirting out of your pussy and dripping onto the wooden flooring.

“This is so fucking hot”, Jaehyun mutters and starts thrusting inside you, trying to coax as much cum out of you as possible.

The waves keep coming, gushing out of you every time he pulls out, until he can’t take the sight anymore, coming with a shiver and a ragged breath.

You were sweaty and exhausted, smiling faintly as he showered you with kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up”

You try to stand up futilely, knees wobbling and unable to keep your balance. Jaehyun chuckles at the sight but helps you up like the gentleman he is, moving you to the floor’s bathroom.

You hop in and he joins you, letting the water run down your body and helping you soap up. It was very intimate but comfortable at the same time, his gentle caresses belonging to your skin. Everything felt right.

He was occupied with running his fingers over two hickeys he had planted on you earlier when you snap him out of his thoughts, voice barely audible over the running water.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to me to go study abroad. I think it’s pretty obvious after what we just did that I liked you too, but... I still would have let you move. Force you even.”

“You’re right. I’m sor-“

“I mean it Jaehyun. I’m so proud of you”

His eyes glimmered at your praise, wet eyelashes framing them and fluttering closed as he leaned down, pressing the sweetest kiss on your lips. It left you breathless, almost hurting when he pulled back. You could kiss him forever.

“I know you said I can’t just come back to your life like that but I want to try. I’ve seriously missed you”

“How about taking me to a date tomorrow night? To catch up some more”

He grinned brightly, eyes turning into crescent moons and dimples making your heart burst.

“Wherever you want”, he promised and took a step closer to you, hand snaking down your ass and pulling you against his wet body, “And speaking of making up for lost time... How about a round two?”

[ameliajessicawilliamspond]

PART 1

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

"Where is this blasted thing?" Luke complained, opening the map for the tenth time in the last 10 minutes.

"Same distance as the last time you checked the map." Din mused. Luke pursed his lips and closed the map, pulling his coat tighter around himself. He and Luke had done many missions together, both searching for what the remnants of the fallen Empire wanted with Grogu and the Jedi, as well as Luke's never ending search for more information on the strange ancient religion.

"You alright?" Din asked. Luke had been fidgety and testy the whole trip to Kajimi and had become downright orny ever since they stepped foot on the planet.

Luke huffed in frustration, shoving his nose into his scarf. "I'm not a fan of the cold." he mumble from beneath the fabric.

"Yeah I picked up on that." Din said, an amused huff escaping his lips.

Luke shot the Mandalorian a hard side glance, like a teenager throwing a fit. Luke always kept himself so stoic and distant, a protective mask from everyone around him. Seeing it slip because of some cold weather made his heart do a funny little flip. Yet the other side of him knew it obviously upset the Jedi so he stopped pressing him. He slipped his own scarf off and wrapped it around the jedi's neck. Luke looked at him incredulously but the Mandalorian just shrugged. "I run warm."

A while on -and lots of huffing and puffing from the Jedi later- they finally began to approach their destination.

"The holocron should be inside this cavern." Luke mumbled from beneath the scarves, nose burried in the holomap.

"Waterfall." Din corrected.

"...Cavern." Luke repeated, not looking up.

"Yeah...under a waterfall." Din said, pointing ahead. Luke finally looked up and saw what Din meant. a cavernous mouth to a cave, beneath a huge, freezing waterfall, billowing into a cold, deep lake.

Luke's blue eyes bulged. "Kriff."

The pair snuck up the side of the embankment with just enough distance to be able to avoid falling into freezing water below.

Luke hit a slippery patch amd let out a yelp as his foot slipped. Din reacted quickly, yanking the Jedi back up to the snowy embankment, the momentum putting them nearly nose to nose with each other. Din's breath seemed to catch in his throat as Luke sucked in a breath himself, his bright eyes locked with Din's visor.

"No falling behind." Din said, shaking Luke from whatever stupor just grasped him. The jedi nodded and they pressed forward, carefully approaching the ice cold waterfall.

"Seems there's no going around it." Din said, pressing forward but Luke grabbed his arm.

"Wait." he said, voice demanding yet gentle as the jedi stepped in front of him, eyes rolling back in his head. His hand shot up, palm open toward the falls.

Din stared in awe as the waters parted like a curtain. "Go." Luke said, eyes still closed. Din slipped around him and jumped into the hidden cave. Luke followed like a blind man, hand extended and eyes closed, but shoulders squared with determination, confidence in each step. Once in, he finally opened his eyes and dropped his hand. The waters slammed shut behind them.

Luke spotted Din staring, unmoving at him. "What?" He asked, slightly bashful.

What could he say? He was in awe of Luke and his abilities? Luke always surprised him? He was so beyond what Din could ever be himself? Luke was...Luke was amazing. "I wish you could teach me that." Is what he ended up settling on.

Luke let out a small laugh, lips parting into a smile and despite the cold, Din felt a warmth spread through his chest. "Come on," Luke said, taking the lead. "The holocron should be straight ahead."

They finally were right on top of where the holocron should be. But in its place was a giant hole in the side of the cave wall where it had been hidden. Luke dropped his head. "No..." he whispered to the ground.

"Smugglers or pirates, most likely. The Spice Runners of Kajimi are in this area." Din said, examining the square hole.

"They probably sold it by now." Luke said, arms flailing in an 'of course' sort of gesture. "Its long gone, probably has been for a long time."

"Not nessesarily. These are new markings on this. It would have been within the last week they found this. " Din said, trying to ease the already frustrated Jedi's mind. Luke rubbed his forehead. "If we find their camp we may be able to relocate the device."

"...Alright Fine." Luke said, biting his cheek, clearly irritated. "We're never getting off this frozen rock." He mumbled, rubbing his arms as be began to march back to the mouth of the waterfall.

"Hey," Din called, rushing to block the jedi's path. Luke avoided his helmet's gaze as Din finally grasped him by the shoulders. "Luke, talk to me."

Luke fidgeted in his grasp, looking anywhere but his visor. His eyes finally settled on the destroyed hole where the holocron had been, eyes distant.

"I'm from a desert planet." He began. "Tattooine."

"I'm familiar." Din said, earning a slightly surprised glance from the jedi.

"I'm...I'm already not used to the cold. And then later on in the war we were stationed on Hoth." Luke shifted from one foot to the other, obviously contimplating if he wanted to continue. "I was out on last patrol when I was attacked by a Wampa."

"You were attacked by a Wampa and survived?" Din questioned.

Luke just shrugged, and Din could tell that, somehow, being attacked by a kriffing Wampa wasn't even at the worst part of this story. "I escaped, but by the time I did it was approaching nightfall and the winds had picked up. There was snow everywhere, all I could see was white in front of me and I...I was so cold..." Luke pulled out of Din's grasp and turned away. "I fell. I fell and didn't get back up. Ben wanted me to go to Dagobah but... I was so sure I was going to die there." Din stepped forward, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Han found me. Stuffed me in his dead Tauntaun to keep warm while he built a shelter. I smelled like rotting flesh for a week...and..." Luke sniffed, pulling himself together. "...And the next day the Empire attacked and I got shot down. My co-pilot Dak didn't make it... I lost a good friend." Luke said, looking at Din, eyes distant.

Din spun Luke around and pulled him in for a tight hug. "I'm sorry. That sounds awful." He offered.

Luke tensed for a moment before melting into the hug. They stayed like that for a long time before Luke finally broke the silence. "You do run warm." He mumbled into his shoulder.

Din laughed. "Come on, let's find those blasted smugglers and get off this rock."

They went back to the cave entrance, Luke reaching foward, parting the waters once again. Din stepped through before Luke's eyes snapped opened and yelled, "No, Din, WAIT--!"

Before Luke could finish, something wrapped around his leg and yanked him into the lake below.

Din sunk below the water, waterlogged vision spotting a large monster with at least 5 tentacles keeping him below the surface. He reached for his blaster, shooting at the monster. It made a noise and the grip on his leg disappeared. Din swam with all his might back to the top, grabbing on to Luke's extended hand.

Another tentacle shot up, latching around his torso and pulling him below once again. Above him, he saw a green laser appear as the jedi ignited his lightsaber as another tentacle shot up above the water toward him. He sliced at it, making the thing bellow once again. The grip on Din loosened but not enough for him to pull out of the tight grasp.

A splash from above caught the Mandalorian's attention. Luke was swimming right toward the creature. Din squirmed and fought to free his arms so he could shoot it again but he was weakening by the second. Through greying vision he watched the Jedi reach forward and touch the monster's head, the scarf Dinnhad given him dangling from his back pocket. Din felt the grip around him loosen too late as water filled his lungs and his vision went dark.

The next thing he knew he was back on the bank of the lake. Luke was above him, coat missing, soaking wet, and leaning over his him, lips having just left his own. Din thought he had to be dreaming or dead until he felt the aggressive shoving on his chest. His ringing ears picked up on Luke begging him to breathe.

He tried to inhale, but instead was greeted with a coughing fit, water spilling from his lips before finally managing a small, shaky breath.

"Oh thank the Force." Luke breathed out, head dropping. "We need to get you somewhere warm." Luke said, pulling the coat he once wore up Din's chest, tucking it around him.

Before Din could attempt to object, something grabbed the Jedi's attention. His head whipped to the side and his eyes widened. "Kriff!" Luke shoved Din's helmet back on him before throwing his arms up in a defensive stance, hand shaking violently. "Please, we don't want any trouble. He hurt! He needs to go somewhere warm! Please!" Luke begged, but his pleas seemed to land of deaf ears. Hand decended on the Jedi and pulled him from where he kneeled next to the Mandalorian. "No, no!!" Luke yelled as he was dragged away from Din's side.

Din shifted, rolling onto his stomach, trying to call for Luke but instead earning himself another coughing fit. From his new position he could see Luke strugglnng witn a large group of people. Din couldn't tell if Luke was holding back because he didn't want to reveal his identity to these scoundrels or because he was still trying to beg them for help, but either way the large group finally overpowered the jedi. They pinned his arms out wide and his head was shoved violently to the side, a needle shoved into his neck. Luke tensed before slumping in their grasp. Din tried to reach for something, anything, any weapon but couldn't find the strength to even lift his hand.

"Leave that one. He's as good as dead." The group laughed.

Din watched as Luke was carried away like he was nothing more than stolen loot.

"L...Luke..." Din managed, before his frozen body slipped into unconsciousness.

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

REQUESTED TAGGED: @theonlyredcar

Comment below if you would like to be tagged in part 2!

[get-shiggy-with-it]

heyo friend, I hope you’re doing well 🖤 What about the “You know I hate it when you do that, right? Keep doing it” smut prompt + shigaraki? With a gn!reader?

✧ pairing: tomura shigaraki x gn!reader

✧ warnings: brat taming themes, smut, references to violence, blood mention, handjobs, villain!reader, 18+ minors DNI

✧ word count: 1.5k

✧ a/n: hey mootie! thanks so much for your request. I know you were looking for some brat taming so take my subtle, sleep deprived attempt at some lowkey bratty behavior.

“You idiot, what the hell was that?”

The door slammed hard enough to reverberate through your chest. The momentary shake in your ribs was nothing compared to the adrenaline trembling in your fingers as they flailed in front of you, catching your fall. The bar top was cold and unforgiving in your grip.

Just like the floors under your feet and the roof over your head and all the people uneasily asleep upstairs.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

Tomura Shigaraki cut a menacing figure—and when didn't he?—as he stood cloaked in the darkness of the hideout. You could still feel the ache of his grip on your arm, can feel the dull throb of forming bruises there. He left faint crimson footprints behind when he stepped fully into the dim, overhead lights.

The short, baby curls around his head shone in the glow like some blasphemous halo.

But he is your savior tonight, so the comparison seems a bit less jarring.

“You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, boss,” you tried to sound less winded than you are.

For someone so skinny, Shigaraki had some fucking stamina. Both beaten and well bloodied, the two of you certainly cut a striking image. And while you were panting from your escape—legs on fire after carrying you down innumerable alleyways and feet numb from the slap of the pavement through worn out soles—your boss seemed barely winded.

Untouched by the fight and subsequent flight halfway across the city while tugging you along at his heels.

Though, he also didn’t get his ass straight up hyperdrive blasted into a brick wall. You’d give yourself some credit where it was due.

“I don’t need you taking hits for me,” he snapped, coming nose to nose—well, hand to nose with you.

Every muscle in your body protested as you stood straight and stared him down, feeling how the bruises cut deep through your skin and stained your ego like rotting fruit.

“Really?” you asked, not quite delusional enough to be incredulous, but getting there. “Cause that fucking black eye says differently.”

There was a nasty red and purple mark spreading from the side of his temple that disappeared under the hand that hid most of his face from view. You’d watched him take that kick straight to the side of his head and not even stumble.

He was right.

Shigaraki didn’t lie—that’s why you followed him.

That’s why you couldn’t help the strange, second nature movement of your feet as you had watched one of the dozens that ambushed you wind up to fire a super-powered punch off at Shigs chest. The whole moment existed as a slow motion memory, something you watched from above—a voyeur in your own mind. The way your boss’ eyes went horribly wide, the glow of the man’s fist, the way your body went limp like a rag doll in mid air and slammed against the adjacent wall.

How your assailant was nothing more than a pile of ash only seconds later.

Though you tried not to read too much into that particular detail.

“You know I hate it when you do that right?”

You became peripherally aware that the ache in your chest was being exacerbated by his body weight pressing you back into the polished wood of the bar. As two hands caged you in with their pinkies comically raised to keep you trapped, you felt a familiar rush of defiance in the face of this show of superiority.

“What? When I save your dusty ass?” you tried to smile but his unwavering gaze made it die on your lips.

To be completely fair, you had just watched him take so many hits that should have killed him outright and keep fighting like the inevitably fractured bones were nothing but pinpricks.

You’d always known Shigaraki was intimidating, in his self-assuredness and confidence you knew was not unfounded. But you’d never seen him put his money where his mouth is before, only heard the stories from the rest of the League.

Now you understood.

“When you talk back to me,” he hissed.

He didn’t bother to correct you. He didn’t need to. You both very well knew that if anyone had been saved tonight, it was you as he retreated from the fight, pulling you to safety and not stopping until he—and doors of the bar—were firmly placed between you and feral city streets.

“Oh come on—” you were halfway through an eye roll even Dabi would be proud of when he reached up to grip the hand on his face and pulled it aside.

The smell of formaldehyde dissipated as it landed with a thunk on the bar and Shigaraki stared at you with newly unencumbered intensity.

“Keep doing it.”

You blinked in stunned stupid silence.

“What?”

It was only then that you realized it, and once you saw the subtle flush of his cheeks and the twitch in his fingers, you weren’t sure how it had ever escaped your notice.

Villainy had always been attractive for the rush, alluring in the sense that it afforded you the feeling of being so painfully alive. The adrenaline fueled, full body shaking that flooded you with invincible endorphins—that made your face hot and your blood sing. That was what called to you. That was what had you flinging yourself in front of punches and sprinting down the worn out city streets.

And that was what Shigaraki was feeling now as you held your own against him.

Challenged his authority.

Took what you were given and gave just as well.

You could imagine most people would have given up the smartass act after one too many brushes with a dusty end, but you were a stubborn piece of shit.

In fact, you were a little fucking brat.

And Tomura Shigaraki liked it.

“I won’t tell you twice,” he said, and when exactly did that gravel road rasp in his voice become so spine tingling?

His chest was flush with you now, and the familiar firmness pressing against your thigh only confirmed your revelation.

And only strengthened your resolve.

A grin on your face, you locked eyes with your boss.

“Oh, Shigs,” you mused, shivering at the way he smirked down at you in all his bloody, beaten glory. “I think you absolutely will.”

The bar behind you creaked under his grip and you suddenly missed the power in those deadly hands, pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin. You doubted you’d have to wait much longer for that though, not with the he twitched against your hips as you shifted to press back into him.

“Maybe you’ll listen better with your mouth full.”

One of those long fingers was trailing softly through the gashes in your top, running across your chest and tapping at your lips. He rolled what was undeniable a fucking unfairly large dick against you just so there would be no mistaking the direction this was clearly going in.

And what a hot fucking turn of events it was.

“Now boss, if you want me to keep talking, you’re gonna have to fill up something else.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little proud of yourself at the ability to formulate comebacks even as the hand at your lips slipped down to yours and drew it to the fastenings of his jeans.

“Don’t think I’m going to reward you for being so fucking irresponsible.”

He seemed at once so simultaneously wrecked and completely untouched by you that your head spun. Shigaraki kept his voice even, his face stuck in that same pleased expression. The only thing that gave him away was the raging hard cock you now palmed easily through his underwear and the pink flush that was spreading slowly down his neck and under the low collar of his shirt.

“Bold of you to assume this isn’t a reward,” you muttered, entranced by the way the blush lit around the razor edges of his scars, thin silver lines prominent against the blood rushing under his skin.

Your mouth watered and Shigaraki—Tomura? Should you call him Tomura now that his length was falling free into your palm and leaking across your fingers?—did nothing to stop you from leaning forward and latching onto one of the rough patches of flesh.

Shigs didn’t seem ashamed in the least or try to hide the gasp you yanked out of him with your tongue pressing deeply over the veins in his neck.

However, he also didn’t allow either of you to indulge for long. Seconds later a hand gripped the back of your shirt and the wrist that was currently pumping your boss’ deliciously heavy dick, stopping your movements entirely.

The rational part of your brain was not quick enough to catch the whine that left you when he moved to step away.

Shigaraki’s rare chuckle almost made it worth the embarrassment.

“Yeah,” he was grinning again but it was different this time. Predatory—a beast caught scent of blood, ready for the newest struggle to the death. “That’s what I thought.”

When he finally guided your hand back to his cock, warm with a beautiful red tip that gushed enough to slick your palm, you found it incrementally harder to formulate a response.

But you hadn't quite given up the fight yet.

When you smiled back at him, it was all teeth.

All claws.

Ready and waiting to be tamed.

[five-rivers]

What Was Bound What Was Loosed 4

Rain did fall in the Infinite Realms. Not in all places. Not at all times. Well, except for those few places where it did fall at all times. The Realms were strange like that, often dictated and controlled by their inhabitants. In some Realms it never rained.

At least, that had been the case a few days ago. Now?

Now, it rained. Pouring from all angles, sometimes in accordance with local gravity, sometimes not. Great, heavy droplets, thin wavering mists, sporadic sprays, steady drums, cold, warm, boiling, freezing. Where it could not rain water, it rained fire, or stone, or air, or slush, or ice. But it did rain.

And the place it rained the most was over the heart of the Realms.

Their king.

.

Danny hugged his knees and leaned sideways against the arm of the chair. He was in the solarium, watching the rain hit the glass and streak down. He kept picking droplets to follow as they chased each other down the windows.

He kept losing track of them.

He sniffed and shuddered. He felt cold. He always felt cold, now, but he couldn’t stand to feel pinned down by blankets. Lately, they felt like chains.

He missed when they made him feel safe.

(He missed home. He wanted to go home.)

“Danny?”

“Hi, Ellie,” said Danny, listlessly. “What’s up?”

“I just… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up and then—” She broke off, and Danny turned to see her staring out the windows, floating just a little way off the floor. Plants with dark leaves tickled her ankles. “I don’t want you to be like Vlad.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Is he still down there?”

“Yeah,” said Ellie.

“Do you think…” Danny frowned, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to retrieve them from the constant white noise. “Do you think he can get, like… liver failure?”

“Liver failure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… not entirely sure what liver failure is. Liver is, like, an organ right?”

“Right. Um.” Danny blinked slowly. “It is an organ. It,” he waved his hand vaguely. “It takes your blood and stuff and filters it and stuff.”

“Why would it fail?”

“It can get damaged by alcohol. Or something.”

“Oh. Huh.” Ellie approached him, slowly, keeping an eye on Fright Knight. “Do we even have livers?”

“I mean… maybe? Alive people have livers. But we aren’t alive people.”

“We are, though, right?” asked Ellie. “We’re… still alive.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on. We are. Right? Heartbeats and everything.”

“I guess,” said Danny. He checked his pulse, absently. “We should probably make sure Vlad doesn’t drink himself to death.”

“That’s possible?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I thought that was a myth.”

“…No,” said Danny. “That’s, um. Yeah. If you drink too much alcohol you can die.” He looked back out the windows. “So, um. Yeah. Don’t do it.”

“Right. Anyway.” Ellie paused for a long moment. “How long have you been here?”

“Dunno.” With excruciating slowness, he unfolded his body from the chair. “We should go see Vlad. I guess.” He sighed, and the rain went sideways for a few seconds.

“We could do something else, too,” said Ellie, hunching her shoulders a little. “Like, I’m sure Vlad will be fine.”

“Are you okay?” asked Danny, concern breaking through his general malaise, however briefly. “Is Vlad being mean to you?”

“No, he’s just, you know.” She sighed. “Vlad.”

“Right,” said Danny. He rubbed the side of his nose, careful to avoid the looping vines of the crown. “Let’s talk to him.”

“Would you like me to summon him, my liege?” asked Fright Night.

“No,” said Danny, “I think I can make it.”

“I could create a portal,” murmured Clockwork. “You would only need to step through.”

“No, I want to walk,” said Danny, mulishly.

.

It was slow, but Danny didn’t have to rest as often as he did just a few days previously. His body was getting stronger, despite the depression he was currently indulging in.

Indulging. There was a word for it. It didn’t feel like an indulgence. He…

He didn’t want to be like this.

(He knew he was causing problems for literally everyone else. The Infinite Realms were vast and connected to the world of the living. Anything he caused here affected there as well.)

The rain began to fall harder.

“So… there’s a bar in here.”

“More like a kitchen that has booze in it,” said Ellie. Danny looked at her. Ellie shrugged. “What? I know what bars look like. I have traveled literally around the world,” she made a circular motion with her fingertip, “and I intend to – Oh. Um. Don’t, uh. Don’t read into that.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “We need to, like…” He gestured vaguely at Ellie. “Also get you, you know, education about human body parts.” He almost suggested Frostbite and the Far Frozen.

But then he remembered.

He shuddered. Someone else. Ghostwriter, maybe? He seemed like someone who would know a lot about things and be interested in teaching.

Then again, Ghostwriter had attacked him and trapped him in a poem, so… Yeah. He might not be the best choice.

There had to be someone out there, though. Some biology-obsesses ex-schoolteacher. Maybe Poindexter could give him some pointers.

“Yeah, sure,” said Ellie. “I’d rather look for things myself, all things considered. Being trapped in a school building is not for me.”

“Trapped. Yeah,” said Danny.

.

“Vlad?” called Danny, leaning against the wall. Vlad looked terrible, slumped down on the counter with a tall glass in front of him.

Vlad groaned.

“Vlad,” repeated Danny.

“Vlad, Vlad, Vladdie,” sing-songed Ellie, skipping over. “Time to wake up.” She poked him.

“Off with you,” mumbled Vlad. “Go research impossibilities or what have you.”

“Vlad,” said Danny. He took a few hesitant steps towards Vlad.

Vlad lifted his head, blinking blearily. “Daniel? Is that you?” he asked, incredulous.

“You should not take that tone with the king,” said Fright Knight.

“It’s fine,” said Danny. “Come on. Vlad. You’re messing yourself up.”

“You’re one to talk.” Vlad waved vaguely behind him. He might have been aiming at the windows.

Maybe he was.

“You can always tell the thralls not to give him any more wine, my liege.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” said Danny.

“Daniel! Don’t you dare.”

Danny bit his lip.

“Daniel,” said Vlad, his tone less biting. “I… you have to understand. I spent years building up my life and… It’s all gone, now.”

“So are our lives,” said Ellie. “You aren’t special.”

“Your life,” said Vlad, “you—” He sighed. “What does it matter?”

Danny sighed, too. “I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re all here. So maybe we can, like… I don’t know…” He shrugged.

“This is an entire world,” said Clockwork, carefully neutral. “A world that contains worlds. Infinite in nature. Anything you could find in your old world, you can find here.”

Danny spun, incensed. “Except for what matters most,” he hissed.

“I did specify things,” said Clockwork, “and I think Vladimir will find that the people who mattered most to him are, in fact, here.”

“He could act like it, then,” said Ellie.

“I will not argue,” agreed Clockwork.

Danny breathed in. The action felt shallow. Meaningless. Why had he come here in the first place?

“I’m going to the garden,” he said. He needed air.

“My lord, the rain—”

“Don’t care,” snapped Danny, moving as quickly as he ever could, lately. If anyone wanted to follow him, they could do that on their own.

(And, maybe, they did.)

[shaynawrites23]

Secret Admirer

Word count: 2054

Prompts:

“I think I practiced asking you out a good thirty times in the mirror.” “You practiced asking me out... on yourself?”

“Were you the one to write me all these letters?”

“But you love me anyways.”

“I’ve kissed you so many times already, but I wouldn’t mind another.”

“I don’t know where I’m going quite yet, but I know I want you here with me.”

“When all my dreams come true, the one I want next to me - is you.”

Written for @yourssuccubus’s writing challenge, as well as @im-a-writer-right’s challenge and @writingevents’s September event!

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

“Come on, (y/n), spill! Do you already know who it is?”

You were sitting by the lake with your best friend. It was a rather secluded spot, but you weren’t hiding, as classes had finished an hour ago. Even the warm breeze playing softly with your hair seemed to urge you; ��tell, tell, tell!’

For almost six months now, you had been receiving letters. From whom, you couldn’t say, as they were all signed, ‘forever yours, your secret admirer.’

Giving in, even though deep down, you longed to talk about it, and you pulled the most recent letter from your robe.

“No, Lily, of course I don’t know who he is.”

“Or she,” Lily interjected.

“He or she,” you repeated. “I guess I never thought of it being a girl, but I guess it’s possible.”

“So, what did they say?”

You just handed her the paper, too embarrassed to read it aloud. It was already well creased after you read it so many times since it ended up on your desk that morning.

Her eyes lingered over the words every few sentences, her face lighting up in excitement.

“Ooh!” Lily exclaimed, eyes locking with yours. “(y/n)-”

She stopped short at the sound of bushes rustling behind you, tucking the paper treasure under her robes in case someone might see.

You spun around, hoping to Merlin no one saw the letter clearly dotted with hearts. Gray eyes met yours, eyes you immediately recognized as those belonging to Sirius Black.

Oh no.

The Marauders were notorious for their pranks, and while you had been lucky enough never to have experienced them firsthand, the fear that your luck was about to run out enveloped your heart like a thick fog you couldn’t see through.

“Ladies.” A charming smirk played on his lips as he winked, a gesture that seemed to be directed more at you than at Lily. “Mind if I steal (y/n) here away for a bit?”

��Sure, but watch it, Black,” Lily warned before making her way back to the castle. Sirius gave a mock salute in response, one she caught out of the corner of her eye and you saw her roll her eyes.

You were now alone with Sirius Black. Your crush.

Crap.

“So what brings you here, good sir?” you teased. “I must admit, you look suspiciously alone today.”

A look of confusion crossed his face before it was replaced by a flash of panic.

“No, no, no, I’m not here for a prank! Remus is busy being star student and James is looking for Lily. I swear, the day we prank you is the day I throw myself off a cliff.”

The determination in his eyes, as well as his promise, brought a soft smile to your face.

“So, you’re here because you’re bored? Or to keep me busy so James can catch Lily alone?”

“Merlin’s beard, woman, give me a break! I’m here because-” He stopped abruptly, as if to keep himself from saying something that was supposed to remain secret.

“Because?” you prompted, your voice no more than a whisper.

He averted his gaze, looking out over the water instead. A silence fell over the two of you, settling like a warm blanket.

Finally his eyes met yours again, his gaze intense, yet vulnerable at the same time.

“I like you.”

It was so soft, you would have missed it, had it not been for the stillness of your surroundings and the movement of his lips. You must have looked as incredulous as you felt; a small smile tugging at his lips as he repeated his statement.

“I like you, (y/n).”

When you didn’t reply, he cast his eyes downwards, muttering a brief word of apology as he moved to get up. At that moment, your ability to speak finally decided to come back from vacation in Hawaiï, and you grabbed his wrist.

“Wait!”

He watched you expectantly as you let go of his arm and nervously played with your fingers.

“I like you too, Sirius.”

His expression softened as he smiled, light and gentle like the sun’s rays on dewdrops that hadn’t evaporated yet that morning.

“It’s okay, love, I understand. You don’t need to say that to spare my feelings.”

“But I’m not!” you huffed in exasperation. “I really do like you; I swear it’s true. Sirius, have I ever lied to you?”

You swore you could pinpoint the exact moment he reverted to his flirty, confident self, as a cheeky grin appeared on his face.

“So, (y/n), will you go out with me? Yes… or yes?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giggling at his attempt.

“Yes.”

“Well that’s a relief,” he grinned, sitting down next to you again. “You know, I think I practiced asking you out a good thirty times in the mirror.”

“You practiced asking me out… on yourself?”

He chuckled. “It sounds dumber when you say it that way. But yes, I did, and I must admit, it went quite well.”

“Mmm, I’m sure it did. Did you say yes?”

“Naturally. It’s only logical with such charms as mine.” He flipped his hair over his shoulder dramatically, like a model for a hair commercial.

The same comfortable silence settled over you again as you took in the events of the past half hour. Then his eyes met yours, gray like clouds on a snowy day, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted out.

“Please do,” you breathed, anticipation bubbling somewhere low in your stomach and spreading throughout your body.

His hand brushed your cheek before coming to cup the back of your head, his other hand pulling you closer by your waist. Then his lips brushed yours, a feather-light touch, as if he were afraid you’d pull away. You gripped his shoulder with one hand, using the other to run your fingers through his hair in an attempt to assure him that you wanted this.

It was like someone flipped a switch in him. He pressed his lips to yours, and you knew if you had been standing, your legs would have buckled out from under you. The kiss wasn’t hungry like you expected it to be; instead it was sweet and loving, like you were the ambrosia of the greek gods, or the air he needed to live.

Suddenly, you knew why girls boasted about being kissed by him, gushing about the details to their friends. It always seemed strange to you; why they bragged about something that was essentially a one-time event, but now you understood. If you were to die today, at least you’d die happy.

The need to breathe finally forced you apart, but it wasn’t strong enough to break the spell that surrounded you. Sirius was still so close he filled your senses; all you could smell was Sirius, all you could hear was Sirius, and all you could feel was Sirius.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured, pulling back so he could look at you as your eyes fluttered open.

“I’ll bet you have,” you grinned, not fully believing him but unwilling to ruin the moment with your doubts.

“It’s true, (y/n), I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”

“You’re serious?”

“Why, yes, I am Sirius,” he joked, but soo, turned serious again. “But I’m also forever yours.”

Forever- what?

“Wait, were you the one to write me all these letters?” Realization hit you as the pieces fell into place, and like the parts of a puzzle, they fit perfectly.

Sirius Black was your secret admirer.

“I’m surprised it took so long.” He was back to his teasing, a grin plastered on his beautiful features. “I almost thought I had to paint a large sign proclaiming-”

“Shut up, Black,” you muttered, shoving him playfully. “You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me anyways.”

Merlin, why did you have to fall for the cockiest prick in the school?

“You’re right, I do.”

His grin grew even wider at that, if that was even possible, and he leaned in to kiss you again.

You let him, because- well, why wouldn’t you?

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

It didn't take long before you grew closer, so close in fact, you were nearly attached at the hip. James often joked he ‘couldn’t tell where Sirius ended and you began’ but he would stop laughing when Remus smacked him upside the head and told him to ‘let them enjoy the beauty of love, Prongs.’

You now sat on Sirius’s bed, reading a book. Your homework was long finished and you were waiting for him to come back for cuddles. Why were you in the boys’ dorm? You were keeping Remus company while the other two were out playing a prank.

They burst through the door soon enough, chattering excitedly and laughing at their poor victim’s reaction. Sirius moved to lie on the bed with you but you stopped him. He tried again and you repeated your previous movement, leaving no space for him.

“Love, is there something I’m missing?”

“Yep.” You grinned cheekily. “You forgot kisses.”

A look of realization crossed his face as he chuckled. “I’ve kissed you so many times already, but I wouldn’t mind another.”

You leaned up to meet him as he captured your lips with his own, despite James’s gagging. You heard him yell in indignation; Remus must have smacked him again.

“Have I earned my seat?” he asked when you separated.

“Definitely.”

Shifting so he could sit behind you, you kissed him on the cheek quickly as he made himself comfortable behind you. His arms came to rest around your waist, pulling you into him. You felt his body warmth through your robes on your back and you snuggled into him.

“What are you reading?”

“A romance story,” you replied, turning the page and angling the book so he could read along, for you knew that while he’d never admit it in order to keep his reputation untarnished, he actually enjoyed reading from time to time.

“You’d think she has enough romance in her life with lover boy there,” James snickered to Remus. You only threw a pillow at him, barely looking up from the captivating story. Judging from his reaction, your aim was spot on, and Sirius muffled his laughter in your neck.

“Sirius, that tickles!” You attempted to squirm away from him, but his grip was too strong.

“Does it, love? How about this?” he asked, now pressing light kisses to your neck. You squealed, swatting him away with your book.

“You’re a prick,” you huffed, pretending to pout when you finally succeeded in putting some distance between you and your ‘attacker.’

Sirius gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “You don’t mean that, now, do you?”

You tried to maintain your composure, you really did. But he was gazing at you with the most adorable, yet pitiful puppy dog eyes, and so, you caved.

“No, I don’t. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around you again.

You then continued reading, his head resting on your shoulder as he followed along. You probably got a bit lost in the story, since before you knew it, the light from the window was dimming.

“You know,” Sirius mused, “I don’t know where I’m going quite yet, but I know I want you here with me.”

“Wait- what? Sirius, you don’t know what the future holds.”

“I know, but I mean it. When all my dreams come true, the one I want next to me - is you.”

Sniffling slightly, you turned to face him. “You are so much more romantic than you let on, you know. Shouldn’t you at least warn a girl before you go around being heart-meltingly sweet?”

“A bit late for that, isn’t it?” he hummed, hands running up and down your sides as his gray eyes gazed into yours.

You couldn’t resist anymore; you leaned down to kiss him. The moment your lips met, you were sucked back into this world that consisted only of him, the world you entered every time you kissed him. But what discerned this kiss from all others was the promise it held, the promise of a future, of a happy ending.

And it did; you live happily ever after.

Taglist: @the-moon-and-the-book @decalcomanei

[whitefawnn]

blood lettings (pt.4)

(c!wilbur x reader)

pt. 1   pt. 2   pt. 3  pt. 5  AO3

warnings: manipulation, vampirism, blood, disassociation, nightmares

note: read the warnings

Mirror, why am I always looking in the mirror? And god why do I always look back?

My eyes are beaty, almost completely black. I reach up to pull at my face with numb fingers. Push back the skin like I’m looking for something. I lift my lip up revealing sharp canines, the teeth of a predator. My brain is stopped at the sight. It can’t be real? Did I die? I pull down at my eyelids, search my arms for a sign, anything to explain, and once I look back up I see it. My eyes trailing over my neck; The expanse of skin covered in bite marks. Scabs, scars, and fresh and grotesque bruises litter my skin. My neck a sign of being used and owned, I feel sick. I’m always fucking sick.

I feel hands wrap around my waist from behind. I quickly lookup in the mirror to see Wilbur. His eyes scarlet, pupils blown wide. He roughly pulls me against him. 

“Mine, all mine” He stares into me through the mirror, his voice all wrong. It’s scratchy, hard to even distinguish as words. 

“No, no, no” he buries his head into my neck, and it feels all too familiar.

“It’s okay, you won’t last long.” I feel his fangs press into my skin, a burning in my veins. 

I wake up in a jolt, my body rushing up in the strangely comfortable bed. My hands immediately holding my neck to find it unmarred, merely two marks to stand up to the thousands I’d seen in my nightmare.

“Wilbur, wouldn’t do that” I mutter to myself, rubbing my arms in comfort. I steadied my breathing looking around the unfamiliar room. Last time I checked I was on a horse? A window casts long shadows across the room, the moon illuminating a rectangle on the floorboards. The walls are dark oak, red curtains line the massive window, vermillion carpet adorning the floor, and a mass of books loomed over me from the farthest wall, it looked to be a taken-over woodland mansion from what I could tell. I remembered going to one with Ranboo, he insisted we needed totems, but I told him no one would need to fight anymore since Dream was imprisoned. I knew I was lying then as much as I do now. Everyone knew Dream would get out, it had just been a matter of time. 

I got to my feet, swinging them over the massive bed. Wandering out into the hallway, I padded down the scarlet carpet, it muffling my footsteps. I needed to find Wilbur. 

“Tsk, tsk. Miss sleeping beauty is finally awake, huh?” I spun around to be met by a crude insidious mask hovering above me. The smile seemed more deep set than his last one, the white paint not covering the wood due to a lack of sanding. “You like it, sweetheart?” I recoiled at the affectionate nickname, backing away from him. 

“Where’s Wilbur?” I asked, steeling myself enough to be able talk to him.

“It’s always Wilbur this Wilbur that ever since I’ve gotten out. Can’t we have some time together?”

“No, we can’t, Dream.” I push malice into my voice as he lifted his head, a motion that hinted to the fact he had rolled his eyes under the mask. 

“Fine, fine, maybe later then. He’s in his room, by the way,” he pointed behind me “it’s at the end of the hall.” I nodded and began to walk away “See you later, princess.” he called and I shook away his pet names, increasing my pace to the door that would get me to Wilbur, to safety. I didn’t waste time, quickly pressing open the door with a sigh of relief as I relaxed at the familiar smell of campfires and smoke. 

Wilbur was sat on the ledge of the window, it swung open slightly. He held a cigarette between his lips, his head resting against the wall. Moonlight made his hair shine, the white streak seeming to glow. Long shadows were cast across his face, emphasizing how his eye bags had gotten increasingly worse since we were at my house.

“Wilbur?” I tentatively asked, pushing the door closed behind me. He slowly opened his eyes with a lazy smile, he seemed far away,

“y/n.” he said plainly taking the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke out the window. I walked over to him and the closer I got the worse he looked. His hands were trembling; His lips were chapped and dry.

“Wilbur, are you okay?” he looked away from me, averting his gaze to the trees out the window. 

“No, I guess not.” he stretched up his arms, pausing to reorient himself after “Dream, said-” he stopped again,  pursing his lips and lifting his shaky hand to take another drag of his cigarette. 

“He said what?” I prodded him, sitting down on the other side of the window ledge. 

“The blood thing, y/n.” he crinkled his nose. “it’s why I’m so-“ he gestured to his head.

“Oh,” I studied his face. He slowly blinked seeming seconds away from passing out from exhaustion. “I-” he lowly whined, throwing the cigarette out the window. Wilbur weakly got to his feet, immediately tripping over nothing. I rushed up to catch him, him collapsing into me, his face pressed into my neck.

“Please,” he whined as I pulled him up.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” I moved him over to the bed, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead as he sat. He pulled my hand down, nuzzling into my wrist. 

“y/n?” he seemed to be asking for permission, and I felt obliged to help seeing him so vulnerable. I nodded my head slowly. He roughly pulled me into his lap, me straddling his legs. Wilbur wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face into my neck. I tilted my head to allow him better access as my nerves built up. Flashes of my dream plaguing my mind. The hundreds of bite marks bleeding me dry.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I cried. I saw him in my mind, eyes a bright red instead of the rich wine I had come accustomed to since he had returned. I felt myself digging my fingers into his hair with a shuttered breath as my heart rate quickened.

“I would never even think about it, darling.” he pulled away from me, his eyes full of affection “are you sure? I don’t want you to think I’m just using you.” 

“Mhm.” I took a deep breath. Studying his worn-out face. He leaned into me, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips. He tilted my head by placing a hand on the back of my neck. Suddenly it was a stinging pain, a burn that passed through my veins just ike it had in my dream. It bloomed into a numb warmth as Wilbur continued. His mouth hot against my skin. He gasped for air, licking the part of my neck he had bitten.

“So good for me, so good.” he trailed kisses up my jaw eventually kissing me on the lips. His mouth tasting of iron, blood, and cigarette smoke. “thank you, thank you.” he breathed out, cupping my face. I ran my eyes over his features, his face was now flushed pink, his eyes dark. He smiled at me, his teeth coated in red, his fangs more prominent. 

“Wilbur,” I felt the stress of the situation run back into me “we need to talk, now that you’re better.” he nodded his head absently. He seemed to deliberately be pulling in breaths of air, each one making him seem that much brighter. “Dream.”

“Dream.” he repeated, still staring at me with a hunger in his eyes “I know you don’t get it, I promise I do.” I huffed at him, knowing he was gonna dismiss Dream’s actions  “but I owe him everything.”

“No, you don’t. Especially not now, aren’t you guys even? You broke him out already, Wilbur.” reasoning with him on the matter felt impossible. 

“Yes, but look where we are right now. For all, we know if Dream wasn’t here I’d be in prison.” 

“That’s not true, if he wasn’t fucking here we’d be at home, and we’d be with our friends Wilbur,” I said incredulous about what he had stated. 

“If he wasn’t here, I’d still be dead, and they are your friends, not mine” he remarked.

“what do you mean?” I looked at him, hurt clear on his face.

“they fucking hate me, y/n.” he looked away “because of what I did, they hate me, and I’m fucking sick of walking on eggshells and apologizing.” 

“Wilbur,” I cupped his cheek, rubbing my thumb under his eye. He pulled my hand down, holding it in his own.

“We should talk about this tomorrow.” my hopes of change fell “It’s late, my dear. I promise I am not trying to push this away, but I think the morning will bring better clarity to the situation. We can’t argue in this state.”

“Fine.” I looked at him in the eyes “but I need you to listen to me, at least consider what I’m saying Wilbur”

“Anything for you.”                                                                                                                         

[seacottons]

reaper ; — k.hj x reader

pairing: hongjoong x reader, platonic wooyoung x reader

wc: 5k

notes: i guess this is horror? pft. idk. mild violence. set in the late 80s? early 90s? technology isn't prevalent here so- yeah. probably needs to be proofread but i'm too sleepy as of now. maybe tomorrow. also, happy hongjoong day 🤍

synopsis: after an accident leaves three of your friends dead and one in a coma, you and wooyoung struggle with living expenses and piling medical bills. in the midst of it all, you’re stalked by strangers who resemble your deceased friends.

"Bad day at the tavern, Woo?" You asked, arms wrapping around the black-haired man who stood over the stovetop. A gentle fire simmered the stew he was cooking, a thin sheen of oil and spices pooling on the surface. He nodded with a grim frown and tight jaw, shoulders tense as he stirred a ladle into the pot.

"Got in a fight with some asshole who thought he didn't have to pay for shit," he grumbled back. You frowned at the sight of a bruise on his jaw, and he caught your gaze before scoffing incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that. This is nothing," he quipped hastily, voice thin with resignation.

"I think I have some leftover ointment for that," you sighed, turning away to fetch the item. After dinner, the two of you sat in silence as you tended to his bruises and cuts, your brows furrowing into a glare as you wrapped his finger with scraps of linen you managed to find," You should be more careful with people like that."

"We need the money," he retorted gently, "Mr. Lee would've taken it out of my paycheck if I had let the guy go without paying."

"At the expense of you getting hurt?" He ignored the glare you sent his way.

"We need every silver coin and more right now, y/n," he exhaled softly, leaning back against the old headboard of your bed, "Yeosang's medical bills aren't getting cheaper, and we promised the landlord we'll pay her this month." He groaned, reaching up to massage his temple with a tight frown, "And I can't keep making you work two shifts every day. I see the toll it's having on you."

"I told you I'm fine," you gave him a hard stare, defensively crossing your arms above your chest, "We both work overtime, so it won't be fair of me to just throw all the responsibility on you."

He gave you a tired smile, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed back a reply. Bringing you into his arms, he placed a gentle kiss onto your temple, before cradling your head against his chest while laying down, "I'll always be grateful to still have you with me."

Wooyoung sleeping in your bed alongside you became a silent agreement of some sort months ago when he couldn't bear to sleep alone in the other room he and Yeosang shared. Since then, the two of you found comfort in each other's arms, so much so that it became difficult to sleep without the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around your frame every night.

You sat in a comfortable silence, eyes closed as you relaxed back in your seat while holding Yeosang's delicate hand. The occasional beep of the IV machine and other monitors filled the air of the small room. You peek one eye open to look at Wooyoung, his back turned to you as he gazes out of the window. Neither of you speak for a while.

"You really think the doctor's words are guaranteed? That he'll wake up soon?"

You watched from your spot as Wooyoung leaned over the blonde-haired male, his hands brushing the hair away from his closed eyes. He appeared to be in a very deep and peaceful slumber.

"Yeah. I'm sure–.. I know he will. Things will get better for all of us," he drawled out tiredly, a soft smile finding itself onto his visage as he turned to gaze at your hand grasping Yeosang's limp one, eyes puffy from his crying session last night, "I know it."

An hour later, a nurse peeks her head in to politely state that you two have exceeded your visiting time. The two of you bid your friend farewell and left the hospital.

"I'm actually going to run by the cemetery real quick before my shift starts," you explained while walking down the road with the other by your side, half frozen autumn leaves crunching beneath your boots.

Wooyoung pulled you into a tight hug, hand reaching up to tussle your locks, "Alright, please be careful. I'll see you later, alright?," he readjusted the scarf around your neck with his gloved hands, "We'll have fried fish tonight, your favorite. Don't overwork yourself at work again!"

Tears nearly welled in your eyes, knowing fully well behind his cheerful demeanor hid a scared and tired being. The unspeakable pain behind his eyes killed you on the inside. He overworked himself both physically and mentally, and you can only wish you can rid some of the burden off of his shoulders.

You were just as hurt by the circumstances that the both of you were in, but watching his mental health erode with each day was A lump formed in your throat, and instead of replying, you merely flashed him a smile, not trusting your voice.

You pressed a quick peck to his cheek only to laugh as he flinched away from your freezing lips, your laughter escaping as puffs of white in the frigid air. You bid him farewell and waved back as the two of you separated.

The low mist enshrouding the cemetery did very little to bring warmth in the early hours of the morning. Your hands absentmindedly brushed along the dew covered grass as your eyes fixated onto the inscription on one of the three tombstones.

Where there are flowers, there are butterflies.

"It's your birthday next month, Joong," you muse to the grave in front of you, "I'll make sure to spend the day here with you and the others when the time comes."

You adjusted your position on the grass, the gentle beams of sunlight sparkling in the beads of dew around you. Sitting cross legged, you reminisced the times you spent with the male and the other two friends that shared his fate.

"Wait— how come you get to be the flower? You should be the butterfly instead," you whined whilst poking his cheek.

With a playful quirk of his brow, he reached up to lightly flick your forehead before pulling you closer for a gentle kiss, "You're the butterfly, because you always bug me, baby."

You smiled to yourself at the memory, reaching down to admire the various flowers that have finally bloomed on Hongjoong's grave. Similar blossoms and flowering vines were planted and grown onto the other two graves to the right.

"I miss you so much."

You startled at the sight of a small butterfly fluttering over your head, only to smile once it landed on the purple blossom. You stilled your frame in fear of scaring it off, and watched as it flapped its blue wings subtly.

A small lizard peeked through the gaps of leaves, sharply and swiftly clamping its mouth onto the butterfly. It struggled to keep the bug in its mouth, its head shaking rapidly as the insect wriggled in its hold. Moments later, the bug stilled and the lizard scampered off with its prey.

You stood up, shoulders slumping as you gave the three graves a smile and a wave, "See you guys tomorrow. I love you."

You tightened the sweater around your frame as you made yourself out the gates of the cemetery, sighing in annoyance at the lingering and dense fog. It was difficult to even make out the next tree as you made your way back to town. You faintly hear the sound of a crow's caw in the distance and peer down onto the ground as you feel a tremor beneath your feet. Your head snapped up in time to have a large vehicle's headlights reflect in your wide eyes.

You somehow couldn't quite grasp what day it was, or even what happened at work earlier. Your head spun as if you had just awoken from a drunken stupor.

The sun had set and the moonlight washed the town with a silvery blue hue. Flames flickered within the numerous lampposts and pebbles crunched beneath your feet as you walked through the familiar cobblestone path back home. The streets were deserted. Many buildings were left with shattered windows, small plants and moss growing in the most delicate fissures on their walls. Plastered advertisements and papers on the walls and lampposts looked withered and aged, drooping forward and swaying with the gentle breeze. It was quite an odd sight to see. The once boisterous town strangely felt like a ghost town.

You shrugged off the ominous feeling growing in the pit of your stomach as you trudged along back home.

Along the way, you crossed the hospital where Yeosang was kept. You peeked back to glance at the building, your eyes immediately catching sight of a figure who stood behind a third story window. Furrowing your brows, you turned around to continue walking, the sight of the stranger leaving a bitter feeling in your heart.

The male had the same patch of silver hair as—

Suddenly, your feet came to a halt and you turned back frantically, but the figure was gone. In its place, the blue curtain of Yeosang's room swayed gently with the wind.

Shaking your head, you continued your path whilst rubbing your tired eyes.

"I probably just had a long day," you explained to nobody.

In the distance, there crouched a dark figure, his hands caressing the top of a stray cat's head. You met eyes with the stranger moments later, and you paused in your tracks, your heart dropping down to the floor and leaping into your throat almost simultaneously.

"San?" the figure's lips stretched into a wide grin at your acknowledgement, before he stood up straight to face you. Your legs shook and threatened to give under the sudden weight of your body, "San? Is that really you?"

"Long time no see, y/n."

He silently nodded, arm extending to beckon you forward with a small smile. You took a small step forward, brows furrowing in confusion, "But this can't be you. You're dead."

"Your eyesight is still horrible, I see," he drawled out with a roll of his eyes. You stood inches away from him, eyes widening in disbelief. He sounded like and resembled your late friend with a terrifying accuracy. With a trembling hand you reached forward to cup his cheek, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're..," you trailed off, eyes briefly glancing to your right at the reflection of the store glass window. Your reflection grasped at nothing but thin air, and you quickly retracted your hand from his face, eyes wide, "You're not real, are you?"

In an instant, the bright smile vanished and his gaze hardened into a dark expression. He silently bore holes into your head as a gentle breeze swayed his ebony and silver locks over his eyes. You took two hesitant steps back, and a blur of black flew towards you at an inhumane pace, your back roughly slamming onto the cobblestones underneath you.

Your brain scrambled to process what had just happened, eyes widening as San gripped your two wrists above your head with one hand, the other reaching down to wrap his lithe fingers around the column of your neck to squeeze hard. You released a pained cry, face contorting into a harsh wince. The heel of his palm dug painfully in the middle of your clavicles.

With eyes wide as saucers, you frantically kicked at your heels, hitting his frame repeatedly in an attempt to escape his clutches. Your attempt was futile as he released a growl, eyes practically slits as he seethed down at you, his grip tightening at an unbelievable level.

You wheezed, mouth falling open as you choked out his name, before furiously and blindingly sending a stomp onto his crotch repeatedly, your other leg jutting high to kick at his shoulder. It loosened his grip just enough for you to wriggle away, knees buckling as you attempted to stand up, heels kicking at the floor as you scrambled up, desperately trying to create as much distance as possible.

His eyes spoke of unfathomable fury as he regained his composure, taking two big strides to reach you.

Hastily rising to your feet, you dove in an alleyway and into the dark, mind not even processing your whereabouts as you quickly attempted to flee.

Your mind was in shambles as you ducked past clothes lines and the multiple abandoned carts near one of the taverns by the tea shop you worked at.

Turning around another corner, you collided with a strong chest, and you stumbled back at the sight of San's dark eyes peering down at you with a miffed expression. You gasped, face draining of color and chest heaving as you stumbled back and away from him. His chest rose with heavy breathing, brows knitted together furiously as he scurried after you.

"Y/n, y/n," he tsked in amusement, voice chiming like he was singing a song, "Come back, I just want to talk!"

Minutes later, the sound of his heavy footsteps ceased, but you did not have the time or courage to look back to see if he was still following you. You scrambled through dark alleyways, turning around every other corner, heart beating frantically in your ears and weak legs threatening to give way under your weight.

Tears prickled your eyes, and a sob threatened to escape your throat as you practically threw yourself against the frame of your door, fingers frantically reaching down to pull out the key from your pouch. From the corner of your eye, you spotted San madly dashing out from an alleyway to reach you, his voice growling out your name.

"Why are you running away?" He mocked, brows quirking up, "I thought we were good friends?"

Your trembling hands scrambled to unlock your door, hastily clambering in and throwing your entire weight to close it shut. A heavy weight from the other side thudded against the wooden frame, and your hands shook whilst reaching up to slide the chain into place. A loud gasp left your lips as the door jerked open slightly, the thin chain straining under the weight that threatened to break it.

"I'm hurt, y/n," a laugh escaped the man from the other side as he lodged his foot in between to keep the door ajar, voice rising as he attempted to shove himself in once more, "Don't you miss me?"

"Leave me alone!"

A hand shot from the gap of the door to clamp around the chain, rattling it viciously, as his other arm bent at an awkward angle to coil his fingers around the side of your neck, "Come out, y/n. I just want to talk," he chimed.

A sudden surge of strength overtook your frame and you threw your weight forward, successfully ramming the door shut against his arms. You expected to hear a cry of pain, but a chime of laughter sent a chill down your spine. With furrowed brows, you repeated the action, slamming the door continuously onto his hands and fingers, the sounds of bones and tendons snapping making you cry out in anguish.

Your hands trembled as you quickly locked the door with the key, stumbling back onto the floor as the knob shook threateningly. The door and chain rattled under the heavy kicks the male delivered from the other side, The impact of his frame against the other side shaking the door slightly. You fell onto your bottom, wobbly knees finally giving in, hands clutching your gaping mouth, and tears silently streaming down your face. You can practically feel the smile in his words, "It's okay. You'll come out eventually."

The dark shadow of his figure disappeared moments later.

When you woke, you weren't exactly sure when or how you fell asleep. You couldn't quite grasp the memories of the night prior. Sitting up, you emit a disoriented groan before realizing you weren't in your bedroom, but rather in the waiting room in the hospital Yeosang resided in. Peering around in confusion, you took account of the night sky, brows furrowing as you scrambled to find the nearest clock. It was well past midnight and visitors weren't even allowed at this ungodly hour.

The room was vacant, and you couldn't make out any figures of the receptionists through the pebbled sliding-windows. Your hand grasped the doorknob of the entrance door, only for you to sigh in frustration after finding it locked. You turn to the other side of the room only to find the door to the main halls of the ICU left ajar ever so slightly.

You called for any doctor or nurse, but you were met with silence. After much contemplating, you decided to make your way through the long corridors of the hospital, your steps reverberating throughout the empty halls. Where are the attendants, and why is a place like the ICU empty?

If you were stuck in here, you might as well stay in your friend's room. The lights from the mounted sconces petered out against the wall and casted the hallway with a warm glow.

After much turning and walking, you reached the end of the hall, hand reaching for the doorknob when the hallway lights wavered for a second. You peered to the side in confusion, before entering the room, only to stop after a step.

The room was empty, the sheets on the bed untouched and perfectly made. A hiss of air from the corridor startled you, and just as you snapped your head back, the lightbulb above you flickered rapidly before it shattered along with the windows, showering your shocked form with glass shards.

The room was engulfed in darkness, save for the streaks of moonlight filtering past the curtains. You jostled up from where you fell from shock, legs feeling useless as you crawled back out of the room with trembling limbs. Not wanting to look back, you clutched the wall for support before hastily speeding through the endless turns of the hallway.

Corner after corner, panic settled through your system because these were definitely not the same hallway layouts you remembered and memorized like the back of your hand. They were endless and vacant, and you felt like a helpless little mouse in a vast maze. As you quickened your pace into a panicked dash, the windows and light sconces on the wall flickered and shattered with every step you took, and you hastily covered your head and face from the flying glass.

This isn't real, you thought. It can't be real.

"Y/n!"

You froze in your spot, breath caught in your throat as you clamped a hand over your mouth to swallow back a scream threatening to slip past your lips. Did you hear correctly, or was that part of your imagination?

"Y/n," the familiar voice spoke once more.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you daringly poked your head from the corner and into the other hallway. Blood pounded past your ears, and it took more than a second to realize there was a figure of a man at the end of the very long and dark corridor.

He took a step forward and the soft moonlight pouring from the window beside him illuminated his figure, and your breath faltered at the sight of the man's smiling face.

"Seonghwa?"

"What are you running away from, y/n?"

You couldn't properly form a reply at his remark, hands reaching up to rub at your tear pricked eyes. A sob bubbled its way up to escape your throat at the sight of your late friend who merely chuckled at your tears.

"Missed me that much, hm?" he mused, shoulders shaking with an amused chortle, "Why don't you come here and give me hug? You know I don't like seeing you cry."

You couldn't help it as a gnawing feeling of unrest settled in the pit of your stomach. A shudder traveled down your spine, goosebumps decorating your arms, and hair standing on the back of your neck. Your mind couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that had you so disturbed, but your body displayed all the signs. His tone felt off, and you realize he's playing with you. Toying with you. A small distant voice in your head told you to get away.

A sudden thought found its ways into your mind.

Where was his shadow?

Sensing your hesitation, the friendly expression on his face soon dropped, making way for a stone-cold frown and unamused eyes.

"Y/n."

His cold voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you take a hesitant step back, words slipping out before you even processed them, "I know you're not real."

The feral look that overtakes his expression has you reeling back, and you took off running in the opposite direction. Glass crunches beneath your shoes as you dashed from corridor to corridor, lungs burning and muscles aching from the rush of adrenaline. He called for you repeatedly, and you didn't dare turn back to see how far he's caught up with you. With every turn, his voice grew louder and closer, before a flash of black sends you flying back onto the floor. Your body skids onto the ground, shards of glass pricking at your skin. With a rush of adrenaline fueling your system, you hardly wince as you scrambled back from the towering figure, glass piercing your skin in the process.

You feel an excruciating burst of pain in your foot, and before you had the opportunity to pull your leg back, he slams his foot down onto your ankle once more, grinding the joint roughly with his boot. A loud cry of pain escapes your throat and you to struggle wildly to escape his unrelenting grip.

You glance up and through your tears, you make out the gleam of a large piece of glass in Seonghwa's hands, his threatening, blown out pupils pinning you down like trapped prey. Turning the large shard in his hand to examine it, he hums sarcastically before peering down at you with a quirked brow, "You know, I'm offended." Kneeling down to your level, he traces your cheek with a glass, watching your skin split at the action and beads of blood oozing out from the scratch, "And here I thought we were such good, close friends."

Without missing a beat, your hands flew to grasp the shard, roughly ripping it into the soft tissue of his eye and slipping past his frame to stagger to the nearest broken window. You hear a groan from behind you as he doubles over in shock, blood overflowing from his ruptured eye and spilling down his scowling face. Pain surged with every step you took, but if this was your only option to escape, you think maybe the idea of couple of broken bones doesn't sound too bad.

Hastily, you stepped over the windowsill, your arms and legs catching on the jagged teeth of glass remaining, your clothes tearing in the process. You took a sharp inhale before curiously taking a look back at Seonghwa one last time. The sight of him lunging after you has you falling forward and out of the window. It felt as if gravity had slowed the pace of your fall, and you held eye contact with Seonghwa as your frame descended down from the third story floor. Darkness fogged your eyesight, his figure vanishing within the black abyss.

The impact hit you like a truck, and you sat up with a loud intake of breath on your warm bed. Your chest heaved heavily as you took in your surroundings. You suddenly realize you're in Wooyoung and Yeosang's shared room that hasn't been occupied in months. Your eyes fall onto your feet, and your brows furrow in confusion as a sudden thought invades your head.

You faintly remember your ankle being crushed, but it seemed to feel just fine now. When you attempted to recall why you thought it had been broken, it felt like your mind was searching for a forgotten and fragmented memory. After calming your breathing and thoughts, you sit up to go and find your friend.

You called Wooyoung's name repeatedly, but the silence you were met with indicated he wasn't home.

Peering into your room, you hoped to find him sleeping, however your eyes landed on the wall, the sight of messily painted words catching your attention almost immediately.

Where there are flowers, there are butterflies.

Painted flowers and butterflies littered the wall, the excess ink dripping down into lines onto the wooden floorboards.

"Do you like it?"

You jumped at the voice behind you, swiftly turning around to meet the sight of a familiar head of blue hair. You stood there, mouth agape as you silently stared long and hard at the man that once held and loved you in his arms. A long silence followed suit, hanging in the air like the calm before a storm. A breeze hardly stirred from the open window and not a sound could be heard save for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

The forbidding, subtle grin displayed on his features filled you with dread, and the mere sight of him gave your brain a debilitating shock. Your knees couldn't hold your weight any longer, and with buckling limbs, you were sent crashing down onto the floor, the look of disbelief and horror never leaving your expression.

You stared at him but it felt like you couldn't quite focus your gaze on him as he peered down at you in mock pity, a condescending smile playing on his lips. His dark gaze seared you as he crouched down to meet your eye level, hand reaching to cup your cheek as he leaned in to press numerous kisses onto your lips. The gesture was void of the warmth and care you remembered, and you sat still as he trailed fleeting kisses down your the column of your neck, his lips attaching fervently onto your clavicles.

"I missed you so much," you began, catching his attention. Pulling away from your irritated flesh, he quirked his brows at your words, hands brushing the hair out of your face as he let out a chuckle. His finely-chiseled face, illuminated by the oil lamps on the wall, broke into a fond expression. Pulling you close to his frame, he pressed your head against his chest, head dipping to kiss into your hair.

"Do you really?" Your brows furrowed slightly, eyes blinking away the tears as you wrapped your arms around his torso, head pressed against his chest. It's been too long without the feeling of your lover's arms around you. It's just been way too long for you, "If you miss me that much then-"

While nuzzling his chest, you come to realization he lacked a heartbeat, and with that thought striking your mind like lightning, you detached yourself from his form instantly. He eyed your trembling form without any sign of amusement.

"Don't look at me like that!" Cowering back against the wall, you broke into screams of despair, fingers pulling handfuls of your hair as you shook your head rapidly, "You're dead— you're not real!" you slapped the heels of your palms against your temple repeatedly, eyes scrunched shut, "Not real! Not real! This is all just my imagination!"

He released a chilling laugh that traveled down your spine and left your fingers and toes numbingly cold. A sudden gust of wind sent the crispy, autumn leaves scampering wildly into the window while also extinguishing the lamplights that illuminated the room, plunging it into darkness.

You only had a second to register his close proximity, your pupils dilating instantly, before a hand latched onto your throat, ramming your head back against the wall in the process. His vice-like, lithe fingers squeezed around your windpipe, successfully blocking your air flow as you squirmed in his relentless hold, lungs burning and diaphragm spasming.

"You'll join me so we can be together again, hm?"

The fist around your throat choked your response, and he tilted his head with a mocking smile, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

His hold only faltered ever so slightly to give you enough air to speak, "I don't want to die," your reply was a little more than a ghost of a breath.

"But, baby," his fingers coiled around your neck, pressing unforgivingly hard until your darkening vision littered with stars, "don't you realize you're already on the brink of death. Just give in, y/n. Don't keep fighting."

The silence of the atmosphere contributed to the solemnity in the air, and despite the clear blue skies and warm sun, there was a relentless chill in Wooyoung's heart. The black-haired male crouched down over the grave, gently placing a small bundle of roses onto the base of the tombstone.

"Happy birthday, Joong," he mused sadly, his puffy, tired eyes flickering over to the sides where the other tombstones lay.

"I'm so sorry for breaking my promise," he blinked rapidly to rid himself of the stinging tears threatening to spill, nose scrunching slightly as he sniffled, "I should've been there that day- shouldn't have let y/n come here alone- and.."

"You know nothing was your fault, Woo. Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control of."

A hand clutched his shoulder, and he peered with tear-filled eyes to give the blonde male a grateful smile, before turning back to the grave, "Yeosang's awake now though and- and the doctors said that y/n's case isn't as bad as his was, so we have hope."

"Y/n is a stubborn fighter," Yeosang offered the other a small smile, crouching down to rub his trembling friend's back, "Everything will be okay in due time."

"I hope so.. and I hope you'll forgive me, Hongjoong," Wooyoung murmured, watching two small butterflies flutter and chase each other around the blossoming flowers atop of Hongjoong's grave.

[rainy-day-gracie]

America’s Sweetheart 1

HELLO !!

This was an idea I had that I couldn’t walk away from, more chapters to come :)

YFN YLN catches the eye of a Dr. Spencer Reid. The only thing is... he has no idea she’s America’s Sweetheart, Oscar winning actress, and a Hollywood phenomenon. Truly a tinsel town tale of love, crime, and gossip.  

MASTERLIST

__

I was on a beach. Just some random beach. The waves lapped against the sand, and no one was there but me. 

A storm rolled over the ocean, sheets of rain beating down on me, giant waves crashing against my body. I tried to run, but my feet were sinking into the sand, and saltwater stung my eyes. 

Just as I was about to drown on the water beating down on me, I wake up in my own bed in Washington DC. 

In the few weeks after I had moved to DC, I would give the city a 7 out of 10. It was a good random place to hide from the flashiness of Hollywood, but it was honestly overrated. That was until I met Dr. Spencer Reid. 

I kept my eyes low as I ordered my coffee, pulling my baseball cap down over my face even though it wasn’t very sunny outside. As I went to pay, the barista shook her head. 

“Someone’s already paid for your drink, ma’am.” She pointed to a tall man slouched over a book in a booth, seemingly not paying very much attention to anything else in the coffee shop. 

“Um, thank you anyway,” I said as she handed me my coffee. My feet carried me hesitantly towards the man in the booth, studying him as I approached.

“Um, excuse me?” The man looked up, and my breath almost caught in my throat. Dark brown eyes peered up at me, and soft brown curls made him look extremely youthful. I cleared my throat, trying not to get distracted by his beautiful high cheekbones. This man was gorgeous even with the elevated standards Hollywood had given me. He could be a movie star if he wanted to. “Thanks... for the coffee.”

He looked confused for a moment, then he smiled. “Oh, of course. Um... anything for a lovely lady.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, waiting for him to ask for a picture. But he didn’t. He just peered at me, trying to read my face as I tried to read his.

“What’s your name?” I asked, surprising even myself. 

“Spencer. Just... Spencer. What’s yours?”

He was being vague, and I wasn’t completely sure he knew who I was, even though that sounded completely vain. “YFN. Just YFN...” I waited for him to put the pieces together, but he didn’t. Instead he just nodded with a small smile on his face. 

“Well YFN, I hope to see you getting coffee around here more often.”

A strange smile came to my face. “Yeah, I think I will be.” I took a napkin lying on the booth, quickly scribbling my personal number down and tucking it into Spencer’s jacket pocket flirtatiously. “Well… call anytime, I guess.”

The BAU 

Spencer didn’t realize leaving his phone unattended at the BAU was such a risky decision. The team had noticed Spencer’s upbeat mood and buzzing phone the past few weeks. One day, when Spencer left his phone on his desk while he got coffee, JJ glanced over to see who was making the good doctor so happy. 

JJ gasped when she saw the contact name come up on Spencer’s phone, and immediately ran to Garcia’s office. “Penelope!”

“Ah! What- what do you want?” She spun towards JJ in her chair. 

“I think... I think Spencer is going out with YFN YLN.”

Garcia’s jaw dropped. “Like... the YFN YLN? The most renowned young actress in Hollywood right now? The Oscar winner?”

“That’s the one.”

Garcia looked around her office, not totally sure on what to do. “Well, we have to tell him right? Reid doesn’t keep up with the modern day Hollywood stuff, there’s no way he knows who she is.”

JJ nodded. “We need to tell him.”

“Tell who what?” Morgan asked, walking in the room with a stack of files. 

JJ and Garcia looked to each other then back at Morgan. “Spence’s dating YFN YLN.”

Morgan dropped the files on the floor in shock. “Reid? As in pretty boy? Dr. Spencer Reid dating Oscar winner YFN YLN?”

The women nodded, and Morgan just stood there, the files on the floor completely forgotten. 

Later that day, the team was lounging around the office, Spencer smiling at a text he received on his phone. “Hey, Spence?” JJ asked from across the desks. 

“Hmhmm?” Spencer said, not looking up from his phone. 

“Who’re you talking to?”

“This girl I met at a coffee shop… she’s amazing. Beautiful, kind, intelligent...” 

JJ took a deep breath. “YFN YLN?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “How did you know that?”

“She’s… famous. Like really really famous. Movie star, award winner, America’s sweetheart famous.” JJ broke the news softly, not wanting to raise a big scene. 

Spencer just looked more confused then he was before. 

Reader’s POV

We had met for coffee about five times in the last two weeks, and I learned there was much more to Spencer than a lanky handsome exterior. He was definitely a genius, a doctor three times over, and worked for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I thought I was impressive, but he takes the cake.

But today something was wrong with Spencer. I could see it in the way he fidgeted with his hands more than usual or how he couldn’t seem to meet my eyes for more than two seconds. “Alright, Spencer, what’s wrong?”

He was also a minor technophobe, which probably explained how he didn’t recognize me. 

Spencer seemed startled by my question. “Well, my friend… she saw your name come up on my phone yesterday and told me that you were some kind of celebrity. You told me you worked in the film industry, but the way my friend told it… you’re super famous, like a household name famous.”

My heart sank and I subconsciously pulled my baseball cap lower on my head. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Is that why you always wear a baseball cap? So you won’t be recognized as easily?” He asked, and I nodded softly while keeping my eyes down on my coffee.

Spencer looked downtrodden. “Then why are you interested in me?”

“Are... are you kidding?” I asked incredulously. Spencer shook his head, and I almost laughed. “I’m interested in you because you don’t have this preconceived opinion about me. You don’t want anything from me. We can just be normal people, I can be a normal person. Do you know how rare that is in my line of work?”

“That sounds... lonely. And stressful, not knowing who to trust.”

An image of my dream came back to me, my feet sinking into the sand and drowning in waves of seawater. “It is. But... I think I can trust you.”

He still looked confused, but a glimmer of a smile appeared in his eyes. “Why are you in DC?”

I rolled my eyes. “To disappear a little while from all the cameras and flashiness of Hollywood. I’m staying in a town house until I have to fly out to wherever my next project is, and who knows when that’s going to be.” 

Spencer looked completely mesmerized. “Tell me more… about Hollywood, movies, award shows, everything. I want to know everything.” His hands touched the tips of my fingers, and he grinned ear to ear. Leave it to Dr. Spencer Reid to want to learn about the ins and outs of shallow Hollywood life. 

I laughed, thinking maybe once in the four years I’ve worked in Hollywood, someone was truly honest with me. 

__ 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Photoshoot across town, meeting with my agent, talking over movie roles I may or may not get. 

My mind kept coming back to Spencer. Spencer with his wild curls and thoughtful brown eyes and astonishing brain. My heart fluttered and I smiled just thinking about him, the impressive doctor with a heart of gold and mind like no other’s. 

My mind and body were completely spent from the long day, and I practically sleepwalked up the steps to my house. I was so tired, I almost missed the gift waiting for me. Flowers were left for me on the front porch, blood red roses with a note tucked inside of the petals.

I wonder if all of your fame and awards will protect you from a knife between the shoulder blades, Miss America's Sweetheart?

__

Part 2 !!

TAG LIST : @squirrellover1967 @yomama-umbridge @tiktokslut @sknnymnne @pinkdiamond1016 @vixengustin88 @lexshead @briannareneea985 @thatsonezesty13 @april-14-blog @baby-i-am-fireproof @mollyann14 @andiebeaword @oldspirit @rottenearly @cyndagoaway @peculiarinsomniac @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @mjloveskids666 @aberrant-annie @stardream14 @radkryptonitepeanut @sercyan  @deni-gonzalez @matthewreid @emilouu

[lailannajacobs]

Breakfast with a King, How Romantic. | GIBP II

Pairing: fey!Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Loki tells his court about your arrival & the two of you have breakfast together. 

Warnings: None! 

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So this chapter was originally supposed to be longer, but in the midst of finals I only had time to edit about half of it, so here it is! And also, I know I’ve added a bunch of marvel characters to this world, but I promise it’s about it! Hope you enjoy! It makes my day to hear what you think! <3 

When Loki awoke a little before dawn, his body felt unnaturally tired but he ignored the feeling and pushed out of bed. It was nothing a little coffee and breakfast wouldn’t cure and he got ready for another day of fending off the vultures that were his council. He stopped for a moment, half dressed, reminding himself to breathe. Walking out of his room as anything other than king would only jeopardize everything he’d been working toward.

Before leaving for the kitchen, he listened for any sound that YN might be awake. The silence reassured him that she wasn’t about to walk out of her room and ruin his entire plan before he had a chance to properly put in place. He didn’t want the council getting wind of her arrival before the pre-dinner drinks tonight.

The hallways were empty at this hour and he was thankful he could mosey over to the kitchen through hooded lids and heavy steps. Loki basked in the silence until laughter burst from the kitchen, letting him know his court was already there. He had been hoping to get something in his stomach before answering all their questions, but they’d beat him here. The thought of going back to bed crossed his mind, but he rarely had all of them in the palace at the same time and knew he had to catch Bucky before his assassin disappeared for the next few days.

Bucky smirked when Loki walked in, “rough night?”

The Dark Elf was in a good mood this morning, the brollochan that shrouded him like dark smoke wafting further away from him than usual. The air around Bucky was cold and dead, but the morning bustle of the cooks and the heat of the kitchen smothered most of it — one of the few reasons they spent more time in here than in any of their offices. Bucky took a bite of his muffin, pale blue eyes assessing then took his booted feet off the table and sat up straighter. Loki had been hoping he’d be able to pretend nothing had happened last night until he’d eaten something, but nothing got past his assassin.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, light-hearted grin gone.

The tone caught his commander’s attention. The angel righted, breaking off her conversation with Gamora to come a little closer. Gamora stayed where she was, a knowing little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knew exactly what was going on, but she’d be no help to him, choosing to sit back and enjoy the show instead.

Loki’s master of information cocked her head curiously with a kind of calm opposite to the tense energy that radiated from his assassin and commander. He nodded at Wanda and took in a deep breath.

“Can I get myself a coffee before the interrogation begins?” Loki asked.

Nebula raised a brow, tucking in her metallic, indigo wings to let him go by, “that’s already your second this week.”

“Next week I won’t have any,” he grumped, then tried to soften his tone, knowing the coffee and chocolate rations weren’t any more her fault than his own, “I found YN.”

Everyone stopped moving.

“Where is she?” Nebula, never one to be stunned for long, was all business, her mind already going through a million different scenarios.

Loki knew he was about to be scolded so her turned toward the counter to make his coffee, “sleeping in the princess’ room.”

“And you didn’t think to wake any of us?” she snapped, “just because that thing gave us her name doesn’t mean that YN isn’t a threat to us.”

“I’m pretty sure he knows that, Neb,” Bucky chuckled, shooting her a teasing grin that earned him a punch on the arm, “Loki can take of himself…Or at least I hope he can. And anyways, if we’ve never heard of her, she can’t be all that powerful a fey.”

Loki only tensed for a second but he should have known they wouldn’t miss it.

“She is Fey, right?” Wanda asked warily.

Loki turned around slowly, his court’s eyes all on him with an intensity he knew was justified. They’d been trying to find YN for over two moons now and when they’d concocted this fake queen plan, they had always assumed she would be Fey. Convincing the council that Loki had a love he’d been keeping secret for all this time and been near impossible when he’d only had a name to go on. Finding her, only to realize she was human, didn’t make things much easier.

He shook his head.

Wanda bounced her fork up and down off her other thumb, “what is she?”

Gamora answered before Loki could, “human.”

They all whirled to face her. Loki was about to ask her why she hadn’t warned any of them about this if she’d seen what YN was, but she pressed before he had a chance to.

“No I didn’t see it,” she snapped as if she’d read his mind, “I saw her wandering the halls on my way here, and unless she’s an elemental, she looked very much human to me.”

Loki’s heart dropped in his chest.

“You let her roam free?” Nebula shouted incredulously, her wings flaring slightly.

He winced, “technically, I left her in her room.”

Bucky grinned, a look that earned him a deadly stare from Nebula, “you’re off to a great start with your future queen,” he laughed.

“We won’t have a future queen if she’s wandering around the palace and gets caught by the wrong people,” she chided, “is that what you two fangslugs want?”

Bucky tossed her a a bread roll that she caught deftly mid-flight, “between the five of us, I think we can find one human.”

Loki gulped down his scalding coffee and was about to rush out but was hit with a thought before he could make it past the door.

He spun to face his court, “no one approaches her for now. She’s human in a realm full of Fey and a palace full of council members who won’t hesitate to make her life miserable. I don’t want her scaring.”

“Don��t you think a friendly face would help?” Wanda pointed out, sliding the pad of butter to the least friendly face there.

Nebula scowled.

Bucky crossed his arms, a cheeky grin on his face, “I don’t know what you mean? We’re friendly.”

Loki couldn’t help but chuckle, “somehow I doubt a human will find any of you friendly looking.”

“If she walks into the library and finds me,” Maximoff said, grinning along with the rest of them, “there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m just doing my job.”

Loki knew that out of all of them, Wanda’s human-like appearance probably made her the least threatening. He nodded thoughtfully, “Maximoff, do your thing. If she finds you fine, but don’t seek her out. Everyone else, give her space.”

Wanda gave him a thumbs up, “sure. You’d better go find her, Laufeyson. Who knows where this terrified human you’ve brought to our palace has ended up.”

Loki rolled his eyes at Wanda’s sass but knew she was right. He needed to find YN before she did something incredibly stupid.

The halls were quiet this early in the morning, but you did cross several maids as you roamed. Few had looked up as you’d walked past and the ones that did, didn’t let show that there was anything strange with your being here.

You were surprised you’d managed to get some sleep after what had happened last night. The only explanation was that you’d never slept in a bed so comfortable in your life and that it had somehow managed to combat your whirling mind. Once you’d woken up though, you knew there was no point staying in bed. If you could find the Hand before the king found you, then you could be out of here before you had to fulfill your end of the bargain. And that was a gamble you were willing to take.

The pendant was heavy against your chest and you had the sinking feeling that it was colder than it was yesterday. You stopped at an intersection in the corridors, twirling it between your fingers, trying to settle the mix of anger and fear bubbling up inside you. You felt rooted to the floor, lost in a maze of hallways, wearing a stranger’s clothes you’d found last night in a drawer. You didn’t know what you were doing. You wanted Nat at your side. You wanted to know that she was safe and that everything would be okay. You wanted to know that all the time you’d be spending here wouldn’t make everything worse, but you knew all those wishes were in vain. The two of you had barely been managing for too long now, and your luck was bound to run out sometime. You couldn’t help but feel terrified that the sometime was now.

You stopped picking at the skin on your lip, rolled your shoulders back and jut up your chin. It wasn’t much more than the illusion of confidence, but the act made you feel a little better anyways. Worrying and complaining would only set you in the wrong direction. Pick a destination and steer toward it, my little lion. The memory of his voice steadied your heart and you focused on your two choices: find the Hand or pretend to be the future queen of Asgard. No pressure either way, right? You snorted. Right.

“Do you always mutter to yourself?” he asked.

You jumped. You hadn’t even heard him come up and you definitely didn’t realize you’d been talking out-loud. You closed your eyes, not wanting to turn around just yet. Deep down, you knew he’d find you. You’d just hoped it wouldn’t have been this soon.

“Was there anywhere in particular you were planning on going?” the king continued once he realized you weren’t going dignify your muttering with an answer.

“No,” you sighed, “just somewhere that wasn’t with you.”

“Unfortunately for you, the whole point of this thing is for us to be seen together,” he pointed out, “and before someone kicks you out of the palace for not knowing who you are, I would recommend that more people see us together.”

You turned, “stellar plan, king of Asgard. Did you come up with that all on your own?”

He raised a brow.

He stood a few paces in front of you, dressed in a dark tunic, looking fresh as a daisy with his damp hair neatly slicked back. His expression flirted the line between bored and curious as if there was nothing in the world that could faze someone like him — other than maybe his sister trying to steal the throne from him, and even then, he’d been so flippant about it, you didn’t doubt for a second he was used to getting his way all the time. A coward and a spoiled brat. You were going to have to find the Hand before this sham of a coronation, because you weren’t sure how convincing you’d manage to be.

“I did think of it all by myself,” he said, “but it would have been more if effective if it had occurred to you first.”

You crossed your arms, “maybe I wanted to get kicked out.”

“Then why didn’t you leave last night?” he asked, the beginnings of an infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.

“I wanted to sleep in a comfy bed,” you retorted, but even to your ears, you knew it was weak.

You both knew that you had no reason to leave.

Seeming satisfied that he’d won, he said, “you must be hungry.”

You didn’t know why your first instinct was to refuse him, but you knew it was a stupid reaction. Just because you didn’t want anything to do with him didn’t mean that you were going to let yourself starve. Letting him feed you wasn’t letting him win — your pride wasn’t going to get in the way of basic necessities. Your stomach answer before you could anyways.

He nodded at the sound, “there’s a quiet terrace in the city that serves delicious breakfast if you’d like to eat there.”

“In view of a whole bunch of people?” you mocked.

“Very few, actually, and all regular citizens. I didn’t think you’d enjoy being the centre of attention on your first day here, but if you’re up and looking for trouble, we can always go down to the dinning hall and eat with the soldiers,” he replied with a wicked grin.

“That’s fine,” you grumbled. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you could handle the attention. You just didn’t think it was worth the effort.

“Really?” he half turned as he was ready to head there right away, “it’s no trouble.”

You snorted and pushed past him. Then you quickly realized that you had no idea where in the seven hells you were going. Gritting your teeth, you turned around and to find a fully-fledged arrogant smirk on his lips. You tried not to let your anger get the best of you and motioned for him to lead the way even though it killed you to do it. He pursed his lips as if he was trying not to laugh. You forced a long inhale through your nose, ignoring the itchy feeling at the base of your spine.

“We’ll need to get you more clothes,” he said, glancing at your makeshift outfit as he strolled down the hallway, “it wasn’t today’s plan, but seeing as we’ll be near there, we can stop after breakfast.”

You ignored his pointed tone and took note of the way you were going, doing your best to orient yourself in the maze of hallways that all looked the same. The route you were taking didn’t seem the most direct, but did seem more deserted than some of the others you’d walked down. You tried to convince yourself that he wasn’t doing it to confuse you but it was hard to when he’d just finished saying how we should be seen together.

“Am I going to be able to do anything on my own?” you demanded, suddenly realizing that you were going somewhere with him after breakfast.

He stopped and listened, turning in the opposite direction of where you’d been heading as if he was avoiding something. Yet, his voice was casual when he said, “most of the time.”

You were only partly relieved. You were still going to have to go through a slew of theatrics to get the Hand. You were still going to have to pretend to be in love with him. You were still going to have to be queen…You didn’t know why the thoughts were running through your head now even though you’d agreed to them last night. This was real. This was happening. You were going to have to behave like a queen. You were going to have to behave like a woman in lov—

“I think we should set ground rules,” you blurted.

He raised a brow.

“Limits,” you supplied, “you know, boundaries. Respect. Or is that not a thing here?”

“Why don’t we wait until we’re out of the palace to discuss these matters.”

It was phrased as a question, but there was a warning in his voice. You nodded, realizing he had a point. There might not have been anyone around at the moment, but you weren’t going to get caught because of something this stupid. The surprise on his face when you didn’t say anything made you want to call him a whole slew of names. You were smart enough to figure things out and knew how to hold your tongue when you had to — even if you hadn’t done a very good job of it so far around him.

He led you through gates you hadn’t noticed on your break in, heading out the back of the palace. You tried to decipher what part of the city you were walking into, but it was nothing like the port market. Actually, it looked like you’d just stepped into a completely different realm.

The palace was set at the top of a massive valley, with a maze of streets and colourful building sprawling down the jungled mountain sides to a wide river at its base.  The streets were made of pale yellow cobblestone that practically growled in the early morning sun, the narrow streets winding dangerously down the hill.

Beautiful, lush vines with orange flowers lined the tops of buildings, their fragrance mingling with the smell of morning dew, and their rooftops made of some kind of metal that reflected the sun and made it look as if the old gods had lit them on fire. The houses and shops were dyed bright purples, yellows, and turquoise and the air crackled with magic, hope and possibilities.

Despite the hour, a number of people were milling about, already up and ready for their day. Most of the citizens were Fey, but there were Dwarves, Elves, a few demons and you were sure, the longer you walked through the streets, that you’d see people from all 9 realms. Most of the nodded their ‘hello’s when they saw him and continued on their way with a bright smile. No one seemed surprised to see the king strolling through their streets. If the streets in Niflheim ever looked like this, it could only have been during a time when Odin wasn’t king. You inhale the warm weather and the peaceful energy of these people, trying not to be angry at them for a decision their king made hundreds of yers ago.

“This is Natalos,” he explained, taking you down a smaller alley, “it’s Asgard’s capitol city and it can only be accessed through the palace. There are a few other cities on the island, but mainly, everyone lives here. The city is naturally protected by the valley walls and the river. Those of us of at the palace guard the only other way in.”

You tried to ignore your surprise. Just because these people had built their city in a way that put their king on the front lines didn’t excuse them for cowering in the first place. In an attempt to conceal your emotions, you asked a different question.

“What was the market I walked into?”

He smirked, “a market. The vendors here trade with outsiders whenever they need supplies but they can do so in a space that keeps their homes and their families far away from possible threats.”

You clenched your jaw, trying and failing to keep your face impassive. He knew there were threats. He’d made all of you outsiders and left you to those threats. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to ask what in the seven hells he’d been thinking during the war, but the peaceful city around you was your answer. Their home was intact and they had the ability to keep it that way with magic — magic far beyond your comprehension. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and you couldn’t take a deep breath to save your life. You were so far out of your league without your abilities. You’d gotten used to only relying on your human senses, but you couldn’t even trust those here. You tried to tell yourself that this was no different than being in Odin’s palace, but for some reason, it wasn’t working. You could feel yourself panicking and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“For someone who broke into a palace guarded by magic and then preceded to point a dagger at me, you seem awfully worried about a simple breakfast,” he commented, stopping in front of a tiny door.

You didn’t bother with an answer and focused on your breathing, especially that the same dagger he was talking about was tucked into your boot. That particular thought eased your pounding heart. He shrugged and lead the way, bending over in half to fit through the door. There were a few tables in the dimly lit restaurant, all of which were already filled with people and steaming plates of food. A young dwarf who didn’t look past the age of thirty approached with a warm smile for the king. Her long black hair was tied back in a series of intricate braids and she had an apron pulled over her simple shirt and pants.

“You’re here earlier than expected, King Laufeyson,” she said by way of greeting, her voice surprisingly deep, even for a dwarf.

He took her hand gently in his, “my apologies. Something unexpected happened this morning. I hope we haven’t caused you any inconveniences.”

He didn’t look at you, but it wasn’t hard to guess that you were the something that had happened this morning. At least now I had something of a name for him.

“Always so polite our king,” she looked you up and down with a pleased little grin on her face, “come. I’ve prepared the terrace as you asked.”

You followed her out the back door and your breath caught in your throat. You had spent so long living in Flaik that you had almost forgotten what lush jungles were like, their massive trees acting like tent filtering the light through leaves like liquid gold. Everything was such a deep green, with only a few flowers in bloom this time of year. The sight almost brought tears to your eyes. You had been so sure you would never see anything that resembled home ever again and you took in a deep breath as if you could hold a piece of your surroundings inside of you. It wasn’t quite like home, but it was close.

You opened your eyes, not realizing that you’d closed them. He was staring at you, his hands on the back of his chair, his head cocked to the side. You glared at him and sat down. He rolled his eyes and took a seat in front of you.

“I’ll be back with water,” the dwarf said, glancing between the two of you with that same knowing smirk on her face.

“Thank you, Volula,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair as if it was a sofa.

Laufeyson didn’t say anything, staring at you. He was all cheekbones and sharp edges and looked far too pretty for his own good. His eyes, almost glowing green against the jungle, gave away nothing more than faint amusement. You would have said he was bored if you hadn’t been able to feel the energy in the air, drawn tight as if he was a wolf stalking its prey.

“Your population is very diverse,” you said when you couldn’t take the silence any longer.

He shrugged as if the war hadn’t made all the realms wary of one another, and opened his menu,“it just happened that way.”

Your fingers tightened around the fork you had unwittingly started playing with. You forced yourself to let it go gently and place your hands on your lap where he couldn’t see them.

“What about the population where you’re from? he asked, keeping his eyes on the menu.

“We’re not going there,” you warned.

“So I’m not going to know anything about you? Seems like a great plan,” he said, folding his menu shut, “but, as long as it convinces the council, it’s fine with me.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

You held his gaze, daring him to tell you that this wasn’t going to work unless you told him every single detail about your life, but he didn’t push like you thought he would, eventually raising a brow as if it was your turn to say something. It only made you trust him less. Who let a complete stranger — a thief at that — become queen of their realm without knowing a single thing about them? There had to be hundreds of other women who would gladly do it. It didn’t make sense and you hated that you had no idea what he was planning.

Volula came back, a bright smile on her face, “have we decided yet?”

Laufeyson tilted his head, looking to you as if you’d been the one she was talking to. You hadn’t even looked at the menu, but you weren’t about to ask him for advice.

“I’ll take your most popular breakfast,” you answered with a polite smile.

She nodded and turned to the king, “the usual?”

He smiled, “that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

She let you know that she would be back soon with the food and busied off to one of the other tables on the terrace. You searched for the anxiety that was always palpable whenever Odin was around civilians, but there was nothing like that here. Everyone had seen the king walk in, but no one had paid him much attention other than the pleasant smiles as we had walked by. Even the other customers eating on the terrace as well were either focused on their food or their conversations.

“Why are we doing any of this?” you asked, “it’s clear these people are fine with you being their king.”

“Old laws. The council have always had the power to decide who's king. Apparently they know better than their people,” he said.

You couldn’t help but be surprised that he’d show his feelings about his court so obviously, “you might want to keep the disdain out of your voice the next time you see them. They are in charge of your regency.”

“I’ll do my best,” he learned further back in his chair, “especially that the next time I do will be with you.”

You groaned, “tell me that won’t be any time soon.”

“Tonight. Drinks and appetizers before dinner,” he huffed a little laugh, “don’t look too enthusiastic.”

“Because drinks with a bunch of stuffy old men sounds fun,” you retorted.

He tipped forward, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs again, “how do you know they’re old men?”

You sighed, Odin’s council coming to mind, “aren’t they always?”

He chuckled, though you had the impression there was nothing he found funny about the whole situation, “seems they are.”

Volula came back with your food before you could ask him more about the council. She set a steaming bowl of grey mush that had a strangely greenish hue to it in front of Laufeyson and plate filled with scrambled eggs, fruit —- some of which you’d never seen before — a small bread roll and a little bowl filled with a dark purple liquid you couldn’t identify.

“It’s for the bread,” she said with a wink, “enjoy the meal.”

Tentatively, you ripped a small piece off the loaf and dipped it into the liquid. You looked up at Lauefeyson and he nodded encouragingly. You eyed him warily and he rolled his eyes again, digging into his mush. When you finally gained the courage to pop it into your mouth. It was tangy but sweet, an eruption of flavours you couldn’t name, and paired with the airy texture of the bread, it was amazing. It was so good, you dipped your eggs into the sauce just to see what it would be like. You weren’t disappointed. Laufeyson had his head dipped down, eyes focused on his breakfast, but you could see a faint smile on his lips. You wanted to tell him off, but really he hadn’t done anything. And anyways, you were starving.

“You wanted to talk ground rules?” he asked after another few bites.

You nodded and swallowed your bite, “I’m not doing any of this without a few precautions.”

He scraped the last of his putrid look slop from the bowl, “what did you have in mind?”

You hadn’t forgotten his little show last night, and although there wasn’t even the faintest echo of pain, you weren’t interested in going through anything like that ever again.

“You don’t use magic on me,” you warned, “ever.”

He held your gaze, body relaxed when he said, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

If he was lying, his assurance and ease made him damed convincing . Still, it didn’t mean you believed him. You knew he wouldn’t tell you the truth if he was lying so there was no point in dwelling on his answer.

“And no physical affect unless it’s absolutely necessary,” you added, staring him down, “and if possible, I want a heads up before it happens.”

“Romanic,” he chuckled, leaning back into his chair again.

You crossed your arms, “it’s part of my terms.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a little wave of his hand, “anything else?”

“Not for now. But just to be clear, all I have to do is convince them we’re in love, right?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around the situation. You’d never been in love and you’d never seen the appeal of it, but if you had ever imagined what it would look like, faking it to some foreign king with Nat’s life on the line wasn’t exactly it.

He readjusted the spoon in his bowl, changing it from the right side to the left, “right.”

You shook your head. He was so casual about everything and all you could do was ask as many questions as you could think of to try and kill the sneaking suspicion that this half-baked plan was doomed to fail, “and all this is because your sister wanted the throne.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s the rightful heir?” You pushed on, searching his face for more information than his one-worded answers gave you.

His face remained impassive but he took a second to long to answer, “technically she is, but the position fell to me years ago.”

You weren’t going to ask what he meant by years, not wanting to know whether or not he’d been king during the war. If you were going to pretend to love him, you didn’t need another reason to hate him.

“Why not leave it to her if it’s her birthright?”

“Why not keep it?” he countered, tucking his hands into his pockets, “you said it yourself. Everyone’s fine with me being king.”

“That’s not an answer,” you pointed out, observing him closely.

He shrugged and changed the subject, “if you’re done, we’ll head to the seamstress.”

“Great,” you muttered, thought it didn’t escape your notice that his sister was definitely a touchy subject.

He smirked, “again, your enthusiasm is contagious.”

“Excuse me for not being excited about a deal I was blackmailed into by a man who’s name I don’t even know,” you whisper yelled, leaning forward across the table, barely able to control yourself, “right after going through a set of rules to impress a set of snobby old men because of your conniving sister.”

He looked like he was going to say something then stopped and looked out into the jungle. He nodded slowly, took in a long, deep breath and turned back to face you.

“Loki. Lauefeyson,” he extended his hand — a human gesture, “it’s nice to meet you.”

You nodded and stared at his hand. When the silence droned on, he leaned in closer so that we were both hovering above the table, “I will need to know your name, sweetheart.”

“When you do, you’d better use it because you ‘sweetheart’ isn’t convincing anyone,” you grit out.

His lips pulled into a wicked grin, “I think it is, sweetheart.”

“YN,” you snapped, backing off, “YLN.”

He stood from the table, leaning casually on the back of the chair, “are you ready to go, YLN.”

You sighed, “if I have to.”

[ot7always]

Fractured (part 3)

prev / Series Masterlist / next 

Word Count: 5.9k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, (future) smut

Warnings: objectification, mentions of sex, guns, knives, murder, and death (non-graphic), mentions of blood (not gory, but it’s there several times), non-serious injury, depictions of mental illness in the form of: nightmares, self-loathing, anxiety

Rating: 18+

Summary: You’d always known something was strange and different about your “family,” but it wasn’t as though your environment encouraged curiosity from you. You thought you wanted to know all the answers, but nobody ever told you that the more you learned the more pieces of yourself you would leave behind.

A/N: Part 3 is here! This is going to be the last ‘introductory’ chapter before some more exciting things happen in the series. Let me know what you think!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

--

It was cold.

Damp.

The floor beneath your feet was solid concrete, drops of water littering the floor, having fallen from the pipes above.

You were unarmed. Only a plain black t-shirt and cotton pants – why was this all you were wearing?

The cold air thoroughly chilled your bones, your teeth chattering together in your skull.

“Pay attention, bitch.” Before the voice even completed its sentence, the deafening boom of a gunshot rang through the room, bullet ricocheting off the wall behind you before clattering to the floor.

It was then that you took in your circumstances. You were standing in the middle of a circle of chairs, seated bodies facing you, faces blindfolded. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized.

Seven chairs. Seven men. Bound around you as you were unarmed.

You rose your gaze to meet the eyes of a man you didn’t recognize, his pistol dangling at his side. Despite his laid-back demeanor, his men were behind him, and you knew without a doubt that you would surely die before you could even hope of making it to him.

“Choose.” His voice rang through the room, echoing off the bare stone walls.

You blinked in confusion, glancing at the men seated around you. Why was nobody struggling? Surely there wasn’t a tie in the world that could hold Hoseok, right?

Attempting not to show your anxiety, you cleared your throat. “Choose what?”

“Choose which one of your little boyfriends dies, and the rest of you can go free.”

You couldn’t hide the flash of panic on your face at his words, your gut twisting. “My boyfriends?” You schooled your voice, the carefully crafted cold mask returning to your face. You could only hope to stall until you found a way out of this situation.

“Aw, sweetheart, we both know they wouldn’t keep you around if they couldn’t put their dick in you, don’t we?”

Anger flared in your chest, quickly stamped down as you struggled to maintain neutral features. In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin’s angry grimace, his body shifting beneath the ropes. You elected to ignore it, lest you draw unnecessary attention to him.

But it seemed that the man didn’t miss it.

“That one doesn’t like me talking about his slut, does he?” he laughed cruelly, pointing his gun at his direction.

Your heart rate rose exponentially in your chest. “We’re a family. Surely you understand – or do you not understand anything besides fucking?”

Stall. Stall. Stall.

But it appeared he chose to ignore your latter comment. “Oh, is that what they call it nowadays? My apologies, my lady,” he taunted, sending an ugly grin your way.

“Why are we here?” you deadpanned, eager to get on your way.

“You’re very hated out there, my dear,” he sung mockingly. “A certain someone paid me very generously to torment you, and I thought this seemed fun!”

“You’re insane,” you scowled, eyes darting around the room. But it seemed he did his research – there was only one visible entrance, and he was right in front of it. The distance between you and him was too great to get close enough to stand a fighting chance without weapons. Someone would surely die if you tried. If not you, one of the boys.

“Everyone’s insane in this business, sweetheart. Speaking of business, choose. Don’t think you can stall this out like you’ve been trying to do.”

You didn’t bother hiding your scowl. “Can’t I choose myself?”

“What good would that be? We both know dying is easy. Living with blood on your hands is a lot harder, don’t you think?”

He was right – but it didn’t change the fact that you would exchange your life for any of theirs in a heartbeat.

It didn’t seem like there was any way out of this. He wouldn’t really kill someone here – right?

Wrong.

You knew more than anyone how ruthless everyone in the world could be when it came to money.

He could kill all of you if he wanted.

But you were sure he knew that if he tried something too drastic you’d be able to take advantage of his distraction.

He was too smart to do anything besides what he said. And you were too desperate to try anything else.

You took in the sight of the men seated around you, some biting their bottom lip in an attempt to remain quiet. There was absolutely no way you could do this. Wasn’t there any way you could stall this out?

BANG.

You wouldn’t have known exactly what happened if not for Jimin’s loud scream, blood gushing from his shoulder from where the man had skillfully aimed. Wide-eyed, you had to keep yourself from springing towards him, though upon first glance it didn’t look like a deadly wound.

“You don’t have much longer before I get angry. Choose.”

“Hey.”

You only spun around to face everyone surrounding you, the helplessness washing over you, dread rising in your stomach. Was this a joke?

You paused when you spotted Yoongi mouthing something to you. He was sitting opposite the door, his back to the heartless man, who couldn’t see what he was doing. You stared as he moved his lips, trying to make out the words.

‘It’s okay.’

“Y/N!”

You had to stop the tears from rising to the surface. This wasn’t okay, and would never be okay.

“Particularly attached to that one, huh?”

Before you knew it, the gun was pointed to Yoongi’s head, the man’s chuckle punctuated by the pull of the trigger.

You let out an ear-piercing scream at the same time as the bang rung through the room, knees crashing to the concrete beneath you, your eyes too afraid to look up.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes flashed open at hands grasping your shoulders tightly enough to grate against the bone. Panting heavily, you shot your gaze around the room, heartbeat slowing as you took in the sight of Yoongi’s bedroom and not a windowless, concrete building.

“Hey. You’re safe.”

At the sound of a soothing voice, you fully realized the presence of another person as your senses started coming back to you. At his warm tone, you focused your blurry vision on Jimin’s face, blinking away unshed tears. His brow was furrowed, concern clear on his face.

“You were screaming.” When he realized you were fully awake, his grip on you lessened, but his hands remained in place as he took in the fear in your eyes and the trembling of your limbs. “Hey, are you with me?”

You nodded your assurance, closing your eyes to focus on evening out your breathing. “I’m okay,” you mumbled. Physically you knew you were, your body becoming more awake, feeling more under your control by the second. But you were shaken by what you saw, how real it seemed. How realistic it was.

Nobody appreciated the reminder that the people they loved could die at any moment.

Jimin waited patiently as you struggled to pull yourself together. This wasn’t the first time he’d found you like this, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’s witnessed some of your lowest moments, after all. Jimin was arguably the softest and most attentive one in the house – with you guys, anyway. You’d never seen anyone who could flip a switch in the way Jimin did as soon as he stepped out into the field. You admired the way he allowed himself to let loose at home, but could be professional as soon as he stepped outside.

The way he fretted over everyone like a mother hen had endeared you to him since a time before you’d even started kindergarten.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he prodded gently once you’d opened your eyes, vision fixed on an empty spot on the wall to avoid his searching gaze.

You quickly shook your head, burying the mess of emotions deep within you, as though acting unbothered would will your anxiety out of existence. Despite receiving the same answer each time over the past few months and years, Jimin never failed to ask the same question. You both loved and hated him for it, to no fault of his own. You simply didn’t feel comfortable laying out all of your thoughts, and the vulnerability that came with it. Not when so much of your sanity relied upon your mask of indifference and focus on work.

Despite your refusal, he eyed you for several more seconds, hesitantly releasing you and seating himself beside you so that your shoulders were touching. In your peripheral vision you caught a glimpse of his conflicted expression. You couldn’t blame him – he did, you assume, come in here because your screaming was audible from the hallway. You would be concerned too, especially in a house where every room was made to be relatively private, sound-wise.

Images of that dream still floated through your mind, the last few seconds before you woke up playing on repeat again, and again, and again.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you asked, hoping to distract Jimin from your sorry state. But it appeared that your question was most definitely not the right way to go about that, because his concern only grew more noticeable.

“Yoongi-hyung...? He’s out tonight, remember? With Seokjinnie-hyung?” He stared at you incredulously.

Right.

You couldn’t believe it had slipped your mind – and neither could Jimin, apparently. His astonishment made sense, though. If there was one person in the house with laser focus on the job, it was probably you. It was easier that way – your work brain didn’t worry so much about what happened in the field.

But that meant you usually kept tabs on what everyone was doing, especially considering what they were doing was related to what you would be doing tomorrow. Especially considering you could barely sleep without knowing every one of them was back home and safe.

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” he asked at your lack of response.

“I’m fine... just wasn’t fully awake, you know?” you deflected, awkward chuckle falling from your lips. You were fine, right? Your mind was just a little bit too preoccupied to remember something. Something very important, and something that you usually never forgot, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But Jimin didn’t seem to think so, the disbelief clear on his face. But before he could open his mouth to say something, you spoke first.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you asked simply, hugging your knees to your chest, wrapping yourself into a little ball. Of course, you knew the answer already, but a selfish part of you just wanted the reassurance that you weren’t alone in your experiences.

“Y/N...” he trailed off, tone sad. “I think we all do. You’re not alone here.”

“What do you do?”

That seemed to surprise him. The words slipped from you before you could stop them. For lack of better wording – you didn’t tend to initiate conversations about things that really mattered. Things that were important to you personally, things that weren’t surface-level or work-related. Perhaps waking up after an awful dream next to a person rather than your usual empty room brought forth an unusual vulnerability.

He seemed to ponder over a response, taking his time before answering. “I talk about it.” He had decided to answer honestly, cringing inwardly at the answer, knowing how much you avoided talking about your problems with anyone.

You deflated almost imperceptively at his answer, though you were sure he noticed. You didn’t know what you were expecting, and didn’t know why you were disappointed. Did you really think Jimin would have some secret to help you?

No – he just wasn’t a coward like you were.

“Y/N, I know things are a lot harder for you than everyone else-”

“They’re not,” you interjected.

“They are. Everyone else grew up knowing what this house was from birth. But you? They let you become a person and then forcefully replaced you with another version of yourself later. Us? This is all we ever were.” There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, one you chose not to comment on. “I don’t know why they waited so long to tell you. Maybe that’s the reason you’re so-”

He cut himself off before he could finish the sentence, grimacing slightly at his uncontrolled babbling.

But it didn’t take a genius to understand where he was going with that thought.

“So what?” Fucked up? Broken? You weren’t sure you wanted to know what he was going to finish that sentence with.

“Never mind,” he sighed, taking a deep breath before changing the subject. “I was supposed to come get you anyway. Yoongi-hyung told me to make you eat once you woke up.”

“He told you to make me eat?” you mumbled, slightly affronted, but amused nonetheless. Your comment seemed to break the tension in the room, Jimin breathing a laugh at your reaction.

“You know how he is,” he grinned. “But anyway, come join us. Taehyungie is downstairs waiting for me already. Said he wants to watch The Office or something.”

You knew you should eat something, but you really didn’t have much of an appetite after everything. Perhaps being punched in the gut and then dreaming of your family’s death by your hand will do that.

Noticing your hesitation, however, Jimin piped back up. “Please? I think it would help. For me?”

You knew you were helpless the moment he fixed his pleading stare onto your face. Nobody could ever deny that man anything, and you were more than certain he knew that. You were lucky he wasn’t using his powers for worse things than convincing someone who needs food that they need to eat.

Rather than respond, you simply let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending you didn’t know that he was definitely correct. Besides, if there was anyone who could take your mind off things, it was definitely Jimin and Taehyung. On their own you’d almost mistake them for any other 20-something year old, but together they were their own brand of chaos. Chaos that never failed to brighten the mood.

You made to hop off the bed, planning on throwing out an “if I have to” once you did, but it appeared that you’d been so focused on your mental state that your physical one completely slipped your mind.

Not expecting your legs to be so weak, you lost your balance almost immediately, saved from an embarrassing potential fall by Jimin’s quick reflexes. He stood beside you, a hand on your shoulder, luckily not fussing over you too much.

“Hm, Jungkookie didn’t tell me he messed you up that much,” he teased, though you thought there was an ounce of concern somewhere in there.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, I just forgot how sore I was.” You shrugged off his hand, taking a few pained steps towards the door, hiding a grimace at the scream of your muscles. “And Jungkook did not do this to me, by the way,” you added, unwilling to let Jimin prance around the house thinking Jungkook was able to beat the living shit out of you. Even if it was partially true.

As amusing at it was to watch you unintentionally walk around like a newborn lamb, Jimin couldn’t help his wince at the sight. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Let’s go eat, Jimin.”

--

As expected, dinner and sitcoms with the Chaos Pair (as you and Hoseok liked to fondly refer to them) did wonders to improve your mood. Seokjin had so kindly made some sort of stir-fry before leaving with Yoongi, meaning all you three had to do was warm up some food before settling down on the couch.

But that was several hours ago. It had to be past midnight, and you knew what Yoongi and Seokjin needed to do tonight wasn’t something that should have taken too long. In fact, scouting out the meeting place for tomorrow shouldn’t have taken more than half an hour or an hour at most – any longer and getting seen was too risky.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander, wondering what could have held them up so much. Surely nothing could have happened, especially when the plan for today wasn’t even that dangerous – right?

Captured within your own thoughts, not absorbing what was on the screen, the transition to the ending credits snapped you out of it. You spoke out before Taehyung could click the next episode button for the nth time that night.

“Hey... do you guys know what’s happening with Yoongi and Jin?” You tried to make the question sound casual and nonchalant, but each of the boys were well-versed in your worry any time work didn’t go according to plan – especially when you were at home while others were out. It was a silent but well-known fact that you were almost always the last to bed on mission days, your body only relaxing enough to sleep once you knew everyone was home safe.

“I’m sure they’re fine, Y/N,” Jimin was quick to reassure you from the opposite end of the couch. “Coming back late isn’t that strange here, you know.”

“Right. This is Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung we’re talking about here, remember?” Taehyung added, slinging an arm around your shoulder from his place beside you. “Besides, Yoongi-hyung is a master at doing stuff quickly and quietly. I bet they were done in like 20 minutes and they’re out eating or something.”

“Without any update?” you replied, skepticism clear in your tone. “Not even an ‘all done, see you guys later,’ nothing?”

“Just think about it this way, Y/N,” said Jimin, matter-of-factly. “Even if something went wrong, isn’t it better to have no news at all than for us to know something?”

As much as you wanted to argue the nuances of that statement, you knew in general, he was right. If they were captured, you’re sure Namjoon would have heard something about it by now. People were too impatient in this line of work to wait before leveraging whatever bargaining chip they had – especially when it wouldn’t be unheard of for them to lose their chance before it could be used. And if they were killed? News of such a thing would have spread even faster, considering their status as the two oldest sons.

Jimin was right, in a way – you could be fairly confident that whatever was happening, they were at least alive.

But that didn’t stop you from worrying. Some things were worse than death.

“You’re right, I guess,” you conceded, though you certainly didn’t sound happy about it.

When nobody made to speak further, Taehyung hit play, and you tried your best to focus on the show.

And you did. For another hour, with no word from anyone, and still no Yoongi or Seokjin in the house.

As much as you wanted so badly to call them and demand what was taking up their time, you already knew such a thing wasn’t possible. You knew that by now, if they had time, they would have called you already.

All there was left to do was wait, and you were not a patient person.

You didn’t even realize how much you were fidgeting until Taehyung reached out a hand to rest on your shoulder, the other moving to pause the episode.

“Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice was firm. “Don’t worry so much, they’ll be fine. I think you should sleep.”

“You should,” Jimin agreed. “Don’t you guys have to leave early tomorrow?”

You made a noncommittal noise in response. As much as your muscles screamed with exhaustion, as much as your mind probably needed rest, you knew you wouldn’t be capable of sleep. Not when the last time you’d slept wrought you so much terror, and definitely not before everyone was accounted for.

But you couldn’t focus on the show, and as much as you loved them, you didn’t think you could sit there any longer and hear the same reassurances from Jimin and Taehyung. It wasn’t their fault – you knew they wanted you to feel some peace of mind, but there was only so much that could be said when dealing with very real danger. And at the same time, you felt bad for making them fuss over you.

“I think... I think I’m going to head upstairs. Sorry I couldn’t be very good company,” you said, wincing as you stood supporting your own weight, the dull pain in your abdomen and calves protesting.

They were quick to claim otherwise, each of them reaching out to give your arm a gentle squeeze. As you made your way to the staircase, you could hear their quiet whispers from the couch, though you couldn’t make out their words. You would bet that they were probably discussing Yoongi and Seokjin’s absence, too considerate to worry you further while you were still there.

When you reached the landing upstairs, you were fully planning to head to your own room, lounging in bed, phone in hand until either the boys came home or you passed out from sheer exhaustion. But this late at night, you didn’t expect to see the strip of light coming from beneath Namjoon’s door. Perhaps distracting yourself with work would be your best bet to shift your focus.

You were knocking on his door before you were even fully aware you’d made the decision, entering when a tired voice called for you to come in.

When he saw it was you, he gave you a kind smile from where he was seated at his desk, though the fatigue in it was clear. But you supposed you weren’t one to talk.

“Everything okay?” he asked easily, spinning around on his clear until he was facing you fully. On his desk you could see almost a dozen open folders, sheets scattered around – work-related, no doubt. You were positive there was some kind of method to the madness, though. This was Namjoon, after all.

Though he liked to deny it, Namjoon was something of the leader in the house now that everyone’s parents no longer lived there full-time. Like true important individuals, they lived off in vacation homes now that their children were fully grown and fully capable of doing every bit of dirty work for them. They stopped by sometimes since much of the important technology (read: weapons) and paperwork were here, but for the most part, once night fell you guys were on your own. Not that the 8 of you really had any say in what you’d be doing despite being mostly alone – you were independent in name only, and you didn’t doubt that the parents were keeping tabs on everyone anyway. Namjoon’s father proved that earlier.

Being the son of the head of the entire “operation,” most communications came to Namjoon to relay to the rest of you. Despite never volunteering for such a thing, his father liked to work him to the bone. In watching their interactions, you’d hardly be able to tell they were family – Namjoon’s father treated him more as a servant than anything. As much as he claimed he didn’t mind, the work definitely took a toll on him. The fact that he was alone in his room working at what must be around 3 am was evidence enough.

“I was hoping to talk to you about tomorrow...” you began unsurely. “But if you’re busy, it’s fine. It’s not that important anyway.”

You hated to intrude and ask him to talk about work when he was already clearly so swamped, but in all likelihood what he was doing was about your next task anyway.

“Actually, it’s good that you’re here. I think if I look at these papers any longer, I’m gonna go insane. Talking has always been better for me, anyway,” he replied, and you visibly perked up at the realization that your presence was desired rather than simply tolerated.

“All that stuff is about tomorrow?” you questioned, making your way over to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. Now that you were closer, you could see that the papers flooding his desk were some combination of floor plans, building sketches, and walls of text that looked much too small to read even if it were right in front of you.

“Right. Everything had already been mapped out already, but my father sent me these about an hour ago saying the first set they gave me was wrong.” He huffed a bit in annoyance at that, before continuing on. “So, I’ve mostly just been double checking whether it changes anything. I think we should be okay, but better safe than sorry, right?” he chuckled humorlessly, a hand raising to pass mindlessly through his hair.

“Lay it on me, Joon,” you grinned, forcing enthusiasm into your voice in the hopes that you could at least make him feel a bit better. It was, after all, much easier to help others than to help yourself. You leaned back on your hands, giving him your full attention.

“You read through everything I sent you already, right?” he inquired, despite knowing that the obvious answer was yes, considering you’d have to set out only hours later.

When you nodded your assent, he continued.

“So you know that this isn’t too complicated of a mission – a go in, talk, come back out type of thing. We’re already at a temporary peace with their family, so you and Jungkook will be there as assurance that they can’t just shoot me dead.”

“Uh huh. So what’s changed?”

“Pretty much just the map of the warehouse we’re going to. The windows are placed differently than we originally thought, and apparently there might be some sort of back door. Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung were supposed to confirm those details, but...” he trailed off, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip betraying his worry. But when he saw your face fall at the mention, he carried on.

“In theory, all we have to do is be a bit more aware when we get there, keep an eye out, especially for that other entrance. But I’ve mostly been thinking about what could go wrong with the added unknowns, especially if someone tried to throw us off intentionally-”

His voice was cut off abruptly by a loud bang from downstairs, followed by voices. You were up on your feet in an instant, out the bedroom door before you could even check whether Namjoon was following. Any semblance of pain was forgotten as you bounded downstairs at a speed that was probably unsafe, skidding to a stop when Yoongi and Seokjin came into view.

Your eyes scanning them over quickly, at first you thought nothing of it as you came closer. They looked ragged and tired, hair sticking to their foreheads, clothes dirty. If you didn’t notice the movement of Yoongi’s hand twitching against his abdomen, you would have gone straight into questioning them about their whereabouts for the past four hours.

But you did notice it, and your eyes zeroed in on the fact that his hand was, very faintly, stained with red. After that, any restraint you might have shown was gone in an instant.

“What happened to you?!” you exclaimed, closing the distance between you faster than they could think to move or respond. Pulling Yoongi’s hand away from his body with one of your own, the other yanked his shirt up before he could protest. There was no such thing as decency in this house when the other person was bleeding.

“Y/N-” Yoongi began in a tone that was definitely about to tell you to calm down.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me!” you huffed, holding his shirt up and away from his wound. Luckily, it didn’t look too bad, and wasn’t bleeding all that much. The sight calmed you somewhat, relieved by the fact that this was something that would be incredibly easy to recover from. But that didn’t mean you’d forgotten that he shouldn’t have even been injured in the first place. “Start talking, Seokjin.”

You saw him cringe a bit in the corner of your eye. He was almost never ‘Seokjin’ to you – it was clear to him that you were angry, even if it wasn’t necessarily at him.

He took a deep breath before starting. “We-”

“Hyung?” came Namjoon’s voice from behind you, and a quick glance showed that Jimin and Taehyung were right on his heel. “What happened?”

You could hear Seokjin wind himself up to start again, but a sharp sigh from Yoongi cut him off once again. “Can’t we sit for this?” Yoongi grumbled, irritation lacing his tone. The presence of not one, but four people fussing over him at the same time left him seemingly annoyed.

Instead of speaking, you begun to tug him in the direction of the kitchen table where you’d all be able to speak properly. If he wasn’t injured might have been comedic to see a grumpy Yoongi being led through the house by your grip on his shirt, but those nearby were too concerned to say anything. If you were anybody else he probably would have cussed you out by now – you were the only person here who would try such a thing nowadays.

When you reached the closest chair you pushed him down into it, taking his hand and forcing him to hold up his own shirt. “Hold that there,” you demanded, no-nonsense tone leaving no room for disagreement.

By the time you returned with clean hands and a first aid kit, everyone else was already seated, waiting for your arrival to get into the story.

You crouched on the floor next to where Yoongi was seated, pulling out supplies as Seokjin began. You listened intently to Seokjin’s explanation about arriving at the warehouse, parking in an alley and keeping an eye out from afar while Yoongi went around the building on his own.

“I was surveying as planned, but when I got around to the back I ran into – agh, fuck,” Yoongi grunted when you wiped at his wound with antiseptic, paying no mind to the fact that he was mid-sentence. “Ran into a guy with a mask on who pulled a knife on me,” he finished through gritted teeth, muscles tensing as you cleaned the blood away until you could properly see what you were working with.

You hadn’t fully relaxed until you’d reached that point. When the mess of dry blood was gone, it was clear that despite the cut being long, it didn’t seem deep enough to need stitches. So long as it didn’t get infected, it likely wouldn’t even scar. The fact that it wasn’t bleeding anymore was a good sign, though you cringed at how long he must have gone around with it like this.

You listened to Seokjin detail how Yoongi ended up coming back to the car far earlier than expected, and how whoever was there had chased them down. As you listened to how they’d had to drive around for hours to ensure they really lost them before returning home, you worked on dressing the wound. You pulled the gauze snugly around his narrow waist, pausing when he gave a quiet grunt.

“Too tight?” you asked quietly, searching his face.

“It’s fine. I could’ve done this myself, you know,” he mumbled, not looking at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to accept help?”

Despite his lack of verbal response, his sigh was enough to signify his resignation as the point you’d made.

You hardly registered Namjoon leaving the table to call his father, more focused on the task in front of you. When you finally secured the gauze with tape, you leaned back to examine your handiwork. It wasn’t your best, and certainly nowhere near as neat as Jin would have made it, but it would do. Before you could move away, however, Yoongi’s hand rose to rub affectionately at your head.

“Thanks,” he cracked a smile at you, grin widening when you batted his blood-stained hand away with a barely-disguised look of disgust.

Rather than ream him out for dirtying your hair, an unreadable look spread over your face. “I was worried about you.”

As much as you’d tried to erase the image from your memory over the course of the last few hours, it wasn’t something that could easily be forgotten. It was irrational to think that your nightmares had any relation to what occurred in reality, but fear didn’t have to be rational.

It must have been obvious that something was troubling you more than the fact that they’d arrived home late and injured. There was no other reason for you to be staring into nothing, face screwed up into an expression that looked something like pain.

“Did something happen?” he asked simply, reaching for your hand and pulling it into his grasp when you didn’t resist. That you let his dirt and blood-crusted hand anywhere near your body without complaint was concerning in and of itself.

“No...” you said unsurely, gaze fixing onto the floor, shaking your head as though to dispel the image from your mind. “Not really.”

You heard an intake of breath as though he was about to protest, but Namjoon’s hurried footsteps returning to the table distracted you both. As you caught the troubled expression on Namjoon’s face, you rose to take a proper place at the table, beside Seokjin and Yoongi and across from Jimin and Taehyung.

Namjoon took a seat at the head of the table where everyone could see him, and the sight of his clear distress, hands running over his face, had you unsettled immediately.

“What’s wrong?” you asked hurriedly, business face on immediately.

“My father had someone look into who attacked you at the warehouse and chased you afterwards. The footage from the warehouse wasn’t clear, but based on street cams and red-light cams...” he took a deep breath, grimacing before his next statement. “It was Lee Taemin.”

The speed at which your brows shot up was impressive.

Lee Taemin.

The man who you were supposed to meet up with tomorrow. The man whose family supposedly had a partnership with yours.

“Excuse me?” came Seokjin’s bewildered voice.

“Lee Taemin attacked you? He had to have known it was you, after however long he chased you,” said Jimin.

You gripped the edge of the table harshly, nails digging into the surface. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly – in fact, you were surprised they had the nerve to double-cross Bangtan.

Were the changes Namjoon was looking at earlier a result of their meddling? What would have happened tomorrow if you’d shown up according to plan? What would have awaited you there?

“There’s no way three of us can just walk in there tomorrow,” you said through gritted teeth, fury rising the longer you thought about how close to disaster you’d come because of their betrayal. How had they managed to keep it all secret? Surely whispers should have made it to you by now.

Unless he was acting alone?

Nothing made sense.

“We won’t be going to the warehouse tomorrow,” Namjoon stated, though the resignation in his tone sent a shot of confusion through you. He didn’t seem very happy about that fact, despite the risks being massive.

“And you’re upset about that, because...?” you prodded, sensing something else laying beneath that statement.

“We’ll be going to a party tomorrow night instead.”

--

Tagging: @shere-khan-the-lizard​​ @wwilloww​​ @propinqxity​​

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[ejm513]

HEART OF STONE-CHAPTER ONE-LIGHTWEIGHT

PROLOUGE

~CHAPTER ONE~

~LIGHTWEIGHT~

“What is the status on the Huang gang?” Toph barked, sitting tall and erect behind her large wooden desk. The young, embarrassingly green cadet put a valiant effort into mimicking her stoic stance. No amount of effort could hide his racing blood and his pounding heart. Toph could sense it all. Had she been closer to him she could have even sensed the heat radiating from his cheeks. She could hear his clumsy fingers crinkling a piece of paper as his breath hitched.

It took every ounce of self-control for Toph not to smirk or let out a horrendous snort.

“Poor kid must be quaking in his boots.” She silently mused as she cleared her throat. Her fingers curled around themselves and rested under her chin. Her milky eyes bore him down, and she could only imagine his squirming figure growing tighter as the seconds ticked.

“I’m waiting Officer Chen.” She drawled. The young officer jumped, papers fumbling in his clammy fingers.

“Yes Chief my apologies Chief.” Chen paused, clearing his throat and straightening the papers in his hands.

“They’ve either been very quiet or have gone way underground. We’ve been keeping an eye on them, even having plain clothed officers scout their usual stomping grounds. There’s been a suspicious drop in activity… an alarming drop.”

Toph leaned back in her chair and nodded. She brought her pale, surprisingly dainty fingers to her lips, letting the information settle in her head.

The Huang Gang had, once upon a time, started as a group of misfit benders. They were down on their luck and had resorted to menacing the public to survive. Such activities including robbing, mugging… the usual illegal tom foolery. There was a disturbing darkness to their malice though. It was all tinged with the taste of hatred and vengeance. Even in their early disjointed early days their favorite targets had been fire benders and above all, non benders.

Toph felt her stomach drop. It seemed no matter how hard she, Aang, Zuko or anyone tried the rift between benders and non-benders refused to give way. Toph mercifully had bene able to contain the band of unhinged troublemakers, even as they grew and ever more coordinated.

How she had managed to underestimate them to such an alarming degree Toph would never know. Right under her nose the Huang’s ballooned into the largest, most systematic crime organization in Republic City. Their childish days of malice and menacing had dissented into terrorizing. The horror they inspired reach far and wide, stitching their way into the fabric of every citizens life. They lurked in the shadows, struck with no mercy and vanished with the wind back into the darkness.

Toph could only sigh and marvel at how much of a pain in her ass the Huang’s had become.

“Alarming is right.” Toph conceited, her pretty features screwing with aggravation. “It could mean nothing, but I don’t trust them for one second. They’re up to something and up to something big. Continue to send plain clothed officers under cover. We have to figure out what they’re doing and stop them before they can do it-understood?”

“Yes chief!” Chen barked with a click of his heels and a stiff salute.

“Good. Now one more thing-what time is it?” There was a pause as Chen’s black eyes glanced to the lonely clock hanging on the wall.

A strange piece of décor for a blind woman, he noted.

“It’s 3:30.”

“Oh man!” Toph cried, leaping out of her chair. “I need to go.” Officer Chen hurdled towards the wall, his face twisted with incredulity.

“If I may be permitted, why are you leaving so early?” He asked, gawking at her as she bustled towards the door. “It’s not like you.”

“I promised Avatar Aang and Katara I would come meet their new baby.” She said, whisking past him to reach the doorknob.

“Don’t forget to tell Sargent Suzuki my orders-or else.”

“Punishment?” Chen gulped.

“Big time.” She dead panned, swinging the door open. “Have a good day.” Toph cried in an eerily high, sing-song voice that sent a chill down the young officer’s spine. She left Chen frozen in the office, pale faced and gaping.

“I don’t get paid enough for this…”

Top marched her way through the familiar halls of headquarters. Though she was demure in stature, she cut a striking figure as she strode towards the exit. Her strong, petite frame was covered in a heavy suit. It shined and gleamed in spite of the garish indoor lighting. She kept her coal colored mane twisted in a large, moon shaped bun. Jagged bangs framed her elegant alabaster features. Those features were always hard and stubborn, much like the Earth she wielded with such deadly force.

Combined with her rank, it was no surprise she was given a wide berth. Every soul he passed would greet her with a bow of the head and a curt, “Chief Beifong.”

Toph would return the deference with a short nod, ignoring the pit in her stomach.

It never mattered to how many years she had the lofty position, or how many years she would continue to serve. It never mattered that she had chosen this life-or that she reveled in the simplicity of being known as chief. The extreme deference made Toph’s skin crawl. It was so grand secret that her lives greatest passion was ordering others around and commanding respect. In fact, if Toph had been completely honest with herself, nothing on Earth gave her such a thrill and joy.

And yet….

It was one thing to bark drills at a bunch of children her own age.

It was thing to be called “Sifu Toph”.

“Chief” was another monster entirely.

Had she known she was signing up to a life of distance and cold formality she would have slapped Aang and Zuko upside the head for even suggesting she be Chief Toph Beifong.

They were desperate and she…

No matter. Toph huffed as she reconciled with the notion of another conversation explaining the difference between respect and kow towing.

Two of her closest friends had brought new life into this world, and Toph would be damned if she didn’t get to meet him.

“Leaving already Chief Beifong?” A small voice chirped. Toph moved her head to the sound of the mousey voice. She flashed a grin at the timid girl who manned the receptionist desk.

“Yup. I’m heading over to Air Temple Island.”

“Ooohhh!” The woman squealed. Toph could hear the ear-splitting smile in her voice. She bit her bottom lips, stifling a snicker of her own.

“Are you going to meet the new baby?” She asked.

“I am.” Toph exclaimed, her face splitting into a beam. The secretary sighed a dreamy, doe eyed sigh. Toph could easily imagine her eyes fluttering and a far off look on her face as she imagined a baby of her own.

“I’m so happy for them. Babies are just the most wonderful thing, aren’t they?”

Toph stiffened, her hands clasping behind her back. She twisted and fiddled with them, attempting to ignore her racing heart and the hole in her chest. She prayed her blazing cheeks hadn’t turned a beat red.

“Ah…. Yeah sure. Kids are pretty great.” Toph nodded. She could feel those soft, childish eyes bearing down on her, waiting for her to say something, anything.

“She must be new… great.” Toph groaned, beginning to rock on her heels. The air grew heavy as the secretary continued to beam and Toph rocked on her heels, her milky eyes darting all around the open lobby.

“Do you ever”

“Well would you look at the time! I gotta go home and change before I miss the ferry. I’ll see you tomorrow… uuuhhh….. uhhhh….

“Sakura…”

“Oh right Sakura!! Sorry about that hun.” Toph spun on the palm of her feet and dashed out the door into the sunlight. She left another soul gawking, blinking and utterly baffled in her wake.

“What just happened?”

Toph’s air of authority refused to melt, even in the bright late May sun. Her shoulders remained erect, her head held high and her steps measured. It didn’t matter that the smooth sidewalk threatened to char her bare feet, or that the sun seemed hell bent on boiling her alive in her metal uniform. While she was on the streets the people would know who she was, and that she was always there.

Still… her esteemed position and respect she commanded didn’t mean Toph couldn’t enjoy herself.

Toph released her twirling fingers and hung her arms lose by her side. Her skilled hands naturally went to her hips. Her posture slowly withered as the sun warmed her face. She sucked a deep breath, letting the sweet air fill her lungs.

No matter how much Toph would have wanted to, she could never take in her beloved Republic City. She could never see the buildings creeping towards the sky. She could never witness the people bustling around her, creating new lives for themselves. She couldn’t even view the streets beneath her bare feet or the sapphire sky above her.

Yet the Chief of Police couldn’t help but grin. She may not have been able to see the fruits of her labor; but they were all around her as she moved through the streets she knew so well.

She could hear the voices swirling around her, many of them filled with laughter and airy join despite what hid in the shadows. She could hear horses and carriages clacking down the road, the beasts scent wafting in her nose. She heard the merchants bellowing and children screeching with delight. The sweet scent of flowers and late spring air trickled her nose.

Toph’s lips curled into a triumphant, cocky smirk. The signs of a well fought, well-earned peace was all around her. It didn’t matter she couldn’t see the results of her tireless efforts. She could smell it, she could hear it and she could feel it in the earth beneath her feet.

It was enough to make Toph puff out her chest. The Huang’s be damned. She had help forge a new era of love and peace with her own two hands and no one would take that from her. She let out a contented sigh as she rounded the corner to her apartment. Her heart began to flutter as she opened the door, her stomach flipping and twisting. She felt her cheeks flush as she weaved through the halls, her fingers tingled with anticipation.

“I hope he’s home.” She thought, curling her fingers around the smooth doorknob and twisting it open.

“Hello?” Toph cried, stepping into the doorway. There was beat of silence, making Toph’s chest tight. She held her breath, waiting for the sound she so desperately longed to hear.

“I’m in the bedroom!” A melodic tenor cried. Toph’s heart exploded with sheer bliss, her lips twisting in an ear to ear grin. She dashed towards the bedroom and let the door slam behind her. She could feel her cheeks flushing as her feet pounded on the hard floor.

Toph bounded into the door frame. She slammed her foot hard on the floor, allowing her to take in the outline of the sparse, open bedroom. Her lips curled when she saw a thin figure sitting crossed legged in the middle of a large bed. His shoulders were hunched over what she could only assume was a well-loved sketch book.

“Whatcha doing there Kanto?” She asked. Kanto’s thin lips curled at the corners, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

“Drawing. What else would I be doing?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Toph mused, slinking towards the bed. She took her spot next to him, snaking her arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close. She ran her fingers through his silky, ebony waves. Kanto chuckled, placing his lips against her temple.

“Okay what’s going on? You’re home early and you’re being oddly affectionate.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always loving and affectionate!” Toph retorted, kissing his high cheek bone.

“Uh huh you keep telling yourself that. Now spill-what’s gotten into you?” Kanto questioned.

“There’s nothing to spill Mr. Fancy Pants. It’s a beautiful day, and I finally get to go meet Aang and Katara’s baby.”

Kanto groaned, twisting his frame out of Toph’s arms. His hazel eyes turned back to his sketch, his face twisting with disgust. Toph leaned back, her blood turning cold at his hateful moan.

“Good lord how many does that make-20?!” He exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“Three. They have three!” Toph snapped. She rose her hand and smacked the back of his head. “Don’t be such a smart ass about it.”

“They’re trying to rebuild and entire culture you jack ass” The words staid firmly in her thoughts, though the burned hotter than any flame.

“Yeah well you don’t need to be so violent!” He moaned, holding his smarting skull. Besides three kids is three kids too many if you ask me.” Kanto claimed as he smoothed the back of his head. Toph stood, crossing her arms as she made her way to her closet. With a flick of her wrist and outstretched arms her metal armor flung off, clashing into place. She was left with her black pants and a plain snowy white tank top that clung to her figure.

Despite the thick, moist air Toph was chilled to the bone. The bliss she felt had vanished, being replaced with hallow numbness and a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I guess that’s one way you could look at it.” Toph muttered.

“It’s the only way to look at it!” Kanto cried, throwing his pencil to the bed. “They can and all… I guess but they’re loud and annoying and just plain disgusting. They ruin lives. I don’t understand how they can have so many.”

Toph froze, her finger hovering over her favorite emerald top. Her heart thudded and sputtered. A hard lump formed in her throat. She swallowed that lump along with the shock and awe tearing at her.

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about kids Kanto.” Toph’s thin fingers encased the soft fabric, whipping it off the hanger and slinging it on to her shoulders.

“Well it’s not like I’ve tried to hide it. I just think they’re not worth it. Besides I’m not really the paternal type.” He paused, turning his attention back to Toph. He eyed her with growing suspicion as she wrapped the emerald shirt around her frame.

“And since when do you care? You’re not exactly the maternal type Toph.”

Toph felt her heart fall straight to her stomach. That horrid, cold numbness enveloped her once more.

“I could be…. If I tried”

“No I’m not.” Toph consented, sniching a belt at her waist. “But Aang and Katara are my best friends and I promised I would meet him.”

There was also another, silent reason why she was going. There was a soul who needed her to keep his pieces together and keep him moving forward.

“Yeah yeah I get it. Just don’t get any ideas when you’re over there.” Kanto quipped, his lips grinning and his eyes laughing. “The last thing we need is a screaming gremlin, right?”

Toph’s shoulders went rigid and the air escaped her lungs. She stood motionless; her eyes glued to the closet. Her fingers balled into fist as the wheels in her head began to turn.

Much as she hated to admit it Kanto was right.

He was not the parental type. For all of his kindness, grand gestures and dazzling words he was far from stable. He was as free as the wind, flitting and floating to his next grand adventure with only his sketch book in hand. On the one hand Toph never minded. She was thrilled by the unending collection of stories he brought back with him. She loved the rush of anticipation of his return, or how he would take her hand and trace her fingers against his drawings. This always led to him kissing each knuckle, then her arm, then her neck and lips…

Needless to say, his returns were joyful in more ways than one.

Yet Toph despised Kanto for always flying away. No matter how she shoved her need indepence down his or any mortals throat, no matter how much the idea of a lifelong commitment resembled a ball and chains she still loathed it. She loathed how cold her bed was. She longed for his arms around hers, to feel his heartbeat against her back and his breath against her neck. She despised how he left her with nothing but her thoughts and utter silence. Kanto would never buckle down in one place and find a job that required actual talent or effort. He would never be the kind of man to change diapers in the dead of night or cuddle a wailing child back to sleep. Sleep, he claimed, was vital to the creative process and heaven help anyone who would disrupt his creative process. He would never want to have a child on his lap or a story in his hands.

More to the point, Kanto would never be the kind of man Aang or Zuko were. For all their flaws-and there were many-they had proven to be beautiful and loving fathers.

Though it was hard to admit, Kanto was also right in his assessment of her character. Toph was not the kind of woman to cuddle or sing lullabies. She was never a loving or nurturing person like Katara. Toph was loud, Toph was crude and she was all hard earth and rocky edges. She never had that ache or longing to have a tiny soul of her own to care for. The idea strangled her like a noose her neck. She could never give up her hard-fought independence and freedom-not until she drew her very last gasp of air. Then there was the unavoidable fact her job could steal her life at any moment.

What kind of life would that be for a child-a father was never around and never cared, and a mother who could be taken away at any time, and with a soul too hard to truly love?

No. Children had never been and would never be in the picture for her. Toph would be content with being the fun-loving Aunt who spoiled the children, wreaked havoc, filled their blood with all their sugar their hearts desired and vanish.

And yet… with each passing child her friends had a hole grew in her heart and only got bigger and bigger. It was dark, empty and dead. The only way that vast, frozen hole could begin to heal was if she was holding her friends’ children or heard them laugh. Only then would she feel a spark deep within her soul, something that made her want to never let go of the warmth in her arms. She wanted to be surrounded by that ecstatic, heartwarming laughter. She craved those little hands pawing at her face or their warm weight against her chest.

Toph was only 31, and Kanto was 32. There was still a chance….

Toph shook those thoughts out of her head and buried them deep in the depths of her soul. She mindlessly pulled down the hem of her shirt before turning to face Kanto. Her lips were parted in a tight, waxy smile.

“You got that right fancy pants!” Toph chirped. Kanto beamed back at her, oblivious to the war raging in her head. Toph strode forward slowly, her hips swishing in the sunlight. She took his thin, soft face in her cores. They stared deep into each other’s eyes; one pair a sunny hazel and one pair a clouded emerald. He snaked his arms around her waist and tugged her close to his chest.

“You’re all I ever need Toph.” Kanto breathed, sliding his hands up and down the dip of her waist and her hips. Despite her screaming thoughts and the ever-growing hole in her heart, Toph dug her nails into her hair and pressed his lips against hers. She refused to move until her lungs were weeping for air, praying that he would be enough to fill that ugly hole.

It only felt colder and painfully bitter as Toph went back into the sunlight.

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love Pt.3/6

Previous

Geralt was riding towards Posada, with Jaskier trotting next to Roach and whinnying constantly. The shifter was carrying his satchel and lute, Roach was carrying everything else including Geralt. It was probably a strange sight to see, a witcher with two horses riding down the path, one fully saddled and the other with just a bag and a lute slung around its long neck.

Geralt sighed at Jaskier’s non stop chatter. He wondered whether the shifter could understand Roach and whether his mare was just as annoyed at Jaskier’s need to fill the silence. “Jaskier!” He snapped.

The chestnut horse galloped around them in a circle and whinnied.

“Shut up.” Geralt muttered and urged Roach on a faster.

They’d been travelling together for two weeks now, ever since Jaskier had effectively chosen Geralt as his companion, not that Geralt had tried very hard to get away. He enjoyed the easy company of animals, even if this particular animal was a little more on the human side of things. He’d still not actually seen Jaskier’s human form. He wasn’t sure why Jaskier was so desperate to hide behind the array of animals he could shift into. He wondered whether it had simply been a while since the bard had allowed himself to shift.

Either way, Geralt had stopped asking whether Jaskier wanted to change back. He trusted the shifter would reveal himself in time.

“Get out of the way, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled as he hand to steer Roach around the chestnut horse in the middle of the path.

Jaskier didn’t have a chance to answer as an arrow flew past Geralt’s head. “Shit!”

He ducked and drew his sword, scanning around him as he circled around on Roach. Another arrow brushed past his ear, in exactly the same manner. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The archer was missing on purpose. He dismounted Roach and lowered into  a defensive stance.

“What do you want?” He asked, focussing his senses to try and locate the attacker. There was a light crackle of leaves underfoot. He focussed on where the sound had come from. There was faint intake of breath as his eyes met a pair of rich brown ones. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He added.

“Lower your sword and give me one of the horses!” A young girl called from the edge of the path.

She had long golden brown hair, plaited all the way down her back. She was wearing hunting clothes, forest green light armour. There was a scar across the bridge of her nose and her brown eyes were flaring with determination.

She was also aiming at arrow at his head.

Geralt sheathed his sword and raised his hands in surrender. Jaskier whinnied next to him and reared up. “I can’t do that.” Geralt murmured.

“Yes you can, witcher. Don’t underestimate me. I will shoot.” She snarled. “I need a horse. You have two. Now hand one over.”

Geralt shook his head and glanced at Jaskier who was stomping the ground. “I have one horse, and Jaskier.”

“What the fuck is a Jaskier? There are two horses, I can see them! One.” She pointed the arrow at Roach and then moved it to Jaskier. “Two. Two horses. I need one.”

Jaskier whinnied. Roach began to shake her head restlessly.

“Jaskier is not my horse.” Geralt insisted.

“Bullshit!” The archer spat. “I saw you leading them both, but I guess if he isn’t yours then you won’t mind if I take him.”

Geralt felt a dull panic. He couldn’t let her take Jaskier and the shifter seemed reluctant to reveal himself as anything but a normal chestnut horse.

“I’ve always wanted a lute.” The archer smirked and lowered her bow so he could make a lunge for the chestnut horse.

Jaskier reared up, kicking the archer to the ground, before bolting off down the path.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called after him but he was too fast. Even if Geralt mounted Roach immediately and galloped after him he would never catch up. Roach was carrying too much weight in comparison.

He spun round to face the archer. She was sitting up and holding her nose, blood poured from her nostrils and it looked like Jaskier had knocked out a few teeth too. He sighed and pulled a bottle from his bag. It was a healing potion, not one of his witcher brews. He’d bought it from the last market they’d visited. Jaskier had a bad habit of putting himself between Geralt and whatever danger he was facing. He was worried that the shifter would hurt himself so he’d made sure to have some better supplies on hand. It seemed only fair after Jaskier helped to ensure that he was paid correctly, and for some reason a witcher with a pet cat seemed to be less intimidating to tavern owners and merchants. He’d been treated with more care since Jaskier had joined him.

And now the bastard had run off.

He knelt down next to the archer and passed her the potion. “Here.” He grumbled.

She spat blood in his face which he wiped off with a grimace. “Why are you helping me?”

He shrugged. “Jaskier hurt you. Call it compensation.”

“I don’t need your charity.” She growled.

Geralt smirked. “No, just my horse.”

“Fuck you!”

Geralt pressed the potion into her hands and then helped her to her feet. “Take it. What’s your name, archer?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Maria.”

“I’m heading for Posada, Maria, if you are going that way then you can join me.” Geralt offered.

“Why the fuck would you want that?” Maria snarled.

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t force you.”

“I’m going the other way.” She said through gritted teeth. “Without a fucking horse!”

Geralt tilted his head. “You scared Jaskier off, that’s not my fault.”

“Only because you were being a selfish prick.” She tucked her bow onto her back and trudged off down the path, blood still dripping down her face, leaving the potion on the path.

Geralt picked the bottle up and tucked it into his pocket with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand either.” He petted his mare’s neck and then swung up to sit back in the saddle. “Come on, Roach, let’s go.”

Jaskier galloped hard away from Geralt and the bratty archer girl until he was sure he was out of sight then he darted into the trees and shifted into his human form, catching his belongings in his arms. He quickly pulled out a dark blue doublet and got dressed. They hadn’t been far from Posada when the girl had attacked and he’d been running a while. His legs had started to burn before he’d slowed down and he desperately needed a bath. So he was certain that the village wasn’t far away.

He pulled on his boots and slung his lute and satchel over his shoulder. It felt weird to be back on two legs again but at least the crazy archer girl wouldn’t try to steal him away in this form.

Probably.

He had been told he was quite handsome by people of all genders.

He grinned and walked back towards the path. Hopefully it wouldn’t be far to a tavern. He was starving!

Luck was on his side and after about half an hour he spotted the tavern. It was up a sharp incline in the path and across a rickety bridge, standing proudly overlooking vast beautiful forests and mountains. It was stunning. Easily the most picturesque tavern he’d visited in years, if not ever. Posada was the last human settlement before the Dol Blathanna and the Edge of the World, home of the elves, if legends were to be believed.

He managed to haggle for a room and some dinner. He didn’t have any coin of his own. He’d been stuck as an animal for two weeks with no income besides what Geralt had earned on his contracts. He hadn’t needed any coin as an animal. Geralt shared his food and he was able drink from whatever water source Roach found, at nights he’d curled up as a wolf next to Geralt, sometimes on Geralt. As a human he wasn’t so lucky, but at least he could play for his keep.

He was half way through his second set when Geralt slid through the door. He was scowling up a storm and every human in the bar seemed to shirk away from him. Jaskier grinned and spun around with a flirtatious wink at a nearby villager. They scoffed and batted him away but Jaskier didn’t mind. He could just move onto the next person. He kept singing until Geralt had settled in a corner of the bar with a pint of beer.

And oh was he a grumpy bastard.

Jaskier was delighted! He carefully put away his lute, and pranced over to the witcher.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” He cocked his head and smirked at his sulking witcher.

If looks could kill Jaskier would be a very dead bard. “I’m here to drink alone.” He grumbled.

Geralt hadn’t recognised him!

Jaskier pouted and slipped onto the bench opposite the witcher. “Come now, witcher. We all need a friend.”

Geralt furrowed his brow and downed half of his beer. “Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier gaped and put his hand to his chest. “Oi! Fuck off, yourself. You wouldn’t treat Mister Fuzzball like this!” He poked Geralt in the arm.

Geralt froze and his hand flew to his medallion. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier grinned. “And there we go. I’m hurt that you couldn’t recognise me!” He pouted dramatically and leant on his arms.

“You’re human?” Geralt asked quietly.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Close enough.”

Geralt stared at him incredulously.

“Geralt?” He put his hand on Geralt’s arm. “Is this ok?”

His thoughts started to race. Was the only reason Geralt had put up with him for so long was because he’d been an animal? He’d been unable to talk for two weeks. What if Geralt hated his talking? He had been told over and over again that he talked too much. Oh gods, and Geralt said he wanted to be alone and now he had a human that was clinging onto him and forcing him to make conversation.

He should leave.

He should turn back into a cat. Geralt liked him when he was cat. Jaskier knew that the witcher enjoyed the sensation of Jaskier’s purring, and most cats only hissed and spat at the witcher.

“I can leave.” He stammered. “I just thought, you’ve been wondering about…” He gestured to himself.

“It’s fine, Jaskier.” Geralt reassured him with a fond smile. “Your eyes are the same.”

“Ah yes. Yes they are. Thank you for noticing. I’m not really sure why, not really sure about any of it if I’m being totally honest. I just woke up one day as a kitten, and I’m always sort of gingery brown with blue eyes. Lila, she was my nurse as a kid, thinks that how my kind are able to tell each other apart in family groups but I’ve never known anyone else like me so fuck that.” Jaskier rattled off, the weeks of not talking finally catching up with him. “Yennefer of Vengerberg, scary sorceress from Aretuza that my parents hired to cure me—”

“Cure you?” Geralt interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with you?”

“Yeah, well, try telling my dearest parents that. On second thoughts, don’t. It took me long enough to escape.”

“Escape?” Geralt growled.

“I’m, I’m a monster Geralt, the beast the lovely Viscount and his wife wanted to hide from the world.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt stood up abruptly and thumped the table hard. Beer spilt over the lip of his tankard and the tavern fell silent. “Fuck!” Geralt cursed and closed his eyes. “You’re not a monster.”

Jaskier was taken aback by the ferocity in Geralt’s voice. The witcher had only known him for two weeks but he was so certain, so sure that Jaskier was not what he’d always been told he was. Jaskier reached out for Geralt’s hand and gently pulled him to sit back down.

“Right well, I won’t argue with the monster expert.” Jaskier teased gently.  

Geralt scowled and pulled his medallion from his chest. He handed it to Jaskier with a tilt of his head. Jaskier held the wolf medallion in his hands. As a cat he’d often ended up curling up to it when Geralt let him sleep on his chest. He found the vibrations relaxing as they brushed against his fur.

The medallion was still now in his human hands.

“What’s this got to do with anything?” He asked, tossing his fringe from eyes as he looked back at Geralt.

“It’s silver.” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier frowned and looked back at the medallion. “Which means?” He prompted.

“It doesn’t hurt you.”

Jaskier laughed and tossed the medallion in his hands. “Silver is for monsters. I see.”

Geralt sipped his drink. “It’s not a fair test. Some monsters are kinder than any human.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and stood up. “May I?” He asked holding up the chain.

Geralt nodded, so Jaskier carefully placed the medallion back around his witcher’s neck. He let his fingers linger as he pulled Geralt’s hair through the chain, brushing the back of his neck.

“You know…” He breathed “when you pick me up by the scruff of my neck I am utterly helpless. It’s really not fair.” He trailed his fingers across Geralt’s cheek and then sat back down opposite him on the bench. “I can’t even shift when you do that.”

Geralt scoffed. “Does it work as a human too?”

Jaskier laughed. “Don’t you dare!”

“Hmm.” Geralt smiled into his drink.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined. “Don’t go all… grumpy witcher on me now!” He waved his hand in front of Geralt’s face. “I haven’t been able to have a proper conversation in weeks!” He pouted.

Geralt tilted his head. “That’s on you, bard.”

“That’s on you, bard.” Jaskier mimicked. “You’re a bit of an asshole aren’t you?”

“I’m the Butcher of Blaviken, haven’t you heard?” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt’s drink across the table so he steal some. “Bollocks. You, sir, adopted the first stray cat that paid you any attention!”

“Butcher?” A new voice asked tentatively as a man approached the table, his fingers fiddling with a coin purse.

Geralt glared at Jaskier. Jaskier just took a long gulp of the beer and winked at his friend. Geralt sighed and turned to the man hovering by their table. “Yes?”

“I’ve a job for you.” The man held out the coin purse.

Jaskier zoned out for the rest of the conversation. Geralt was awfully dull when he started talking business. Normally Jaskier would be sat in his lap or by his side, depending on which animal Geralt had at the time, and Geralt would be petting his fur. As a human that wouldn’t really work. So he finished off Geralt’s beer and went to find Roach in the stables, grabbing his lute on the way out. He knew Geralt would come out when he was ready.

Roach, unlike his idiot witcher, recognised him immediately. He couldn’t talk to Roach, not properly, not even in horse form. It wasn’t as if he could translate her words but he did have a better understanding of animals, he always did. He seemed to just… know, and he was able to chatter back at her in a series of whinnies and ear flicks. Again it wasn’t as if he was knowingly speaking horse, it was just instinct. He still thought fluently as if he were a human but his communication as an animal was driven by emotion and instinct. He always thought it was rather similar to how he felt when he was composing music, when he found a melody before the lyrics. It didn’t matter about the rhymes or syllabic pattern, all that mattered was the feelings inside that were screaming to get out.

He patted Roach’s neck and pressed his head against hers. “Hey you, sorry I ran off earlier. Wouldn’t want you to get captured because of me.”

Roach’s snorted and he laughed. “Yes yes. I know. Geralt would have protected us, but it was safer to run. Oh don’t give me that look. I always run when there’s trouble.”

Roach’s ears flicked and she nudged him with her muzzle.

“Well I would if I thought it would help” He grinned and stroke the soft fur of her muzzle. “and this time it did.”

He sighed and settled down on the hay to play his lute whilst he waited, it was the one thing he had sorely missed during his weeks as an animal.

He’d missed the music.

_____

Next

[milkshakekitty]

Little By Little

Little by little, Sour Bill found himself warming up to the new president he found under his care. And little by little, with the help of her confectionery vice president, Vanellope learned how life in her new (old?) home worked

Two drabbles ft poor Sour Bill trying to teach Van basic life skills since y'know, she was pretty much a hobo for her whole life

The idea for this is @pixlexic-president 's, I just loved it so much I had to write it out lol

"I am beat," Vanellope yawned. She'd won a race, killed a cybug king and regained the throne she never even knew she had all in one day, and now the new president was more than ready for a good long rest.

"I'll take you to your bedroom, Madam President," Sour Bill said, eager to have at least a few quiet hours away from the hyperactive child he suddenly found in his care.

"My...bedroom?"

He nodded silently.

"There's a whole room just for the bed?" Vanellope asked incredulously.

"Mmhm."

"Weird."

They walked for what felt like forever through the endless corridors of the castle- her castle, she had to keep reminding herself, until they reached a huge graham cracker door.

"Here it is," he said simply, opening the foreboding door and gesturing into the large dark room behind it.

"Wow," she said, barely above a whisper.

The bedroom was huge, almost too big for the new princessident to take in.

"This is all mine?"

"Mmmhm."

"And this is my bed?" she marveled at the huge canopy bed, covered in plush pillows and fluffy blankets.

The sour ball hummed again.

"Wow."

Vanellope hopped up onto the enormous bed.

And hopped again.

And again.

And again.

"I thought you were tired," Sour Bill said irritably.

"I am," she agreed, plopping down on the mattress, "But this bed is way bouncier than my old one back-"

"...home," the child said, much quieter as her grin slowly faded.

Despite having had to live in a volcano of all places, Vanellope had grown fond of the little ramshackle home she'd built herself so many years ago.

And after such a crazy adventure, such a huge change in her life, she began to miss the simple, familiar comfort of curling up in her little sponge cake bed, wrapping herself up like the little homeless lady she was in her candy wrapper blankets. She knew it was kind of silly, to miss her old life when her new home was so amazing.

But she couldn't shake it.

Sour Bill, despite how apathetic he appeared, could sense the child's mixed feelings.

So he left.

And in spite of the fact that the sour ball definitely wasn't the most comforting presence in the world, even his company was better than being alone in the overwhelmingly huge room.

Vanellope looked around as if she were lost. She guessed she kind of was, in a weird way.

The castle was so big, so silent. She felt like she was the only one in this huge place.

Diet Cola Mountain was never quiet. There was always the constant bubbling of the hot springs, the occasional booming sound of mentos falling into the lava.

Here it was just...quiet.

Unbearably quiet.

But just as Vanellope felt like she couldn't take the suffocating silence for another second, Sour Bill returned, a glass in his hand.

"Milk?" the kid asked.

He nodded, wordlessly offering it to her.

"Uh, ok," she took a sip. It was warm.

Strange, she thought, but kinda nice.

A few sips later she set the empty glass on the dainty little bedside table.

She had to admit, that'd helped ease her anxieties. More tired than ever, Vanellope rubbed her eyes, but found herself still a little nervous at the thought of sleeping completely alone in this too big room.

"Sour Bill?"

"Mmmhm?"

"Will you...stay with me?" she asked softly.

He looked at her for a moment.

"It's just that I- well...I know it's silly but..."

"...if I go to sleep I might- I just," she fumbled with the words.

"I don't...wanna wake up back in the mountain."

Even though she kind of missed it, Diet Cola Mountain was a sort of bittersweet symbol of her old life, her life as a glitch.

Of course the candy knew that it wasn't possible for her to revert back to that life. But Vanellope was a child, and as he well knew, sometimes children weren't all that rational.

Especially when they'd lived in an active volcano for a decade and a half.

"Mmmhm," he hummed simply.

"Really?" she asked. She honestly didn't think he'd agree.

He nodded and, maybe her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, but Vanellope could swear she saw the smallest semblance of a smile on his face.

She smiled, and he pulled back the plush covers for her to get under.

"Wow," she marveled quietly, her eyes starting to droop, "It's so soft."

"Mmmhm," he agreed, amused.

"I could get used to this," she sighed contentedly, snuggling into the comforter.

Just as her eyes drifted closed, Sour Bill turned the bedside lamp off, only to be stopped by a small protest from his half-asleep charge.

Vanellope sat up, looking slightly worried as she peered around the darkened room.

"Can you...turn the light back on?" she asked, her voice small.

He looked at her a bit oddly before he realized that, having lived in a bright bubbling volcano, Vanellope had probably never slept in the dark before.

Sour Bill felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. It was probably unnerving for the child to suddenly be expected to sleep in a pitch dark room.

The candy hummed an affirmative, switching the lamp back on.

As the soft amber glow lit the room once again, the little president relaxed, laying back down in her nest of blankets.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, letting her eyes close once again, the exhausted new racer falling asleep almost immediately.

He stayed by her side for a few minutes more, until he was sure she was soundly sleeping and wouldn't wake up and worry at finding him gone before taking his leave.

Sour Bill had never known a child who could be so annoying, so rash, so impulsive and infuriating and an overall pain in his rear. And he had certainly never had to show someone what a bedroom was before.

But he was starting to think Vanellope was growing on him.

Just the tiniest bit.

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

Hey Billy Boy!" Vanellope chirped.

"I do wish you'd quit calling me that," Sour Bill complained, but it fell on deaf ears.

"I uh, got all turned around," she spun in a circle, lost, "Where's King Crappy's garden?"

The sour ball looked at her incredulously.

King Candy- er, Turbo, used to retreat to his garden for a peaceful moment away from the energetic game and the child racers that inhabited it.

But the new president really didn't seem like the peaceful type. In fact, it didn't even seem like Vanellope and peaceful belonged in the same sentence, unless you were saying that Vanellope was a destroyer of all that was peaceful.

So he couldn't help but show his surprise at her question.

"Why?"

"Jeez cough drop, do I ask you for the details when you gotta do your business?!"

His eyes widened.

"President Vanellope, we have plenty of bathrooms."

"What? What's a...bathroom?" she looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Oh mod. Of course she didn't know what a bathroom was, she'd lived in a volcano for fifteen years.

He sighed.

"I'll show you."

"Uh, ok," she shrugged, "But I don't really get why you'd need some bathroom when you've got a perfectly good garden out there."

He tried not to think too much about that.

They walked for a bit, Vanellope looking around in awe as the candy led her down the endless hallways he knew by heart.

"This has been a nice walk and all," the kid piped up after a few minutes, the longest she'd been quiet since arriving at the castle.

"But I kinda haveta- ahh!" she yelped, tripping on Sour Bill, who'd abruptly stopped in a small doorway.

"We're here," he said simply.

"Oh," she wandered inside, looking as if she'd never in her life seen such a strange room.

She hadn't, Sour Bill reminded himself.

She stared at the bathtub, the toilet, the sink, and had nearly jumped out of her skin when upon curiously turning the handles, water came out.

Vanellope was gazing curiously at her bewildered reflection in the mirror when she spoke again.

"Sooo, is this...chair where you-"

"Mmmhm," he finished her question before she'd even finished it.

"Mmkay," she said skeptically.

"And then you push this," he flushed it, making her jump.

"Woah."

"Oh ok!" she chirped.

"Now out!" she laughed, shoving him out of the room.

The sour ball stood beside the door for a few minutes, tapping his jelly bean foot impatiently.

When he heard the toilet flush he expected her to return to what had become her favorite hobby- incessantly pestering him.

But then he heard another flush.

And another.

And another.

Only Vanellope could be entertained by flushing a toilet. He rolled his eyes.

After a few more minutes of this, he had his hand on the doorknob, about to ask if she was planning on missing the roster race to play with the flusher when-

"Hiya!" the door abruptly opened, the young president apparently having finally gotten bored with all the wonders of the bathroom.

Sour Bill startled, falling and rolling on the smooth floor.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized sheepishly, helping him stand back up.

"Hey Billy Boy-" Vanellope said as they continued on their way, earning an eyeroll.

"You never answered my question. Where's the garden at?"

He paused, "But President Vanellope-"

"Relax, Thour Bill," she laughed, imitating the "king's" lisp, "I just wanna find a buttload of gummy worms to put in Taffyta's kart."

"Oh," he sighed.

"I'll show you."

She giggled excitedly, "I can't wait to see the look on her face!"

Sour Bill knew he should probably try to talk her out of this. It would be the responsible thing to do, as Vanellope's vice president.

But he couldn't deny that Taffyta kind of deserved gummy worms in her kart. Plus he kind of wanted to see the look on her face too.

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (eventual Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter 4 - the hag’s cabin

SFW, mentions blood and mutilation, around 2K words.

It was like he had snapped out of a bad dream.

A flash of red blinded him for just a moment, hand shooting up to cover his eyes as he stood up straight, fingertips dripping with blood that wasn’t his. He opened his eyes to a much clearer view of the woods, a pressure relieved from his shoulders, and a strange yet friendly face staring down at him with avid curiosity. Blood-tinted eyes watched him closely, an amiable smile on her wrinkled face. The hag’s skin was light enough to glow in the scant moonlight, spindly silver hair wild and framing her face in the most awkward of ways. He was reminded of Mother’s little game of disguise, the unassuming crone of riddles and wisdom.

Maybe it was Mother all along, and in that case, he better be on his best behavior. She was surely capable of it all, confusing him on the path and assuming the form of some horrible abomination; but why would she bother? She did seem genuinely surprised, perhaps even wary. Was this another one of her games to keep them all on their toes? To ensure obedience, another way of displaying her powers to remind him that even at his best, he was not an omniscient near-god. In her eyes, he was a second class citizen with a thing for tinkering that she kept around. A dangerous, homicidally inclined one, but a second class failure nonetheless.

The hag’s dirty clothes fluttered in the wind, the smell of death seeming to emanate from within her bones, strong enough to choke him. For a moment, he expected her to cackle, conjure up a staff made of bones to wave at him while she spoke her nonsense, telling him to repent and surrender to the Black God. Instead she laboriously extended a frail hand to help him up, blackened fingertips offering him no comfort.

“Come closer, dear, let us have a look at you.” She spoke at last, tender, almost motherly, her voice sounding like a legion of disjointed souls pooling together to form a sentence. She took a step in his direction when he did not answer, bones cracking with effort, frame barely supporting her own weight. It looked to him as if her every movement was torture, like she had been living on borrowed time for far too long and the earth had grown tired of waiting to reclaim her to dust. “Let us bathe you, take care of you.” Her words were sweet, her tone malicious. “Everything will be fine.”

Oh, yes, naturally. She looked like she had come straight out of a fairytale book, but surely it would all end up alright. It would all be fine, surely, him being bathed in a large bubbling cauldron with herbs and salt for soap, trapped inside a cage being fattened for later use in culinary endeavors. The fat on his body would be used for tallow, the skin for the shade of some lamp, the heart to power said lamp.

“Think I’ll pass.” Was all he could say through gritted teeth, barely a whisper in the dissonance of his thoughts. Her snicker was low and delighted, form fading away in a cloud of crimson mist.

The terror that had consumed him had disappeared just as quickly as it had taken hold, his racing heart and staggered breathing giving way to the burning rage and overconfidence he usually carried with him. He looked around for the yellow flowers Donna used to trick people’s minds, for any sign that what he had witnessed was an illusion. The snow felt real as he crushed it with his fingers, the wind caressed him just so to keep him alert and awake. Heisenberg looked down at himself to look for anything that might be amiss, a misshaped piece of fabric, a hue that looked off; he counted ten fingers, pulled back his sleeve to look at his wristwatch, numbers crisp and clear. Not a dream, not a hallucination. Sheer terror, like he had not felt in years, adrenaline pumping in his veins to make him feel alive after decades of keeping his nose just above the water. Despite it all, he felt light as a feather. In a way, he felt free.

He rose to his feet to take the path ahead, ducking to miss the arch of the twisted tunnel, holding onto branches and feeling like they held onto him in return. A mere couple of meters away, a crude fence and wooden gate separated him from a clearing he had never seen. Slabs of stone marked the way towards it, visible despite the icy landscape, their surface well-worn and freshly disturbed. Had the hag come this way? Would he meet a series of monsters that made him offers he could not refuse, like the tales Miranda had concocted of him and his siblings?

He knew the mountain held a multitude of paths and clearings, nooks and crannies untouched by man and lost to time, mazes and caves and all manners of things he had only read in old books of fiction. The villagers would always say there was much that surrounded them, not altogether pleasant, older than them, older than the bones of this earth. Monsters and spirits, legends lost just beyond the village gates. Even as a child, swallowing his fear like a bitter pill, he labeled them all fools, pawns in the hands of a cruel bitch who kept them isolated, a flock of tarnished sheep that would never break free of their bonds. And yet it seemed the joke was on him, was it not? Here he was, mother’s prophecy fulfilled, standing alone in the forest deep, lost like the child who ran away to pick berries, having just witnessed something he could not explain.

Heisenberg peered into the trees in silence, breathing labored and pulse too loud in his ears. He watched for eyes in the forest, long fingers that camouflaged in the tree bark. Silver hair mistaken for spider webs, humanoid shadows that tricked the unwary. All he sees is a curious hare that stops to stare at him before going deeper into the woods to find its den, all he hears are the sounds of the night and the forest alive at last.

The smell of rotting carcasses inundated his nostrils as he walked, a series of carefully placed, crusty wooden stakes protruding from the ground like sickly trees that refused to wither. Blood dripped and congealed at its base, the decapitated heads of lycans and samcas and moroaicas neatly impaled, but looking so alive. He could almost hear it, the groaning and stretching of broken jaws as they tried to break free. 

An incredulous smile crept up to his lips as he reached out to touch a nearby lycan’s head, skin soft and clammy underneath his fingers, veins protruding on swollen flesh. Sharp teeth and exposed gums, no doubt a lycan, and he is too slow to react when the creature bites down onto his hand and all but tears the skin between his thumb and index fingers. It tries to finish the job but cannot break free, just enough movement to open and close its jaw, and Heisenberg looks down in disbelief to his bleeding hand, to the monster that should have turned to dust.

He reaches for the hammer in a half-horrified haze, swings with full strength to knock the stake to the ground, amazed when all heads spring to life and groan at him in a last breath that would never end. His morbid curiosity has him bring the hammer over his head and down onto the earth, bones cracking with the impact as the failed experiment finally crumbles to dust beneath the metal. What kind of fuckery was this? The pain in his right hand felt too real to be an illusion, the blood dripping onto his boots too viscous to be a trick of the mind. His mind spun with theories, with curiosity. Before he leaves, he should confiscate one of these for further study at the factory.

Heisenberg could hardly contain his excitement as he vaulted over the fence, anxious for the next chapter of this night full of surprises. He expected a gruesome display; an altar proudly displaying a sacrifice, the hunched over beast he had met before munching on an animal corpse. The hag kneeling by the stream, washing bloody clothes as a presage of war and death. A circle of witches chanting in tongues and cursing his entire, nonexistent bloodline for generations to come. An enchanted maiden with a delicate bosom and sinuous form inviting him to ravage her innocence, only to eat him alive liver first in a fit of madness.

Instead he was greeted by a curious chicken peeking at him from a hole in the trellis of its coop, a tiny goat grazing by his feet. There was a horse, real this time, penned in and cozy for the night, oblivious to his presence. 

The small hoofed animal doesn’t seem bothered when Heisenberg grabs it unceremoniously, inspects its fur and hoofs and horns, pinches at its flesh for any hint of supernatural. On the contrary, the goat seems to enjoy it, tiny tail wagging rapidly as Heisenberg stares it down like one would an annoying baby that is too cute for one to be angry at. It seems almost sad when it is put back down onto the snow, gives Heisenberg a tentative headbutt and walks away in defeat when he ignores it to investigate the rest of the place.

A small cabin stood just beyond, green shingles on the roof and walls covered in clay, narrow porch and swinging front door, a light bleeding out into the night through the narrow window of the attic. Suspiciously innocuous. There were no chicken legs, it was not made of sweets, and instead of decay, what he smelled made his stomach growl in response. He would eat that damn black horse the moment he saw it again, leg first as he moved up his feast.

A delicate wreath of wildflowers adorned the red door, slightly ajar to encourage his exploration. He did not recognize the symbol drawn just beneath his feet at the threshold - was it a warning? A welcome message? Heisenberg made sure to remain perfectly quiet as he stepped inside, taking care that his boots would not squeak against the wooden boards. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, the colorful woven rug a pleasant change from the bleak scenario of ice and death. He pushed the door all the way to reveal a room that was equal parts cozy and mysterious.

To his right was a wood stove, a bucket of firewood resting beside it, white ceramic kettle embellished with blue flowers whistling loudly on top. A shelf stocked with grain and spices stood just beyond, hooks with a multitude of pots and pans beneath it. The small kitchen also had a rustic counter and ceramic sink, cutting board and bone-white knife abandoned halfway through a large carrot. The small dinner table was set for two, a pair of teacups resting at the end of it. There was no sign of electricity, candles and lanterns of wrought iron working double time to ward off the dark of night.

He walked further in to to look at the rest of it, the diminutive living room that was also kitchen and dining area. The couch was a wooden skeleton covered in coarse fabric, cushions looking like they had patched a thousand times over. Somehow, they looked leagues more comfortable than any of Alcina’s fancy armchairs. Dusty tomes fought for space on a wooden stool beside it, candle wax frozen solid halfway over the edge onto the ground. A rickety ladder was almost hidden next to it, woolen socks overhanging one of the steps.

Right in front of him, on the far wall, was a sturdy brick fireplace, cast iron pot hanging over it, the tasty looking stew he had smelled from outside bubbling invitingly. A soft whimper alerted him to the presence of a furry creature curled up in front of the fire, looking compact despite its real size, oblivious to his presence and sound asleep. Heisenberg chuckled as he walked closer and bent down to pet it with a little too much force, the shaggy shepherd hound lifting its head to look at him in annoyance before busying itself with its nap once again, too tired to give a fuck about anything else. Craning his body to the left he peeked at the mezzanine, candle lit but bed empty. No one home, it seemed.

It was difficult to remain quiet when anger bubbled under the first layer of his skin; he was furious at his Mother and sister, at whoever had pulled the stupid prank earlier. He had been sent on a wild goose chase, had gotten lost in the woods, had bled his own blood and now stood inside a poor soul’s shack doubting every single thing that had happened this far. Even a man like himself had limits, however, and if he had simply stumbled upon a well-kept homestead of a peasant trying to live their life alone in the middle of the woods, he would leave just as quietly as he had entered. It was only fair, considering he, too, would do the same if given the chance. Perhaps his prey still wandered somewhere and he had gotten lost along the way, but it was time to go back to the road and hunt down the motherfucker who had almost made him piss his pants.

A couple more minutes and he would leave the forest, march up to Castle Dimitrescu and give Alcina a piece of his mind. Maybe he should climb up to the belfry, call everyone over and proudly display his limp dick as he twirled it around like a helicopter blade. Imagining the look of disgust in his sister’s face brought him some comfort.

“So this is the monster that lives in these woods, huh?” He asked the dog, half expecting an answer, with his back turned to make his way out.

“Oh, I am afraid that would be me,” said a woman’s voice somewhere behind him.

[foolgobi65]

Ram/Sita + spy au+ friends to lovers + “you know i’ll do anything for you”

lol this...AGAIN....spun out of my control.....and is apparently 6020 words while still having massive massive holes in characterization and plot and ...general stuff..lol. anyways hope u like it? it ended up being way less Spy Spy and more ....arranged marriage au...... because everything i’ve written has basically been that now lol and raazi is the only spy movie i could think of that works bc rama and sita dont have mr and mrs smith vibes to me. love u!!!!!!

----

“Are you serious?” 

The face on the screen is somehow almost as familiar as Sita’s own -- she’s never been one for the gossip rags, but at some point, it’s almost harder not to know the features of someone who’s been famous since his parents announced his conception. 

“You know him, then.” Sita’s handler Kaikeyi seems remarkably even-tempered for a woman charging Sita, her top recruit, to attach herself to the arm of Kaikey’s stepson -- a boy that the papers seem to believe Kaikeyi prefers even to her own Bharata. Sita raises an incredulous eyebrow before realizing that Kaikeyi does actually expect Sita to recite what she knows about her newest target. 

“Ramachandra Raghav,” Sita recites from memory, “but the papers call him Ram. Only son of Dasaratha and his first wife Kausalya, sole presumptive inheritor to the Kosala industries fortune. Dasaratha Raghav and his wife publicly struggled to conceive and adopted a daughter, Shanta, nine years before they had Ram whose birth coincided with the release of Dasartha’s final film and his entry into politics.” Sita purses her lips, unsure if she should continue, but Kaikeyi remains impassive. “Dasaratha and Kausalya divorced when Ram was five, and three months later Dasaratha married you.” Judiciously Sita chooses not to include the fact that Kaikeyi, who during her acting days had only been paired with the already greying movie star, reportedly delivered her eight-pound son Bharata three months early. 

Kaikeyi rolls her eyes, still the same striking green that had made her first film such a hit. “Of course I was pregnant when we got married. What else.” 

Sita racks her mind. “The custody case was unusual -- Kausalya shifted to America with her children, but Dasaratha petitioned for them to stay with him in India. Shanta was 16 and decided to finish school abroad with Kausalya, but the courts decided that Ram would spend alternate years with each parent until he reached his majority.” It was the oddity of the arrangement that kept the Indian public so desperate for news about what otherwise might have been just another star-turned-politician’s son: pictures of Bharata, who was constantly being presented at building openings, movie premiers and other assorted Party functions went for nearly a quarter of the price as those of Ram whose arrival at the Delhi airport became more and more of a national event in sync with his father’s increasing political power. The exoticism of his American English was viewed with as much pride as his unaccented Hindi which the Party often used to great effect, having him canvass his father’s constituents on camera the year Dasaratha was put forward as the party’s candidate for Chief Minister and releasing them online. 

But it has been a few years since Ram was last in India for more than a month or so’s vacation -- at 16 he graduated from school and sent the Indian media into near paralytic shock when he decided to attend university in Delhi. Not even three years dimmed the public’s fascination, which quickly turned into genuine discontent when it was announced that Ram had accepted an offer to do his doctorate in California and had barely been seen in India since. 

“You want me to investigate a Chief Minister’s son?” Again, Sita leaves unsaid the rumors that swirl even in headquarters -- that Dasaratha’s relative competency at state-wide management has made him a viable candidate for even higher office. That after the last election’s dismal results, it is apparent that Dasaratha might be the only remaining Party figure popular enough to lead a coalition that would bring them to power in the Centre after nearly a decade at the periphery. 

Kaikeyi laughs. “Not quite,” she says, still perfect red lips twisting in a faint smile, “Ram is in New York now working for the UN, and it seems that he will have a long and illustrious career in diplomacy which will bring him into contact with all sorts of people of interest to our national security agencies. We need someone at his side to make sure that those contacts are being utilized to their full potential.” 

Sita frowns. “He’s too young to need a trusted aide or a secretary.” 

“Correct. That’s why we’re sending you to New York as his wife.” 

-- 

When Sita is 18, a woman comes up to her on the street asking if she’d like to be a model. As a laugh Sita shows up at what the woman’s business card says is the head-hunting agency’s main office only to be quickly moved to a backroom, divested of her backpack, phone and shoes and investing her with a new lifelong wariness of strangers with offers too good to be true. Her father is the aging yet venerable University President -- they don’t have the money for ransom, but Sita just as quickly rules out potential trafficking since her father has one or two connections that would raise quite the fuss if he informed them that his daughter was missing. But before she can think of another reason behind her apparent kidnapping, the door opens, and Sita’s life changes with the incoming rush of bright light into the dark room. 

“You’re..” she splutters, eyes raking up and down the perfect figure of the woman in front of her. 

“Yes,” Kaikeyi Raghav says, sunglasses perched delicately at the top of her head as she adjusts the pallu of her elegant chiffon sari. “I’m sorry for all the confusion, but we really needed to get you alone before we could try and talk to you.” 

“Talk,” Sita rasps, suddenly hyper aware of her own dry throat. Kaikeyi sighs, clapping her hands once before taking a bottle of water that appeared almost instantly at the door’s threshold, opening the cap and offering it to Sita who gulps it down. “Talk about what?” Sita asks. 

“One of our associates brought you to our attention about a year ago thinking that with some work you could be turned into something quite extraordinary.” Kaikeyi brings up her right hand to pull down her hair from its updo, the cascades only making her more breathtaking to Sita, whose father always had a soft spot for the old Dasaratha-Kaikeyi films. “I’ve been observing you ever since, and recently came to the same conclusion.” 

Sita can’t help but glow at the praise, even as she tries to keep her sense of rationality -- she’s been kidnapped after all, even if by one of the nation’s most illustrious figures. First: “Are you trying to traffick me into sex work?” 

Kaikeyi laughs, and the sound is clear and captivating like a bell. The more Sita watches, the smaller details begin to stand out -- a mole just slightly to the right of Kaikeyi’s collarbone, the green of the embroidery that brings out those colors in her eyes, the red fingernails that perfectly match Kaikeyi’s lips. 

“Do I look like a pimp?” Kaikeyi’s tone is one that does not truly seek a response, though Sita is not sure she even has one. The proclivities of the rich and powerful are rumored to skew to the truly scandalous, and there is no reason that an elegant woman could not be the front for the procurement of such services. 

“Then is this supposed to be recruitment for politics?” Sita has never thought herself particularly gifted at deception, which seems to be the first requirement for a fruitful career of public service. 

“No,” Kaikeyi laughs again, “but I find it interesting that you didn’t consider that I might be signing you on as a heroine.” 

“I don’t have a face for film,” Sita says, “and I have no intention of leaving Delhi.” 

“You have exactly the face for film,” Kaikeyi counters, “but I agree -- your mind would be as wasted as mine in Bombay.”  

“Then politics?” Sita, who was born and brought up in Calcutta before her father was given a position in Delhi had never given much thought to the Raghav’s stronghold Ayodhya -- she can’t imagine what Kaikeyi could possibly see in her. 

Kaikeyi shakes her head. “What do you know about this country’s intelligence services?” 

Sita blinks. “You want me to be a spy?” 

-- 

Five years after their first meeting, Sita has learned how to handle all sorts of weapons including her own body, how to speak a dozen languages, how to scope out a room. In some strange way, Kaikeyi seems to have filled the gaping hole left behind by Sita’s long-dead mother Sunaina, who Sita is not entirely sure would approve of what her daughter decided to make of her life. There isn’t quite a bond of affection, but there is loyalty beyond even what Sita would have given her own mother -- no better proof than the fact that here Sita is agreeing to marry Kaikeyi’s stepson entirely because Kaikeyi demanded it, where Sunaina would have had quite the shock if she had tried to suggest a man for Sita to wed. Sita had dreamed of marrying for love, but loyalty she reasons is close enough. 

Ostensibly, Sita has finished her MA with high honors and works at an NGO that enjoys Kaikeyi’s patronage -- this, they decide, is how the papers will be told Kaikeyi knows Sita. There are a few strategically leaked photos of Kaikeyi first paying the NGO a visit, then taking Sita out for a series of lunches. Sita finally travels to the ancestral Raghav mansion in Ayodhya for Diwali, bringing along her father to meet and pay his respects to his favorite screen star. 

“You must be Sita’s father,” Dasaratha booms when they approach, somehow brimming with the same vitality and presence that drew such crowds to the theater in his youth. He grins, left arm wound around Kaikeyi’s waist at his side as he turns to speak to Sita. “My wife has grown old and taken up matchmaking to pass the time, but from what I have seen you would be a fine choice for my Ram.” 

Janaka stiffens at Sita’s side, hearing about such an arrangement for the first time, but Dasaratha’s charisma pulls him into its orbit as Dasaratha reaches out his hands. “I confess that I was never well educated myself, but I believe it would only bring me and my family honor to be able to call someone as learned as yourself ‘Brother.’” 

Janaka is sold. Sita, who has never been quite sure about the real dynamic between Kaikeyi and her husband, realizes with some relief that there is genuine fondness, even love, in the smile she flashes her husband. Perhaps there might be hope for Sita herself. 

Dasaratha insists that the informal engagement is enough to justify Sita and her father’s extended stay at the mansion. After one day, he calls Ram himself informing his son that Dasaratha has found him a wife. Within a week, the news reports that Dasaratha’s eldest son has found himself back on Indian soil. 

Sita finally leaves the mansion two weeks after Diwali with the instruction that she must treat the property as her own home whenever she returns to India -- after all, Dasaratha booms, she is his beloved Ram’s wife now, and Dasaratha’s daughter now as much as Janaka’s. 

-- 

“So,” Sita says on their first night, sitting on what's supposed to be their marital bed,  “what name should I call you?” 

Her husband raises an eyebrow, silent just as he has been for almost the entire week since he was called home. Kaikeyi, when Sita asked for details, had not elaborated on the character of her stepson nor had she offered details about how Sita might best seduce him. 

“Follow your instincts,” Kaikeyi had said, smiling at Sita’s frustration. “You’ll know what I mean when you spend time with him.” 

Well, Sita thinks perversely, her instincts are telling her to confess everything to the man she has promised herself to in front of her father, and God almighty. Somehow, she is meant to maintain a lifelong relationship with a man she is only now speaking to, and to mine his contacts for information to send back to her handler, his stepmother. 

“The papers call you Ram,” Sita says, only a little sullen at the thought of the task ahead of her, “as does your family. Is that what you prefer to go by?” 

“My father’s family,” he corrects mildly, and Sita immediately flushes at the mistake. Kaushalya and Shanta had of course come, but arrived only the night before the wedding -- Sita had met them both the morning of, but only enough to touch their feet and have Kaushalya cluck, teary-eyed, over the beauty of Sita in her wedding sari. 

“Of course,” Kaushalya had said off-handedly to Shanta standing at her side, “Kaikeyi has always had excellent taste.” Sita had not trusted herself to answer. 

“Will we live with your mother in America?” Sita has been provided with what she considers shockingly little information regarding her future living situation -- Kaikeyi insists that, largely, this assignment requires Sita to effectively live her own life and as such being more information than provided a new wife would only detract from her performance. 

He shakes his head. “My mother and Shanta live in New York too, but Shanta needed to be closer to Columbia and...” he looks away, suddenly just slightly awkward. “Things changed so much for Mother throughout my life that I think she was finally able to find some type of stability when I was away at university. When it turned out that I was moving back, I didn’t want to be the one to throw her life back into flux.” 

Sita nods. “Are you close?” 

Her husband hums, fingers of one hand slightly worrying at the hem of a blanket. “As much as I can be, having spent every other year away.” 

Sita can’t imagine -- for years, the story of the boy caught so explicitly between two worlds has always been interesting or amusing, but now that she’s confronted with him in the flesh she knows that it must have been sad, too. She tries to imagine a mother committing to the notion that the child she waves off at the airport gate would not be the one who returned, and finds that it’s impossible. 

“It must have been difficult,” she offers, not elaborating on whether she is speaking of her husband’s family, or himself. 

He nods. “Father and Mother Kaikeyi always had Bharata, and the Party. I was glad when Mother found Sumitra and the boys.”

Sita’s eyes widen. “A friend?” 

He turns his body to look at her for the first time head-on. “No,” he says, eyes boring into Sita’s, exuding the same gravitational force as his father. “Her wife. The boys are my Father’s during a...period of disagreement with Mother Kaikeyi, and when Sumitra decided to keep them Mother brought her to New York to have the children. They fell in love.”

This is a test, Sita realizes, and for the first time, she realizes the wisdom of Kaikeyi’s lack of preparatory material even as she curses Kaikeyi in equal measure. She would have liked to have not been blindsided, but there is a truth to her reaction she could never have mimicked so effectively. Her mind roils with the amount of information relayed in such few sentences -- Dasaratha, already so old, still fathering sons. Kaikeyi and her husband having a disagreement so strident it sent him into another’s arms. Kausalya, raising more of Dasaratha’s children as her own. Kausalya, in love with a woman. 

Her silence has drawn on too long during her contemplation, and her husband’s eyes have gone cold as he leans away from her. 

“You call her Sumitra,” she decides on, “but if she’s your mother’s wife, should I call her mother in law as well?” 

Her husband is wide-eyed himself for a moment, but then his face cracks into a smile just dripping with sudden, unexpected delight. Sita’s heart skips a beat at the sight. 

“It would make her very happy if you did,” he says. “And as for me, my mother has always insisted on calling me Ramachandra and none of my siblings use my name at all. You can call me whatever you’d like.”  

---

“Rama!” Sita exclaims, trying to rise from the chair behind her desk and managing to trip on the hanging sleeve of the sweater she had been sitting on. She laughs, picking herself up off the ground. “Oh, and you brought the boys too!” 

It’s been a year since Sita moved to New York, a year in which she’s found fulfilling work at a South Asian women’s shelter, learned how to navigate herself via subway to find the best of ten different cuisines in New York, read three books related to Shanta’s new area of interest, featured in the boys’ Instagram Lives over 20 different times, and found herself a best friend in the form of her husband. 

Ram, she had decided, was how the public knew him even if his father’s family chose the same. Ramachandra was much too long. Rama was short, sweet, vowels easy in Sita’s mouth. 

“No one calls me that,” he’d said when she’d first used the name, his tone again one of unexpected delight. “I’ve always thought it was strange that they never did.” 

Sita’s due a lunch break, but she’s always been prone to eating at her desk unless she’s eating out -- a budgeted, once weekly expense she keeps track of after the humiliating exorbitancy of her first month’s bill. 

“We have money,” Rama had said, bemused at Sita’s profuse apologies. “I’ve got a trust fund, but my salary certainly pays well enough for this.” He’d glanced at the bill Sita had handed him as she had wrung her hands in front of him, so unsure of how she’d managed to spend so much. “It looks like this is mostly just restaurant charges anyway, and,” he’d looked up at Sita with a smile, rising to hold her hands before she could twist them again, “you live in New York now. I’m glad that you’ve spent the last month trying all sorts of the things the city has to offer. It’s exactly what I did when I moved back, except I probably spent twice as much.” 

Sita had felt the first of many twin pangs at his kindness -- one pang of joy, at being with someone so well suited to herself, and another of sorrow when she thought of how their relationship was founded on a lie. Kaikeyi had told Sita that there was no need to actively seek out contacts for at least the first year, and so the extent of her real work was having regular conversations with Kaikeyi that easily blurred the line between professional and personal relationships. 

“Is he any good at sex,” Kaikeyi had asked one day after asking for a report about Rama’s “family situation” which Sita found distressingly similar to the inquiries of a second wife wondering about her husband’s former paramours. Sita had hung up. 

“Sita?” Sita starts, bringing herself out of her reverie and smiling. 

“Sorry,” she says, grabbing her coat. “I was just thinking about something.” 

“Something interesting?” He takes the coat and holds it out for Sita to slip her arms into, smoothing down the lapels when she turns around. “I spent the whole morning stuck in the single least productive set of meetings, and knowing them they’re probably arguing about what appetizers to get for lunch. I’ve never felt as lucky as I did when I told them all that, unfortunately, I’d already logged that I was taking a half-day to take care of my brothers.” 

The boys scowl. “We’re thirteen years old,” Lakshmana says. Shatrughana nods in agreement. “We could have gone home by ourselves!”

Sita flashes Rama a smile, leaning down with an expression as if in deep thought. “That’s true enough -- if you’d like we can send you home and just join you after I finish work, but aren’t your moms on a health kick right now?” 

Lakshmana, always the more suspicious of the pair, crosses his arms. “And?” 

“Well,” Sita drawls, hearing Rama snort softly next to her, “your brother and I were thinking of taking you to the greasiest joint we can find in walking distance, and then to 7/11 after to find you both snacks for when you spend the weekend at our apartment. But if you’d rather not, that’s totally ok too!” 

The boys fall for the line, hook and sinker. 

“Oh,” Lakshmana says, voice suddenly a pitch lower than usual as he squares his shoulders in what Sita doesn’t think any of the three recognize is his best imitation of Rama, “that’s ok.” He looks over at Shatrughana, who nods. “Family is important. Let’s go eat!” 

“Thank you,” Rama says softly after they’ve finally decided where to eat and are walking in the correct direction. Sita raises an eyebrow. “You’re good with the boys,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “I was expecting to have to take them out on my own, and stay at my mother’s when I wanted to spend time with them but --” 

Sita interrupts him before he says something truly embarrassing about what she only sees as a pleasure. “It’s easy when they’re such good kids,” she says, “and I would have done it even if it was harder. It’s the least I could have done for you, after everything.” 

Everything being the credit cards he’d given her when they landed, his insistence that he wouldn’t monitor her spending and would set up a bank account for her that he would periodically transfer money into but not be able to access. Everything being the books he shared with her and the books he read on her recommendation, in turn, the concerts they’d attended together, the plays and musicals and movies and street festivals. Everything being the conversations they’d had on the couch until late at night, the meals he learned to cook because they reminded her of home. 

The one similarity underlying all others between them, Sita realized one day, was that they had both grown up lonely, without anyone person, they could claim truly, entirely understood them. Neither of them had had a best friend until they met the other. By unspoken agreement, they had not consummated their marriage that first night, nor during the first few hectic months of Sita’s acclimation to New York. Eventually, it became easier to simply maintain things as they were and to enjoy the novelty of a companion before things became ... complicated. 

If a part of Sita insisted that she hold off from sex so as to not build even more on an inherently unstable foundation -- if that same part screamed that her husband had given her trust beyond all else and she squandered the gift every day she didn’t tell him who she really was -- then that was something for Sita, and only Sita, to think about.

--- 

“Oh,” Sita hears from the bathroom threshold, glancing through the mirror at the figure Rama cuts in his tailored tuxedo. It’s been nearly a year and six months since their marriage, and what Sita thought of as friendship has since bloomed into a wild, uncontrollable love. Yet, she keeps her love to herself, knowing that it would be cruel to offer him fruit with a rotted core. 

He cares too, she knows -- only a fool could willingly ignore the little signs of it he offers so freely, long and lingering looks, kisses to her cheek, forehead, the corner of her lips and the edges of her knuckles. She knows that her resistance to further intimacy must confuse him, perhaps even hurt him, but still, she can’t help but think that things would be worse if she gave in only for him to find out later. Sometimes, she wonders if Dasaratha knows about Kaikeyi -- if Lakshmana and Shatrughana owe their existence to a revelation of the truth which so discomfited their sire that he sought another woman to drown in. 

Sita is selfish, far too much so, to allow the truth to poison what she now has, half-life as it is. So she smiles over meals Rama cooks for her, meets the contacts Kaikeyi has started sending her way during lunch breaks she takes less frequently at her desk and begins preparing her heart for when things will inevitably fall apart. Today, she and Rama will attend a gala meant to raise funds for refugees which will double as a drop-point for some dissident’s data collection from the last five years on the inside of their regime’s surveillance operation. 

“You look beautiful,” Rama says, walking in. Sita’s hands, haphazardly smoothing down the last wisps of hair that refuse to curve to her skull in their updo, pause when he places his own over them. “Is that my mother’s sari?” 

Sita nods. “The style has come back,” she says, reaching out to the counter for the strand of jasmine Sumitra had sent to their apartment to be paired with Kausalya’s sari. “Even Kaikeyi approved, which means that this outfit technically has the approval of all three of your mothers, and your sister as well.” 

Rama smiles softly, taking the jasmine and pinning it up with a deft hand that speaks of experience. “I’ve never been one to keep up with fashion trends, but I think you wear it very well.” 

“Kaikeyi says it makes me look like a movie star.” In order for the drop to be successful, Kaikeyi had demanded Sita pull out all the stops possible within the relatively demure confines of charity-wear. Sita’s blouse plunges at the back, skin unobstructed by a pallu or bra, and she shivers slightly when Rama’s left-hand traces lines. 

“I suppose she would know,” he says absently, eyes raking up and down at Sita’s reflection in the mirror they both face, passing over her eyes rimmed with kohl and her dark red lips. His right-hand falls to his pocket, searching for a moment before he finds what he needs, pulling out a pair of beautiful earrings Sita hadn’t known he had. 

“Mother Kaikeyi had me get these from storage a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if they would suit what you were planning on wearing.” They look at the pieces in his hands, realizing together how well the earrings will look with Sita’s sari. 

“Will you put them on me,” Sita asks, voice thin and breathy despite herself. His hands are gentle, just slightly cool to the touch as they gently thread the earrings into her lobes, tightening the screws and caressing her ear before moving to ghost over Sita’s hips. If Sita moved into his touch, allowed him to grasp her body so hard that she bruised if she turned her face just slightly and brushed her lips against his -- her entire body is one flame, but even now she is attending this gala with her own motive, even has a small gun she plans on holstering to her left leg as insurance. She can’t. 

She can’t. Sita takes one step forward, Rama’s hands falling back to his own sides. 

“We’ll be late,” Sita says, moving them back into purgatory instead of choosing heaven or hell. 

Rama shakes his head slightly, taking a breath. “Yes,” he replies, tone never betraying a sense of the frustration he must feel. He smiles again, holding out a hand. Sita will tell him one day, she tells herself. He deserves that much. 

“Let’s go.” 

-- 

One day, it seems, will be sooner rather than later. Sita’s very first drop of this assignment, after nearly two years of prep, and it seems like she’s going to end up just another statistic, shot in the head for all her efforts. 

Worse, she thinks, she’s going to break Rama’s heart. The dissident was less careful than they’d thought, trusted someone they shouldn’t have, and now they’re both being held up against a wall and being told to recite any final prayers for their souls. Sita’s single measly gun at her hip wouldn’t change the odds of 10 against 2, especially since no amount of physical training will significantly change the realities of her smaller physique going up against larger numbers of even better-trained muscle. 

She only wishes that she’d thrown caution to the wind once, had told Rama the truth and let the cards fall where they may. She wishes she could see him one more time and apologize, reassure him that her love was true even if her initial motives weren’t. 

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere in the distance, away from their cluster of a firing squad. Her heart simultaneously sinks and soars to realize that the voice is Rama. “That’s my wife!” 

The leader laughs, just as the dissident sobs. Sita clutches their hand tighter. “Then I’m sorry to say that she hasn’t been much of a wife,” the leader sneers, “just another one of Kaikeyi’s little rats meddling where they’re unwanted.” 

“Run!” Sita screams, deciding that she’d rather Rama be alive than hear her confessions before he too is killed. “For my sake run, before they decide to kill you too!” In the back of her mind, she knows that it’s already too late -- people are executed for far less than what Rama is doing, which is continuing to walk forward. 

He sighs audibly, not even pausing his forward momentum. “I’m sorry,” he says, and for some reason, Sita genuinely believes that he is. “You know I’d do anything for you, but there’s something I haven’t told you yet about me.” 

Shouldn’t that be Sita’s line? “What,” she croaks, captivated by how he’s somehow holding the group hostage, each of them curiously watching as he walks right up to wear Sita and her companion stand against the wall. “Please,” she sobs, breaking her own vow to face death with dignity, “if you’ve ever cared about me, you would leave.” 

Rama’s fingers come up to trace Sita’s bruised eye, her puffy lip, the cut at her cheekbone. “Concussion?” he asks, completely ignoring Sita’s plea. 

“It hardly matters,” she says, “when I’m going to die in about five minutes. Just like you will if you don’t leave right now.” 

Rama hums, right hand shifting down to her thigh, where her gun is strapped. Sita’s eyes widen as though the fabric he seems to be easing the gun out and up to where the fabric wraps around her waist. Left hand still caressing her cheek as the right holds the gun in place against her stomach, he leans in to gently kiss Sita’s forehead. 

“All three of us are going to live tonight,” he says, so confident that it seems as if it would be absurd for Sita to think anything else as if even three against 10 the odds are stacked firmly in their favor. “Hold this for me?” 

Sita’s hand shifts down to the gun still hidden in the fabric as Rama steps away and turns, his hands now busy divesting himself of his tuxedo jacket and the bowtie Sita had so painstakingly learned how to tie for him earlier. 

“Now,” he says casually, as everyone watches him worry at his cufflinks, dropping them in the pile now at Sita’s feet, later followed by his wedding ring. “Unfortunately for you all this means that you will not be surviving this encounter. Do you have any last words?” 

The leader laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Rama’s left-hand reaches out behind him. Sita, as if in a trance, dutifully fishes out the gun and places it in his hand before realizing that she has something she needs to say before it's too late. His own confidence gives her some of her own, but still how could he possibly win? How will they possibly survive -- and if, against all odds they do, what on earth is she going to say? So: “I love you,” she blurts out, smiling slightly when Rama’s head twists to look at her, incredulous, but before he can respond the first bullet fires and he explodes into action. 

For the first two minutes, the fight is 10 against 1 and still, Rama makes it look like child play. Weaving in and out, every shot he fires taking down at least one if not more of the men against him. At some point, he grabs another gun and tosses it in Sita’s direction, whose entrance into the melee serves to turn the tide even further. At least she’s always been a good shot, she thinks to herself, taking a man out even when her head rings with what she knows her husband accurately diagnosed as the beginning of a concussion. Part of her can’t do anything but watch as her studious, gentle husband breaks someone’s nose before shooting them through the heart. 

Within five minutes, it’s over. Just like Rama said, all ten men are dead at their feet. The gun drops out of his hand, slippery now with other people’s blood. Sita’s kill count is 2. He’s just killed eight men. 

“I...” Sita starts, realizing she doesn’t know what to say. She swallows, looking at the carnage around her and tries again to reconcile the sight with Rama’s soft sweaters, old fashioned glasses, and aversion of horror films. “How?” 

Rama purses his lips. “Same as you,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants with a grimace. “Mother Kaikeyi trained me, and while I was in India I was sent on assignment.” 

Sita pauses. “You’re a spy?” Even as she says it, she knows that she’s in no position to speak with such scandal in her voice -- yet, she thinks, she had thought she knew him, that he had trusted her. 

Rama laughs as he never has: short, hollow, bitter. “No,” he says, “not anymore. And even when I was, I was more of a hitman than anything else. I quit and moved away, and I assume that’s why Mother Kaikeyi sent someone to make sure I didn’t step too far out of line as a rogue element.” 

Somehow, Sita thinks, this is worse than she imagined. “No,” she says, rushing forward, hands wringing as if he’s looking again at her first credit card bill. “I asked at the beginning. It was never about you.” 

Rama is silent for a moment that seems to stretch endlessly as the adrenaline wears off for Sita, and her aches start to make themselves known. Her face throbs, her head spins, and there’s something in the vicinity of her ribs that twinges while she stands still -- not broken, she doesn’t think, but maybe bruised? Rama’s hands, almost as if it were against his mind’s will, come to stop her hands and tangle his fingers in his own as they do nothing but stare into the darkness over the other’s shoulder. “I’m glad that that’s what you were told,” he says eventually, and Sita suddenly realizes that there is an entire lifetime’s worth of complication she hadn’t known existed. 

“I wasn’t told anything,” she says, sure now that Dasaratha knows at least part of Kaikeyi’s truth, because why else would Kaikeyi have made sure that Sita walked into her relationship as transparent as possible. “Everything we shared was real.” She pauses, uncertain. “At least from my end.” 

Rama’s hands are like vices, clutching Sita’s fingers so hard it feels like he’s cut her circulation. “From mine as well. So when you just said--” 

“Yes,” Sita says, unable to say now what fear of imminent death had so successfully inspired. “Before, I was afraid of you finding out about me, but yes of course.” 

Rama exhales. “I’d hoped that’s what was stopping you, but I was never entirely sure that you really were one of Mother Kaikeyi’s recruits,” he smiles with a hint of self-deprecation. “You’re a good actor, you know.” 

“No,” Sita says, bringing her hands up to cup his face, finally deciding to be brave. “I’m really not.” She leans in. 

Their first kiss is gentle, tastes just slightly like blood, and ends quickly when Sita’s lip is irritated and makes itself known. It’s perfect. 

“I love you,” Rama breathes into the sliver of space when they part, one hand drifting to hold her at the waist, another rubbing small circles into the nape of her neck. Sita’s head spins, and not only from the concussion. 

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere behind. “I’m glad you two seem to have made up...and also .... that we’re all alive. But can we go now?” 

Sita laughs, and then immediately regrets doing so. “Yes,” she says as Rama holds her still, “let's go.”