#moping through the streets full of shame | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taechaos · 4 years ago

Text

New Idea

pairing: Step-brother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

warnings: non-con, bondage, pseudo-incest, sadism, smut, mentions of killing

synopsis: You wished to hang out with your brother Taehyung when he wasn't home, only to realize he was better off staying away.

word count: 3.2k

It was late at night. Rain flooded outside, drops trickled down your window and puddles formed on the roads as they reflected the neon lit storefront signs beautifully. The tears from the clouds splashed against the cement loudly, and you watched the empty streets in boredom. With your cheek leaning on your palm, elbow propped up on the round wooden table across your window, you miserably yearned to feel some sort of sugar rush with a deep frown on your face. Things have been mundane, repeating the same old routines as days quickly went by. You wondered what Taehyung had been up to in the time that he’d been gone. You knew he could resolve your boredom instantly had he been right beside you.

Taehyung – your step-brother who was the embodiment of adrenaline, and was most likely awake with you right now. The man never slept, always staying up at night brainstorming ideas for what to do during the day that was no doubt just as exciting as the day before. Bags adorned his eyes that somehow fit his wild persona that never needed asking for permission to do things that were illegal most of the time. It was especially daring when having strict parents, and the only reason he wasn’t locked up in a mental institution was because he was the pride of your family with excelling grades in college that he rarely ever attended. They never approved of anything he’d done, especially not the teal hair he was currently rocking. You on the other hand, looked up to him as a role model.

What you’d do to see him right now. Sometimes he tagged you along with his adventures, such as exploring abandoned buildings and getting matching tattoos on your forearms that he chose. Despite the rebellious acts he put you through, he always defended you against your parents and got away with everything with a light scolding from his smooth tongue. Admiration wouldn’t begin to describe the amount of respect you had for him, though he was rarely ever around. Unbeknownst to you however, he never failed to go a day without pecking your cheek while you were unconscious.

He was everything you aspired to be: a carefree soul with a creative mind and a heart filled with exhilaration. The only thing he hadn’t done was probably murder. It was a shame that absence made the heart grow fonder, because throughout the time you’d known him since your early teens, he hadn’t changed one bit with his disappearances that could go on for days.

Taehyung never changed.

Was this what they called depression? Feeling numb and hating your life for how ordinary it was? You didn’t know, but what you knew was that you really needed Taehyung right now. It was 3AM and your parents were sound asleep in the apartment while you moped over how much you missed your step-brother’s presence. Not a single moment was dull with him, while you were too much of a coward to go through with any of your desires.

And as if your prayers were answered, a pound came on the door. The loud knock instantly gave away the person behind the door; Taehyung, who never cared for how loud he was unless he was on a stealthy mission.

Your heart skipped a beat as the door swung open and the silhouette of your step-brother entered before it was slammed shut with a lock. “You’re awake?” he asked in a whisper without moving an inch when he noticed your seated form.

“Can’t sleep,” you breathed, unable to hide the joy you felt upon seeing him in your tone. He couldn’t have picked a better time to visit you.

“Why not?” he walked over to you before kneeling. There was a smile on his face that matched yours, instantly giving away he came to your room with purpose. It was expected, for he never approached you if not to tell you about one of his newer ideas.

“Was bored.”

“So was I,” a mischievous smirk graced his face. The street lights outside illuminated his messy hair that your hand itched to ruffle. “But I found us a solution.”

Your eyes gleamed with hope, your grin never faltering. “Tell me,” you impatiently urged, your knees already bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I’ll give you a hint: we’ll both be having fun. But you need to listen to me,” he cautioned with a raised finger. You nodded frantically, willing to do whatever he needed you to do. “Okay, stand up.”

You obeyed him and only then noticed the bag slung over his shoulder once you stood before him. “Let me do all the work, yeah? You just stand still.”

“I really want to know what it is,” you whined and bounced on your feet.

Taehyung held onto your tits that bounced with you and you quietly gasped. “Better not be acting like this with anyone other than me. Naughty,” he scolded before unzipping his small pouch.

“I don’t go out without a bra,” you rolled your eyes playfully. Taehyung was notorious for doing and saying things without a filter, uncaring of the effect it had on others. This was simply him looking after you without any boundaries, because he never set any with you.

He pulled out a duct tape from the mystery bag. “Turn around and hold your hands behind you.” You complied without protest, the ripping of a duct tape resounding in the room as he tore it with his teeth. He taped your wrists together like cuffs before facing you again by the pull of your shoulder.

Confusion washed over you, but not a trace of fear. “What’s this about?”

“Now go lie down,” he ignored you and nodded at your bed. You sat on the center, your sheets already rumpled from all the tossing and turning you’d done in an attempt to sleep. His figure loomed over you and your heart raced in anticipation. “Don’t move, okay?”

You silently watched him with piqued curiosity as he pushed you down. The soft mattress dipped under your weight and you didn’t move a muscle until you felt him tug at your flannel pajama pants. “Taehyung? What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” he ignored you again and you furrowed your brows as he undressed you. “You’re going to like it.”

Without a single clue of his intentions, you expected him to change your pants after he took them off, but definitely didn’t expect him to aim at your panties next. The second he held onto the hems, you crawled away from him and repeated more firmly, “Taehyung, what are you doing?”

He yanked you back to him by your ankles. “Don’t you trust me? You said you’d listen to me.”

“I don’t think I want to do this,” you strained and tried to pull your knees to your chest, but he tightened his grip on your ankles.

“It’ll be fun, just sit still,” he spoke airily, his tone unbothered compared to your worried one. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Once you felt somewhat reassured, you relaxed your legs and lied back down. The discomfort swallowed you whole when he undressed your bottom half completely. The chilly air hit your bare legs and left goosebumps in its wake.

“You shouldn’t be shy about being naked with me,” he chuckled and tapped your pussy carelessly. You yelped and bent your knees again.

“Taehyung, this isn’t right,” you stressed and clenched your thighs together. You were growing wary about this ‘idea’ and you weren’t sure whether his pupils were dilated because of the dark anymore. He could be high. “Let’s try something else, please.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scoffed and spread your thighs apart, hovering over your loins. “You’re going to love this, just calm it.” He grabbed the duct tape again and tore off a smaller piece before placing it on your mouth, making your efforts of leaning away fruitless. Your voice was muffled behind the sticky tape as you shook your head. “Don’t make me tape your legs too,” he warned as you tried pushing him away. He sat on your knees as he began unzipping his washed denim jeans, ignoring your babbling.

“Been watching a lot of porn lately,” he began casually as tears brimmed in your eyes. “I usually find it boring, but I came across a video that I couldn’t resist reenacting. Plus you were bored too,” he defended, “it’d be mean if I spared my little sister of this fun.”

You didn’t know whether he was joking or not, but you were ready to start crying if he was actually doing what you were thinking. You sighed in relief when he reached for his pouch for a pair of scissors. It had to be a joke then–

Taehyung began cutting your shirt from the middle, and you whimpered when your tits were on full display. Your nipples hardened as a result of the exposure, and tears immediately began streaming down your face mixed with muffled sobs.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” he exclaimed, “we’re not related by blood. It should be fine.”

When you continued crying, he said, “I’ll take off my shirt too, if it helps.” He heaved his t-shirt over his head, his firm chest hard to make out in the midnight dark. “I was thinking kissing would ease you into it, but only if you’re quiet.” Your cries grew louder instead. He sighed exasperatedly, “You can be such a crybaby sometimes.”

He started leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, and you whimpered at the feeling. You were ticklish and though you were completely terrified, the kisses were a bit soothing. “This is me being nice to you, because oh boy, that guy in the video was a fucking monster,” he laughed while going down the valley between your breasts. A finger flicked your nipple while his other hand rubbed over your folds. “Want me to eat you out first? You’re not wet enough.”

You shook your head in refusal, so he merely shrugged and began circling your clit instead, his fingers now pinching your nipple. His mouth latched onto your other nipple and he swirled his tongue around the areola, clashing pleasure with pain. The rain drowned out your involuntary moans but Taehyung caught them anyway; it wasn’t hard to miss when your arousal began coating his hand. He released your nipple with a pop and locked eyes with you. “You’re enjoying this? Not gonna lie, I was expecting you to cry longer but... you're a little slutty, aren't you?” He slapped your pussy experimentally and smiled when you moaned loudly. “Keep this up and I might just take off the tape.”

For a moment, he wondered if this was why people enjoyed sex so much; your moans were like music to his ears and your body was making his cock throb even more. He could really get used to this, he thought as he slapped your pussy over and over, the sound echoing in the room along with your high-pitched whines.

“Shit, I need to record this,” he mumbled before reaching for his phone on his back pocket. Your protests went to deaf ears as he began recording your pussy and spanked it, the microphone picking up all your sounds of pleasure. Once it reached the one-minute mark, he threw his phone on your pillow and took out his erect length from its restraints, giving it a few pumps as the tip oozed with pre-cum. “I never thought fucking you would be this easy. Thought about it every time I touched myself.”

You went quiet at the revelation and he smirked at your raised brows. “Why are you surprised? Whenever I’m home, you come hug me with your bare tits pressed up against me. Not that I’m complaining of course,” he chuckled hotly. “Want me to kiss you now?”

When you didn’t respond quickly enough, he ripped the tape off of your mouth without mercy and your eyes teared up at the pain with an ouch. He didn’t waste a second in enveloping his lips with yours as he cupped your pussy, smearing his pre-cum on your labia. He swallowed your moans as his mouth moved vigorously, tongue meeting yours as he explored your cavern. The smacking of your lips caused you to clench your hole, the sound arousing to your ears as you kissed him back.

“You going to stay quiet for me?” he murmured against your lips, his cock poking at your hole teasingly. You hesitated but nodded nonetheless. “Good girl,” he praised with a grin and lightly pecked you before properly positioning himself.

The reason why Taehyung was so eager to have sex with you wasn’t just because he was horny, but also because really wanted it to be your pussy that he fucked first, and maybe second, and third. He was a virgin who watched too much porn when he wasn’t outside, and now that you were 18, he thought it to be the perfect timing for you to lose your virginity to him like he’d imagined when he was 15.

Due to his experience, he didn’t ease into your pussy and instead shoved his cock entirely. You screamed and he instantly put a hand over your mouth. “Too much?” he asked with a strained voice. His cock was just begging to be thrusted into you, but he couldn’t have you screaming and waking your parents. When you nodded with eyes shut in pain, he groaned to himself. He was twitching inside you, and after a few seconds, he began moving.

You were crying and bitching again, but he paid no mind to it as he pressed his hand onto your mouth while gently slamming his hips into you, his courtesy for now. You'd adjust sooner or later, but the stretch was excruciating; your walls stung and you started to bleed on him.

"Oh fuck," he giggled sadistically once he noticed the crimson fluid, "that didn't happen in the video." He gazed into your glossy eyes before quickening his pace, growing rougher. "You're crying again; what's new?"

Taehyung was laughing as he was moaning, but you couldn’t hear anything except for the ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded and you were struggling to breathe through your nose as he fucked you relentlessly.

“I kind of feel bad for you,” he panted with a sinister smile. “Does it still hurt?” He took your sobs as a yes. “Poor baby,” he cooed with a pout before moving his free hand to your clit. “This might help.” You were struggling with your bound hands, but you couldn’t move your legs because of how much it hurt. Your fighting was useless, and your body was growing numb except for the thumb that made it less painful.

Taehyung removed his hand from your mouth to hear your moans clearly. Whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know, but he loved it. He wanted to be the only one to see you in this state. He’d gauge out any eyes that got to see you naked and stab any ears that got to hear your pretty sounds.

But it was a little difficult to savour it when he was reaching his climax so soon; damn inexperience and the low stamina that came with. He had enough self-control to pull out of you to finish himself off with his hand. He missed the warmth and tightness of your pussy and how it kept clenching down on him quickly, but it had to come at a cost – not cumming inside you.

“You fucking monster!” you yelled hoarsely, eyes blurred with tears and face covered in tears.

“Too loud,” he sighed and forced your mouth open to shove his length inside. “Try anything, and I’ll fucking kill you.” His cock was heavy on your tongue as you gagged on it every time he thrusted. It wasn’t long before he released in your mouth and you choked, swallowing his cum without a choice. Another loud moan erupted from him as his hips stuttered while gently slamming into you for the last time.

“Fuck,” he exhaled before collapsing on you with his palms holding up to not smother you completely. “Shit, you’re such a good fucking girl.”

When he raised his face from your shoulder, you spat on him. He laughed hysterically before wiping off your saliva from his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, damn.”

“You’re the fucking worst Taehyung,” your voice wavered as you insulted him. “I hope you rot in hell. I always saw you as my role model, but now I understand why everyone fucking hates you.”

“Sheesh,” he snorted, “I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? It might hurt now, but it’ll feel a lot better when we do it again.”

“If you try-” he cut you off by going down on you, taking his clit into your mouth and immediately emitting a moan out of you. “Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted in gasps, trapping his head with your thighs and contradicting your words. He chuckled against your swollen pussy, making it feel even better and yet worse. This euphoric sensation wasn’t what you needed after being traumatized by your own step-brother, but it was what your body wanted after getting a taste of his tongue.

He was slurping up your juices and spitting on your folds before abusing your clit again. The bastard knew how to distract you from your newfound grudge, but you weren’t going to forgive him after your orgasm. Your hips moved against him on instinct as his tongue ran up and down your labia. A knot formed in your stomach, your tears long forgotten as you became more persistent in riding him in this awkward position. He heaved your thighs over his shoulder to take full control, and with his vigorous sucking and pulling, you came undone with a spasm.

“Feels good, right?” he asked rhetorically and fell limp next to you.

“I’ve never hated someone as much as you,” you seethed while recovering from your high.

“You’re going to tell me that wasn’t fun? No way,” he stared at you in disbelief.

“You hurt me,” you sniffled and covered your face.

"I'm sorry princess," the nickname felt foreign on his tongue as he held your arm. "I'll leave forever if you want me to."

He hummed when you stayed silent with a runny nose. "I'll clean you up and go, okay?"

"No," you huffed. "You become my slave for a whole month."

"You want me to stay home with you?"

You nodded while rubbing your eyes with your fists. "You can't do that and just leave, and I hate you but I miss you."

Taehyung resisted the urge to squeeze your cheek and coo. He knew you'd regret asking him to stay, but he wouldn't say no to spending time with you 24/7.

Chuckling through his nose, he said, "I miss you too." He traced the tattoo on your forearm, a minimalistic mockingbird with an arrow slicing through the middle. He picked it because it represented you; an innocent little thing who didn't even look down at her wound, only focused on flying back to Taehyung, a hawk that waited with open arms - ready for his meal.

If you wanted him to stay, then that's what Taehyung would do. You'd fallen for his trap twice, the third wouldn't be so bad. He'd make sure you enjoyed it this time.

#bts #kim taehyung #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #kth #thekpopnetwork #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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chierafied · 3 years ago

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Intervention

For @jilychallenge, July 21. Theme: Idiots in Love

Partner: The lovely and amazing @the-dream-team! 💙💙 Please go read their fun fic!

Prompt: sirius locks lily and james in a cupboard (or another enclosed space of your choosing) in an attempt to play matchmaker. shenanigans ensue.

4,728 words. Also on AO3.

---

The door of the dormitory slams open and James Potter strides in. He crosses the room quickly, throws himself on his four-poster bed, letting out a groan as his face smashes into the pillow, glasses and all.

Sirius is lounging in his own bed, enjoying the treacle tart he pilfered from the kitchens just after classes ended. Chewing on his stolen treat, he silently studies his mate’s prone figure. He can all but feel the misery radiating off of James.

There are only two things that Sirius knows can send James into such an obvious show of despair: a defeat on the Quidditch field and Lily Evans.

As it’s a Monday and the next Gryffindor game is three weeks away, Sirius is left with one option.

For a while, he wonders if he should weigh in at all. For the sake of his own sanity, it might be better to just leave James to it. Maybe go down to the Common Room and find Peter for a game of Exploding Snap.

But then his conscience pricks him, reminding him that this heartsick idiot is also his best mate.

“What’s she done this time,” Sirius drawls.

“What?” James flops on his bed and stares at Sirius, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses.

“What has Evans done to cause this cloud of doom?” Sirius asks again, waving his hand to compass James and his misery.

“You remember that she had a date with Andrew Buchanan last Hogsmeade weekend?”

Ahh, yes. That was right. James had been moping all weekend about that and wouldn’t even agree to sneak out to the Three Broomsticks on Friday night.

“I think you mentioned something about that, yeah,” Sirius answers, thinking back to the two-hour rant he’d been subjected to that Saturday afternoon when they’d come back from Hogsmeade.

“The date went really well, apparently. They’re officially going out now.”

Sirius swallows his knee-jerk response of so what with a grimace. “I’m sorry to hear that, mate.”

He’s not, really, of course. But he is sorry that James is reduced to this pathetic miserable lump because of Evans.

“He’s not good enough for her,” James declares sullenly. “Sadly, that’s up to Evans to decide,” Sirius replies, thinking Evans could do much worse than Buchanan. He’s an OK lad, for a Ravenclaw.

“I know.” James sighs. “It’s just… hard.”

Sirius weighs his options. And though he has approached this subject before – not always successfully, either – he can’t help to voice his honest opinion.

“Look, mate… Evans is great. But maybe the two of you are better off as friends, yeah? You’ve been mooning after her for years now and have only been making yourself miserable. I think it’s time to let go, Prongs. Time to move on.”

The silence in the room is so loud that Sirius has time to think up all manner of swear words, thinking he completely bollocksed it up again.

But to his surprise, when James does reply, his voice is quiet but assenting. “Yeah. I think you’re right, Sirius.”

Glowing with righteous victory, Sirius flashes James a smile. “Don’t worry, mate, I’m here for you.”

---

The party is raucous and in a full swing when Sirius, exhausted from all the dancing, plops down on an empty sofa in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. He takes a long swig from his bottle of Butterbeer – which might have been spiked with good strong mead courtesy of Hagrid, but no one’s the wiser which is how Sirius prefers to keep it.

Across the room, at the edge of the area designated as the dance floor, James is standing, his arm casually slung around Bethany Narang’s shoulders. He is giddy with his Quidditch victory, though that is probably not the only reason he’s let Bethany stick to his side all evening.

Prongs is finally doing it. Moving on. Sirius couldn’t be prouder and salutes him with his bottle.

He’s taking another long pull of the delicious mix of alcohol when the sofa dips down. Lily Evans slumps beside him, tucking her feet under her as she curls into the corner of the sofa.

“Rare to see you out of the action,” she quips once she’s settled.

Sirius slants her a glance. “Needed to take a breather. You’re usually out there getting your dance on, too.”

“I did, for a while. But I’m tired now.”

She looks tired, too, resting her cheek against the armrest.

“It’s ok to bow out early, Evans. No shame in that.”

“I know. I’m going in a bit.”

Silence settles over them. Sirius sips his drink. Lily rests. It’s peaceful in their little corner. Companionable.

And they have a good view of the rest of the room.

James bends his head to Bethany, whispers something in her ear. Bethany giggles, tilts her head.

Get it, Prongs, Sirius silently urges him, taking a sip of his mead-enhanced Butterbeer.

And he does.

“Funny,” Lily comments with a chuckle. “I never took Potter as the PDA sort.”

Her voice is light and airy, brimming with amusement. And as she watches Prongs snog Bethany in the full view of the entire Common Room, eliciting cheers and hoots and laughter and teasing from the crowd around them, Sirius watches her.

Lily’s lips are curved in a smile but something about it doesn’t seem quite right to Sirius. Her eyes, even in the dim room, seem duller and darker. Something lingers there, which Sirius recognises only too well.

“Neither did I,” he replies at last. “But it’s good to see him moving on, right?”

Lily’s smile twists. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Silence returns, but now it has an edge to it. Brittleness overlaying the earlier camaraderie.

Lily uncurls from her cosy position.

“Well, I guess I should go get some sleep. Good night, Sirius.”

“Night, Lily,” he wishes her, but she’s already walking away.

Sirius’ gaze trails her as she hurries through the crowd, giving a wide berth to James and Bethany, who’re still lost in one another.

Sirius scowls, uneasiness coiling in the pit of his stomach. He can’t quite shake that look in Lily’s eyes. What it might have meant. And whether he might after all be in the wrong.

---

It’s a sunny and warm April day and Sirius is in a great mood. There’s nothing better than being out with his lads and it’s a nice change to stroll the main street of Hogsmeade in bright daylight, no matter how much fun it is to sneak out in the evenings. They’ve just raided Honeydukes and left with their bags bulging. Remus and Peter have split off to go visit the book shop and the post office so Sirius is left alone with James to wander the village. A group of girls exits Madam Puddifoot’s down the street. Bethany Narang is among them and perks up at the sight of them, smiling and waving at James.

Sirius swallows a snort. Bethany has dropped more than one hint about the Hogsmeade weekend being a great opportunity for a date, but Prongs has brushed them off in good humour.

Now, too, he waves back to Bethany and then turns to Sirius. “How about Zonko’s?”

“Sure.”

They enter the joke shop, Sirius trailing after James. “You know, you probably could still snag that date with Bethany if you wanted, she seems interested.”

“Nah,” James replies as he meanders through the shop. “She’s nice and all but I’m not really interested.”

“Uhhuh,” Sirius says, wondering if his assessment of Prongs moving on was too hastily drawn. Still, he hasn’t really mentioned Evans once for the past week so that must be progress, right?

They browse through the shop but nothing really catches their eye.

“Should we go to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Remus and Peter will probably finish their errands soon, too.”

Back on the main street Sirius spots the dark red hair right away and grimaces. Lily Evans is walking ahead of them, hand in hand with Andrew Buchanan. They’re laughing together and Sirius slants a glance at James.

His gaze is fixed on the couple, his jaw clenched as he watches them.

“Evans looks happy,” Sirius carefully comments.

“She does, yeah,” James replies.

They walk a few more steps in silence.

“I’m glad. She deserves to be happy,” James continues.

They’re almost at the Three Broomsticks when James speaks up one last time.

“I’m happy for her.”

Behind his back, Sirius rolls his eyes. The strain in Prongs’ voice belies his words.

And later, as all four of them are together at a table, sharing drinks and laughs and enjoying themselves immensely, Sirius can’t help noticing that James’ gaze keeps darting to the corner table where Evans sits with her boyfriend.

Much as his mate is trying to move on, it seems to be easier said than done.

---

It’s Monday evening and Sirius is in a storage room in the dungeons, organising the items stored and refilling the jars and boxes and bottles littering the shelves.

Lily is in the adjoining Potion’s Classroom doing preparatory work for tomorrow’s lessons at Slughorn’s desk.

“I should get assigned detention with you more often, Evans,” Sirius quips, calling out to the next room. “This is the cushiest detention I’ve ever been in.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lily replies. “Professor Slughorn intervened with Professor McGonagall. I figure he felt bad that we got into trouble because of Slytherins.”

“I’ve got into plenty of fights before with Slytherins and Slughorn’s done nothing to cushion the detention. So where I’m standing it’s all because of you.”

“Well, it’s all because of me and my blood status that the Slytherins jumped at us in the first place,” Lily says, her voice wry.

“I won’t let you hog all the credit for that,” Sirius counters. “I’m not very popular among their ilk either.”

“Not after that masterful Inpendiment Hex you aren’t. You’re a good partner to have in battle, Sirius.”

“Likewise. You’re quick on your feet and your wandwork is excellent.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to hear that. Especially after the scolding I got from Andrew.”

“Why would your boyfriend give you a hard time for getting jumped by a group of hex-happy Slytherins?” Sirius asks, baffled. He moves to the doorway of the storage room and leans against the doorframe to watch Evans.

“I think mostly he got angry because he was worried I might have got hurt,” she says. “He’s really sweet. But he does not approve of fighting.”

“You didn’t start it, though.”

“I know. I guess Andrew feels I shouldn’t have reacted with violence.”

Sirius snorts. Deep inside him, the bitter anger of experience simmers. “There’s no reasoning with bigots.”

“I could’ve walked away, I suppose.”

Sirius shakes his head. “No. Someone could’ve walked away, yeah. But not you. It’s not how you’re built, Evans. How we’re built.”

Their eyes meet from across the room and Lily smiles.

“Thanks, Sirius. That makes me feel better.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sirius shrugs.

Lily turns back to the Potion prep.

“Sorry for unloading you like that. I was a bit upset since it was the closest to a row I’ve had so far with Andrew. He’s been really great, but I guess there will always be things we disagree on.”

“Yeah, that’s only natural,” Sirius says. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure we will,” Lily agrees.

Or maybe they won’t. But Evans will manage either way, of that Sirius is sure.

And suddenly, he is taken back to the moment of miserable moping Prongs imparting him the news of how Lily had started dating. James’ sullen voice echoes in his head. ‘He’s not good enough for her.’

Now, a part of Sirius can’t help but agree.

---

Sirius lounges in a hammock in the Potter’s back garden, reading a book and enjoying the sunshine. It is quiet and peaceful and relaxing, which is all well and good… But inside, Sirius is starting to itch a little bit. Reaching that part of summer holidays when that giddy sense of freedom is starting to pass and there’s so much time and yet somehow very little to do.

Maybe he can talk James into going to visit Muggle London with him someday soon. They could go to the cinema, that would be grand.

And as if thinking of Prongs summons him, Sirius’ peaceful reading time is shattered when James strides into the garden.

He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and waving a letter in the air.

“Sirius! You’ll never guess what happened.”

“OK, then I won’t.”

“Just got a letter from Marlene, she says hi –”

“Tell her hi back then.”

“– and she says Evans broke up with Buchanan.”

“What shocking news,” Sirius replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It was only a matter of time, really.”

“What?”

“I had a feeling, back when Lily and I were stuck on detention together and she told about their fight. Different opinions and personalities.” Sirius shrugs.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why would I have? You told me just last week, and I quote, that you were ‘totally over Evans’.”

Though for someone who’d voiced such a lofty claim, James is looking much too happy about Lily’s breakup, in Sirius’ opinion

“Well, I am! Obviously,” James insists. Sirius remains unconvinced. “But we’re still friends, right, Evans and I! So I still want to know how she’s doing.”

“You should practice holding your grin in check before you go and offer her your heartfelt consolations,” Sirius tells Prongs.

He shakes his head and stalks off.

Sirius gets back to his book.

Three weeks later, another letter arrives, this time causing much more mayhem. Sirius is skimming through the lines of his own letter when James bursts into his room.

“Did you get yours, too, Prongs?” he asks, not even bothering to look up from the parchment as he’s busy taking in the book list.

“I got more than I bargained for,” James says, flopping down next to him on the bed.

Sirius frowns and turns to slant him a glance. “What do you mean.”

“Look at this.”

Sirius does. He stares at the gleaming object on James’ palm, trying to make sense of it because surely it can’t be what it looks like.

“Is that a Head Boy pin?” he asks.

“Yes,” James says.

“And it was enclosed with your letter?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t made a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell, Prongs. Are you planning on going all respectable on me, now?”

“I guess I’ll have to be,” he says and tugs at his hair as he often does when nervous.

Sirius can’t blame him. Poor bloke, having so much responsibility shoved onto his shoulders. Still, better Prongs than him. At least Prongs will likely do a decent job of it. Although…

“Do you know who the Head Girl is?”

“Yeah, actually, they told me that in the letter too.” James’ fingers are making even more of a mess of his hair and he isn’t quite meeting Sirius’ eyes so he knows the answer already.

“It’s Lily, isn’t it,” he says, and when James nods, Sirius isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

---

Less than a month into the autumn term, Sirius is deep in the stacks in the Hogwarts library, actually trying to get homework done for once – and if he can look up some charms and hexes he can appropriate for pranking purposes, all the better. He can multitask. But his diligent work is rudely interrupted by Lily Evans.

She sits at his table without an invitation and leans her elbows on the table. "You're a hard man to find."

“I’m not trying to be found, I’m trying to work,” he replies, trying to ignore her.

“Well, can that wait for a bit?”

Sirius’ head snaps up with that. Lily Evans, encouraging him to put off homework? Sure enough, there is something troubled lurking in her green eyes and she’s biting her lip.

“What do you need, Lily?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“Just a moment or two of your time. And some… information.”

“Information on what?

Her cheeks look a little flushed now and there’s a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of Sirius’ stomach. Surely, she can’t…

“James used to fancy me, right? I mean he even asked me out that one time in the fifth year though I don’t think he was being serious… But I wasn’t just imagining it, right?”

“You weren’t imagining it, he was pretty into you,” Sirius replies, feeling much like a deer in headlights at this entire conversation.

“But he must have moved on by now, right? I mean he still can’t… Can he?”

Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering what dastardly deed he has done to earn this privileged position of being a soundboard for Prongs’ and Lily’s respective love lives – or lacks thereof.

He levels a stare at Lily and crosses his arms. “Why do you want to know?”

“I broke up with Andrew during the summer break. After three weeks or so back home at my parents’ I just suddenly realised I didn’t miss him at all and that isn’t really a good sign so I figured… Anyway, I got my Hogwarts letter at last. I got my Head Girl pin. And I read that James Potter would be the Head Boy. And that’s when I realised I had feelings.”

That last word comes out as a hiss and Sirius raises his eyebrow.

“You have feelings for James,” he echoes, wondering at the universe’s perverse sense of humour.

“Yes. And I don’t know what to do about them. Or if I should do anything about them. I mean I don’t even know if there’s a chance that…”

“Look, Lily,” Sirius cuts in. He’s had enough. “I’m sure this all is a shock to you and I understand that you want a confirmation about certain things before you can decide what to do about it all but you’re going about this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be talking to me. It’s James you need to seek out and have a chat with.”

Her shoulders hunch. She deflates in front of his eyes and gives a slow nod.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Lily gets up and slinks out.

And though Sirius doesn’t regret his words and knows he’s in the right, there are pricks of guilt plaguing him when he returns to his homework.

---

A month goes by. A whole month of stolen glances and longing stares, of too-loud laughter to one another’s jokes. Of flushed cheeks and biting lips, of mussed-up hair and awkward grins. Of gravitating towards each other’s company. Sitting together in class, heading off to Head Student meetings and Prefect meetings, sharing a sofa in the Common Room.

A whole month of small meaningless conversations, of yearning not given a voice, of a thousand important words going unspoken.

Lily Evans hasn’t talked to James.

And after a whole month of their nonsense, Sirius is fed up with both of them.

---

Sirius opens the supply closet and James strides in; starts to rummage through the shelves.

“What kind of a prank did you have in mind?” he asks, rifling through all the piles of assorted items stuffed into storage and then promptly forgotten about. “Replace the regular ink with vanishing ink? Put an Anti-Cheating Charm on all these spare rolls of parchment here? Oh, maybe we could hex the quills to –”

“Expelliarmus!”

James’ wand is yanked from his hand. It soars through the air to Sirius’ waiting palm.

James whips around to frown at his mate.

“What the hell, Sirius?”

“This is for your own good, Prongs,” Sirius says. Then he shuts the door and locks James into the closet.

---

Lily sets down the textbook and scowls at Sirius. “Missing? What do you mean James is missing?”

“I mean James isn’t here or in the dorm and no one knows where he’s gone. He could be locked in a supply closet for all that I know,” Sirius says, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Anyway, I thought you might want to help me look for him since it isn’t a good look for the Head Boy to be wandering about after curfew.”

“Give me a second, I’m coming.”

Lily runs up the stairs to her dorm room and leaves her textbook there. As she’s heading out the door, she grabs a pouch off of a side table and stuffs it into her pocket. She rushes back down to the Common Room, where Sirius is tapping his foot.

“Let’s go,” she tells him and Sirius jumps to match her step as they climb out the portrait hole accompanied by the sleepy grumblings of the Fat Lady.

“Where could that idiot have got off to,” Lily wonders out loud, tucking her wand behind her ear.

“Let’s try this way first,” Sirius suggests.

Eventually, they stroll along the abandoned fourth-floor corridor, when a muffled sound around the corner catches their attention.

“Come on. You’ve had your laugh, you can let me out now.”

Lily turns to share a quick glance with Sirius. “That’s James.”

She sprints ahead, rounds the corner and zeroes in on the rattling handle of a supply closet just a few yards out.

Lily shakes her head in disbelief and then she’s running over to grab the handle.

“James? We’ll get you out, just give me a moment.”

“Lily? Oh, thank Merlin.”

Lily reaches for her wand – only to realise it’s no longer there, tucked behind her ear.

“What?” she stammers, turning around.

Sirius is holding her wand and pointing his own at her.

“Sorry, Lily, but needs must.”

“Sirius, you bloody bastard!” comes James’ muffled yell from the closet.

And then quicker than Lily’s brain can catch up with what’s going on, the closet door springs open and a well-aimed shove has her stumble against furious James.

They collide and stagger – and behind them, the closet door ominously bangs shut, followed by the definite click of the lock.

“Well, bugger,” James mutters in her ear and Lily can’t help but to agree.

---

James thought being locked in a supply closet was bad, but being locked in a supply closet with Lily Evans is infinitely worse. Her floral scent is teasing his nose and in the enclosed space he can feel the heat radiating from her body and it’s all very distracting. It’s hard to remember that he’s completely over his silly old crush. The darkness isn’t helping either. Evans is standing close, but he can only make out an outline of her, hand stuffed in her pocket. He can feel the weight of her stare on him, it’s making his neck tingle.

Rather than deal with any of that and those pesky fluttery emotions he’s most definitely not feeling, James turns and slams his fist at the door.

“Enough, Sirius! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“With me?” His incredulous voice comes through the door. “What the hell is wrong with you two idiots? I told you, Lily, all you had to do was to have one conversation but no!”

James glances at Lily. “What is he talking about?” he whispers, but Lily only shakes her head.

“So you two stay there and listen. Prongs, you’ve been pining after Evans for years now. It’s pathetic and we all know it and no matter how many times you tell me you’re over her, it’s painfully obvious you aren’t. Lily, you know I was right and you know you’re overdue a very honest conversation so just acknowledge your feelings and talk already for my sanity’s sake! Get it over with. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

James’ ears seem to be ringing and he’s a little light-headed. The muffled sound of Sirius’ retreating footsteps is deafening in the thick silence shrouding them.

Flustered, James buries his fingers in his hair and slumps against the door. “I’m really sorry about this, Lily. He’s clearly lost his bloody mind.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Lily sighs. With a rustle of robes, she sits down on the stone floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. “He’s right, actually. And if either of us owes an apology for this mess, it’s me.”

James slides down to sit on the floor as well, his long legs stretched out. He frowns at her vague outline, wishing he could see her expression. Maybe that would help him understand.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, James. I just haven’t been able to. I’m not sure when it actually started. Probably it’s been going on a while, I just haven’t been aware of it. But then, last summer there just came a moment when I realised what had happened.”

James’ heart is beating faster now, his breath caught in his throat. He thinks he knows what Lily is talking about, but it can’t be right. He doesn’t dare to hope.

Lily’s voice is soft in the darkness. “You’re funny and fit and brilliant and sweet and kind and clever and brave and bold. So it’s no wonder that I fancy you.”

Time stops and the world tilts. James’ mind can’t quite process the words but his heart is singing and pure emotion balloons in his chest. A victorious roar rushing through his veins.

James’ brain is still stuck on trying to catch up with Lily’s confession so there is no conscious thinking involved. He reaches for her in the dark and pulls her close. Her fingers trail up his arm, her hand settles on his shoulder. Her hip brushes against his raised knee. His hand finds the small of her back.

Her breath is warm, that teasing floral scent intoxicating, the bare skin of her neck like silk under his fingers.

And then his lips crash against hers or maybe she leans in to press hers against his – it doesn’t really matter because it’s a kiss of James’ dreams. The one he has yearned for so very long and the reality is so far beyond anything he has imagined. He didn’t think such a perfect kiss was possible. And in that moment, and all the moments that will follow, he loves Lily Evans all the more.

---

Lily shifts her weight, trying to settle. She doesn’t want to move, leaning against James and resting her head on his shoulder is the happiest place she’s ever been.

But the stone floor is hard and cold and her bum is growing numb.

So she squeezes James’ hand and asks: “Do you want to wait until morning?”

“I mean I can’t complain about the company but I wouldn’t want to spend a whole night stuck in a supply closet. Not that we have much choice.”

“Well…” Lily drawls, slipping her hand out of his. “We do, actually.”

“What?”

Lily gets up and takes a few short steps to the door. From the pocket of her robe she pulls out a small pouch and reveals the lockpick she’s been carrying with her.

And then she sets to work. She can feel James’ gaze bore to her back as she carefully jiggles at the tumblers in the lock. Once they each click to place, she straightens and swings the door open.

In the torchlight streaming in from the corridor, she meets James’ eyes. Their hazel depts are muddy with mixed emotion – awe, amusement, incredulity.

“Are you telling me you could have done that the whole time?”

“Yes.” Lily shrugs. “But then, Sirius went to a lot of trouble and he was right about us needing to have that long-overdue discussion.”

James’ grin is wide, his hazel eyes warm in a way that makes Lily’s stomach flop.

“Lily?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you again now.”

She smiles bright enough to light up the night and steps closer. His arms come around her just as she threads her fingers in his hair. As promised, his lips claim hers – slow, sweet and lingering.

It's the kind of kiss she can lose herself in, a kiss that makes the world fall away, a kiss that bends time so that five seconds feel like forever. It's the kind of a kiss that makes Lily fall in love with James Potter all over again.

---

End.

#jily #jily fanfic #jilychallenge #the dream team #idiots in love #chie writes #fic: JL

125 notes · View notes

raleighcarrera · 4 years ago

Text

saved by the bell

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

blaine springs kennedy from her date in chapter 10.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T) / outpoint (T) / parry (E) / pulling punches (T) / ringside (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @dakotawinchester ; @flyawayboo ; @withbeautyandrage ; @blainehellyes ; @levineseth ; @gryffindordaughterofathena ; @thefirstcourtesan ; @josieplayschoices

~3.5k words | T

he’s not going to look.

no matter how much his phone lights up with incoming notification after incoming notification, he’s not going to look. blaine refuses to torture himself by checking for photos of kennedy’s date, though his curiosity is eating him alive.

it’s a nice reprieve from worrying about her, at any rate, even if it is maddening.

lately it feels like all he’s done is worry about her, though that’s mostly because kennedy looks to be about an inch away from tears every time she’s around -- not that it’s often, anymore. there’s absolutely nothing worse than seeing her suffer from the sidelines; he still feels just as helpless as he did when he watched her give that first disastrous press conference in his dorm, the day after the pictures hit voyeur.

it’s unbelievably frustrating, being forced to sit on his hands and watch everyone else try to control her life. kennedy’s under a microscope like neither of them have ever been before, and for the first time in his life, he’s in the uncomfortable position of having to be careful -- not because he gives a shit about himself or his own reputation, but because of her, and what it might do to her if he was reckless.

he’s bitten his tongue more times in the last week than he has in his entire life. it’d taken every last ounce of his self control not to snap and defend kennedy at the pet store, not to panic when she’d clued him in on her mom’s newest pr strategy, not to keep her locked in the teacher’s lounge with him for the rest of the semester and refuse to let her go when she snuck out to meet him.

already he knows he’ll never forget the names and faces of the classmates of theirs that’d picked on her. if he ever really does wind up in charge in ardona, one day, he’ll come to power with a ready-made list of enemies, all because of the way they’d made her look when she sunk down low into her seat in class, her shoulders hunched in shame.

he’s laying in bed, moping miserably, thinking over it all when peter pokes his head in with a hesitant knock. “how’re you holding up?” he asks, tactfully, given that blaine’s pretty sure he looks utterly awful. “those daily post photos were... rough.”

blaine groans, burying his face in his hands. “i’m not looking at them. i don’t want to know.”

“that’s probably for the best,” peter says sympathetically, and that does it -- seals the deal completely. he reaches for his phone, snatching it off the nightstand.

dionne’s also texted him, which means the photos are as bad as he’s hoping they won’t be. his stomach twists into knots as he navigates to his favorite gossip site, certain the pictures he’s looking for will be plastered all over the homepage.

sure enough -- there they are: kennedy and alexei, huddled together outside of some swanky restaurant, hand-in-hand. she’s all dressed up for the occasion, because with alexei she’s allowed to be; she doesn’t have to sneak out to see him, hidden under a baseball hat in some far away place where no one will recognize either of them. the point of this date is to be seen, and judging by the crowd of flashing lights surrounding them, they’ve done a perfect job selling their relationship to the press.

so the second picture accompanying the story is an unnecessary twist of the knife -- complete overkill. they’re kissing, in this one, lips pressed together chastely just outside the limo. he feels nauseous.

“they’re probably having a terrible time,” peter says, though blaine’s still staring at his phone, eyes fixed on the photo in his hands. “i heard that restaurant is horrible.”

“it’s fine,” blaine says hollowly, tapping back to his texts to answer dionne. she wants to know how he is, too, and he gives her the same answer: fine. everything is fine.

“you’re so full of shit,” dionne says, when she shows up at his dorm twenty minutes later, her arms folded across her chest and her expression unimpressed.

yeah. he forgot she knows him so well. “well -- whatever,” blaine sighs, dragging a hand down his face. it doesn’t matter. it has to not matter, for kennedy’s sake. “it’s not like i can do anything about it. this is the way it has to be.”

the look in dionne’s eyes grows distant, and he sits up slowly as a smile starts to overtake her face, cautiously optimistic while what’s obviously an evil plan begins to unfurl. “no,” dionne says, “it’s not. i think i have an idea.”

so -- that’s how he finds himself sweating through his jacket, overthinking this whole stupid plan while he waits for kennedy to slip out the back of the stupid opera house and meet him and his stupid rental car in the alley. he thinks back over all the ways they’d had to cover his tracks to get him here: how peter’d had to call in the car, how dionne’d had to threaten and sweet talk alexei at the same time, how there isn’t a single hurdle he wouldn’t leap or hoop he wouldn’t jump through for even just half an evening alone with her.

this is probably a terrible idea. at the very least, it’s dangerous, and sure to get them fucking caught again, no matter how careful they all were in making it happen.

maybe he should call the whole thing off. call dionne and get her to tell kennedy to forget it -- to go back to her date and take the easy way out, because who is he kidding, anyway?

the sound of heels on the cobblestones takes the decision swiftly out of his hands. blaine looks up to see kennedy standing in front of him, admiring the rental with a gentle smirk on her beautiful face. she looks even more ridiculously gorgeous than she had in the daily post pictures, as annoying as that is.

she’s alone.

“no limo? that’s not very romantic, mr. hayes,” she teases playfully, mouth stretched wide with a smile.

he leans over to pop the door open for her, grinning to cover up his nerves. just having kennedy around is going a long way towards keeping him calm -- he feels undeniably more sane out here with her than he had in his room, pouting with fruitless jealousy. “take it up with dionne,” he shrugs, eyes raking up and down her outfit. she really does look nice. “now hop in.”

“we have three hours and forty-five minutes,” kennedy says helpfully, as soon as they’ve slipped out of town unseen and headed to the highway, “i have to be back by curtain.”

“i know,” blaine hums, sighing with relief as soon as he glances in the rearview mirror and sees they aren’t being followed, “dionne briefed me. she figured out a whole plan.”

“oh,” kennedy says. she sounds... happy. “that was really nice of her.” there’s a pause, and he fidgets with the steering wheel for a moment before shifting his left hand up to the top to steer so his right arm is free to drape across the back of kennedy’s seat. she leans in closer to the center console and continues, “i really wish it was you in there with me.”

he exhales heavily. more relieving than not being followed, than being with her at all is hearing that -- that he’s not alone in his insanity. lately he feels like a completely different person, and he has no idea what’s come over him, so it’s comforting to know that it’s all for something, beyond just making kennedy smile. evidently, she wants to be his stupid girlfriend just as badly as he wants her to. “me, too. you have no idea. i’ve really missed you, these past few days.”

“i know. it’s weird,” kennedy agrees, “hardly seeing you. not being able to text you, and tell you about my day... i mean -- i barely even get to talk to you, outside of class.”

yeah. he knows. and when there’s other people around he has to watch what he fucking says, too. it’s far from ideal, and he knows he’s gotten sloppy, but...

part of him almost wants someone to catch them. blaine knows it’s selfish and stupid, but he wants it all the same. because if someone found out the truth and spilled the beans... they’d be free, and the impossible decision of what to do next would be out of their hands.

he could never ask kennedy to go public on her own. he would never ask her for that, no matter how badly he wants it. but a slip-up... that would be beyond their control.

blaine shakes his head. “it’s fine,” he says again, clearing his throat, “i’ll plan some secret meet up for us every night, if you want. even if it only buys us a few minutes.”

he glances to the side just in time to catch the look that crosses her face. kennedy’s quite obviously touched by his offer, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she stares down at her hands. forcefully, he drags his eyes back to the road. “i’d really like that,” she murmurs, so quietly he almost misses it. when he only nods, she raises her voice and asks, “so, where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he directs, taking the exit that’ll bring them to the drive-in, mentally cataloging the travel time it’d taken to get up here and making a note of the minutes he’ll need to account for to get kennedy back, especially if he has to circle the block until the street is empty before he drops her off.

her eyes light up when he pulls into the parking lot. “a drive-in theater, seriously? i used to love going to the drive-in back home. i didn’t know they had them near vancross.” her nose is practically pressed against the window as she looks around excitedly while he idles.

“this is my first time,” blaine admits, though how eager kennedy is definitely bodes well for the experience. even if it completely sucked, he’d still bring her back every weekend, just to see her smile like that. “we don’t really have these in ardona, but dionne talked it up.”

kennedy finally peels her eyes away from the window to smile playfully at him again, her eyes sparkling. “so you’re a drive-in virgin? interesting.”

his face feels hot, suddenly. blaine rolls his eyes at her, gesturing at the map of the venue in front of them. they’re kind of holding up the line. “yeah, yeah. pick your movie, rutherland. it’s just background noise for the real show, anyway.”

if he’s being honest, he barely hears her make her choice, the instructions on where to go flying in one ear and out the other. all he cares about for where he parks the car is that it’s secluded, and dark, away from prying eyes and any other people in the lot.

fortunately, blaine finds them the perfect spot, and he doesn’t even waste a second pretending like he gives a single shit about the movie at all, his eyes on her just as soon as the gear shift’s out of his hand.

kennedy’s turned in her seat and already looking back at him. she smiles and says, “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to have a normal date. i never pegged you as the type of guy who was all about carnivals and drive-ins and making these fun experiences for us.”

he shrugs, more nonchalantly than he feels. “probably ‘cause i’m not,” blaine answers honestly, “but everything’s different, with you.”

kennedy makes a soft sound of disbelief, lifting her hands to cover her face. when she peeks out from between her fingers, he sees that she’s smiling widely again. “you keep saying stuff like that. it’s so charming.”

blaine laughs, reaching out to tug her hands off her face. “that’s kind of the point.” he clears his throat, then continues more seriously, “but... i want you to know how i feel, you know? you shouldn’t have to guess. the truth is... i’ve been all-in for awhile, now, and -- those pictures were just a shitty setback. they don’t change the way i feel about you at all.”

she reaches out for his hand, and he lets her lace their fingers together, squeezing affectionately. “you have no idea how nice it feels to hear that,” kennedy sighs. “honestly...” the hesitation in her voice makes it clear she’s unsure of whatever she’s about to say, but she continues, “it kind of just felt like i ruined everything. things were actually going pretty well, for once, but now it’s like there’s this... dark cloud hanging over everything i do. i can’t even hang out with you without worrying we’re going to get caught again.”

his expression softens. he’s not usually one for optimism, but for her, and in the interest of getting some of that thick sadness out of her voice, he’ll try. “well, we’ve done a pretty good job avoiding that so far.”

“that’s true.” kennedy’s head tips back agains the carseat, and she smiles at him again. “i guess we’re making it work, in our own way. i love that i can always count on you to be real with me. it’s so -- refreshing, after all the fake posturing we deal with.”

well -- that’s probably as good an opening as he’s ever going to get. he spares a moment to silently thank whatever god is listening for the chance to ask the question that’s been eating at him for hours, the one thing he’s most desperate to know, beyond even the other stuff that usually keeps him up at night, everything from the simple inner workings of kennedy’s mind to why he’s so tripped up over a girl he’s only spent a few short months with. “speaking of fake...” blaine pointedly looks somewhere beyond her, staring out at the parking lot, “how’d your date go?”

kennedy’s quiet for long enough that he has to look back at her. there’s a knowing little glint in her eyes that he decidedly does not like. “are you jealous?”

“what?” he scoffs, “of course not. you left alexei to go out with me.”

“right,” she laughs, one small word injected with endless disbelief. “well, we had a good time. alexei’s not so bad.”

he’s an egomaniac and a self-centered prick, actually, blaine thinks. out loud, he says, “oh. cool. glad it worked out. cool, cool, cool...”

he fidgets restlessly. kennedy’s visible amusement only grows. “you know it was still a fake date, right? neither of us have any interest in the other.”

“i know,” blaine insists defensively. kennedy only arches an eyebrow at him. with a groan, he slumps back in his seat, a hand rubbing at his jaw. “fine, maybe i am a little jealous. give me a break, okay? this is kind of a unique situation for me.”

“if it helps, i think you’re doing a pretty great job.” she’s still smiling at him, but less like she thinks he’s being funny and more like she thinks he’s being sweet. she leans in a little closer, and -- it actually does help. the knots in his stomach that’d been coiled there since she first said her mom’s team was planning a pr relationship for her are finally starting to unwind.

“yeah?” he asks, gratified by the immediate nod she gives. “that’s good. i don’t wanna half-ass this boyfriend stuff just because it’s new to me.”

there’s a long stretch of silence. he realizes what he’s said all at once and starts to feel nauseous all over again, staring silently back at kennedy while he waits for her to say something -- anything.

“boyfriend stuff?”

“ah.” his hand slips around to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “sorry. slipped out.” he should probably just cut his losses now -- bring her back early to be on the safe side and go back to his dorm and drown himself in the shower, because he is an idiot and that’s what an idiot deserves. “i know you kind of already have a boyfriend.”

kennedy huffs out a quiet laugh. “i kind of do.” she tilts her head to meet his eyes, forcing him to look at her again. his heart stutters painfully in his chest, picking up into a pace that’s almost frantic. “but... that’s not a ‘no.’”

their hands are still linked together. he looks down at where their fingers are interlaced, hoping his palms aren’t as sweaty as they feel. blaine disentangles his hand to lift it instead to kennedy’s face, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes with a hesitant smile she immediately returns tenfold.

it’s also not a ‘yes,’ but he’ll take what he can get.

as it turns out, three hours and forty-five minutes is kind of not actually a long time at all.

or maybe it would be, for some people, but with kennedy in his lap, squished between him and the steering wheel so she can kiss him senseless, the time flies by. they watch what’s probably ten minutes total of the movie, they’re so busy kissing and talking, his hands wandering along her new outfit to show his appreciation for it the only way he knows how.

for her part, kennedy gives as good as she gets, tugging his hair out of place and messing up his jacket and making him forget his own name, with the way her hips are pushing into his lap and all the sweet little sounds she makes when he whispers something dirty in her ear and presses her in closer against him.

no amount of agonizing over her fake dates and not being able to kiss her in public is ever going to drive the way she shivers with her whole body when he says something she likes from his mind.

still, the drive back is somber. it’s time to bring kennedy -- kiss-swollen lips and raised hemlines and all -- back to the opera house before he knows it, and he’s really not looking forward to everyone who sees her thinking she spent four hours fooling around in the private box with alexei, of all people. he’s looking forward to driving home alone and going to bed by himself even less.

tomorrow he’ll have to sit by her in class again and pretend like everything’s fine.

because they had tonight, and he knows he should be content with that. the problem is -- he’s not.

“you okay?” kennedy asks, checking the time on the watch on his wrist with a frown. she’s holding his hand in both of hers. “and don’t say you’re ‘fine.’”

“i am fine,” blaine insists, running his thumb across her wrist. “this sucks, but it’s what we have to do. if you’re good, then i’m good.”

she studies his expression for a minute, then sighs. “i’m as good as i can be,” she murmurs, “but things will get better.”

he knows that, too. even if no one ever finds out it’s him in the photos, even if they have to spend the rest of their lives sneaking out and ditching their bodyguards so they can find a few hours alone together -- things are good. the alternative -- winning the fight with his parents to keep him away from vancross, never getting the chance to know kennedy as well as he does... that’s a future that seems bleak, now that he’s seen the alternative.

“it’s really alright,” blaine assures her. “i’ll miss you, but... do what you gotta do.”

something about the way he says the words seems to instill new confidence in kennedy. she straightens her shoulders and glances back at the opera house door with determination. “thanks,” kennedy sighs, squeezing his hand one last time before slowly pulling away. she probably has only seconds until the finale starts up, though he’s desperate for a way to make them stretch longer. an eternity would be a nice place to start.

“will you... text dionne goodnight before you go to bed?” she asks, looking so hopeful he finds it’s impossible to do anything other than nod.

he grins widely at kennedy, leaning in to steal one last kiss. “dream about me, will ya?”

“every night,” she promises, and blaine lowers the window to get a better view of her and the sway of her hips when she slips out of the car and back inside, sighing heavily once she’s gone and he’s alone again, whacking his head against the carseat.

this is some mess they’ve gotten themselves into.

but, he figures, as he pulls away from the curb and starts back towards campus, the image of kennedy walking away in the heels and skirt she’d been wearing playing over and over again in his mind like a highlight reel, it’s definitely not without its perks.

#blaine hayes #foreign affairs #choices foreign affairs #blaine hayes x mc #myfic #long post

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

The Deal Is The Deal

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 7,774

***Rating: NSFW (aged-up characters) -- I’m gonna say this is a 7 on the smut scale***

This piece follows The Trouble With Wanting and is best read second.

Synopsis: Kaz Brekker is not a useless podge who mopes and stews over his personal problems. Kaz Brekker makes deals. Kaz Brekker enforces. Kaz Brekker stays twenty steps ahead. (Or that’s at least what he tells himself.)

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason, but the right reason made him damn near unstoppable. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Part of crafting a persona your enemies feared involved a considerable amount of convincing yourself of your own fearlessness. And Kaz was very good at convincing. Kaz Brekker always got what he wanted. That’s what he told himself.

Because Inej Ghafa was his perfect reason. Ketterdam had tried to break her a thousand times more than it had broken him, and still she was a better person than he could ever hope to be. He’d always believed the world would be better off if Inej had her way in all things. Making that reality had now become his singular focus.

He had sat in this same spot many times before, at his desk chair in Per Haskell’s old office on the main floor of the Crow Club, considering the terms of their deal and how he would fulfill them. Kaz Brekker was not a useless podge who moped and stewed over his personal problems. Kaz Brekker made deals. Kaz Brekker enforced. Kaz Brekker stayed twenty steps ahead.

(That’s what he told himself.)

Inej had laughed at him when he’d framed it in this way – their deal. But he didn’t mind. If he ever became stranded on a desert island, he could have lived off her laugh alone.

“You can’t just call it something normal?” she had asked him, over a year ago.

They were sitting on the tiles of the roof of The Slat when Inej said this, a blanket of stars overhead. A half-empty bottle of kvas had sat between them, an unspoken boundary he wasn’t sure which one of them would attempt to cross first. Probably her, that’s what he was betting. She always had been braver than he.

“Is what we’re dealing with normal?” Kaz countered.

“A relationship where two people have problems?” said Inej, and she rolled her eyes. “No, you’re absolutely right. We’re revolutionaries.”

“You know what I mean.” Kaz shot her a sideways look. Inej sighed in reluctant acknowledgement. All Kaz had to do to know how the odds were stacked against them was to walk down the street. Men and women all over Ketterdam could hold hands, casually kiss on their way out of their front doors, fuck in dark alleys when they thought they were alone. Kaz and Inej were, as much as they hated it, different.

The only way forward, the only way Kaz knew, was to strike a deal.

“I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know anything about relationships, Inej,” he said, “but I do know deals. And I know how to con. And that’s what will save this.”

“Enlighten me,” Inej drawled. She was raising an eyebrow, her head propped up on her arms as she wrapped them around her knees. Guarded, Kaz noted, and with good reason. He wasn’t offering her romance, and for that, he felt a twinge of shame. Somewhere in him had to be a better man for her, and he hoped it wouldn’t take too long to unearth him. Damn it all, he would try.

“You want me.” He could say it now with more confidence, but it still sounded unbelievable. “And I want you. Mind, body, and soul.”

“Hm.” Inej hummed her approval, lifting her head just a bit. In the dim light from the streets below, he could see a tiny smile play on her lips.

“Those are the terms of the deal. Simple enough, really. Unfortunately,” he stretched out his bad leg, leaning back on his hands, “our bodies are not holding up their end of the bargain. And what do we do when cocky little sods won’t follow through on their deals?”

Inej unfurled her legs then, leaning back as he had. She wore a cheeky half smile as she clucked her tongue with a pitying sigh.

“Penalties,” she said.

“Exactly,” Kaz nodded. “We collect. We learn their histories, we learn their motives, we learn what they love, what they hate, what frightens them, what bores them. We learn all this so we can apply the perfect amount of pressure, combined with just the right leverage.”

“I can’t believe this is making sense.” Inej was shaking her head in disbelief as she took a swig from the bottle.

“The deal is the deal, Inej,” Kaz said. He shifted so he was looking at her face, the thick braid that fell over her slender shoulder. “And if our deal is to each other, and our bodies are violating our terms, then I swear to learn everything I can to give you the leverage you need to break this stupid sod.” And he thrust a hand against his chest to drive the point home.

“He is not a stupid sod,” Inej said, tenderly, her brown eyes sparkling, and slowly, she pressed her fingers over his on his chest. Kaz swallowed hard, feeling his heart in his throat. Alive. Alive. Alive, he told himself. Her flesh was warm, dry, living, her pulse in her palm. Different. Good. Deep breath. Alive.

When his heart rate slowed again, he wrapped her fingers in his and pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. Alive. Good. It was good. And her smile that followed, breathtaking.

Worth it.

“And I swear the same to you,” Inej promised. She leaned closer so that their shoulders brushed, and she looked up at him through oil-black lashes. He could smell her hair in the night breeze, the sweet coconut oil she used. Intoxicating. Thank her Saints this world isn’t a just one, he thought to himself. He was sure he’d done nothing to deserve such a face. “They say Kaz Brekker never met a safe he couldn’t crack,” she went on. “I suppose I shouldn’t doubt you can figure out my combination.”

His mouth felt dry and his slacks a little tighter as she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. It was barely a peck, but for the first time, it wasn’t enough. He found himself leaning forward, eyes closed, even as she pulled away. From the smirk she wore when he opened his eyes to her, she had noticed.

“I might like your metaphor better,” he confessed, his voice hoarse. And Inej laughed.

That was their deal. Conduct reconnaissance. Apply pressure. Utilize leverage. Crack the safe.

Nina Zenik would have a field day with these innuendoes, he realized. If it had been an actual contract, he should have considered some kind of non-disclosure clause.

Getting sloppy, Brekker.

He had his black-trousered legs propped up on the desk, trying to quickly wolf down the sandwich Pim had brought in for him from a nearby street vendor. He knew he ought to have taken the walk himself. It helped to stretch out his bad leg a few times a day or taking the stairs up to The Slat would be nearly impossible. But he was up to his tie knot in paperwork, and he got distracted far too easily these days. There were reminders of her everywhere.

This chair, for example. He was torn between saving it forever, maybe casting in bronze, or replacing it completely for the sake of his work ethic. It was there, barely a month ago, that they’d somehow found themselves late one night while Inej was portside. He couldn’t even remember now why they hadn’t gone upstairs to The Slat. Maybe it had been the crowd in the Crow Club. Didn’t matter. He’d locked the door, and one thing had led to another, and somehow he’d ended up sitting in this exact chair, Inej straddling his lap.

He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. There were no waters lapping at his ankles. Jordie’s ghost was apparently growing disinterested in his little brother’s dalliance. And Inej showed no signs of vanishing. Rather the opposite. She was above him, running her hands from his chest to his hair, her lips desperate for his. He’d even forgotten to take off his gloves, but she didn’t seem to care as he traced the slope of her hips, the curves of her muscled thighs that gripped either side of his.

“I want you,” she gasped between heated kisses. She held his jaw in her hands, demanding.

“You have me,” he rasped. He slid his hands up the lithe curve of her waist, where the base of her ribs flared with every ragged breath.

“I want to touch you.” Kaz thought he was seeing stars as she worked her lips over his jawline to the shell of his ear. She nipped at his earlobe, and he shivered. “But I’m not ready for you to touch me yet,” she whispered there.

At that, Kaz pulled back from her a moment, hovering his hands over her body. He tried to be a quick student of her, of this maddening, irresistible lock of hers. He knew well enough that when the lock said stop, you damn well stopped.

“Are you ok?” He gave her a quick, concerned assessment. Her demons were cunning, but they were becoming easier for him to spot. But in that moment, Inej was rosy-cheeked and biting her lip, her dark, thick braid coming loose around her face and shoulders. She was breathless, her breasts rising and falling just inches from his body. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t lost sleep wondering when he was going to hold them again, but he wasn’t about to press the issue. Patience. Leverage. That was their deal.

Inej leaned into him, sliding her arms over his shoulders as her breasts pressed against his chest.

“I’m just gathering information,” she insisted, meeting his lips again, just once. “Leverage.” Another kiss to his jaw. He felt like a human stick of butter, sliding down a pan. “Pressure.” And she ground her hips against his, rubbing against his cock so that it throbbed. The sound that came up from his chest was not one he’d ever heard from his body before.

“You do not have to do this, Inej,” he said, in spite of himself, still wary of the last time they’d pushed into new territory.

Inej sat back so that he could see her full face, the streetlight from outside glowing orange behind her black hair like a halo. He searched her soft brown eyes, not understanding the look on her face.

“That’s exactly why I want to,” she said, softly.

It was moments like this Kaz could almost hear the sound of lock tumblers clicking into place.

He sat back, his gloved hands gripping on the arms of his chair.

“I’m all yours, Inej,” he said, his voice husky. He trusted her with his demons. He trusted her with his life.

She had her hands on his torso, raking her eyes over his body, and he felt like he might catch fire. These men who bought their pleasure in brothels could never know the thrill of being so desperately wanted, and, for a moment, he almost pitied them. Almost.

“It doesn’t bother you, when I sit on you like this?” Inej asked, flicking a glance up at him. Kaz could only shake his head, dumbly. If she only knew how incredible she looked up there. They built monuments to this kind of glory.

“And it doesn’t bother you when I do…this?” Inej palmed her hand against his cock, and Kaz drew in a sharp breath. Had she asked a question? Was he meant to answer?

“This,” he was stammering as she slowly stroked his cock through his trousers, “this is what you want?” He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Over him, Inej nodded, her eyes dark and smoldering. The leather on his gloves creaked as he tightened his hands on the chair. He wouldn’t try to touch her, not without instruction. Those were her terms.

Outside the locked office door, the sounds of drunken laughter and broken glass bottles rose as Kaz’s head slipped back against the chair with a groan. Inej kept her eyes trained on him, like she was hungry, devouring his every movement as she applied pressure, slowly stroking him from hilt to head and back again. As his eyes slipped close, his breathing deepening, she leaned in against him again, her body hot and taut, planting kisses up his neck.

In that moment, he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else, not revenge, not profit, not the Dime Lions, not the ghosts of his past. There was only Inej. His Inej. The girl he was determined give the world to, just you wait.

“Inej,” he breathed, and he felt her smile against his face.

“It’s good?” she whispered, checking. Good? That was a pitiful word for what it was. And if he wasn’t currently losing all sense of time and space, he’d have offered a better word.

“This is good information, Brekker,” she crooned in his ear.

Kaz was sure he’d never been so hard in his life. He clenched his fists tighter, his breath quickening, and vowed to meet this offer in equal exchange as soon as he could.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Inej,” he heard himself spout, maybe a little too loud. He was panting, shaking. There was a crest rising inside of him, a wave of energy stronger than any he’d felt before.

“You don’t need to--” Inej started to say when Kaz let out a moan.

“I’m going to love you the way you deserve,” he swore with a gasp.

“You do; you already do,” and Inej covered his mouth with hers as he broke apart beneath her, a low moan against her lips as the wave crashed over him, sending him out into the sky.

And he didn’t care so much in the moment how gross he felt in his slacks, as Inej leaned her forehead against his. His chest heaved while he caught his breath, still coming down from the clouds, and she whispered to him, “I say your name when I touch myself, too.”

So, the chair had to go. Or stay. Whatever. Either way, in its current state, the paperwork was mounding up, and she was due back any day now, and he had to get caught up. This was not how he wanted to be spending his time while she was back in Ketterdam.

“Kaz!” Jesper Fahey shoved open the office door with a shout, startling Kaz.

“Shit, Jes. Knock,” Kaz swore. “I could have been indisposed.”

“Sure,” Jesper rolled his eyes in disbelief. Kaz pressed back a smirk to himself, thinking of the chair. Maybe the chair stayed after all.

“So, it’s true, then.” Jesper strode to the middle of the office, folding his arms. “There is a mattress in your office.”

Kaz glanced at what Jesper now pointed at, accusingly. It was true. The mattress was pushed vertical up against the wall, to keep it out of the way while he worked during the day.

“Astute of you to notice,” Kaz grunted, pulling at the next piece of paperwork in the pile. Expense reports. This one was last month’s? Fuck.

“Pim and Anika are worried about the mattress in your office,” Jesper said. “So, Kaz, why is there a mattress in your office?”

“I’m having construction done on The Slat,” Kaz shrugged, which was true. “I can’t sleep up there until it’s done.”

“That’s it?” Jesper glared at him, incredulous, his eyes in slits.

“There is no mystery here, Jes.” Kaz spread his hands out wide. “There is construction upstairs, so I sleep down here.”

“This is weird. Even for you,” Jesper frowned. “Anika thought maybe your leg was getting worse. Like you couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“I can still beat your ass up and down those stairs. Happy? I have work.”

“So, what are you having done to The Slat?” Jesper was leaning against the far wall, his arms still crossing, looking about as moveable as a mountain. Kaz chewed on the inside of his lip.

“I just wanted running hot water,” he lied. Well, it was true enough, anyway. There would be running hot water up in The Slat when all was said and done.

He wasn’t ready to tell Jesper the real reason, what had happened six months ago that had snowballed into him sleeping on a narrow mattress at night in his office. He didn’t want to admit why aloud, but deep down, he was always waiting for the day when Inej had had enough of this, their deal, enough of him. It would break him when that happened, he knew it would. And if he had to break the news of it to Jesper, too, broken and in shambles… he just couldn’t imagine doing it. It was safer for everyone, Kaz included, if no one knew.

He’d thought that day had come six months ago. Why it hadn’t was only a testament to Inej’s undying patience.

Sometimes, when Kaz’s bad leg hurt in the night, it helped to walk the streets. He liked to think it made him look unpredictable. You never knew at what hour Dirtyhands could appear. A short stroll around the block could get the blood flowing in his leg and send a message to the thugs and goons lurking about the dark alleys at night all in the same half hour. Efficiency at its finest.

He took a slow walk that night. He’d spent too many hours at his desk that day, and his leg was stiff and the ache was constant. It was when he’d paused past the glow of a street lamp that he sensed the shadows flit about behind him, and, without moving his weight from his cane, he began to reach for the revolver in his coat pocket.

“Kaz, it’s just me.” Inej’s whisper stopped him, and as he turned to the alleyway, his girl was leaping silently from a fire escape and his heart stuttered. She could land on her feet like a cat and throw back her braid when she stood, not a bead of sweat on her.

Kaz checked the streets, back and forth, but saw no one.

“You’re following me,” he observed, and was it weird he was flattered? “I wasn’t expecting you to dock until tomorrow.”

“We caught a strong current,” said Inej, who kept to the shadows and leaned against the side of the alley. “And it’s not that I don’t trust your new spider, but I don’t trust your new spider.”

Kaz huffed a laugh. Anika was learning, but it was true there would never be another Wraith.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked.

“Your reign of terror here is making these streets rather boring,” Inej shrugged. “No one’s tried to mug me or shank me all night.”

“I gave the muggers and the shankers the night off. Tuesday nights are strictly for public urination.”

“Is that what you’re doing out and about?”

“Change starts at the top, Inej. No one gets immunity in the Barrel.”

Inej stifled a laugh behind her fingerless gloves, and Kaz desperately wanted to kiss her.

“Were you going to stop by tonight?” he asked instead.

“Depended on what I found,” she replied.

“And?”

“If you’ll have me.”

If he would have her? Saints. Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough. He would have her every day for the rest of his life if she wanted.

“I’ll meet you in The Slat,” he said instead.

He thought about kissing her all the way home, and he climbed the stairs as quickly as his throbbing leg would allow. But when he locked the door and turned to face her, Inej was sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, her slim body looking a little slouched, as she hid a yawn behind her hand. Of course, she was exhausted. And he offered her something he’d never offered before: a place in his bed for the night.

She’d looked both a little nervous and a little intrigued by the concept, and eventually gave in. He offered her one of his nightshirts to sleep in and couldn’t help himself from gazing over her bare legs, the way the thin fabric skimmed over the supple curve of her ass.

They decided the night was just for sleeping, and while Kaz waited for drowsiness to overtake the ache in his leg, he kept glancing over at her asleep on the pillow next to him, her thick black hair spilling over the cotton like ink, her soft lashes splayed against her golden brown skin. He thought he could die happy after this.

But then, in the dead of night, everything changed.

Kaz awoke with a start, his heart pounding, when Inej screamed, terrified, pummeling at him with closed fists. He recognized the signs instantly; nightmares plagued his sleep regularly, too. He snatched at one of her wrists, trying to stop her from hitting him in the face.

“Inej! Inej!” His voice was hoarse from sleep. “Inej, it’s Kaz. It’s Kaz.”

Her eyes weren’t even open, and, as he tried to restrain her, she pulled one of her knives from under her pillow and leapt atop of him, straddling his torso with Sankta Elizabeta at his jugular in an instant.

“Inej,” he tried again, but his own voice was starting to shake.

She was slick in cold sweat, and her thighs now pressed on either side of his bare abdomen, wet flesh trapping him, pressing in on him. He was having trouble drawing a breath. Nausea churned in his stomach. He forgot all about the knife at his throat. What did it matter when the sea waves were crashing in over him, filling his mouth, his nose, his lungs…

Inej was blinking her eyes and dropped her weapon with a horrified cry.

But all he saw were her vacant eyes, purple bruising blooming from their rims, bloat rotting at her jaw. And he was drowning under her.

“Kaz! Kaz!” Inej took his face in her shaking hands, as if she could pull him back from the darkness that was overtaking him.

“Stop,” he tried to rasp, but it was barely audible. Her hands were a corpse’s, pulling him under.

Without thinking and desperate for breath, he grabbed her waist and threw her to the side. He spilled out of the bed, his stomach lurching. The nightstand rattled, and the washbasin shattered when it fell. Shards of ceramic scattered across the wood floor. He would have vomited all over it had it not been for the wastebasket. He managed to grab its edges just in time, hurling his stomach’s contents into it.

He retched so hard, tears spilled from his eyes and snot ran from his nose, but when he finally sat back, shaking and spent, Inej was there. She had put on his leather gloves before handing him a towel and a glass of water. His strong, level-headed Inej. When he could finally look at her again, her cheeks were tearstained. He could never admit defeat to such a shattered face.

“Fuck.” He released a ragged sigh as he sat back, running the back of a shaking hand along his lips. Inej sat across from him on the floor, still breathing hard from adrenaline. He needed that laugh of hers. He said the first thing that came to mind. “I’d actually really enjoyed that dinner.”

But Inej was too shaken, her brows cinched together, her raven black hair disheveled over the shoulders of the white nightshirt.

“I’m so, so sorry, Kaz.” Her voice was strained against the threat of tears.

“Are you ok?” He reached out of her gloved hands, and she took his fingertips with a little sob.

“This was a spectacular disaster,” Inej said. But Kaz squeezed her fingers, hoping she’d look at him. Needing the reassurance that this wasn’t the final straw. That they were still fighting their way out together.

“This was just good reconnaissance,” he objected, though his throat still burned. “We learned some valuable information tonight. We just need separate beds. How many fat, rich mercher families have you spied on that sleep in separate beds?”

“Those same merchers attack women in brothels, Kaz.” Inej wiped at her cheek with her spare hand, clutching at Kaz’s tightly with her other. “Maybe we just need a bigger bed,” she said with a sigh.

We. She’d said We. She hadn’t given up, hadn’t even considered it, and she’d said We. He’d buy her whatever bed she wanted after that. But The Slat was only big enough for Kaz’s narrow bed. And before he knew it, Kaz was meeting with contractors, looking over blueprints, hiring a foreman, haggling over the cost of materials, picking out new plumbing, new fixtures, and now his home had been stripped down to the studs.

The important thing was, when it was all finished, Kaz was buying the biggest, widest, most luxurious bed in all of Ketterdam, and it was going to fit, damnit.

“This is sending a message I don’t think you want to be sending, Kaz,” Jesper was saying, gesturing to the narrow mattress propped up against the wall.

“Which is what?” Kaz was growing impatient.

“That the Bastard of the Barrel sleeps like a weird little hobo,” said Jesper.

“Hobos don’t have offices to sleep in, Jes. That’s why they’re hobos.”

“Just check into a hotel like every other normal rich bastard,” Jesper begged. “You have the money. Why are you being so weird?”

Because Inej was coming back and what kind of message would that send to her? Meeting him a hotel. After what they had done in the chair the last time she was here. That implied all kinds of things he didn’t want her worrying about.

But if Pim and Anika had wrangled Jesper into confronting him, then maybe he was worrying about the wrong message.

And for all the chaos of the Van Eck Affair, he had enjoyed their stay at the Geldrenner Hotel. Their penthouse suite had been exceptional. It was further from the Crow Club than he would have liked, but the hot running water...and the room service. And Inej could have her pick of beds if she came by. No midnight vomiting would occur there.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said to Jesper, dismissively. Jesper gave a sigh of defeat and turned to leave.

“You’re too rich for this weird ass behavior,” he shouted at Kaz over his shoulder.

“No one wants your financial advice,” Kaz shouted back.

But Jesper turned back in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“Oh,” he added, “you’re still coming for drinks on Saturday? Wylan needs a final headcount.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, every damn time. Yes, Jes. Yes. I’ll always be there.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go book a hotel room, obviously. Tell Roeder to throw out the mattress.”

“Can I give it to Wylan? That thing looks like it needs to be incinerated.”

Wylan could have the mattress for whatever flammable experiments he was working on in his free time. Kaz was already looking forward to another stay at the Geldrenner.

He took a long walk to the Geldrenner Hotel, where he was pleased to find the penthouse suite unoccupied and currently available. He left the reservation under K. Rietveld. Inej would know.

“What does the R stand for?” she’d asked him months and months ago. Nobody would believe they were both naked when she brought it up. In his defense, it had been Inej’s idea, this new leverage. She’d suggested they undress completely and not touch each other. She had wanted to conquer her fear of being naked with a man, and she thought it was something to be done in steps.

Did she think he would say no to such a thing? He’d literally had dreams about this.

Kaz was holding a box of waffles when she suggested it. He’d brought them in for their dinner, a dinner he mistakenly assumed they would be clothed for, and his first moronic thought was that he ought to have picked a less messy food. Once it finally registered what was about to happen, he set the box down and began to slip off his tie.

“What does the R stand for?”

She was sitting across from him, completely bare, with her long black hair veiling her breasts. He looked up from his dinner. He’d been trying his best to focus on the food, to will his cock into not getting any ideas. She was gesturing to the tattoo on his bicep.

“My real surname starts with R,” he replied.

“As in Rietveld, isn’t that right?” Inej flicked him a glance, one that could set a fire smoldering deep in his guts.

“You knew?” he wondered, and then drew in a breath as Inej began to stand to her feet, leaning across the table toward him. He could see everything, from her dark, protruding nipples beneath her long hair, the smooth planes of her flat stomach, the tight curve of her brown waist. The folds where it all met. His cock throbbed, rebelliously.

“I’m the Wraith, Kaz,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m glad you finally told me.”

“This is cheating,” Kaz pointed out, as she pecked his lips.

She had tasted like apple syrup. What would the rest of her taste like?

So, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when, three days later, he was returning to his suite at the Geldrenner at the end of the day and found Inej waiting on the windowsill. She was the Wraith, always and forever. Kaz quickly unlocked the window to pull her inside.

“Please tell me you haven’t been sitting out there all day,” was his greeting.

“I wanted to watch a Ketterdam sunset again, and I don’t fall, Kaz,” Inej said. She was as brown as a nut from her days in the sun, and her cheeks were a rosy apple red. “And no,” she added, “I haven’t been waiting long. You’re not at least a little be impressed that I found you?”

“My dearest Inej, I am in a constant state of awe around you.”

She looked up at him with a brilliant, toothy grin and big, soft brown eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her waist while he kissed her, pulling her close to his chest. She smelled like salt and sea spray, and he could taste the sweat on her lips and he didn’t care. It had been over a month since he’d held her, tasted her, and his body was falling in line with the terms of their deal. He wanted her, however he could have her.

“I missed you,” she told him, as she curled her head against his chest. He drew long, slow circles up and down her back with his fingertips so that she hummed softly in approval.

“I missed you,” he said into her hair.

“I can smell myself,” Inej lamented, with a disgusted groan.

“You smell perfect.” Kaz didn’t care.

“I need a bath.”

“I’ll draw you one.”

And Kaz ordered up room service, too, while Inej bathed in the tub, filling up the bathroom with steam and lavender. She was still soaking when the food arrived, an elaborate spread, since Kaz had ordered one of everything, not knowing what she wanted, and he nudged his head into the bathroom to let her know.

The bubbles had mostly dissolved, and the water pooled just under her breasts, her brown knees bent up out of the water. She’d pulled her long, clean hair out of the tub, letting it trail over the edge to dry, while she leaned against the side of the tub with her eyes closed.

Kaz suddenly understood the myths about mermaids luring men to their deaths.

“You can come in,” she said, a soft, relaxed smile on her lips.

Kaz still wasn’t sure what to say, but wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to look upon her. He leaned against the bathroom counter, trying not to ogle like a creep.

“This bathroom,” Inej remarked, looking all around them. Kaz drew in a deep breath. This bathroom, indeed. He’d kind of been avoiding it. This was where he’d first felt her skin, had tried to kiss her, and it had sent him reeling into nightmares of his past. He hadn’t thought of it as reconnaissance then. He had just been a boy, trying to be with the girl he liked, and instead only hopelessly embarrassing himself.

Inej seemed to sense how he withdrew at the memory and held out a soapy hand to him.

“Come here,” she said, tenderly. But Kaz hesitated. Wanting. Lusting. But knowing better.

“Wet skin is a non-starter for me,” he rasped, shifting uncomfortably.

“Of course it is.” Inej looked apologetic as she pulled her hand back. She shifted in the tub, pulling at the drain.

“Don’t get out on my account,” Kaz said.

“I need to be with you when you’re making that face,” Inej insisted, and she stepped out of the tub. He still couldn’t get enough of the sight of her wet body, glistening in the lamp light, beads of moisture running in rivulets down her rich golden legs as she toweled off.

“What face?” Kaz asked.

Inej wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it over her breasts, and stepped in front of him, resting her hands on his hips. She gave a playful tug at his belt.

“You get a look when you think something’s broken beyond repair,” she said, and looked up at him with her wide, adoring eyes. “And half the time, you prove yourself wrong within the next 24 hours anyway. I love to watch that part. But not the broken face. Broken face is heart-wrenching.”

Without armor. If he was to ever have her, to love her the way she deserved, she needed to see every ugly truth the armor hid. Every time he got close, that is what her lock demanded. Without armor. He swallowed hard as he rested his hands on the wet terrycloth on her hips, holding her close.

“I half-expected to die that night,” he confessed. How glad he was he hadn’t.

“I would never have let that happen.” Inej’s gaze was steely as flint, and he believed her. But there was something else.

“It would have been a relief,” he said, lowly.

Inej pulled back and held his dark gaze, as if to hold this new plate of armor with all the love she had.

“And now?” she asked, holding him tighter. He felt her intent in the pull of her embrace, the same intent he held in his chest in every battle against their demons. Stay with me. I can’t lose this.

“I was a kid then with nothing more to lose,” he told her, and let his forehead dip to touch hers. “But now I have everything.”

He could sense her smile even as he closed his eyes, reveling in her warmth and how it no longer called to his ghosts. But then she stepped back and turned, hoisting herself up onto the countertop, still holding her towel in place. Her hair spilled loose down her back as she reached to him, pulling him closer again between her knees, the same spot where they’d tried to get close those years ago and had each nearly keeled over from the other’s proximity.

“You know the best part about surviving, I’m sure,” she said, pulling him by his tie.

“Tell me,” he said with a crooked smile. He placed his hands on the counter either side of her hips, leaning in.

“When you survive, your story isn’t over,” said Inej, as she loosened the tie knot. She pulled it off through his collar and let it drop to the floor. “And sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you get the chance to write over parts you don’t like.”

She leaned back on her hands, extending her slender neck out ever so slightly with a pointed look in her eye. The smell of lavender and soap bubbles wafted from her clean hair, and Kaz drew in a breath. He would have to have been an idiot not to catch her meaning. Go on, she was saying. Write the story we wanted.

This time, when he pressed a soft kiss to her neck, he felt her soft pulse against his lips, her fresh scent all around him, and the desire coursing through his body. She gave a soft, contented sigh and slid her hands up his shoulders as he straightened his body to meet her lips again and again, rewriting and rewriting.

“Better,” she whispered when he finally pulled back, and she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “Much better.”

His heart was pounding mercilessly in his chest, and when he reached up to cup her precious cheek in one hand, she leaned her head into his fingers, kissing his wrist, and it shattered him.

“I never want this to end,” he said, his voice husky. Much better, indeed.

“Then don’t stop,” Inej whispered, and he brought her lips back to his.

He could sense her urgency rising, the desperation with which she began to pull him to her body, to weave her fingers into his hair, and it would have been easy to break, to let her have her way with him again. But they had a deal. Kaz Brekker never made a deal he didn’t keep. So, this was no time to lose his head, to grab at everything he wanted. He’d been preparing for this moment. If he was going to make good and pay back what he owed, he was going to have to run this like breaking into Kerch bank vault.

She was already above him, propped up on the bathroom counter of her own volition. That was a good sign, good leverage. Inej did not like being prone with him or forced into anything, and no one could fault her for that.

He brought his hands to her face, running his fingertips from her cheeks to her hair as she sighed into his mouth. He felt her part her lips to him, felt the brush of her tongue, and, emboldened, he ran his hands down her bare shoulders, her skin prickling in goosebumps.

“I love what your hands can do,” she shivered. She was pulling at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest where he felt as hot as a furnace against her cool hands. Let her have some control; she thrived with it. She slipped her hands into his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders until it dropped to the tile below.

He held her waist in his hands as she clutched at his shoulders, her thighs tightening on his hips as their kiss deepened. It took every ounce of restraint Kaz had to not taste every inch of her mouth, not pull at the rest of his clothing and beg her to just fuck him already please. There was nothing but a towel separating her bare breasts from his skin, and, Saint fucking hell, he wanted this. He wanted her. Her exposed thighs felt like silk against his sides, and he could only imagine what the rest of her felt like. His hands dipped a little lower, exploring the slope of her ass.

“More,” Inej panted, and Kaz couldn’t hold back a groan. He gave her ass a little squeeze, and she chuckled against his mouth. Running his hands along the underside of her thighs, he pulled her closer, letting her hook her legs around him. Heat from her cunt radiated across his lower abdomen.

“Saints, Inej,” he rasped, breathless. His slacks were uncomfortably tight, and she had to notice. When she pulled back, he was sure she had and braced himself, but there was no look of terror in her eyes this time. No, she had something else in mind.

She held up one hand and, slowly, sucked on two of her fingers. And then, with Kaz’s jaw slack in lust and awe, she slipped her hand between her legs, beneath the towel. And with her eyes on him, she began to knead.

Kaz hardly dared to breathe. He’d imagined, but he’d never seen… he’d researched for advice, like any decent con artist, but he’d only hoped…

He watched the rise and fall of the tops of her breasts in rapture, waiting for any sign that he could approach without setting off alarms. When she let out a little moan and put a hand to his chest again, he gently leaned in, taking her lips once more. He tried to put as much love and admiration and passion into that kiss as he could muster, slowly slipping his hands back to the lithe curve of her waist.

Her breathing deepened as she worked herself, and she moaned softly, her eyes falling shut. Kaz ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm, knowing what he wanted, trying to work out a strategy.

It had to be like picking a pocket. Replacing a wallet with an exact weight, so quick, no one noticed.

He kissed her ear as her head fell to the side, and then, slowly, traced the silky soft length of her arm, slipping under the towel, before gently curling his fingers over hers. She stopped the movement, but didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t running.

He paused, too, breathing heavily in spite of himself. She was wet, practically soaked, against their fingers, and, for a brief moment, he felt the lapping of water at his ankles. He fixed his eyes on the pulse in her neck. He focused on the sound of her breath, the labored breathing of her desire. He inhaled the soap and the lavender scent of her. She was alive. So very alive. And after a moment, the dread passed, and he was still there and so was she, and his longing for her hadn’t diminished.

“Show me,” he whispered against her ear, and she leaned her head against his.

He traced the movements of her fingers, delicate, like picking a lock in the dark, slow circles around her tender nub of skin.

“Kaz,” she whispered, in a tone he was sure he’d never heard before. Lock tumblers clicking into place.

He moved his fingers as she did, through the velvety skin of her folds, until her hand dropped away from his, her eyes still closed as she bit her lip.

“I’ve wanted this,” she confessed with a groan. Kaz was out of words. Locks didn’t usually talk back, and they were never this gorgeous.

And then when she leaned back further on the counter, the towel began to slip and she did nothing to stop it. It fell away behind her, leaving every bit of her exposed to him, the full swell of her breasts and the tense muscles of her core, and Kaz didn’t mean to, but he swore out loud.

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, her arms starting to shake as she leaned back against them. “Please, Kaz, more.”

His mind was a scramble of every touch he’d ever given, every encouraging sign she’d ever given him. More what? Where to start? With his spare hand, he traced her neck again, down her sternum between her breasts, watching the line of goosebumps spring along her skin.

“With your mouth,” she gasped, and he sprang at the chance to oblige. She quivered while he trailed a line of kisses from her neck down her chest, and, growing bolder, took one dark nipple tenderly in his mouth. When she didn’t object, he ran his tongue around its rim, tasting its foreign sweetness and feeling her gasps of pleasure swell through her chest.

She raked her fingers through his hair as he felt her breathing grow haggard beneath his lips, and her hips bucked restlessly against his long fingers. He had a moment of nerves that she was growing frustrated with his inexperience, and, with a silent prayer, he slipped a digit inside of her.

She let out an audible sigh, clenching at his hair, and he knew he’d hit the right combination. As soft as before, he stroked her ridges along her cunt, still carding his thumb through her folds as she had.

Her arms gave out altogether, and he found himself standing over her as she laid back on the countertop, her hair spilling into the sink, a flush spreading across her breasts. Her body arched; her pussy felt as taut as a bowstring. He’d never seen anything so glorious in his life.

Curses fell from her beautiful lips when she came, head tilted back as a shudder overtook her whole body, spasming on his fingers. She gripped his forearm to steady herself, leaving half-moon nail marks in his skin. And then she stilled, naked, spent and breathing hard, feet on the counter with her knees bent in the air.

Kaz leaned over and kissed her forehead while she gave a breathless hum of satisfaction.

“This bathroom,” she remarked again, heaving an exhausted sigh. Her cheeks were rosy as she smiled brightly up at him. Kaz grinned, crookedly, a victorious lockpick’s smile.

“This bathroom,” he agreed.

Much, much better.

Next work in this series: These Damn Crosswinds

#six of crows #soc #kaz x inej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #smut #kanej #kanej smut #crooked kingdom #fanfic #fanfiction #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #kanej fanfic

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stellar-starseed · 4 years ago

Text

Closer Than That

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Changbin x fem!reader, Jisung x fem!reader, polyamory

Word Count: 2,979

Summary: Your best friends happen to be 3racha, but Changbin was your closest friend from childhood. When things start to take a different turn in your relationship, you're left wondering which way is up.

Chapter: 4/?

Other Chapters: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

Warnings: 18+; sexual content, language

Note: this is cross posted on ao3

Chapter 4

You weren’t sure whether or not you should be jumping at the chance to date your best friend. When you were younger you did used to hope it would be you two in the end. Life happened and crushed that thought altogether.

Soon enough you had to grow up and the idea of dating Changbin couldn’t stand up to your grueling adult life. You put it at the back of your mind along with dating in general.

That was until Jisung Han, with all his charm, waltzed in to your life. The first time he saw you he was hitting on you and it took you by surprise. He was generally outgoing you later realized but you had held on to a crush from that day. Changbin didn’t seem to notice, but every chance he got he was dissing Jisung in front of you.

You felt pretty selfish for wanting them both. But in all honesty you really did. Individually they were both incredible guys really, but you couldn’t decide if your life depended on it who you would see yourself with. Each time you made a decision you felt it was wrong. You cared for both of them deeply.

“What am I thinking?” You groan.

You had ignored Changbin’s attempts to hang out for a few days. You did feel kind of bad about it, but each time you did you remembered that hairstylist and the trainee and the barista. Your jaw clenched and you had to pull yourself from your anger.

You woke up one morning to your phone’s text message chime. Trying to reach for your phone, you swipe it to the floor.

“Damnit.” You groan as you push yourself up onto your elbows. You were not ready for the day. You stared at your phone that was too far to reach with a disapproving look.

“Is it even that important?” You lower yourself back into a comfortable position when your phone chimes two more times. “Seriously?”

You kick your covers off and head to the bathroom to wake up a bit. When you check your phone you have a missed call and several text messages. You had a rule that real emergencies allow for multiple calls but only real emergencies, so you put your phone down to take a shower before opening the messages. You had a feeling they weren’t going to put you in a good mood.

Your phone started ringing and you shut your eyes as the water hit your face. Nope. Not now.

“Answer your damn phone!” You couldn’t quite make out what was said but you shut off the water immediately.

“The fuck, bruh?” Chan opened the bathroom door.

“Uhm.” You peak your head out of the shower. “The fuck is right!”

“Why am I dealing with Jisung and now Changbin’s whining? They’re moping and fighting. And Changbin’s pissed at me? Me!”

“Towel?”

“Why don’t you just step out?” Chan smirked at you and leaned his elbow against the towel rack.

“Very funny. I can’t reach it from here.” You reach out your arm.

“Yeah, it’s a shame...” he giggled. You were upset with yourself for finding that cute.

“Okay, don’t hand me the towel. We can do this here. What are you here for?”

“I can’t take their bitching.” He shrugs.

“So, in dramatic Chanie fashion you blow up my phone and storm in here while I’m showering?”

“Well, I didn’t blow up your phone for the record, but yes.” He shrugs. You let out a loud sigh causing him to chuckle again he leans over and grabs your towel. He playfully starts to head out of the room when he sees the look on your face.

“Kidding.” He laughs, handing it to you. He walks out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him. “Also they’re fighting pretty bad. They’ve been getting into wrestling matches that Jeongin is definitely tired of splitting up.”

When you finish getting dressed, you find Chan on the couch with a bowl in hand. You laugh to yourself as he stuffs his face.

“I’m starving.” He shrugs. You roll your eyes and take a seat next to him. He offers you a bite which you gladly take because whatever he has concocted smelled delicious.

“You can make gold from nothing can’t you?”

“Thank you!” He says with a mouth full of food. “No one else agrees.”

You hear a knock at the door and your certain Changbin has come to mope, but Hyunjin stood there with a bag of food.

“Considering the state of these boys I thought you might want to talk.” He says pushing his way past you.

“Hyunjin-ah! I love you.” You wrap your arms around him from behind. “Can you kick Chanie out for me?”

“I heard that!” He called from the front room. You smile back at him and watch Hyunjin unpack the food he brought.

“So, you broke Jisung’s heart. What else is new?”

“I did no such thing!” You gasp. “Does Minho hate me too?” Your tone is softer and a bit defeated.

“Of course not. I mean he’ll probably give you shit, but when doesn’t he?” You nod and take the bowl of food Hyunjin prepared for you to the couch.

“So, how bad is it really?” You lift your head, pushing the food around in your bowl.

“Eat.” Hyunjin ordered.

“Yes ma’am.” You take a bite looking from Hyunjin to Chan wondering when you listened to any of them.

“Well Jisung is convinced that Changbin is sleeping with you just to claim that he got to you first.”

“Excuse me,” Chan chimes in, “I got to you first!”

You look at Hyunjin and feign gagging, causing Hyunjin to laugh with you.

“Joke all you want. We kissed on New Years the first year we met.” Chan crossed his arms over his chest in triumph.

“Does that count as getting to her first?” Hyunjin questioned crossing one leg over the other.

“Hell yeah it does.” Chan started off strong but then he saw your look and immediately toned it down. “I mean if we’re arguing about that sort of childish shit.”

Hyunjin laughed at the two of you. “I remember that.”

“Huh?” You and Chan say simultaneously.

“Jeongin found you two on the terrace that night.” Hyunjin says dramatically and his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Jisung knows doesn’t he?” Your mind momentarily plays the last day you saw Jisung before his attitude change. The day at your apartment where he told you explicitly he doesn’t think you’re a slut. You brush it from your mind. Jisung was definitely acting the opposite right now.

“Ya, I don’t know why you can’t pick one person!” Hyunjin pulls you from your thoughts with his laugh. “There’s always a new flavor of the week with you.”

“That’s true.” You add giggling. Chan pouted at you both. Chan set his bowl on the table in front of him and flopped back on the couch. Slumping over, he laid his head on your shoulder.

After your meal Hyunjin decided to drag Chan back to the dorms. It took some effort to get Chan to leave, but eventually you were left alone again.

You grab your phone and notice the text messages. After taking a deep breath you start looking through them.

09-563:

You can win a gift card! Click the link below.

Scroll

Mom:

You better be taking care of yourself

Scroll

Sammy:

Love you ;) Come see me when you get a chance!

Scroll

Binnie:

07:34 Ya! Haven’t I been punished enough?

You open his messages and scroll to the first message he sent last night.

Binnie:

19:45 I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit to Chan. It just felt right to call you my girl...

20:08 I also wanted to piss Chan off and I’m sorry...

20:08 Is this that serious?

23:59 Please don’t ghost me.

23:59 Please stop ghosting me*

02:27 I’m not sure if you’re reading these and not opening them,

but I don’t want to lose you over something stupid.

07:03 Haven’t slept because of this. Will you please just talk to me?

07:28 I’m sorry.

You sighed and backed out of his messages. You weren’t even sure what to say to him. You felt like shit for kicking him out and not speaking to him, but he honestly needs to stop making decisions without consulting you. You noticed you had a text from Jisung.

Jisung

09:49 Hey...

09:50 Can we talk?

Your heart skipped a beat. Who to text first? You start with Jisung and send a simple yes. You send a message to Changbin that turns out to be pretty lengthy. You let him know it’s not fair that he gets to flirt around and then claim you as his a second later.

Jisung responded immediately asking if you could meet at the usual coffee shop down the street from the studio. You were nearly through the roof. You jumped up and got dressed. It was only when you were heading out the door that you suddenly thought of all the ways this could go wrong.

Changbin paced the dorm, glancing at his phone every so often. He promised himself that he wouldn’t text anymore. He had said all he needed to say and anymore would just be pathetic, he told himself.

“Can you do that somewhere else?” Seungmin asked as he watched Changbin pace.

“He’s heart broken.” Felix appears from seemingly out of nowhere. “He refused my hug.” He slightly pouts. Seungmin shook his head.

Changbin suddenly sat on the couch and threw himself into a laying position, he was so frustrated he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Much better.” Seungmin nods with a smile.

“He’s still sad.” Felix pouts.

“He needs alone time.” Seungmin nods waving Felix along.

Changbin ran his hands through his hair and thought about the fact that he laid his feelings out on the table. He told you and the guys that he wanted more when he said you were his. Your reaction was less than ideal. He was deflated. Then again, he thought, you may have just been upset to be out of the loop.

Changbin sat up. He decided he shouldn’t give you anymore space, he needed to go over there.

“Did you really ask that?” Hyunjin asked. “Never mind I’m sure you did.”

“I feel good about it.” Chan smiles.

“She’s not going to take you up on that. She’s in love I hope you know.” Hyunjin says matter-of-factly. “Oh.”

“Speaking of...” Chan says looking from Changbin to Hyunjin with a knowing look. Hyunjin nods.

“I wouldn’t mess with him.” Jeongin warns as he passes through, eating kimbap.

“Still?” Chan sighs.

“At your own risk.” Seungmin shrugs.

Changbin ignores the conversation and pushes past Seungmin. He pulls on his hat, shrugs into a jacket, and grabs his keys before slipping into his shoes. Changbin is more nervous than he expected heading to see you. It wasn’t normal for him to be nervous around you or about you, but he found these small moments popping up lately.

“Did you know he was in love?” Chan asked Seungmin when he heard the door close.

“It was only obvious. They’re both obvious, and they’re both dumb.” Seungmin says causing Hyunjin to laugh and high five him.

“But I thought she liked Jisung?” Felix pops his head out of the kitchen to join the drama. The guys got silent momentarily and Seungmin looked towards the far couch where Minho sat watching videos on his iPad. Minho chuckled to himself and cooed at the screen.

“Cute!” He said to himself. “What?” Minho whined when everyone sat around him. Chan snatched the iPad.

“Aw, cute!”

“See. Give it-“ he whined again. Chan shook his head and turned it off.

“You know more about this love triangle than the rest of us.” Felix said pulling the couch throw over his shoulders.

“Yeah, and I think she’s in love with Changbinnie.” Hyunjin affirms confidently.

“What if she’s in love with them both?” Minho grabs for his iPad. When Chan holds it out of reach, Minho starts to pout. “Why am I an expert?”

Changbin was just starting the engine when his phone chimed. He rushed to grab it seeing a message from you. His heart skipped a beat. Changbin quickly opened it and his heart fell a bit. He was a little sad to see you were still upset with him.

He had a natural flirtatious nature, but he will admit that he wanted to make you jealous. Changbin picked his moments carefully, he wanted you to see him as irresistible and it backfired. Never did he think you would think he was playing games. He though he was innocently attracting your attention.

Changbin sat in his car for a moment, unable to come up with a response. He still wanted to see you in person. He was determined to fix this. He typed and deleted his text message to you for the sixth time and tossed his phone in the passengers seat. He put the car in to gear and decided to work up his confidence on the drive over.

When he pulled up to your apartment it still took Changbin some time to get out of the car. His attempts at boosting his confidence fell short. He tapped the steering wheel and sighed to himself a few times before he seemingly forced himself to get out.

Changbin wasn’t quite sure what to say when he got there. You hadn’t ever really been mad at him before, not truly. Deep down he knew this wasn’t something that would last forever, but at the moment it sure felt like it and he didn’t want to be without you again.

Jisung tried to stay mad at both of you. He wanted to be mad at Changbin for stealing you from him, but he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted to be mad at you for leading him on but he knew that too wasn’t true.

Jisung wasn’t sure why he was so angry. He should be happy if your happy, but this situation left him feeling left out and unworthy. Not to mention the fact that he beat himself up for never telling you how he felt before this.

Though it had been weeks since he had last seen or spoken to you, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t want to see or speak to you. Jisung eventually started bringing you up without realizing it in conversation. Anytime Changbin would mention it, Jisung would blow up. It took far too long, but Jisung came to the realization that he was being entirely too immature and he truly missed being around you.

You straightened yourself out for the third time and finally entered the coffee shop. You’re so nervous at this point you almost turn around. You suddenly spot Jisung looking directly back at you. It almost startled you, but you moved towards him trying to compose yourself as if this hadn’t been so hard on you.

When you near the table, Jisung stood and walked around to greet you. His voice was soft and he gently leaned in. It was much more awkward than normal, but you were glad to be around him again. His arms wrapped around you gently at first, then he tightened his grip. Your certain he whispers I missed you, but it’s so faint you argue with yourself over it being real.

“Hey.” He says when you both sit down. “I ordered you a matcha latte, I hope that’s okay. I know you said you liked their matcha last time we came, so...”

“Of course it’s fine.” You flash him an appreciative smile. He did know you so well. Jisung had a way of remembering the details. You shift the napkins on the table nervously, not sure what to do with your hands or where to look.

“Hey,” he starts and looks away when your eyes meet. He takes a deep breath and starts again. “So, I just need to tell you I’m sorry.”

He looks in your eyes and you feel that nervous excited feeling rise in your stomach. He fidgets a bit in his seat and you want to comfort him, but you don’t know where to start. He hurt you, and it’s hard to know how to tip toe around his feelings when you aren’t sure what they are.

“It’s okay, Jisungie.” You look down at your hands. “I’m sorry, too.”

“No,” he sits up in his seat, as his hand falls over yours. He seemed to be gaining confidence. “Please, don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for...” he sighs at himself. It takes him a moment to speak again as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve liked you for a long time. As long as I can remember knowing you, really.” Jisung was significantly more calm confessing these feelings to you than he had anticipated. It felt natural. Maybe it only felt that way because he had rehearsed it in his head so many times before this.

You suddenly felt your heart rate picking up. It was nervousness and excitement all rolled in to one and you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

“Do you have feelings for him?” He questioned and after a momentary silence, “be honest.” He added.

You looked him in the eyes and nodded. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to confirm it. But looking in to his eyes you knew you couldn’t lie.

“So, where do we go from here?” He questioned. His eyes caught yours and you felt a bit nervous . His big brown eyes were sincere and you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. You didn’t want to be without him again.

——————————————————————————

Hey, lovely! I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks so much for stopping by💞

(These chapters are so long >.<. )

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cherry3point14 · 4 years ago

Text

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23 hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.) This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

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lemonietrinket · 5 years ago

Text

Reach ||| Felix x Reader

Summary: After finding out that you are older than him, you feel like the chances of your crush liking you back immediately go from low to zero in a matter of minutes. But there are a few other things you don’t know about Felix, besides his age that you somehow managed to miss, so not all hope is lost...

Genre: Fluff, angst, with some small bits of humour thrown in Warning(s): Some poor language (inferred: text abbreviations) Word Count: 4329 (+11 photos of fake text) Theme Song: Sing Me - Day6

AN: A request from anon, I’m so sorry it took so long! I hope you like it, it did turn out a bit angstier (and a lot longer) than I originally intended but the fluff I think makes up for it!

~~~

You always felt so giddy and light whenever Felix was mentioned in any capacity in your vicinity. Your heart could never stop pounding at the speed of light, while your stomach was always alive with butterflies, fluttering up into your lungs and leaving you short of breath.

But now, dread slowly began to seep through your body like a poison, the butterflies ceasing up and stuttering. Their corpses fell to the pit of your guts, and those that did not became lodged in your chest and throat, leaving you without air for another reason entirely.

Your fingers numbly opened your laptop and pressed the keys of Felix’s name. You never searched him, you felt like it was an invasion of privacy, especially when he was normally right there within your physical grasp if you so wished to take it (which you never did, you were too afraid to take the leap). But this was something small, and though it was somehow something so huge while being so, you let yourself off just this once. Not that you could stop yourself even if you’d tried.

The screen turned white, the search bar scrolling unnaturally slowly, until finally Google returned your worst fear.

Age: 19. In bold, unavoidable text. As if you were stupid. And you felt as if you were.

It had to be wrong, it had to be. An inaccuracy in results. You’d seen them happen before, whales with four legs and members of other groups being represented by the wrong photo.

You clicked on the first webpage and scrolled, your eyes unblinking, unwavering. And then the second. And then the third.

19.

You pushed yourself away from the desk, your face a stone wall while your thoughts ravaged in your head.

You couldn’t comprehend how you’d been years older this whole time. You’d assumed he was your age, you were on such a similar wavelength that your subconscious hadn’t considered he wasn’t. Meanwhile the irrational part of your brain refused to be quiet. He isn’t even 20 yet, it said, think old you were when he was 18, when he was 17, when he was 16—

It was only three years. It wouldn’t mean anything in half a decade but it still weighed so heavily on your shoulders.

You knew Chan was still messaging you, the light on your phone wavering in the corner of your eye, blurred with brimming tears. The truth was though that you weren’t even crying, not with the rest of your body at least. You didn’t feel like it, the usual energy you had festering and leaving you empty, meaning the tears built up but refused to fall.

All of those beautiful smiles that put the sun to shame and had been directed to you meant little now—only that he probably liked you as his senior, nothing more. There was a chance that he only smiled at you to curry more favour, not because he genuinely liked you. All while the age-hierarchy indicated that all of those texts were probably just him responding to you because he felt like he had to. Even when hope tried to remind you that he didn’t grow up with it, and regularly texted first, the voidful feeling crushed it.

Because, ignoring all of the age-related qualms, you still hadn’t bothered to even ask him how old he was. That surely made you a bad friend, and if you couldn’t be a good friend to him then what partner would you be? You were undeserving of him, and he most definitely did not like you back.

Aimlessly, you moved from your desk chair to your bed, dragging the cold weight of you phone in your hand and letting the screen turn black. As you lay dejectedly upon the covers, your thoughts trailed off to think of the boy you’d fallen so hard and quickly for. His radiant smile that you wanted to be the reason for, his pretty eyes that you always found yourself gazing into no matter how much you told yourself not to, his adorable hands that you just longed to hold... It was as if his features were emblazoned in your mind, and nothing could wash them away, and it only made thinking how these things were out of reach for you now hurt more.

Hearing your phone vibrate by your head where you’d discarded it, you absentmindedly flicked your eyes up to look at the lit screen. Seeing who the notification was from, your fingers immediately opened it up before you could stop yourself, eyes scouring over the messages.

You’d forgotten all about the restaurant trip you had agreed to last week. Everyone was going to be there. Your thoughts briefly turned to rationalising an escape route—maybe if you claimed sick Chan would let you stay home, or maybe if you even told him the full truth he would?

It was nonsense of course, everyone was going, so you would have to attend at least for their sake. Plus, he would always say that moping wouldn’t help after all, and you had to face your demons eventually.

Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from feeling a shedload of regret for agreeing. Even if there was no way you could have known, you scolded yourself for putting yourself in the line of potential damage.

Still, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted to see everyone and catch up on everything—make new plans, learn new gossip—but you knew if you glanced at him, even just once, you would shatter.

With your mind in turmoil, you felt drawn to the clock ticking away endlessly on the other side of the room. It felt as if it was counting down to an end, though you put a quick stop to your melodramatic heart’s ramblings in this circumstance. You couldn’t focus on the sound for your own sanity’s sake, otherwise you wouldn’t head out at all. Opting to check the time, you spotted that you still had an hour and a half before you had to get ready, if you pushed it. And yes, rushing was not something you preferred, but you’d already made an exception for yourself today so why not another?

You slipped under your blankets, rolling over to face the wall and shut out the world. Gravity played its part and pulled the tears from the barricades of where they’d halted, clearing your eyes so you couldn finally close them comfortably.

You’d get through it. Perhaps things would be ok.

Smooth jazz music wafted across the air in the restaurant much like the rich scents of delicious food from the surrounding tables. With everyone smiling at one another, laughing into their drinks and desperately apologising to the next table over, you’d never felt more out of place.

You’d strategically sandwiched yourself between Chan and Jeongin, praying that this combination would be the most likely to not attract the attentions of Felix. But, to your luck, the person you were so desperately trying to avoid ended up sitting right opposite you. And, to make matters worse, he seemed very intent on trying to catch your eye, send you smiles, and—the worst part by far—talk to you.

Aimlessly picking at your rice with your spoon, you felt awful; not only were you unable to handle the situation quite literally right in front of you, you had practically become a deadweight in the group. Even when Jeongin asked you things, the boy who had grown up so much and never failed to make your laugh with is sass, you could barely muster answers configured of multiple sentences. All the while your eyes were cut off from looking at the vast majority of the room, forced to the confines of the table, your hard left and your hard right.

Soon enough, the time came where Felix finally spoke to you, and god you wanted the word to swallow you whole.

“Hey, Y/N, can you pass me the soy?”

Gulping, your forehead creased as you slipped your hand across to take the sauce from Chan and rigidly pass it across the wood.

He seemed to pay no mind to your wordlessness, replying with a bright, “Thank you!” All you could do was pray that would be the end of it.

But one of the qualities you admired in Felix was his diligence, and it took the form of gentle persistence on this occasion nonetheless.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want to play some video games at some point?” he enquired, hastily adding, “Jisung and I have been meaning to get round to trying out this new multiplayer, and it seems right up your street! The art is really cool, and I’ve already downloaded some of the soundtrack because it’s just that good.”

You centred your eyes awkwardly on your rice, answering as simply as you could, “Sorry I’m busy.”

You heard him chuckle, seemingly completely unfazed, and the sound snapped another one of your heartstrings, “Well, obviously not right now, but maybe, like, tomorrow evening?”

“Y-yeah, busy.” You hated how he quickly caught onto your silence and followed suit, but you also had to be thankful in some shape or form. Maybe you could get this night over and done with, and then get over your crush too and save yourself the majority of the heartbreak that you presumed was inevitable.

However, Felix was not that easily deterred and by your luck—or was it misfortune?—you suddenly saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

Taking the risk and glancing up ever so slightly, your gaze met the sight of your crush leant in over the table. His head was cocked cutely to one side, the feathered tresses of his fringe effortlessly accentuating his features, his hand reaching towards you carefully without a particular aim other than to try and show something. He’d inclined over to try and reach you, and you had accidentally fallen right into him, your eyes catching his and he smiled.

It wasn’t fair. Those pools of rich chestnut had held you and very nearly broken every single one of your defences. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Are you ok?” he asked, and you could only stammer incoherent phrases, your cheeks heating up as you tried to hold yourself together.

There were many reasons why you had fallen so quickly for this boy in particular, like his resilience as mentioned earlier. Though another one of those things was his selfless kindness, and it had arisen to bite you: of course he would notice your silence, your crestfallen expression and worry. “Y/N? Do you feel sick? Do you want to get some air?”

Unable to respond once again, emptily swaying your spoon in a half-empty bowl you heard his voice at a strange distance. You didn’t snap back into focus, and only then barely so, until he continued, “Come on, lets get some air.”

Head empty and crowded at the same time, you looked up without fully understanding why. You could only rationalise that it was to see the sight of Felix sending a nod to Chan to your right, before asking Changbin to shift a bit so he could get through. Your heart lurched at it, the amount of care he offered you gnawing at your lungs.

Before you knew it, Jeongin was helping you stand, and you were out from around the table, following Felix a few steps behind.

Your focus once again settled on him and him alone, even though you’d promised yourself before you arrived to never do so again. You wanted to believe that he did all of this because he liked you back, that he’d fallen for you just as hard as you’d fallen for him, but you’d convinced yourself he was just extremely kind—and he of course was, therefore meaning that the story was all tied up and set.

Nevertheless, there wasn’t much that could have prepared you for what followed.

The cold hit your face and knocked the daze out of you, and you suddenly felt very awake, as if you’d fallen face first into a pool of ice cold water. Having stepped out onto the balcony, you had been plunged into the night with little to protect yourself with. Hence you wrapped your arms around yourself as best you could, drawing your jacket closed as your eyes surveyed the street just metres below.

The lamplights were warm against the navy of the night, and the few people that were still out dappled in and out of the shadows. You let your mind wander as to where they were going; a graveyard shift, out to a party, home. You wondered if any of them had someone waiting for them, a love they couldn’t wait to see and hold again after a long day out. The thought sent a pang through your heart.

The change of scenery had successfully distracted you from the person who had both directly and indirectly led you into it, but you couldn’t exist painless forever. You had to confront him now.

It was Felix who spoke first, though. Before you could even turn around, his voice, deep and sweet, danced across the breeze. “Hey, do you feel any better?”

You nodded simply, lips pressed together as to avoid anything stupid and sudden.

He sighed, a sound filled with relief but also an edge of something else. “Ah, that’s great. You do look it... the light’s returned to your eyes a bit.”

The wind buffered around the nearby buildings, a police siren wailing in the distance, catching your attention to the junction at the end of the street. Turning your head away from him, you shivered at the cold, listening intently to it fading away into the hum of the traffic.

“I guess you found out then,” Felix began suddenly, a car horn making the both of you jump.

“Found out what?” you asked, keeping your head ducked low as you turned back towards him.

You heard him pause but remained afraid to glance up. He hesitantly shuffled on his feet. “Th-that I have a crush on you.”

The world continued; the traffic bustled along the mainroad, people hurried along the streets, dogs barked at nothing.

But to you, everything went silent. Dead quiet. No wind, no clatter of shop gates, no mildly drunken yelling. Just your heartbeat, beating harder by the second, and the sound of your crush’s nervous breathing.

You looked up at him at last, to see his face obscured by his arm as he rubbed the back of his neck idly. He moved it away eventually, revealing his head downturned as yours had been just moments before.

You stood transfixed as his voice wavered, knocked by the wind as he attempted to explain, as if he needed to rectify a mistake. “I-it’s ok, I don’t want to ruin the friendship now, I—uh...” he broke off as he swallowed thickly, and you noticed that his cheeks weren’t flushed from the cool air, but rather from the tears that were welling in his eyes. “I want you to know that I’m so happy with being just friends, and... I really hope I haven’t made you feel awkward around me and—I’m sorry I...”

You found it so cruel of the world to make his eyes glisten as if they held the stars when they cradled tears. It was a form of twisted irony that he didn’t deserve. But it was the final straw that made your heart snap.

The spring of tension and worry and fear uncoiled as you reached across the deck for him, pulling him into the care of your arms. You were taken aback by how neatly they fit around him, how perfectly he rested against your chest and how his nose nuzzled into your neck.

“No, it’s ok! Shh, don’t be sorry, you have no reason to be sad. Please don’t be sad,” you found yourself whispering, your voice so fragile that it no doubt was carried away by the wind as soon as it fell to his ear.

You rubbed your hand soothingly across the mid of his back, the other tracing up to his hair and stroking the tresses there. Meanwhile, Felix remained confused. he longed to sink into your touch, his fingers gripping at your jacket being proof of that, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax.

“What...? Why are you...?”

A smile slowly rising to your lips, you didn’t waste a second.

“You haven’t ruined anything, I’d be so happy with being friends with you too, but—I like you Felix, I have a crush on you too...!” you rushed, pulling away to hold him at arm's length. Upon seeing his shining, wide eyes and his puffed, pouting lips you sighed in relief. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your palms, like you’d wanted to do for so long. “God, I was such an idiot...!”

“No, you’re not stupid!” Felix emphasised, barely coming to terms with your confession himself.

Though you nodded desperately, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “But I am. I thought you didn’t like me back.” It was then that reality decided to hit you full force, the sound of the rest of the world returning to yours as you exclaimed, “Oh my god, you like me back?!”

“Y-you like me back?!” he echoed, hands fumbling at his chest before finally gaining the courage to come to your shoulders instead. There he delicately ran his fingers across your shoulders, as if to check if you were even real. “Why—why wouldn’t I like you back?”

“Because you’re younger than me!” you said, “I didn’t think you’d see me as even viable, like, I thought you saw me as only a senior to you and that...” You gazed into his eyes, no longer cradling stars but rather glistening with the gold from the restaurant behind you, watching as they widened even further. “Why would I not like you back?”

“Because you’re older than me! I thought I wasn’t cool enough for you, and that you only were nice to me because you had to look out for me!”

His answer forced an astonished laugh out of both of you, and before you knew it the pair of you were in borderline hysterics. Felix fell back to cover his mouth with his fist, walking an aimless circle as you merely bent over, hiding behind your palms.

“We’re so stupid!” he announced, his eyes wide and incredulous, all the signs of tears long gone.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip as you knocked your head back up, staring at him incredulously as you shook your head. “At least we both are.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, returning to you, his hands reaching for yours, “we can be dumb together.”

“Exactly, it’s merely proof that we belong together.”

You didn’t think your words through then, but any fear was met with strength, as Felix showed no sign of disagreement—rather the opposite, gently caressing your hands in his before you finally interlocked your fingers. Back together, only inches apart, you were once again in each other’s solace, stood against the auburn haze of the city night and the cold it brought.

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he murmured, the brightest grin on his face as he glanced to your lips.

“Neither do I.”

Desperately trying to keep yourself together as the proximity and the intentions of both his and your words, you leant in until your foreheads met. There you welcomed the grace of the small touch with your whole heart, wondering if you would reach out to what you had dreamt of.

With your eyes closed, unable to take in the sight of his soft beauty, you took in the scent of him as his deep voice caught your attention. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!”

Your words barely rolled of your tongue before the final gap had been closed between you and your lips met at last.

His kiss was not what you expected; it was soft yet deep, as if he wished to instil final proof that he meant everything he’d said. You couldn’t help but melt into him, your hands drawing away from his own, only so you could loop them behind his neck. He mirrored you, his hands finding the small of your back, and pulling you closer as you pressed into him.

Perhaps this time the world did stop, to momentarily regard you and the kiss that summarised all the feelings that had lingered in your soul for months. After all, it was a resurrection event too, as the butterflies’ sparks reignited, sending them spiralling throughout your body and you back into radiant life.

It didn’t matter to you though, as your world stopped and that was all that was important in that second. Just the feel of his lips soft and plump between yours, and the hum of absolute relief that mottled through your throat at the touch.

You pulled apart with a gasp from both sides, still entwined with your arms.

Felix cursed, smile immediately returning to his features.

“What?” You cocked your head inquisitively.

“It’s so cold,” he said, exaggerating a shiver playfully to emphasise his point.

You rolled your eyes at him with a chuckle, stepping away but instantly taking his hand into yours. It was a decision of mixed results, as yes you were holding his hand, but now you had to come to terms with just how tiny they were and how devastated that made you.

“Hey, stop ogling my hands!” he pouted.

You perhaps would have pressed the matter if you weren’t still dazed by how quickly everything in your life had changed for you. You swept your head back, before pulling your best Australian accent, “You don't like me ‘cause of my personality...”

He immediately caught on, the two of you immediately wailing, “Only ‘cause my body!”

You continued to laugh together as you made your way back inside the restaurant, grateful to be in the warm again.

“Honestly, I try to be nice to him one time...!” Felix said, pursing his lips as he shook his head.

“I know right! And he just throws it right back...!”

“Terrible hyung!”

“Hundred percent!”

As you turned the corner to where your table was, you only just caught sight of Hyunjin looking over in your direction before he suddenly shouted.

“Finally!”

Confused, you took the lead, “Hey, sorry guys, I hope we weren’t gone for—”

All of a sudden you were confronted with seven guys sighing and sinking into their chairs with relief. Changbin was rubbing his eyes, Minho had his eyes centralised on the ceiling, all the while Jeongin was grinning wildly at Seungmin, a hand outstretched and beckoning for something, to which the elder was desperately miming for him to cut out.

No answer came to mind until you noticed Jisung exasperatedly smiling at the two of you, or more specifically your interlinked hands.

Glancing at Felix, silently asking him if he knew about this to which he shook his head bemusedly, your attention was taken away by Chan who had stood, making his way to the both of you.

“At last,” he stated, his features folded into tired relief, “praise the lord, I was starting to think we were going to need divine intervention—”

You heard Minho pipe up behind, “By divine intervention he means me!”

“—but thankfully we didn’t. God, I’m just happy that you finally did it.”

“Thanks...?” Felix looked at him sheepishly.

You exhaled a laugh, bringing your new boyfriend a little bit closer to your side—something he of course didn’t have a single gripe with—ahead of catching Chan’s attention. “Bang, what is all of this?”

He pouted. “Hey! You can’t get mad at us for being sick of you two! Imagine having to watch two obviously-in-love people dance around the in-love-with-each-other part for months. It was driving us insane!” Before you could interject, the he continued, “It doesn’t matter now, we’re just happy that you’re together now at least. And look! Because I’m a good leader I’ve moved myself out of the way so you two can sit next to each other.”

Unable to quite comprehend this further development, that the entire group had been anxiously waiting for you to get yourselves together and confess for as long as you’d literally liked each other, you murmured a ‘thank you’, before beginning to make your way to your new seats.

Your food was inevitably cold, but neither of you minded at all. The rush of newfound love had sated your appetites rather enough for tonight, though you expected you could go for one more thing.

Ignoring the bustle of his group mate’s comments, and the rather proud smile of Chan opposite you, you turned to Felix, “Hey, do you want to share some ice cream?”

The look on his face made your heart flutter instantaneously.

It was as if the sun had risen, his pretty smile gleaming while his nose scrunched sweetly. “Yes please!”

Knowing his favourite flavour of the top of your head, you sat back and let Hyunjin call for the waitress so everyone could order desserts. Even when the others spoke to you, and even though you felt even more alive than normal, you always found yourself looking back to Felix, taking in the sculpture of his adorable face that you now could hold between your fingers if you so wished.

He meanwhile got shy under your gaze, smiling to himself as he looked away coyly.

As you leant in to whisper how adorable he looked in his ear, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Taking it out swiftly, your heart swelled as you read the message upon your lockscreen. Sending a thankful grin to the man opposite you, you quickly turned your attention to detailing your order to the waitress.

And at last, things were much more than ok.

~~~

AN: ok so this took longer than i imagined (like a solid 4 hours at least, idek i wasnt actually counting)

the irony is i actually wrote that felix’s age was 20 until i luckily checked and found he was still 19. i’d forgotten to count that his birthday hadn’t happened yet but. yeah. proud stay moment.

apologies for any poor quality ss, my phone hates me

i hope you enjoyed anon and so again for the wait!

Masterlist

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years ago

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knight au chapter 10

yay chapter 10!!!!

warnings: none

check masterlist for link to full work

Ouch…

It hurts…

She wanted to reach up and rub the burning spot on the side of her neck, but Lisa found herself unable to move. Her body would not budge an inch; in fact, she wasn’t sure that she even had a body anymore. The only sensation was that of the pain where her neck should be.

Am I… dead?

I don’t want to die…

Isn’t that selfish?

…

With a sudden gasp, Lisa’s eyes popped open, blinking a few times as awareness flooded back into her. There were people around her, and she seemed to be laying in a bed. One of the figures was bent over, and speaking in a quiet tone. Their features came into focus, revealing an older man with glasses, grey hair, and a small beard. Recognition flickered in the back of her mind.

“Owen?”

The old man blinked, a look of surprise coming over his face. But then, he smiled a comforting smile. “Ah, you must have heard my name in your sleep. Yes, I’m doctor Owen, it’s nice to meet you, Lisa.”

“Nice to meet- ow-” Lisa tried to sit up, but her head throbbed with pain.

“Be careful!” Owen and a nurse quickly helped her stay steady and rise into a sitting position. “Deep breaths. You’ve been asleep with those wounds for a whole day, I bet they’re nice and sore by now.”

“Yeah…” Lisa squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to remember what happened to her. “Are they bad?”

“Your wounds? They could be worse. You’re lucky you got here in time,” Owen told her. “You might not remember because of the shock, but you were shot five times in the back and neck out there. They’ll take some time to heal fully, but you should be able to move around more tomorrow. On the bright side, your arm wasn’t injured further, so I took that cast off for you.”

Lisa looked down at her left arm, seeing that it was indeed free. She held up the limb for a moment, flexing it and enjoying the sensation of strength in the area. But then, memories flooded back, and her blood ran cold. “Oh!” She looked up at Owen, panicked. “Julius-”

“King Julius is unharmed,” Owen finished, his lips twitching a bit into a quick grin. “He was very thankful for your sacrifice… he’s hardly left this room, and he moped around in the hallway when we made him leave. I think he went back to the castle now, but I’m sure he’ll be back to thank you personally.”

Lisa nodded, her pounding heart quieting. He’s hardly left my side… I hope he comes back soon. She caught herself halfway into a smile, and cleared her throat to dispel the warmth in her cheeks. “I see… and Sei?”

“Sei took an arrow to the back, but it was easy to treat,” Owen replied. “So… no harm done. Except for those Diamond knights King Julius killed…”

...Diamond knights? Killed? Lisa couldn’t remember the situation exactly, but couldn’t dwell on it much as Owen gently clasped her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, though. Rest up, I’ll let everyone know you’re awake, okay?”

Lisa nodded, looking up into the man’s kind eyes. Any recognition she thought she saw before was gone, escaping her mind. Maybe she had been thinking of someone else.

Owen and the other nurses left, but Lisa wasn’t alone for long.

“Thank goodness!!! I feared you would never wake-”

Lisa winced as Fuegoleon threw his arms around her, having burst into the room without much warning. “C-Captain- my-”

“YOUR WOUNDS!!!” Fuegoleon jumped back, appalled at his callous action. “I APOLOGIZE- well-” he cleared his throat, straightening up. “I’m glad to see you awake, Owen says you should heal quickly… but still-” His face turned stern. “What were you thinking, running off on your own? I understand that you feel the need to prove yourself, but it’s not worth it if you get hurt like this. Understood?”

“Yes… understood.” Lisa averted her eyes, shame welling up inside her. That’s right… because of me, Sei got hurt too, I’m sure he’s mad-

“Give her a break, Fuegoleon, it’s partially my fault, too.”

Lisa looked up to see none other than Sei walk in. She could see bandages coming up his back under his shirt, and he walked with only a slight limp. The man caught her eye, and to her surprise, gave her a smile. “I egged her on… but in the end everyone was ok, weren’t they?”

“I suppose you’re right... “ Fuegoleon sighed, holding out his hand for Sei to take. “It’s just… if anything happened to either of you…” An emotion passed through his fiery gaze, for just a moment. “I don’t know what I would do. But!” He straightened up, giving them both a confident smile. “I’ll protect you! I’m your captain, after all, and a captain’s job is to protect his squad!”

Lisa giggled at his enthusiasm, starting to calm down a bit. “Thank you, captain… I promise I’ll think things through more in the future as well.”

“Good.” Fuegoleon let his hand slip from Sei’s. “Now, I should get going… I’ll be back in the morning to bring you both back to the base, alright?”

“Alright!”

With that, Fuegoleon left them alone. Sei let out a deep, tired sigh, moving to the room’s window and looking out onto the street. They were close to the castle, in the royal hospital that was usually only used by royals and the highest nobility. However, due to Julius’s demand, both of them were here, although Sei knew who’s sake that was really for.

“...sorry.”

“Hmm?” Sei looked over as Lisa mumbled something. “What was that?”

“Sorry.” Lisa’s gaze was fixed on the covers of her bed, her neck craned down a little. Sei could see the bandages wrapped around it, gauze and cotton smashed down around the wound. He couldn’t help but notice how pale she looked. She lost a lot of blood, after all, he thought to himself, remembering what Owen told them in the hallway earlier. She’s probably going to be weakened for a while… no missions, at least. “If I hadn’t run off-”

“Then Julius would be a prisoner of the Diamond Kingdom.” Sei interrupted. Lisa looked up at him with a start, her eyes widening at this new information. “Apparently he was kidnapped by a terrorist organization called the Eye of the Midnight Sun, led by a former knight of his. This knight was captured and tortured by the Diamond Kingdom, and planned to trade his freedom for Julius’s. If we didn’t get there in time, which we wouldn’t have if you didn’t act, then Julius would be long gone. So…” Sei turned away from the window, walking closer to the side of her bed. “Even if it was stupid, you saved him.”

Lisa opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, but then decided to stay silent. I guess so… I saved him. She looked back down at her bed. That explains why Diamond knights showed up and attacked us… the knights that Julius killed…

Slowly, she looked back up at Sei. His gaze had lengthened, staring at nothing, turned slightly back towards the open window. The slight furrow of his brow, the slight downturn of his lips; the worry was painted all over his face.

“...so… you and Julius fought off the rest of the Diamond Knights?”

Sei shook his head, letting a breath out of his nose.

“No… I couldn’t move. Julius did.”

The whole scene was still fuzzy for Sei, his memory warped by the shock of being shot in the shoulder. But there was something about it that chilled his very bones.

“He took your rapier and killed them all by himself. He didn’t get a scratch on himself while doing it. It was…” Sei’s voice trailed off before shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Julius fight, but I’ve heard stories… and now I think I understand why the other Kingdoms fear him.”

Silence settled in between the two of them, and Sei suddenly realized that he was probably scaring Lisa. Indeed, when he quickly turned Lisa's way, he saw her eyes wide with worry. “But- he protected us perfectly, and the others showed up soon after that.” He managed to give her a little smile, his eyes narrowing a little. “You’re lucky to have such a passionate lover.”

Lisa’s expression turned from concern to embarrassment, and she quickly averted her eyes. “I-Well-” her face was quickly turning red, and Sei let out a little chuckle. “I’m only teasing. However, about that-” His tone quickly turned serious again. “You should be careful… if anyone finds out about it-”

“I know. I’m finished.” Lisa let out a groan and flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her face had gone blank, and Sei knew that he should probably leave.

“... if you need help, let me know. But for now, your secret is safe with me.”

Lisa turned her head to see Sei give her a wave as he headed out the door.

“...thank you.”

“No problem.”

The door closed, and Lisa was left alone once again.

The girl turned back away from the door, curling up and pulling the covers around her body tighter. She still felt so cold; her hands were even shaking and slightly numb.

Sei seemed really disturbed… did Julius really kill all those people by himself?

She was sure he could; after all, Julius was one of the most powerful captains in his day. Allies and enemies alike called him “the mighty stag,” due to the sharp antlers he wore upon his helmet. But that was years ago… yet Julius was just as deadly as he was back then.

I guess it makes sense… if our places were switched and I had just seen Julius get shot… I would have done the same.

Lisa’s grip tightened on the hem of her blanket.

And yet… that doesn’t make me feel any better…

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door suddenly creaked open. Lisa froze up for a moment out of habit, her breath catching in her throat. However, she quickly moved again, turning over and looking over at the door. Once again, she froze, her eyes widening. But the shock wore away, and she felt her lips break into a smile.

“Julius!”

Indeed, it was Julius, standing there in the doorway with a tired yet happy expression on his face.

“Lisa…”

He slammed the door closed behind him and bounded over to her side. Lisa sat up just in time to receive his hug, a gentle yet firm, and embrace so warm and welcome that Lisa almost melted away into it at contact.

“Thank god… thank god…”

Julius’s large hand stroked the back of her head tenderly. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down Lisa’s skin, and she smiled to herself as she buried her face into his shoulder. He was so strong and warm-

The two sat there for a long time, scared to loosen their grips on each other. Julius’s heart was pounding, out of breath from running all the way down here as soon as he received the news. The adrenaline was rapidly catching up to him, as was the realization that Lisa was alive, awake and exactly where she belonged. The gravity of this situation was quickly diffusing, but Julius couldn’t help but feel a few tears prick at his eyes.

I… I really am pathetic.

He shifted slightly, resting his chin on top of her head. The feeling of her soft hair just made his heart clench more.

When did she become the source of all my happiness?

“Julius? Are you okay?”

Julius didn’t have time to wipe his eyes as Lisa pulled back, having picked up on the slightest sob from his chest. He sniffed, putting on a smile as her mouth opened in concern, her eyes seeing the quiet tears streaking down his cheeks. “Julius! You-”

“It’s alright.” Julius’s voice was soft. Lisa blinked, not sure what to say. The sight of him crying was worrying, and she wasn’t exactly sure what had moved him so much. She was alright, wasn’t she? “I… I’m just being silly. Don’t worry about me.”

Lisa nodded slowly, then leaned in. Julius sat still as she craned her neck a little, her eyes flickering closed. Her lips pressed gently against his cheek, below his eye, and kissed the tear away. Warmth blossomed from the spot, and Julius was sure that his heart had stopped.

Lisa’s hands cupped his face, just below his jaw. Her eyes opened, half lidded, to stare into his. Julius’s own hands gently slid up her arms, one of them lingering over the back of her neck. He could feel the bandages there, and guilt stabbed at his heart.

“...I’m-”

“Don’t you dare.” Lisa cut him off, her eyes popping open all the way. “Don’t you dare say I’m sorry. I don’t care if you are sorry… but I’m not.”

Julius opened his mouth, but he didn’t know how to respond. Despite everything she had been through, Lisa was smiling at him, not a single doubt in her shining eyes.

“I’m not sorry that I got hurt defending the person I care about most. I could never be sorry for that... “ Her eyes closed again, and she leaned in. Almost instinctively, Julius leaned in too; not to kiss, but to press his forehead against hers. It was a gesture so simple, yet…

So… familiar.

“...alright. But in the future… I’ll be the one protecting you. Alright?”

Lisa smiled. Julius could feel it. “Alright.”

Lisa…

She sunk deeper into his embrace, her arms wrapping around his middle and her face slipping down into his chest, a place she felt so safe… and so…

Loved…

Julius held her close, their heartbeats mingling for just a moment.

I hope you know… just how love you are.

Lisa melted away, a smile still etched on her lips.

Julius… he’s so gentle and kind… he’s not vengeful or violent. Whatever he did… he did for me.

Her hands balled up the fabric of his cape.

Please… don’t ever let go.

#tkwptkh #knight au #julius novachrono #julisa #julius novachrono x oc #julius novachrono x reader #oc: lisa #other's ocs #fuegoleon vermillion #black clover

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real-jaune-isms · 4 years ago

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 7 Review/Remix

Last episode before the holiday break. The long long long holiday break. And here I am only posting my review the night before we come back... I was having a lot of fun playing my new video games, okay? Let’s just get right into this with the joke everyone has already made. War: What is it good for? Actually a lot, if you can believe it. Only in this specific context though, because the warfare in the American streets these last few days is disgusting and emblematic of what has been wrong with the country for a while. A government leader sending his followers into the nation’s capital on a mission of rage and personal catharsis? Ick. At least in RWBY the tyrant isn’t attacking members of his own population... Oh wait, Mantle. :P

For a moment you might be fooled into thinking we’re starting back in the farmlands of Mistral, maybe getting another look at Oscar’s earlier life or seeing a little more of Nora’s mysteriously tragic past before she and Ren met. But no, these are the wheat farms on the outskirts of Atlas and Sabyrs are charging through like raptors through the tall grass in Lost World. A battalion of Atlesian soldiers, human soldiers I might add, stand armed to meet them. But even if they’re armed they are by no means ready. Monstra keeps coughing up a new wave of Grimm, and I do mean a wave, every minute or two and Atlas is pretty damn whelmed in the face of it. There are some big bots with guns standing in straight lines, but the majority of the defense put up by Remnant’s supreme authority on military power and strength is mortal men with fear in their hearts rather than expendable robot soldiers. And the big bots seem to be lined up in a way that the ones in the front block the ones in the back, so that’s just poor planning too. It’s just a concerning sight all together, and they are not efficiently handling the coming enemy. We cut up to Ironwood in his office, and it seems he is not dealing with this situation well at all. We know he’s under a lot of stress from all the recent events, but they are in fact mostly his own fault due to his poor decision making skills in times of crisis, and his single minded drive he calls a Semblance. Speaking of the eternally expanding list of Ironwood’s bad ideas, he decides to evacuate all the civilians into Atlas’ below ground subway tunnels. Fun fact: There were Apathy among the Grimm Monstra has been spitting out. Second Fun Fact: Apathy were last seen thriving and murdering in an abandoned underground tunnel system beneath a well. If one is familiar with fantasy television pop culture of the last decade, the Crypts of Winterfell might pop into your mind as a similarly poor place to hide all your unarmed women and children. Y’know, cuz in Game of Thrones they were facing a guy who could raise the dead as his minions and crypts are just tunnels full of corpses. Just saying, this could end up being a non-birthday massacre. Whatever captain of lieutenant Ironwood was talking to is hesitant to go along with this idea, but Ironwood puts his foot down by putting his fist down. And so his voice comes on over the city-wide PA system to tell everyone they need to get down into the subway for their own safety. Compared to the organized marching and relative calm of the poor folks down in Mantle, these rich fat cats practically trample each other to run and scream down the stairs. A father is concerned his daughter is going to get snatched up by a swarm of Lancers, but seems even more upset by the squad of airships swooping in to combat them.

Speaking of airships, we cut to the one Marrow and Harriet are flying. The Ace Ops have arrested YRJ, because of course they did, and they all hear radio chatter as pilots are reporting in about how Monstra is too tough for them to pierce from the outside with any of the weapons available to them. Winter checks in over comms to report her team’s limited successes, and Ironwood tells her to stay on jailor duty for a bit. Yang snarks at Winter for continuing to follow orders despite the circumstances, but conversation is stifled by Monstra coming into view for the group. Jaune laments that the beast now serving as Oscar’s confinement is larger than they had imagined from a distance, and Vine continues to be rigid in his assertions as to just what Grimm can and cannot do. “Grimm don’t take prisoners” he says, as if that’s an irrefutable fact. It’s not like any Grimm have done anything new or unheard of recently, like talk or grow wings or exist within a river of evil sludge or shoot up miles into the air as a geyser or have gravity Dust crystals in their underbelly to fly, or as you are witnessing right now belch out ponds worth of sludge from with waves of Grimm are emerging to fight your ground troops. Yep, we definitely know every single thing a Grimm does, especially one brought here by the mistress of the entire Grimm collective who is commanding most of them here. You sure are smart, Vine... Yang continues to be riled up and ask they be let go to help, but Elm and Vine hold her in her seat. Ironwood is heard giving the Manta jets new orders and reveals Command is working on a solution for Monstra. Winter, naturally wanting to be kept in the loop, asks what that might be. He reveals the science team is putting together a bomb that might be able to take the whale out if detonated inside it. That means Winter and the Ace Ops will be delivering it into the literal belly of the beast. I don’t know if he intends for it to be a suicide mission with the bomb going off as soon as they’ve got it inside, or if it’s just incredibly risky to try and get inside Monstra at all, but Winter pales at this news and her eyes go wide before sadly drooping closed again. She composes herself and grows determined again as she accepts the new marching orders. Jaune and Yang are again audibly against these plans due to the risk to Oscar’s safety, but they are subdued as needed, though we see Winter’s act isn’t absolute and her hands are shaking.

Meanwhile, Salem is having the time of her life doing her best Mickey Mouse impression. Classical music plays as she conducts the waves of Grimm sludge out of Monstra’s mouth like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice playing conductor to the stars themselves. Emerald watched from a distance, and seems less than thrilled about the whole thing. She heads down the halls and has to use her Semblance to keep a Seer from noticing her and potentially reporting her going where she doesn’t need to be to Salem. And where she’s going is the door outside Oscar’s torture room. He’s coughing up blood, and Hazel is still insisting he start telling the truth before Salem loses her patience and just kills him despite how futile it’d be. Instead Oz starts asking some questions of his own: Does Hazel know why Salem sought to recruit him in particular? It turns out she approached him with the promise of making a new world order where there won’t be any kingdoms or Huntsman Academies. Oz just has to laugh at that naiveté. When Salem gets the 4 Relics, there won’t be a world at all. She’s been around for so goddamn long, all she wants is for it to end, and she thinks taking the whole world down is the only way to get it anymore. This just frustrates Hazel, and we learn why. He’s pretty damn sure Salem can’t die at all, because when she first approached him about working together he spent the better part of a day killing her over and over and over again. This man, whom we know from the Battle of Haven to have massive reserves of Aura and strength to endure and keep fighting, kept fighting until he was too worn down and exhausted to lift his fists again. And in that time of weakness and awe at her power, Salem made her sales pitch that even if he couldn’t kill the one leading the Grimm he could at least have vengeance on the establishment sending young people to their deaths against her. Oz points out that that’s exactly why she went to him, because she could make him believe this was the right way, that it would bring him closure. It’s what Ozpin deserves, Hazel argues, and Oz does not disagree. But does Oscar deserve it? Do the innocent people who haven’t been affected by Salem or Ozpin yet? No, this isn’t for justice, this is personal. Because Salem said it would help Hazel. Has it?

We don’t get an answer to that, instead going back up to Weiss’ room in Schnee Manor where she’s reapplying Nora’s bandages. Still mostly unconscious, Nora mutters “Now what... am I good for?” I can think of a great many things Nora is useful for outside of her great strength and straightforward approach to combat, but its a damn shame no one has actually bothered to tell her that before now. Before Weiss has a chance to offer any, Blake and Ruby enter the room with cups of tea. I’m not ashamed to admit I initially thought they were hot chocolate cuz I’m not used to tea being that sort of amber color. Weiss admits that she’s done the most her limited medical knowledge can offer, and Nora needs more than that. Blake expresses her concern for the other half of their group, but almost slips up and says... well we’re just not sure, but we like to assume she was gonna say she’s especially worried for someone in particular. The shippers can fill that in how they like. Their moping is interrupted by May entering the room with some less than stellar news from Fiona and the others down in Mantle. They haven’t seen Yang’s team in a while, and with everything going to hell like this a search party is at the bottom of the priority list. She’s about ready to get back on the airship and head back down to Mantle, but Weiss protests and this sparks a debate. May points out that Mantle doesn’t have the luxury of the Atlas military protecting them so Ruby’s group and the Happy Huntresses are the only thing keeping the people safe from the chaos of the invasion, but Weiss argues that there are still people suffering up her and I have to agree. Just because a police force is around doesn’t automatically mean they’re doing the best job of keeping everyone safe. But Weiss pushes the wrong button by asking about May’s family. The Marigold’s were ashamed of the way their “son” acted, wanting to help the suffering down in Mantle. And so May would no longer let herself be called that, she became a woman proudly working as part of the Happy Huntresses for the service of the people. She kicked her Marigold name and reputation to the curb and her cousin Henry stepped up as the socialite snob instead.

This cannot have been an easy scene for Kdin to record, but we all need to give a standing ovation for her performance in it. Powerful words that likely hit very close to home. What a queen.

May is sure Weiss gets where she’s coming from with their families casting them aside in favor of a more obedient heir, her being replaced by Whitley after her outburst at the charity concert. Weiss wants to voice her disagreement, but May questions whose side she’s on in all this. Blake doesn’t like that, they’ve heard this talk about taking sides before and judging by her tone she’s none too happy to be hearing it now. May is about to give her a strongly worded piece of her mind too but Ruby stands between them to remind everyone there are no sides. All of humanity needs to be united, and Salem is the one creating the tension that’s dividing them so their real enemy is her. The only question now is how do they get out of this problem? The solution might be hiding just around the corner, literally. Whitley has been listening from behind the door, and he seems a little inspired.

Meanwhile Oz seems to have just finished telling Salem’s dark cursed backstory to Hazel, and it seems her final plan really is to have the world so divided and ruined that when the gods are brought back to judge it they will deem Remnant a failure and destroy it and hopefully her with it. Hazel seems less than inclined to believe this story though, he still holds a damn hard grudge over his sister. Oz is getting nowhere so Oscar asks to be put back in the lead, and so he is just as Hazel is about to wallop them again. Oz is willing to trust him so he can earn Hazel’s trust in return. So he goes right ahead and tells the big guy Jinn’s name and that it’s how you summon her for one last question. Hazel seems mad that Oscar gave up the info so effortlessly after all that, but Oscar asserts that he’s not telling Salem. He’s telling Hazel, and letting him decide what to do with the knowledge and the chance to gain deeper knowledge still. Pretty rad strategy. Wouldn’t you know it though, Emerald is still listening outside the door and heard everything. She goes to tell Mercury, but he’s busy packing a duffel bag for a trip to Vacuo. Guess Salem doesn’t need him here right now so we’ll get to see him again in Volume 9 or 10. He’s less than convinced that they should try and use this behind the scenes knowledge to go against Salem, cuz if Hazel couldn’t do it then why would he change his tune now? And why would they risk their necks too? It’s not like Oz was telling the truth, right? Salem isn’t really gonna destroy the world! But the teens get another surprise lecture from Uncle Tyrian: Of course Salem plans to destroy Remnant!! You couldn’t tell from the start? Everything about her screams end of the world, and it is beautiful! And if you thought she’d do anything different then you must really be crazy... Bold worlds from a psychotic serial killer, but we already know he’s unhinged. Mercury doesn’t much like getting this rude awakening though, especially since Tyrian will be the one going with him to Vacuo. Merc and Em share one last sad look, but he’s made his bed and now he’s resigned to lie in it. Bye bye Mercury, see you after Emerald has probably switched sides and will have to face you as an enemy...

Speaking of ships soaring through the air, we go back to the Ace Ops and YJR heading for Monstra. Yang is protesting the bombing plan since Oscar is still inside, but Vine insists they can’t afford to wait and risk further death and destruction. Jaune offers a side plan, send the three inside Monstra ahead of the bombing squad to scope things out for them and try to rescue Oscar while they’re doing recon. Marrow is shocked that they’d be willing to go into the literal belly of the beast alone, but Yang asserts he’d do the same for one of his teammates if they were in this position, right? He doesn’t have an answer for that. Elm argues that trading their lives just for one other person is stupid, but amazingly it is Ren who objects. Oscar is their friend, and they will do whatever it takes for someone they care about like that. A real turnaround from his attitude of closing himself off emotionally, but I guess he’s realizing how ridiculous it sounds coming from other people? Harriet gets out of her seat to do what she does best and start talking down to someone as naïve and wrong. Feelings are stupid, the job is what matters. When you lose someone you just replace them and forget about them. We find out that Winter is indeed meant to be the new leader instead of Clover, and before Marrow there was apparently a member of the team named Tortuga, but Ren is not about to let anyone tell him that someone is replaceable. You don’t say that to Team JNPR, and we definitely don’t say that about Ren... Not now. In his outrage, Ren suddenly finds... clarity. He starts seeing the world a little differently. In less cryptic terms, his Semblance seems to have evolved and he now sees people’s emotions swirling around them as colorful bursts of flower petals. Harriet is actually furious about losing Clover, she’s lying to herself and trying to suppress her feelings. She does not like being called out like that, but the rest of the squad needs to be put on blast. As opposed to Hare’s red petals Marrow is surrounded by blue that I guess would mean sadness or depression, Elm has orange and some red, and Vine is clouded with green. The meanings of the last two are a little less clear, but they’re all definitely feeling some strong things that they’re trying to hide under a calm façade. This is the reason the Ace Ops lost to RWBY, they’re all held back by trying not to connect with each other so unity and team bonds never formed. Elm does not like being told she’s a loser because she won’t make friends, but at least it’s a a reaction, which means he’s absolutely right. She’s about to deck Ren in the face but Winter steps in to get everyone calmed down. She looks these three “fugitives” over, and makes a decision. She’s going to trust her sister’s friends. They will get the teens in close and give them a small window of time to try and get in and out before the Ace Ops need to bring in the payload and blow it all away. Harriet is pissed Winter is giving these “traitors” a chance, and questions her decision thusly. But you’re outranked, you boob, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop her from showing human decency. They have a very tight schedule to attempt this rescue, and Jaune accepts that fully. The three get uncuffed and are given their weapons back as the ship lands at the front lines. Ren tries to appeal to the doubt and regret he can see in Marrow to get him to switch sides while the getting’s good. Marrow wants to, but he sticks to the job for now. Yang and Jaune head out first, while Ren lingers to tell Winter he knows she doesn’t want to be a part of all this anymore either, and we see a rainbow of many emotional petals around her head. Either she has a balance of many emotions in check and is the most levelheaded of the Ace Ops, or she has the most emotions repressed and her mind is a tempest of feelings that aren’t being addressed and may spell her end... take your pick.

As this militant Schnee considers her options, we go homeward to see Weiss and the others heading for the front door. May isn’t keen to stay her any longer than needed, and the kids need to make a choice about where she’s dropping them off. Either they go to the front lines here in Atlas or back down to Mantle to help with the chaos there. No other options, and especially no breaking their jailbirds out for an assist. May doesn’t have the optimism and heroic hope that Ruby still holds dear, she won’t entertain the idea that this can become a complete victory all around. This isn’t that kind of world. Either they help one place, or they help another. And even then, that’s no guarantee wherever they go will be successful at stopping the invasion. It’s very depressing, and it’s on these kids to accept the facts and make the hard decisions. If you take a look at the last few Volumes, Ruby does seem to have a bit of a habit of ignoring the dreadful possibilities/facts in favor of pursuing a hopeful and bold plan that could fix everything immediately so she doesn’t have to cope with reality and actually grieve her mistakes and losses... I’m not saying it makes her a bad character or that she’s wholly wrong for trying to see a bright side whenever possible, just that this is an unhealthy strategy for a leader with so much on her shoulders. But before anyone has time to make a decision right now, there’s a hard knock on the front door. Everyone draws their weapons and approaches slowly, before Weiss cautiously opens the door. In a most definitely welcome surprise, she is greeted by Klein!!! She missed him dearly, and apologizes for whatever fault she had in his being fired, but while cycling through personalities he assures her she has nothing to be sorry for since it’s all Jacques’ fault, the bastard. Turns out, Klein is here to use his medical knowledge to treat Nora. What, didn’t you know all butlers to heroic millionaires have field medic training? Alfred Pennyworth set the gold standard, I dare say~ But of course, Weiss didn’t call him and none of her friends know his number so who told him to come?... Would you believe it, Whitley is responsible and we could not be more proud of him! Weiss certainly is, and she gives him what might be his first genuinely loving hug in years. Klein heads upstairs to begin treatment, while the rest of the group share a hopeful moment. But this silence too comes to a crashing halt as there is further ruckus outside. This time Ruby answers the door, to see a smoking crater in the front driveway. RWB rush outside and kneel at the edge of the crater as the smoke clears. Penny has crash landed, and lies there in a pool of what we can only presume to be her green synthetic blood. All she has the strength left to do is apologize before she passes out and the screen darkens with her. There lies the end for the next 6 weeks, and we were left to panic and speculate all the while. Too bad I’m a lazy bugger who only got this review out now and there’s no tension left before the thrilling continuation comes tomorrow morning. So lets all get one last panicked sleep in before the living nightmares come for our girls! Penny is totally gonna be under Watt’s control, the Hound is coming, it’s all gonna be a huge damn mess... Can’t wait, can you?~

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erzherzog-von-edelstein · 4 years ago

Text

Precipice of Oblivion

Characters: Germany, Bavaria

Summary: It is the mid-1920s and Germany is dealing with his own depression and disappointment from the first world war. He searches for a way to comfort and change himself. He eventually stumbles across something that will change his destiny forever.

Words: 5K

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Germany was awake, but he had not yet summoned the will to get out of bed. A decade ago, he would have already have been out of bed, dressed, and ready to go to drills, where Prussia would run him through his paces. But, those happy days were gone. There was no Kaiser anymore, no royal glory, no processions with gorgeous array and the black eagle flying proudly. Beyond the door of his bedroom lay all the troubles he had brought upon himself. There were Frenchmen in the Ruhr Valley and an incompetent cabal of cowards in the Reichstag, and neither could be helped.

Germany groaned and turned himself onto his side. He wished that he could pull the blankets up and disappear under them. It was hard now to go out and work to pay back piles of reparations that he had agreed to. The same scene played every time he closed his eyes: Prussia raging against the treaty and Germany extending his coward's hand to stop his brother. He remembered that he had pleaded with his brother to accept the terms. His hand curled into a fist against the sheets. Why hadn't he stopped and thought about the consequences? All the diplomats had told him that he should do just that, betray himself and end the bloodshed. They said the country would continue to starve and bleed unless he did it. And yet, the people had starved all the same for another year after the treaty. One of the many promises that had been broken before the treaty was even a year old. Shame clung to his skin and nothing he had done could wash it off.

There was one look that was burned into his mind: his brother's eyes when they had both signed the treaty, cold and resigned like he had never seen them. It was the first time he had seen his brother accept humiliation, and it was a humiliation he had inflicted on Prussia. If he left the bed he would have to face his brother again. That he could not stand. He pulled his arm across his chest, trying to cover the pit he felt there; the arm still felt weak from the mortar shard that had torn through it. The physical pain had healed, but it felt like it would never be the same.

There was a sharp knock on the door; it had the precision and candor of one of his brother's men. Probably this man was here to castigate him for his tardiness. With another groan, he said, "What is it?" The voice came from the other side of the door, "Your brother is spending the day in Vienna. He urges you to go out into the city again. He said it is unhealthy for a young man to shut himself away."

Germany turned over onto his back again. Prussia had probably wanted to tell him that in person, but his absence had meant a messenger was necessary. He chewed on his lower lip and thought about the contents of the message. His brother had such a way of making him descend into despair without meaning it. What could he have meant that it was not healthy? Could he not just yell at Germany and tell him to stop moping. That could at least engender some dislike that could remedy some of the burden of guilt. Prussia had that way about him, always concerned and always so damned perfect. Everything he touched and said came out right and Germany could not help but feel his own shame spreading. He was not his rightful heir, not in demeanor or prowess on the battlefield. Prussia had done brilliantly on the Eastern Front; Germany knew he had failed in invading France. There was no use in going out into the city to feel better. He had already tried it; drowning himself in the colorful frantic nightlife of Berlin had not assuaged his feeling of guilt. No matter what he did, the feeling roared back and put him back here, laying in his own misery.

To distract his mind from the idea, he turned it back to the other part of the message. Prussia was going to Vienna for a day, and yet it seemed like he had spent several days there already. In the years since the end of the war, Prussia's visits to the Austrian capital had gotten much more frequent. What did he find there that was so comforting? Germany had begun to doubt that it was just the coffee and the cakes. It seemed that Prussia wanted to comfort Austria after the loss of his empire. It made him contemplate the strange feelings that arose when he looked at Italy. The blushing and the happy unease were a symptom of something that he had only read about in poetry.

Germany turned his thoughts again, trying to find something peaceful, or at least comforting enough to stir from his present state. At least with Prussia gone he could mope where he chose without fear of judgmental eyes. He did not need to pretend to be stoic or, worse, happy while the thought of France crouched on his border like a vulture plagued his mind.

A thought occurred to him. There was a room in this house that could provide him some answers to his present state and Germany sat up with a mind to go find it. He pulled on civilian clothing, not daring to put on a uniform. He felt like he had besmirched the military too much to wear a uniform. There was no reason to dirty it either since he had no intention of leaving the house. Prussia had urged him to get out, but that did not seem necessary. He had heard enough cabaret and drank enough absinthe to know that it provided no solace. How was he supposed to face the people in the streets knowing that they suffered for his mistake? No, it was better to stay here and plan to pay back France as soon as possible.

His footsteps sounded hollow and hopeless as he walked through the halls of the house, joined by no other sound. There was a garrison, he knew, but they had been greatly reduced by the treaty and were no longer visible everywhere. It had been so different in the years before the war when Prussia's army had been conspicuous and inspiring. Now the halls felt like they were occupied by ghosts. Germany knew where he was going. He had thought about doing it so many times as a young boy, but he hadn't once had the courage.

He turned sharply right towards the chambers that had once been the Kaiser's, and then turned right again, down the hallway towards his brother's room. As he laid his hand on the doorknob, he felt a childish surge of apprehension. He was not supposed to go in this room; he had never been allowed to go in here. His brother's private memories were kept behind this door, but perhaps they held something of a hope. If Germany could find what separated himself from his brother, then he could excise that quality from himself.

He turned the handle and felt it click. He had always imagined that this door was locked, but his entrance was surprisingly easy. The room was painted blue with dark curtains hanging at the windows. There were paintings on the wall too, but fewer than he had expected. There was a painting right above his bed of Friedrich the Great playing his flute surrounded by golden light. It seemed an odd place for such a portrait, but Germany could not place why. Germany was tempted to linger and look at everything on the wall to dissect their meaning and their significance. But, he had a better plan and one that he could only undertake today. He walked swiftly to a chest of drawers against the wall and pulled out the top drawer. It was full of papers that Germany gently pushed aside. Exactly where he had always expected them to be there was a set of keys.

Suppressing another wave of guilt, Germany took the keys. He took a deep breath to suppress the fear that Prussia would be livid when he discovered this betrayal. Even if he did find out, Prussia would understand the reason. Or at least Germany hoped he would. With the keys in hand, He charted a new course that took him to the only staircase that led down to the cellar. This door he knew to be locked. He had tried to open it more than once as a boy. There had always been a certain intrigue to the heavy door that he had only ever seen opened for his brother to take one of the many dark unlabeled books he owned down there. His heart pounding with the first genuine excitement he had felt since the war ended, Germany slipped one of the keys into the lock. It turned easily and Germany was able to push open the door.

The room he entered was dark, but he found a switch on the wall. But, when he flipped it, very few old electric lights flickered to life on the ceiling. But, they illuminated a trophy room like Germany had not imagined. The walls were lined with paintings, Prussia's old uniforms in perfect condition, trophies of war, and weapons. Germany walked down the length of the cavernous room, looking at each set. He knew each war; he could name them and recount the glorious victories Prussia had won at each. He had heard the stories from his brother, and they had always been his favorite to fall to sleep to. He had preferred them to any fiction. Gilbert's war stories always had heroism and feats of bravery that no false epic could depict.

As he walked, Germany felt like he was going backwards in his brother's history. The shoulders of the uniforms less broad, and as he continued they got shorter as well. He could see the one on the end nearest the door, strikingly white except for the large black cross. It was a young man's chain male, covered by a white surcoat. Germany stopped in front of it and found himself surprised how small it was. It was hard to imagine that his strong older brother had ever been that small, to have so little land. He reached out and touched the fabric of the surcoat and it felt surreal to know that it was rough.

He felt a smile that had long been absent from his face creep up his lips. It made it all the more fantastic to feel this part of his brother's life so concretely, to know that it was not all a fairytale that Gilbert made up for his amusement. It had happened just as Prussia had said; he had built himself up from practically nothing. Still delighted, Germany walked from one to another, taking them in.. He reached one that was accompanied by a beautiful langes Schwert with an eagle sculpted in the guard. Without thinking, Germany reached out and took the sword. He pulled the blade from the sheath and looked at the silver of it. It looked like it had been polished and sharpened recently, but it was not surprising that Prussia would maintain all of his weapons.

Germany was struck by a sudden urge to pull the sword from the sheath. He took it in his right hand, trying to hold it as he imagined it should be held. Maybe, he mused, if he could hold this blade like his brother did he could learn something. He raised the blade, and it felt awkward in his hand. The experimental swing felt unbalanced, and there was a strange ghostly familiarity in the feeling. He glanced at the blade and saw that the wear marks on the pommel were exactly opposite his own hand. He felt like a fool for not realizing sooner. Gilbert was left handed, so the blade had been made with that in mind. Of course it would not fit Germany. Frustrated yet again, he put the sword back in the scabbard. It was ridiculous to assume that this would help.

The feelings of inadequacy came back like a vacuum threatening to pull him back into despair. Standing in this room made it achingly clear how much he was lacking. When he was here next to the glory that his brother had won and he couldn't help but feel dwarfed by it. This was the tradition he was meant to carry on; it was glorious and uniquely German. And yet, all he felt looking at it now was how far out of reach it was. He cursed himself. What had made him so weak? Prussia had raised him, trained him, and tutored him in all sorts of philosophy and military strategy. There was nothing that should have rendered him less capable than his brother; at least nothing he could locate and quantify in himself.

Germany felt the spike of anger in the midst of the apathy that had become usual. There had to be something here that would make everything clear, some secret to Gilbert's success that he had never shared. Germany turned on his heel, seeking something more than just there mementos. His eyes lighted upon another door he had never noticed before. It was at the other end of the room, and seemed to hold some fantastic secret. He walked towards it with a rising excitement. By the time his hand was on the handle, his heart was practically pounding. He pushed against the door and it swung open, spilling light into the confined space behind it.

The light illuminated bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, full of identical dark blue books. Germany drew in a breath and tried to understand what he had just found. There had to be thousands of volumes, and yet it could not be a library. In a library the books were not all exactly alike. Out of curiosity, Germany walked closer to the shelf so he could read the silver print on the spine. Each one had a year and a range of months on it, but no other descriptor. As far as he could tell, they were arranged chronologically with such a precise organization that left Germany with no doubt that his brother had done it himself.

He reached out and took one from the shelf, noting as he did so that there was no dust on the book. Intent on understanding this enigma, he opened to the first page. There were six words neatly scrawled across the title page, "Property of the Duchy of Prussia." Germany drew in a sharp breath and he looked up at the shelves again. This could not be what he thought it was, but as he looked again he noticed that there was enough to stretch back until his brother had learned to write. Now that he thought about it, he had seen Gilbert carrying books that looked exactly like this out of his room. Germany had never thought to ask what they were. But, now he thought he knew.

To confirm his suspicion, he flipped to the next page. The handwriting was not as familiar as he expected. It was more ornate and careful than Prussia's current handwriting. The first letter of the entry was far larger than the rest. It almost resembled a manuscript. But, Germany could make out the words, "Dear diary." Germany closed the book and pressed his hand against the cover. This was exactly what he had wanted, but did he dare proceed? These were his brother's innermost thoughts, and they would provide unparalleled insight. But, reading them without his brother's knowledge would be a violation of something intimate.

Still wrestling with the moral question, Germany pushed the book back into its place on the shelf. This one would not be that interesting, Germany reasoned with himself. It he was going to read his brother's diaries, he was going to pick a moment that was crucial for his formation. He walked past the dates that did not interest him, going to further into the archive and closer to the present.

He stopped when he reached a certain year and month, this one familiar to him. He ran his finger down the spine of the book, feeling the words embossed in it. It said, "August, 1786" and he knew that date well. It was when Friedrich the Great had died. Taking a single deep breath, Germany pulled the volume from the shelf. He flipped through the pages until he found the entry from the day after the monarch's death. The words were less legible than in other entries, like they had been written in distress. Germany began to read, telling himself that he was not excited by the prospect. The words were laden with feeling, "I am left alone in the world like a widow. I know that Fritz's body is cold, but I can't stop myself from expecting him to walk through my door. In his last hours, he bequeathed me a goal, and I cannot disappoint him. He said that I should pursue my ambitions. I will do so unyieldingly, with no reservations or regret. When I see the opportunity, I will take it, regardless of what stands in my way. I have been given a holy task to bring together the German states, and I will."

Germany stopped reading, though the entry continued. He had a feeling that he was reading the moment of his own conception. He took a deep breath, trying to sort through the feelings. This diary was a glance at the inner thoughts that his brother had never told him. The key to his success was here in the words his brother had scribbled centuries ago. Prussia had resolved to be unyielding and to sweep away every obstacle in his path. Perhaps this was what Germany was lacking: the resolve to do what was necessary. He was the one who had shrunk in front of France when they had signed the treaty. He never had the gaul to stand up to the older countries, and that had been his undoing at the end of the last war. Germany resolved to himself to follow this example and never again take a course out of cowardice.

Certain that there was more to be found in the words, Germany turned his attention back to the diary. But, as he began to read again, he heard a voice from the ground level, "Ludwig, where are you?" His heart jumped into his throat at the thought that his brother was home and may discover him in his diaries. He slammed the book in his hands closed and put it back on the shelf carefully before making haste towards the door. Only once he had reached the other side of the basement did he realize that the voice calling his name was not his brother's.

The accent was different, though it was familiar. Germany felt less urgency as he closed and locked the door to his brother's trophy room. He put the keys in his pocket with the intention of returning them to Gilbert's drawers as soon as possible. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the voice of the visitor clearly, "You better be here. I came all the way here to see you."

He felt himself smile as he followed the sound of the voice. He knew who it belonged to and was glad for the company. He emerged from a hallway and came face to face with the source. Bavaria smiled as soon as he saw Germany, and he said, "There you are, you rascal." Germany responded with a grin, "Hello, cousin." He hadn't smiled like this in days and it felt strange in the muscles of his face.

Bavaria, as was his usual custom, seized Germany and pulled him into a crushing hug. He was incredibly muscular and was the only one who had ever been capable of making Germany feel small. Bavaria spoke as he released his cousin, "I haven't seen you in so long!"

Germany was warmed by the usual enthusiasm that the man had. He was surprised by Bavaria's presence. He had not expected any visitors today, but it was not unpleasant to have the company. He said, voicing his thoughts, "I didn't know you were going to be here. I would have prepared." There was a slight tinge of guilt in not having any hospitality prepared, but the other waved his hand dismissively, "I made the decision today. Your brother is spending time with my brother, so I thought I would come spend time with you."

His smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes was infectious and broke through the feeling of malaise that Germany had been feeling. He didn't get a chance to invite Bavaria into the house, because as soon as he started to say, "I will make some coffee-" the other blonde cut him off. Bavaria said, "Nonsense! All you need to do is go get a jacket. I'm going to buy you a beer." Germany had no reason to turn down the offer. Prussia was not likely to be back soon; he was always gone the full day when he went to Vienna. But, he did not want to be among other people. He felt his smile fall.

Bavaria saw the expression and doubled down on his offer, "I'll let you drive my car." He leaned in closer and said, as though it was something conspiratorial, "And I'll let you drive as fast as you want." This comment, so obviously an offer for the indulgence of avoiding Prussia's discipline, brought some comfort. Germany was, at the very least, won over for now. He responded, "Alright, Leo."

The inside of the Beer Hall was crowded, but warm and welcoming. Ludwig didn't mind the mass of humanity around him in the way he thought that they would. This was better than going out with him brother. With Gilbert, he always felt a compulsion to be on his best behavior. The formality that existed when he was in public with Prussia evaporated around Bavaria. Germany felt free to speak his mind and voice some of the thoughts he had been internalizing for fear of disappointing his brother.

After his first beer, his tongue was looser, and his cousin seemed perfectly willing to listen to his thoughts. He said, asking something that had been on his mind since that morning, "Is your brother doing alright? Gilbert has been in Vienna so often lately." The other let out a short snort of laughter. Germany recoiled, completely surprised by the reaction. But, Bavaria spoke, "If you want my opinion, Roderich is being dramatic. Losing the empire hurt him, but he is better by now. But if acting like he's still recovering brings Gilbert sympathetically to his bedside, then he's willing to spend another day on his fainting couch."

This explanation made little sense to Germany. From what he had seen, the two had been enemies for a very long time. Why would Austria want Prussia with him now? Surely that just reminded him of how he had failed to become the dominant Germanic state. He said, "I don't understand." Bavaria said, a laugh still on his voice, "You mean you've never noticed? You must have noticed!" Germany shook his head. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to have noticed, but he had not noticed whatever it was. He felt like a child again for a moment; his states had so much knowledge that he did not. The way Bavaria was smiling was all the more alienating.

The man's expression shifted as he realized that his young cousin was in earnest. Then he said, "Oh, I thought that Gilbert would have had this talk with you. Well, how do I put this?" He paused for a moment before saying, "When two men like each other very much, they fight like a married couple and force the rest of us to deal with their unresolved tension. They force politics into loggerheads and fight wars against each other, but always become allies again eventually. Then, they spend time reminiscing about past glory over coffee and schnapps."

Germany understood exactly who the other was describing, and it brought an incredulous smile to his face. Prussia had never shown any inclination towards anyone that he had noticed. Prussia's attention to Austria was only the loyalty due to a fellow German state who had suffered a terrible loss. He responded, "I don't believe that. My brother is just being honorable."

The other took a long drink from his beer while Germany spoke. A crease appeared on his forehead as he placed the glass on the table. He seemed to choose every word carefully, "I know you care about him, but I do not share your faith in Gilbert. I doubt his intentions towards Roderich have ever been honorable." Before Germany could object to this characterization of his brother, Bavaria put up a single finger to indicate that he was not yet done speaking. He continued, "And I am certain that Roderich has always been willing to play Gilbert to get what he wants too."

Germany decided to drink the rest of his beer before he spoke again. It was common knowledge that Bavaria had opposed Prussia at every turn before the unification. But, Germany was fond of the man. He usually brushed off what Bavaria said as untrue, but in this case the subject hardly interested him. In truth, it didn't matter to him if Gilbert actually felt more for Austria than he thought. It seemed to have little gravity in the moment. There were more pressing matters on his mind, and it was those he turned to.

He ran his index finger in anxious circles across the wet spot that the glass had left on the table. Finally, the words found the way to his tongue, "Leopold, do you think I'm a disappointment?" He didn't dare meet the man's eyes, so he kept his gaze on the table as he asked. Bavaria's response was immediate, "What? No!" The younger man's eyes snapped back up to meet the other's. The Bavarian looked genuinely shocked by the idea, "Who put that in your head? Has Gilbert been telling you that?"

Germany cut in quickly, worried that his companion was about to launch into a tirade about Prussia, "No, it's not that. He told me that he's proud of me, but I don't believe him. I lost the war." The feelings of doubt and hopelessness returned. Articulating the sentence felt like it made the situation real again. Bavaria countered, "I was on that front too. If you lost the war, then we both did. But no one could have done better in your position."

Germany let out a sigh, trying to believe the words. It had been his personal failing, there was no other option to explain the end of the war. Prussia had dealt with the other front so easily; just like he always did. War was easy for him. Germany said, "Gilbert would have won. He always wins." His mind slipped back to hours and hours of waiting for his brother to come back from war. He remembered waiting at the window, knowing exactly when his brother would arrive in glory, always bearing gifts and war stories. Germany distinctly remembered Prussia telling him how easy it had been to capture the French emperor before he went to bed. He had slept well thinking about how he too would soon be able to fight France and win. That felt like it had been so long ago now, even though it had barely been half a century. Germany had been a different person then, just a child hoping for his chance to be an empire.

Bavaria sighed, "Don't judge yourself against Gilbert. Yes, he's won a lot recently. But, remember that you have a little bit of each of us in you. I've lost my fair share, mostly to your dear brother. This is my advice: accept the peace and make the most of it." Germany scoffed, "How am I supposed to do that?" Bavaria leaned forward, putting both of his forearms heavily on the table. He met Germany's eyes and said, with the utmost sincerity, "Ludwig, it was your first war. You'll have other chances. It was a bad treaty, we all know it. But, there will be a better day."

Germany nodded, but he still found it impossible to internalize the words. He resigned himself to spending the rest of the night avoiding Prussia's gaze, mired in his own self-pity. He could feel his cousin's gaze on him, concerned. But, he could not say anything to reassure him. There was a certain modicum of resentment in his chest. Why did his states take defeat so easily when he couldn't escape the thought of failure in his waking hours? Bavaria had been his compatriot on the Western Front, and yet he was taking this so much more easily than Germany was.

Germany was about to breach a new topic to divert from the subject of his own failure, but the moment he decided to speak, the door to the Bierhall opened and admitted a few men in brown uniforms. Germany was intrigued; this was something he had not seen in Berlin. But, Bavaria swore under his breath, "Damn it, I forgot about them." Germany turned back to him, "Who are they?" The other ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He said, sounding angry for the first time, "They call themselves National Socialists. They're just a group of zealots." He stood up, and said, "Come on, Ludwig. We'll find somewhere more reputable to go."

Germany considered it for a moment. If they were nationalists then why should he fear or ignore them? The resentment he felt towards his states, the old men who were willing to accept humiliating defeat, boiled into resistance. He said, sharply, "No, I want to stay." He wasn't certain what he was making this stand for, but it felt good to affirm his own will. This was what Prussia had done; it said so in his diary. He had been self-interested and unyielding, and now Germany would do the same. Bavaria looked incredulous and he said, "Why?" Germany replied with a shrug and said, "What harm could it do?" The other gave him a look of immense annoyance, but settled back down into his seat. Germany felt a sense of triumph that he was finally going to take control of his life again.

#hws germany #hws bavaria #you know this fic features Ludwig crossing boundaries in more than one way

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marziyoudumbass · 4 years ago

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sweetener

Chapter 1: defeat

pairings: Haikyuu!Various x Reader

synopsis: The L/Ns are an athletic family of eight, seven children and a single mother. When the youngest of the bunch, Y/N, lost her last junior high match, she took comfort in knowing it wouldn't be the last time she played with some of her teammates--after all, she would be going to the same high school as them. When her mother gets a job opportunity in Miyagi, moving the family, it only pours salt into her wounds. Eventually, she joins the girl's team at Karasuno high, and meets many new people. Will the friends she makes turn around her bitter outlook on high school?

please note that I have no knowledge of volleyball beyond Haikyuu!

It was an intense match, your team one point behind your opponents. The first set was taken by your opponents, and fairly quickly, it no doubt stepped on your team’s confidence. The second set was taken by your team, raising hope for you. The final set was heated, both teams desperate to win and make it to the finals of the tournament.

As your competitors served, you were fairly quick to receive. In your attempt to send it towards your team’s setter, you realized you underestimated the distance, causing your setter to have to step a bit away from the net.

“Sorry!” You yelled out, watching intently as your setter sent the ball towards your team captain. Even though the blockers were a bit late, your opponent’s libero saved the ball.

“Don't mind!”

You got prepared to have to receive a spike, in case your blockers failed, watching the ball closely as it left the opposing setter’s hands. As the spiker broke through your team’s block, you dove for the ball, another teammate approaching from the opposite side. You stretched your hand out as far as you could, but still you watched as the ball slammed against the hardwood in front of you.

You heard as the crowd erupted, your competitors cheering, too. You stayed on the ground for a moment in shame, feeling as if it was your fault that your team lost the last match of junior high. You were, after all, a libero. The whole point of your position was to receive--defend, even--but you could barely do that. Curse your non-existent instincts!

You finally stood, dusting yourself off as you walked towards your team. You all stood in a circle around your coach, several of you crying. Most all of you hung your heads. Your coach consoled you, making a speech about how she’ll miss you, and that it was an honour to be a part of your athletic lives.

Eventually, your team finally was finished mulling your loss over. You turned towards your opponents. They looked smug, you scowled.

The drive home with your family was deafeningly silent. It was quite late outside, the street lights illuminating the roada. You sat in the passenger seat, your mother driving. Behind you, one of your brothers and two of your sisters sat in the backseat. The only light inside the car was your brother’s phone as he scrolled through some sort of social media.

You sniffled, looking out the window. Your mother patted your arm softly, glancing over as she tried to comfort you. Your mother was always the nicest woman, always making sure you and your siblings were well taken care of. Even though she was the mother of seven, she never once neglected any of you; even though she worked hard, she always made time.

Speaking of your siblings, you were the youngest. You had six other siblings, most half siblings (your mother went through three marriages, you and two others being the result of her latest affair).

The oldest was Hana. She was well out of highschool and had a career, she worked fairly far away, in Tokyo. She was always the most mature and strongest. Your mother might have been a bit of a push over, but Hana was firm--nothing would get past her.

Next was Ezume. He was in college, he wanted to be an environmental engineer. He, though the eldest boy, was rather immature. It seemed that the only things he was serious about were family and his school life.

After him was Hiroki, another boy. Hiroki was a rather neutral person, he was fairly mature and could come off as icy. He owned a cafe near to your home, living with your family still (though he was looking for a new home--not that he’d tell you).

Then there was Kaori. He was the most mature son your mother had, and was rather motherly. In highschool he was a bit of a bully, but he turned his life around and now runs a cafe with Hiroki--he was the pastry chef. He became a rather sweet person, and his treats were even sweeter.

After Kaori there was Aiya. She was from the same father as you. She was a scholar, taking after your father. She was hoping to become a Lawyer, she always had a taste for justice and loved helping people. She was fresh out of high school, and couldn’t wait to move--she was actually rather rebellious, and hated living in a house with so many people.

Lastly was Etsu, a sports genius and another one of your full siblings. She played soccer and was very naturally athletic, she had incredible speed, agility, and instincts, and was very eligible to go to the biggest soccer tournaments you could imagine.

Hiroki, Aiya, and Etsu were the ones who came to support you in the tournament. Your other siblings were back at your house. Hiroki and Kaori were probably making dinner, and Hana and Ezume were still settling in--they had traveled quite far to visit.

Your mother pulled up to your home, and you immediately hopped out, making a beeline straight for the door. Upon entering, you immediately smelled the incredible meal your brothers were making.

“Y/N/N! How was the tourna-” Kaori began, taking off a pink oven mitt and setting it aside. You hummed before he finished his sentence, heading towards your room. You were sad and in the mood to mope--you still couldn’t help but feel it was your fault you lost.

You burrowed into your blankets, sitting quietly for a moment. You were taken back to after the match.

You and your team were in the halls for a quick rest before leaving. A few of your teammates were quite sad, others mad. You and your closest friend, Ayame, were sitting against a wall, a bit secluded from the rest of your team. The silence was deafening, you looked at your feet as you stretched them out in front of you.

“I- ...I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Ayame asked. She looked at you with a questioning gaze.

“I couldn’t- I just- I couldn’t save it…” You said. A lump formed in your throat, you felt on the verge of tears.

“What? It’s not your fault! Don’t blame yourself for-”

“No! I couldn’t do it, I just wasn’t fast enough. If I had just had a better reaction time I could’ve saved it and them we might’ve-” You cut yourself off with a sob, tears beggining to leak. You buried your face in your hands, elbows resting on your thighs.

“Please, Y/N-chan, it’s not your fault, don't blame yourself! It wasn’t anyone’s fault that we lost, we lost as a team--a unit.” Ayame said, stroking your back comfortingly. “Please don’t undersell your skills, either, you’re very talented!”

“But not talented enough…”

“Y/N-chan, I’m not gonna listen to you bash yourself. If you’re done with that then we can continue talking.”

You both sat for a moment, you calming yourself, and Ayame rubbing your back. You finally settled your emotions, pulling your face out of your hands as you wiped away any tears left.

“It’s not like it’s your last game, right? It’s not like its OUR last game! We still have highschool to look forward to!”

“Yeah!” You laughed. It comforted you a bit knowing that you would get to play with some of your teammates again--especially with Ayame.

Dinner was rather quiet as you picked at your food. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it certainly was not pleasing. Sometimes silence was nice, now was not one of those times. Hana seemed to pick up on your mood, breaking the silence,

"Y/N? What’s wrong, you usually love sapporo ramen.” Hana asked, “I didn’t come home just to see that you’re starving yourself.” She joked. You sighed, staying silent.

“So… I assume it didn't go over well?” Ezume asked, your mother smacked him on his head, as she was sitting right next to him. You snorted. Didn’t go well was an understatement.

You continued moving around your noodles mindlessly, it was probably cold by now anyways. You looked around the table, your siblings were eating, but your mother was staring at you. You looked back, looked away, and looked back. Finally, your mother placed her chopsticks down,

“I have good news!” She announced, pulling attention towards her. Hana smiled knowingly. “I was offered a new job opportunity--a promotion!”

“That’s wonderful!” Hana said.

“Great job!” Kaori announced.

“Nice!” “Hm.” “Wow!”

“Huh.. Cool.” You said, looking back down.

“Tell them the other stuff!” Hana said.

“It’s in a whole new office, one over in Miyagi-” you froze.

“Miyagi? Isn’t that… well, isn’t that pretty far?” Your mother smiled at your comment.

“Well! It would be, but luckily I’ve found us a nice home over there!” You nearly dropped your chopsticks.

“Wait, what?” You questioned, “We- Moving?”

“Yes…” You furrowed your brows. Kaori began grabbing up your bowls, ushering your other siblings out of the room.

“What about Hiroki and Kaori? Isn’t that pretty far to drive for the cafe?”

“...About that… Your brothers have decided to move closer to the cafe, they won't be living with us.” Your mother informed. You gaped at her, scowling. It was a face off. Your sweet tempered mother on one side, and you on the other.

“No way! They can’t- You can’t- What about-”

“Y/N, I know this might be a bit hard to adapt to but it’s best for all of us-”

“What about me? I have plans to go to highschool here. Am I going to have to travel that far?”

“Of course not!” She assured you. Part of you was relieved, the other half knew what was coming. “You’ll be going to a new school”.

You dialed a number quickly, tears dripping onto your blankets. The phone rang a bit, and the answering machine came up. You rang again, and finally the person you were calling answered.

“Y/N? It’s so late, what are you doing up?” The voice called out groggily.

“Ayame? I have- I have news.”

#Haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #karasuno x reader #Nekoma x reader #fukurodani x reader #seijoh x reader #aoba josai x reader #johzenji x reader #shiratorizawa x reader #inarizaki x reader #sweetener #chapter 1 #sweetener: chapter 1

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honestsycrets · 6 years ago

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Bridal Price VIII: The Final Price

Author’s Notes | this is the last in the series. i feel so accomplished, i’m actually finishing things this year.

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ word count | 2067

❛ genre | multiseries

❛ summary | reader clings back onto hvitserk after the death of most of her family. hvitserk speculates whom might have brought on their demise.

❛ warnings | mention of arson, ‘cheating’

Your looms, your beautiful silk from England and fine thread were all gone. The fire devoured everything under your feet. Only dark ash remained. Your father’s body-- your sisters trapped inside, they were all gone. Vaði kept at the ashen site while Hvitserk’s boots kicked through, looking for the right area. You fall upon the ground in your olive green dress, pulling open a small chest of your father’s treasure to go with what little remains that there was left.

“Here.” Hvitserk drops beside you, pushing apart the floors to pull out a chest. He lifts it into his arms while you take to the locks, popping it open and looking at the fine treasure left there.

“I am happy that he died well.” You say, running your finger over the top of the chest. “That way perhaps he went to hel instantly.”

Your father was no warrior. For the war upon Ragnarok, you doubted that Odin would call him to the battlefield. Through it all, Hvitserk had been there. You couldn’t explain why he was. A prince that took Ake into his home to be cared by the healers. She finally seemed to come back to her normal self but… she was burnt. It was anyone’s guess what would come of her.

“He did.” Hvitserk says. “Your sisters as well.”

You glance over to your old fuck buddy, nodding. Vaði had been through to clear the remains before you had gotten here and so you had come through to find your father’s remaining treasure buried away under the floorboards of the home. You retrieve a coin of gold your father had buried away, looking upon the head of Ecbert. He always boasted of going with Ragnar on his raid of Lindisfarne.

“Except for Ake. I will have to keep her with me.” Your voice hinges on fear that he can almost taste on his tongue. What man would take on dual responsibility? “It is unlikely she’ll marry now.”

The burns were… well, extensive. He’d gotten in trouble for pulling the dress of her body, as evidently, he was not supposed to do that. Still now she sat under salves for which the basket around your arm had both yarrow and lily that you would shortly boil in butter to apply as a red salve. Even ribwort that you would later boil in the same for a blue salve.

“Whatever man you find would be lucky to have two seamstresses.” Hvitserk says evenly while tucking the trunk under his arm. He offers you out a hand to help you leap over the ask and grime in your cute flats.

“What changed, Hvit?” You walk slowly with him, setting your palm to his firm bicep. Vaði had given him permission to touch you and bit by bit had you turned back to him. Enough that he could feel less shameful when he touched you.

“What do you mean?” He looks past the ones staring upon you. The streets are full, bustling with life from the Kattegat’s people going on their way. It isn’t as if you could blame them. Life went on. The day was beautiful-- the sky, clear.

“You’re not begging.” You note.

Ah, begging for you to take him back.

“Thought it would be annoying.” Hvitserk answers. You both stop in front of the marketplace, looking out toward everyone that sells their wares. After a moment you signal him closer to those that sell goods from far off places. After such a traumatic past few days, you could use something sweet. Sweet like the cherries imported from Spain. You have a soft sigh on your lips, debating just… what to do or say.

“Thank you, Hvitserk.”

He shifts, glancing to motion behind you. The blacksmith sweeps closer with several large steps, clearing his throat when he’s close enough behind you. You shift on Hvitserk’s arm uncomfortably and he notices as much.

“You’ve chosen to marry Hvitserk?” He rumbles, trembling like your hand around his arm. Hvitserk thinks it strange enough but more so when you look down to your basket without speaking much to him.

“I take it that is why he is touching you.” The blacksmith continues rambling in place, folding one thick arm over another.

“That is the case.” He barks back. Usually he was the man to be quiet, time his responses-- but for some things, there was no timing. He brushes past the blacksmith and carries on his way toward the Great Hall where Aslaug had allowed your sister and you to stay.

“What was that wretched thing about?” He asks. You look aside, running your hand up your forearm along the fine fabric of the dress Queen Aslaug had allowed you to wear.

“He has been pressing me for marriage since father passed.” You explain with prudent concern. A blacksmith was always in good company-- especially one so well known to the Ragnarssons as the one in Kattegat.

“Why did you not tell me?” Hvitserk closes the distance between your bodies. You lift your hand to his firm bicep, looking between him and your ailing sister who lays on a bed of furs.

“I had other concerns.” You say. “And maybe… it would be a good arrangement that I should marry him. We will not have lodging soon and food less so. Marriage is all about alliance, after all.”

“Who said that you would be uncared for? I have no intention on pushing you out.” He explains.

“Your mother is gracious when it comes to her own agenda… but I don’t know where I fit in that.” You expand on it. Of course you knew that Queen Aslaug was a great, merciful woman on any well doing heathen. To live in her home with a crispy, oh bless your Ake, sister? It had to be with intent. Hvitserk sways, looking back to Ake while pursing his lips. The strain brings wrinkles to his chin, the soft curls of his facial hair waving on his jawline.

“Then you will marry me.”

“Hvitserk… I...” You come to your basket beside Ake, taking out the lily and yarrow that you had brought to make her a salve. You hold them in your lap, rolling your lips into your mouth in pensive thought.

“There is something wrong with a man who offers marriage because you are without family!” Hvitserk supplies. “What if he had something to do with it?”

“But I am not sure I want to marry you. You didn’t even remember my name.”

“What is a name anyway?” He turns the corner, kneeling before you. “Names are lost to time. In time no one will remember my father Ragnar Lothbrok or my grandfather Sigurd who slayed Fafnir.”

“You believe in such things?” You could almost laugh.

“The point is not that.” Hvitserk grumbles in a low rumble, sending soft chills up your arms. “The point is… to marry me. Experiences outweigh name. Which, if we are counting, you are (Y/N) daughter of Geir. And I promised your father I would take care of you.”

You glance up, abandoning your pestle to stare into his deep green eyes. Eyes that stand so far apart from the shocking blue ones of his brothers and father. When you were in bed with him, running your hands through his curls fiddling with his hacksilver pendant, you wondered just that sometimes. Then he would laugh and ask what you were looking at, crawling over your body for another round.

“You… what?” You shake your head. “He was alive?”

The admission could have broken you. Hvitserk walks forth.

“There was nothing we could do. He was pinned, dying well. His only dying wish was to care for Ake and you.”

Your head hangs, looking to the lily in your lap. Hvitserk slides down beside you, reaching out to take your hand in his. It’s been a long time since he groveled at your feet. Before Geir died when Vaði considered looking at suitors for you.

“You know I would care for you. Regardless of marriage or dying wishes, but his wishes make it that much more important to carry out.” Hvitserk smooths his thumb over the top of your hand, bringing you to his lips. His moustache tickles the top of your hand as he plants a chaste kiss over the top. You scrunch up your shoulders, head shaking slightly as your eyes bead with wetness.

“I love you, Hvitserk… but you hurt me. How do I know...”

“I know. I know, and I hate that I have that power over you, (Y/N). If I could take it back, I would. I make a terrible boyfriend.” He says. At least he was owning up to it.

If you were signing up for another round of being his last to fuck, you didn’t want this. If you were signing up for days of waiting for his kisses or wondering what woman could twist her hips better, you didn’t want it. You especially didn’t want to be a part of the Ragnarsson’s list of what is hot to fuck and what is not--

“Marry… him…” The voice is a forced whisper. Glancing around, you realize that it’s Ake who speaks, despite Aslaug and Ivar at the corner eavesdropping as was their typical. You glance to them then to your charred sister.

“Huh… what?” You ask her with nothing short of a apprehensive grimace. She turns her head toward you, finally speaking for the first time since the accident occurred.

“He’s stupid, but not a bad man.” She gives a deep sigh. “And we are all tired of hearing you two mope.”

At that you finally do laugh. Behind the leather strapped curtains, you can hear Aslaugh stifling her meek laugh. A chortle can’t help its way out of Ivar’s lips. Hvitserk gleams hopeful eyes at you and so you give a quick nod.

“I’ll marry you, Hvitserk Ragnarsson.”

This time its Hvitserk who lets loose his playful laugh, jerking you up onto your feet. The feeling of being flightless hits you like a bird, and if you were a bird, you would have been an enraged chicken. You don’t quite like being off the ground!

“Hvitserk!”

“Sorry!” Hvitserk says, setting you back down upon the ground. He takes your hands, spinning you in with your hands crossed in front of your chest. Your back collides with his chest. Playfully he nudges you, motioning you to look back to him.

“Kiss me.” He says. Your eyebrow perks at him, as if to say for all his trouble, he should owe you a kiss! “Come, for the price I will have to play for your mundr?”

He had a point. Vaði would most certainly milk that price in order to help Ake get back onto her feet. You lean back toward him, gliding your lips against his for one smooth tongueless kiss. He leans forward aching for more but just as quickly as the kiss began, it ended.

“But--”

“We can save the rest for the wedding.” You say.

“We’ve already fucked!” Hvitserk complains. Quickly spinning out from him, you slip out of the room in a sprint through the Great Hall. Your sandal clad feet thump upon the rough planks, rushing past the guards that kept Ake and you safe. A jaunty gathering of men drink on the many tables.

Hvitserk clicks his tongue angrily, colliding with the hard-- hard iron chest of your cousin who stands like a wall between you and him. What was it with obstacles to his kisses and love today!? Ubbe stands beside him. Sigurd most definitely probably wasn’t that far along either. Vadi folds his arms.

“Now that the blacksmith is taken care of.” Vaði states. His armour, splattered with blood. “We have a bridal price to discuss with Ubbe and Bjorn-- the morgengifu and mundr, right, my new brother?”

“Uhh--”

His pockets were already screaming. The best seamstress in all of Kattegat. He would dare say in all of Midgard! Could he even afford you? Ubbe pulls out his bag of coins, flicking them up into the air and motioning to his belt full of rabbit pelts. A true brother wouldn’t let him pay on his own! He would owe Ubbe for years… but as you stand beside them, wiggling your fingers playfully at him, he wouldn’t take it back for the world.

@two-unbeatable-beaters, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequilahead, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @queenmissfit, @hallowed-heathen, @neeadinghugs, @mblaqgi, , @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @attorneyl, @iconicvaleria-blog, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434, @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope@cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking

#hvitserk x reader #hvitserk/reader #hvitserk imagine #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #viking imagine #viking/reader #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk's heathen feast #hvitty x reader

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franticbindings · 5 years ago

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Ability Check, Please! - Part 1

As Eric’s consciousness slowly drifted towards wakefulness, he became dimly aware of the room around him. He was snug and warm in the bed, which was piled so high with fluffy blankets that only a sliver of his face was peeking out. The pale morning light streamed in through the window and fell gently on his closed eyes. He breathed sleepily and could make out hints of pleasant, familiar smells—wood smoke and fresh-baked bread. He hovered on the cusp of waking for several long minutes, dozing contentedly.

Then he remembered.

Four days ago, he had arrived in Waterdeep—the City of Splendors—with his adventuring companions.

Three days ago, he had woken up filled with excitement to explore the city, only to find their rooms empty and all their belongings gone.

Two days ago, he realized that they weren’t coming back.

Yesterday he had climbed into bed, and he had yet to emerge. The innkeeper had been kind enough to bring meals up to him.

All the shame and despair over being abandoned so casually—without even a word or a note—came rushing back, and Eric let out a low groan and rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He had always been a bit of an outsider in the group, but he had thought that all those months on the road where they faced danger together would have counted for something.

Maybe I’m just hopelessly naïve. He supposed he should be happy that they waited until they had reached their destination before ditching him, but mostly he just felt sad. At least I’m not totally alone. The stillness of the room was disturbed by the flutter of delicate wings, and Eric felt the soft impact of tiny feet through the blankets covering him.

“Good, you’re awake. Get dressed, we’re going out today.”

Eric squinted up at his familiar, Dex, who was perched on his chest. His iridescent wings were at full attention, his hands were on his hips and his face was set with determination; it might have been an intimidating sight if Dex wasn’t only nine inches tall. He was a sprite, which meant he looked mostly like an elf writ small, but his exaggerated features would give away his fey nature even if his size and wings didn’t—his ears were a little too prominent, his hair too brilliantly orange, and his eyes were like burnished gold. His pale skin was dotted all over with dense spirals of freckles in a way that was both beautiful and strange.

Eric’s voice was still rough with sleep when he spoke, “Dex, I believe you may have some misapprehensions about which of us is in charge in this relationship.” He rolled over onto his side, petulantly dislodging the sprite, who nimbly flitted up into the air before settling cross-legged on the pillow in Eric’s line of sight.

Dex crossed his arms over his lightly armored chest, “You’re being a sad sack, so I get to be in charge until you’ve got your head on straight.”

Eric rolled his eyes, “I think I’m allowed to be upset when I’ve been abandoned by almost all of my friends.”

“First of all? Those assholes were never your friends. They treated you like dirt and you only put up with it because you lack confidence and you grew up knowing each other. Inertia is a terrible reason to base who you get into dangerous situations with.”

Eric’s tried to muster some indignation on his own behalf but only managed to yawn, when he spoke his rustic Dale’s accent was thick. “This is a swell pep talk—real inspirin’.”

Dex didn’t dignify that with a response, “Secondly, you’re better off without them. Seriously, I read their hearts, so you can trust me on this.” This statement was accompanied by significant finger wiggling, which Eric presumed was to indicate Dex’s ability to read someone’s inner nature by laying hands upon them. “They’re one bad week away from going feral. I won’t be in the least bit surprised if they manage to get kicked out of the city before winter is out.”

Eric sighed, “They did have a tendency to ruffle people’s feathers.”

Dex leaned forward and met Eric’s gaze pointedly, “Are you really going to miss having to clean up their messes?”

“I guess not.” Eric chewed on his lip thoughtfully, “I kinda still want to mope for another day though. Can I put off getting my act together for just a little longer?”

Dex shook his head, “We’ve got to be out of here by noon.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re almost out of money.”

“What?!” Eric’s eyes widened with shock. “What about the payoff for the escort job? My share was almost thirty gold.” You could live comfortably on that much for nearly a month, even in a city like Waterdeep.

“Remember? They convinced you to wait and split the money until the morning and then…”

“And then they left!” Eric sat bolt upright in his bed and felt his face flush with anger. His short blonde hair was wild from days of neglect and he was so outraged he could barely think. “Those… those…”

“Bastards? Shit weasels?” Dex fluttered up into the air and hovered at eye level in front of Eric.

“Those... ungrateful assholes! I’m the only reason we got that job!” Eric crossed his arms in a huff. His anger had an invigorating effect, pushing back the fog of negative emotions, but it was fading as quickly as it had come. Worry and fear were quick to take its place, and Eric looked plaintively at his friend.

“What are we gonna do?”

“We are going to find a new party. Hopefully this time without the assholes.”

Dex flew over to the bedside table and returned carrying a rolled-up piece of parchment, which he unfurled. It was an advertisement, the kind that people put up on signposts and bulletin boards. Written on it was:

The Yawning Portal Welcomes All Adventurers!

Rainrun Street, Castle Ward

-Gateway to The Undermountain-

-Hire Adventurers-

-Join or Form a Party-

-Trade Information and Items-

“Is this what you were out doing yesterday?” Eric took the page and settled it in his lap, reading it over a few times.

Dex nodded.

I could find another party, but what if they don’t respect me either? It had been hard to get the measure of other adventuring groups during their travels since the unrestrained egos of his own party invariably made rivals out of anyone they met. He had seen pity in some of their eyes when they had looked at him—at the time he had thought that were questioning why someone like him was getting involved in the dangerous business of adventuring, but now he wondered if they just saw how he was treated and thought he deserved better. Eric slumped over a little, resting his chin on his hand. His gaze was downcast and unfocused, “Maybe I should just give up on adventuring and get a job at a bakery.”

Dex landed in front of Eric and kicked him lightly in his blanket-covered leg with one pointy boot. “You’re doubting yourself again. Quit it.”

Eric met Dex’s eyes briefly before his gaze skittered away to the window, “I can be kind of a liability—I’m useless if I get grabbed. That’s probably why everyone left.”

Dex scowled and hopped up the pile of blankets that covered Eric’s lap until he was right in his friend’s face, “You are a handpicked champion of The Flawless Queen. Are you doubting her wisdom?”

Eric leaned back, but kept his eyes averted and his voice soft, “She was pretty clear that I only had the potential to be a hero. That’s no guarantee.”

Dex planted his hands on his hips and flicked his wings in frustration, “Well, after watching you in action and reading your heart more times than I can count I’m sure about two things—you’ve got a genuine heroic spirit, and that would be wasted working in a bakery. Think of all the people you’ve helped!”

Eric sighed, and was finally able to meet Dex’s gaze, “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

Eric managed to muster a chuckle at that and started to climb out of bed, “Sure, Dex. Do you know how to get to this Yawning Portal place?”

“Yeah, I scouted it out yesterday. It’s not far.”

Eric hummed in consideration as he stretched out his back and limbs, which popped loudly in the quiet of the room, “I figure we should drop by this tavern and see what time everybody usually shows up. We might need to sell our last healing potion if we can’t find a cheaper inn. Not sure what to do after that.”

“Well, you wanted to explore the city before everything happened. I figured we could do that. The stuff I saw was pretty impressive for mortal work, but it doesn’t really rate compared to The Queen’s palace.”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” Eric began to strip off his two-day-old undergarments and he moved over to the washbasin, where he did a simple spell to heat the water. He was of average height but compact with lithe muscle, and he was unselfconscious about being disrobed in front of his familiar. As he washed, he let his mind drift among memories of his time with The Flawless Queen.

He had gotten lost in the woods and stumbled across her entourage purely by accident, much to his initial consternation. He had heard plenty of stories about the fickle nature of the fey, and when he was brought before her there was no doubt in his mind that he faced one of the most powerful of their kind. Eric expected to be so overwhelmed by her raw aura of majesty and power that he would be unable to speak but found instead that the words came easily—he surprised himself with clever turns of phrase as he apologized for his intrusion and explained his predicament. The Queen must have been pleased by this, as she agreed to help him find his way back to his home in Featherdale in exchange for his conversation as they traveled. Eric soon discovered that The Flawless Queen was inspiration incarnate, and it didn’t take long in her presence before Eric was admitting to dreams that he had never given voice to—the desire to help people in a way that mattered, his dream of leaving home to find adventure and perhaps, if he was lucky, love. When the Queen offered him her blessings—magic, and an ally in Dex—in order to help make those dreams a reality, Eric had been eager to accept.

It had all seemed so simple at the time. When did I lose that? The next hour passed quickly as Eric completed his ablutions and prepared to depart with Dex’s help. He cleaned his dirty clothes with magic and dressed warmly for the chilly autumn wind that he knew would be blowing in from the ocean. He hung his spell component pouch over his left shoulder, and his Book of Shadows hung from his waist on his right. With some difficulty he crammed all of his various belongings into his backpack, which settled on his shoulders with only a modicum of clanking—he was carrying quite a bit of cookware. He paused in the common room to grab a quick breakfast and to thank the innkeeper for indulging him the previous day (“Of course, dear! I do hope you’re feeling better!”). That done, he hurried out into the pale morning light in search of the next adventure.

~*~

Eric looked curiously up at the Yawning Portal inn—all three stories of it. It was built of stone, with a slate roof, and looked to be about as old as the other buildings in the area. It was also clearly labeled with a sign that hung from black iron chains above the door. As he watched, a group of three dwarves emerged from the inn, talking amongst themselves in dwarven. Eric swallowed down his nervousness and walked up to the door and entered.

Eric found himself in a large open space with wooden floors—it was pleasantly warm after the chilly autumn air, and the sunlight was streaming in through tall windows that faced the street, illuminating a bar along the left wall and a dozen or so tables with chairs scattered around the first floor. Eric’s attention was immediately drawn to the center of the spacious room, where there was what looked like a giant well—easily forty feet across—which was surrounded by a waist-high barrier of bricks and descended who knows how deeply into the earth. The building was constructed so that there was a column of open space above the well, extending up to the second and third floor, and Eric could just make out more seating for patrons on the upper floors. Staircases spiraled around the pillars that supported the ceiling and dangling down from the top of the third floor was a rope and pulley system that descended into the depths.

“Do people go down there?” Eric wondered aloud as he approached the barrier and looked down into the pit. He could see about thirty feet down before everything was swallowed by darkness.

Dex landed on the edge of the barrier surrounding the hole in the floor and was peering down into it when a gruff voice boomed out from behind them.

“Entrance to the Undermountain is one gold per person, though I can’t in good conscience let you go down there by yourself.”

Dex flitted up to head height and let out an offended, “He’s not alone. He’s got me!”

Eric turned around and took in the barkeep, who was making a placating gesture. He was about a head taller than Eric and looked quite fit despite his greying hair. The man’s thickly muscled arms looked made for swinging swords, and Eric immediately pegged him as a retired adventurer. He continued speaking, with a little contrition in his voice.

“I’ve got the same objections for two as for one. Unless you’ve got a few more in your party out in the city somewhere?”

Eric walked over to the bar, which was empty of patrons except for one, down at the end. As he slipped off his pack, Eric spared them enough of a glance to make out pale skin, dark hair, and gleaming silver armor. He settled himself on one of the bar stools and made introductions and exchanged a few polite niceties. The barkeep was actually the owner of the establishment, and his name was Durnan.

“‘As to your question, I’m afraid it’s just us at the moment.” Eric was wringing his hands below the bar top but still wearing his best ‘Please like me!’ smile. He pressed on, “That’s actually why we’re here. We saw your flyer and figured it coming here was a good way to meet some new people.”

“Could be, could be. How long have you been adventuring?”

“I’ve done a few quests here and there since I was sixteen, so for about two years now. But I’ve been doing this full time since I left home about six months ago.”

“You’re a spellcaster, right? What’s your best spell?”

“Well, my specialty is illusions and enchantments. My best trick is probably…” Eric hummed, considering, “Either making someone fly, or hypnotizing a bunch of people at once with an illusion.”

“Not too bad. You really made it this far with just the two of you?”

“I’ve been traveling with a group for the past six months, but…” Eric looked down—he had hoped to avoid explaining this. Despite Dex’s words of encouragement, he still felt quite a bit of shame over being left behind, and he wasn’t keen on sharing that with someone he just met.

Dex cut in, crossing his arms as if daring anyone to contradict him. “But they were jerks and we’re better off without them.”

Durnan made a sympathetic noise, “Sometimes that’s how it goes. As for finding a new party—there are usually a handful of people looking to get their feet wet that show up every night around sundown. At your level of skill, you could get a group of them and set yourself up as the leader—might have to take some jobs that are below your usual pay grade until they get more experienced. As for more advanced groups—Jack over there has been looking for a spell slinger to round out his crew for a while now. His group is a good one—skilled, and not in the business for the wrong reasons. I’ll introduce you if you like.”

“Oh!” Eric blinked, a little surprised that Dex’s plan was bearing fruit so soon. “If it’s not too much trouble!”

“Think nothing of it. Besides, if you go on to do great things together then I get to say I had a hand in it.” Durnan chuckled a little and strode over to the other end of the bar. As the innkeeper conversed with the man, gesturing a few times back in Eric’s direction, Eric got a good look at him.

Jack was, without a doubt, one of the most attractive people Eric had ever laid eyes on. This was saying something since Eric had spent a day and a night in the company of a faerie queen and her entourage. He had seen ethereal beauty and grace the likes of which the mortal world would never know, but they fey were beautiful in the way the most glorious aspects of nature were—you could appreciate the sunrise from a distance, but you couldn’t reach out and touch it.

Jack was beautiful in a more human, potentially obtainable way—Eric noticed short dark hair, broad shoulders, sharp features, and intense pale blue eyes. He was armored elegantly but simply, with a breastplate, arm guards and greaves, and he had a longsword strapped to his waist. The armor was well fitted, so it didn’t obscure the fact that his body was solid with lean muscle in a way that Eric was definitely appreciating.

Jack and Durnan concluded their conversation, and Jack started over in Eric’s direction with an easy grace, one hand resting on his sword’s pommel. Jack gave Eric an obvious once over as he approached, taking him in, and Eric did his best not to blush.

Dex fluttered up next to Eric’s ear and whispered, “Just so you know—he’s been totally stealing glances at you since you came in.”

Eric was definitely blushing now, and Jack was standing right in front of him, extending his hand.

“Eric, right? I’m Jack Zimmermann.”

#check please #omgcp #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #william poindexter #zimbits #dungeons and dragons #alternate universe #adventurer au #warlock bitty #fighter jack #to be continued

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besidemethewholedamntime · 5 years ago

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and i will always love you - chapter 8

Fic Summary:

“He feels sorry for her. It’s hard not to. Except it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the child of an eminent politician, using her wealth and status to arm herself in ways that others in her situation couldn’t. Fitz has protected all kinds of people who’ve done the same thing, and every last one has been a complete and utter wanker.”

When an accidental discovery causes nationwide outrage at Dr. Jemma Simmons, Protection Officer Leopold Fitz is the one called upon to be her bodyguard. It starts off as one thing and ends quite another. A bodyguard au.

Chapter Summary:

A chapter which contains: -moping -some tough love -an apology and trying again.

{read from the beginning}

{read chapter eight}

or read chapter eight below!

He can’t go back to his flat when he leaves Jemma’s and, with nowhere else to go, he ends up driving around the streets of London aimlessly. When the tears blur his eyes too much for him to make out the road ahead, he parks in a supermarket carpark and starts walking.

It’s just getting dark and the breeze is sharp but if anything it’s a welcome distraction from the feeling of a hand squeezing his heart and so he doesn’t even register he forgot his jacket. He doesn’t have his phone – Jemma keeps trying to call and so he left it in the car – and there’s nothing else to think about or to do as he trudges over muddy grass and pot-holed paths.

The events of the past hour keep replaying in his head, a loop that he cannot break. The anger resurges, an anger that he hasn’t felt in the longest time. It takes hold of him completely, its fingers around his throat, its pressure pressing his teeth together. He wants to break something, anything, just to release it. His hands curl into fists, nails cutting half-moons into his palm. He kicks at the ground, a pathetic, childish attempt to make himself feel better. It doesn’t do anything, only hurts.

Then just as quickly the anger disappears, steam evaporating away as quickly as the water boiled. It’s just sadness that’s left, an unbearable hurt that cuts so deep that he doesn’t even know what to do. He can’t do anything except keep walking numbly forward.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he makes it back to his car. His eyes sting, his throat is sore, and his chest feels like someone has reached a hand in and scooped his heart out. It aches all over. It’s a miracle he’s able to drive home.

“Fitz!” Hunter stands up as he comes in the door. “Where the hell have you been?”

Wasn’t it only days ago that Hunter said that exact thing only in a completely different voice, with a smile on his face? It seems like another life entirely.

“Around,” Fitz says. “What does it matter? Thought you’d be with Bobbi.”

For once Hunter doesn’t rise to it. “Jemma phoned, said you weren’t right when you left and she wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure she did.”

“Mate, I’ve been worried sick! Bob’s out looking for you now; she made me wait at home in case you came back or the police called!” Hunter runs a hand through his hair; from the looks of it it appears it’s not the first time. “Jesus Christ, Fitz. Look at the state of you!”

Fitz looks down and for the first time registers what kind of state he’s in. His boots are caked with mud and grass, and the laces on one foot are undone. His trousers are ripped at the back on one side – he must have snagged them when he walked through the trees. His shirt is sodden – he hadn’t noticed when it had begun to rain. Fitz catches sight of himself in the side mirror and sees what Hunter sees: his tie is askew, his face is red, eyes are swollen and his hair sticks up, going in fifty different directions.

“I’m fine,” he says robotically.

“’Fine’ my arse. You’re not fine. Anyone can tell by looking at you you’re not fine.” Hunter exhales a shaky breath, and Fitz feels a nugget of shame for making him worry. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” He peels off his boots, leaving them by the door. One thing at a time to keep himself sane.

“Alright,” Hunter says, surprisingly not pushing anymore. “Another time, then. Just get in the shower, would you? You’ll be freezing, and also you smell.”

Now that it’s been mentioned, the cold hits him with full force. He starts shivering almost automatically and he lets Hunter shove him into the bathroom with a clean towel in his hands. It’s been a long time since Hunter has mothered him like this, and the regression makes bile rise into Fitz’s throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hunter tells him. “Whatever it is we can fix it, okay? We’ll figure out something.”

It’s not like that Fitz wants to protest. For the first time in his life he’s crying over a girl. He could laugh at the ridiculousness of it except it’s not ridiculous at all because it’s not just a girl he’s crying over. Betrayal is so much worse.

“Have a hot shower, have a sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.” Hunter sighs. “I’ll call Bob, let her know you’re alright.” Then he closes the bathroom door behind him.

Fitz turns the water hot, following instructions. The small bathroom fills with steam quickly and fogs up the mirror. Good. He doesn’t want to see the mess he’s become.

He hears Hunter on the phone outside. Hello, it’s Hunter…. Yeah, we’ve got him. He’s gotten himself worked up… I don’t need-… right, yeah, I will do. Try not to worry, Jemma. He’ll be fine.

Jemma. So she was worried about him, was she? Like all those weeks he spent worrying over her… he feels used and dirty. He climbs into the shower with the intent of scrubbing his skin raw only for the hurt to get too much to bear and he cries until his stomach hurts instead.

-x-

“Are you going into work today, Fitz?”

Hunter waits at Fitz’s bedroom door, listening for any sign of life. There’s nothing. He sighs and knocks again.

“Fitz? Mate? You need to at least phone if you’re not going in, you know how this works.”

There’s a rustle of sheets and then a sad voice calls out, “Told them I had a stomach bug. Can’t go back for another 48 hours.” Then a mumble that Fitz thinks Hunter can’t hear. “Not that I want to.”

“Fitz,” Hunter sighs again, wearily resting his head against the doorframe for a moment. “It’s been three days already.”

There’s no reply to that.

It had taken almost 24 hours but eventually Hunter had managed to weasel the truth out of Fitz. The whole truth in all of its brutal glory, right down to the parting blow that Fitz had delivered as he left. After they’d spoken, Fitz had retreated to his room and that where he’s remained, leaving sporadically for the basic human needs, ever since.

Hunter flops down on the couch, scratching his head in an effort to understand. He gets the betrayal, he understands the hurt, after all he and Bobbi’s first shot at marriage ended for a reason, but what he doesn’t understand is the seclusion. Fitz has never liked falling out with people, at least not as long as Hunter has known him, and to not return any of Jemma’s phone calls or text messages doesn’t make sense.

He’s hurt, Hunter gets that, but he can’t quit. Him and Jemma’s story can’t end like this.

Bobbi has had messages from Daisy and Mack and Elena, all hearing from Jemma that something’s happened but they don’t know what. Last night, when Bobbi had read out the latest one, she had turned to him and told him, “I don’t care what you do, but do something.” It was all Hunter needed. There’s a plan forming in the depths of his mind, half-finished and probably utterly insane but at least it’s something. If he leaves the two idiots to their devices then it’ll never get fixed and for the rest of their lives they’ll be doomed to roaming the earth in circles, alone and unsure of themselves. Probably.

Relationship drama is meant to be Hunter’s thing, and he’s in the middle of wracking his brains to try and think what Fitz would do for him in this situation when there’s a knock at the door. His head snaps up and he frowns. Nobody tends to visit them during the day, or nobody that would knock, and he knows who it is a split second before he answers the door.

“Jemma,” he greets. “What a surprise,” even though it’s not really a surprise at all.

Jemma looks shifty as she stands in the door, dressed for work but clearly not there. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, with dark circles under her eyes poorly concealed and cheeks hollow.

“Hello, Hunter,” she says, perfectly politely, but her eyes dart to the hallway behind him. “Is, um, is Fitz here? I was hoping if I could speak with him.”

“He’s out at the minute,” Hunter lies, “but come on in.”

Jemma comes in alone as Hunter shuts the door behind him. He ushers her into the living room and closes that door, too. Fitz is probably already back to sleep but he still takes the precautions. His plan has been expedited and he’s not fully prepared but it doesn’t matter. Anything for his best friend.

“Where’s your new protection officer?”

“Mm?” Jemma looks around as if she too is wondering why she’s here alone. “Oh, Officer Davis? He’s still in the car. I can’t be very long, I’ve got to get to work, but I was just wanted to tell Fitz something but if he’s not here then it doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“It’s alright, love. I know.”

“You do?” Then Jemma smiles tiredly. “Of course you do.”

“Took me a while to get it out of him if that’s any consolation,” Hunter offers.

“A little.” Then a shadow crosses her face. “So, now that you know...”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he says, trying to smile and put her at ease. “This is between you and Fitz.”

“But you could go to-”

Hunter holds up a hand. “I could, except I won’t. I’ve got too much dirt on the place for them to ever want to send me to jail.”

“Must be nice to have that kind of security,” Jemma muses.

“Eh.” He shrugs. “A pain in the arse, sometimes. Knowing all these things that you can’t share with anyone.”

Jemma tries to laugh, but it comes out more as a bark. “Tell me about it.”

Hunter doesn’t dislike Jemma, not the way Fitz wants him to. He kind of admires her, for the guts it takes to do something so risky yet selfless. Fitz will see it later when the wound stops smarting. Of that, he is sure.

“I get why you did it,” Hunter says at last.

Jemma tilts her head to the side. Something that’s almost relief sweeps across her face. “You do?”

“Yeah. It maybe wasn’t the smartest of choices but I get it. I don’t blame you for it.”

“Thank goodness someone doesn’t,” she says, her eyes drifting to the door.

Hunter could go and wake Fitz up right now, march him in here and demand the two of them talk it out. He’s always liked the straightforward approach. But people, as Bobbi reminds him, as he himself knows, are rarely straightforward and in this case it just won’t work. They need to do this on their own.

“He doesn’t hate you,” he says gently. “I don’t think he ever could. He’s just hurt, and he’s a baby when he’s hurting. He’ll come round eventually, don’t you worry.”

There are tears in her eyes. “No, he was right. I should have thought it through more I just…”

“You got scared,” Hunter finishes. “We all do stupid stuff when we’re scared. And you had good reason to be.”

“I never expected for it to get this far,” she says. “I truly didn’t think it would. I wasn’t trying to rule the world, I didn’t think I could whatever I wanted. It was,” she breaks off, taking a deep breath. “At the time, it was the only option I could see.”

A daughter of a lord or the son of a plumber, but only human when it comes to making mistakes. There’s really no difference, Hunter thinks, none at all.

“I just want to tell him I’m sorry,” Jemma says, swiping away the tear clinging to her eyelashes with her thumb. “And that I didn’t want to hurt him. I just thought he should know the truth.” But she takes a deep breath and Hunter watches as she draws herself up to her full height and becomes what she knows how to be. “But maybe this is for the best, him not being here. I think… I think I would only hurt him more.”

“Fitz’s job is to protect you,” Hunter says quietly. “But it’s my job to protect him. If I thought you’d hurt him then I wouldn’t have let you in. You fit together; you need each other. You need to make everyone else nauseous about how perfect the two of you are for each other. It’ll work out, love. Just you wait and see.”

“I would love to have your confidence,” she admits. She shakes her head. “I really must be going but, well, thank you, Hunter. For everything.”

He walks with her to the door and gives her a grin that Fitz associates with troublemaking. “Anytime.”

Once he’s made sure that she’s alright and gotten downstairs okay, he comes back up and flops down on the couch, grinning stupidly and feeling awfully proud of himself.

-x-

The phone rings once, then twice, then three times.

Fitz almost hangs up. It hadn’t been his own choice to make this call; Hunter had rather pressured him into it. You need to be the bigger man here, Fitz. You need to be an adult, at the very least, and other variations are all that Fitz has been hearing for the last week. He doesn’t want to be an adult in this moment; it’s mentally exhausting. A child seems like the better option.

Though he knows his friend is right, because otherwise he wouldn’t be doing what he says. And also because, well, he misses Jemma. He misses talking to her, laughing with her, working in the same office as her. The possibility of a relationship he mourns, of course he does, but it’s the loss of friendship that has cut him deeper than anything else.

“Hello?”

Her voice, the one he hasn’t heard in what seems like so long, jars him for a moment, rendering him still. The last time he heard it she was begging him not to go… he has to close his eyes.

“Jemma? It’s me, Fitz.”

“Fitz,” she breathes, a seemingly automatic response. His heart clenches at the way she says his name. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Big breath in. Slow breath out. “Hunter, um, wanted me to call you.”

“Did he now?”

“Well no. Well, yeah, actually but not just him. I wanted to call you as well. I wanted…” He takes another deep breath. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says, and he can imagine her face as she does so. “Nothing.”

“I do, actually. The things I said, I shouldn’t have said them. About you being, well, you know…”

The memory comes back to him as he imagines it does to her because they both fall silent at the same moment. There had been so much anger that night that he hadn’t known what to do with it. There’s still a little, he would be lying if he said otherwise, but it’s no longer a mist, doesn’t obscure his vision. Now he’s able to see what it looks like from the other side.

“I get it,” she says quietly. “You had your reasons. I admit it must have seemed that was but I promise you it wasn’t.”

“It hurt.” It still does. “It felt like I was being used. If you could lie to me about that, then what else did you lie to me about?”

His insecurities, when voice aloud, sound pathetic but it has to be said. It’s the only way they’ll move past it and, moving on, is something he really wants to try.

“I didn’t think it would get this far,” Jemma tells him. “I didn’t think you and I would ever be what we ar-were. You were never meant to be permanent but then you became my friend and then you became more and I just- I didn’t know what to do. Telling you seemed like the right thing.”

Now he can appreciate her position. After all, fear does funny things to people. Why else would he be in this job when he could have tried engineering again long ago?

“It was.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was the right thing.”

“I’m sorry, Fitz.”

“For what you did or what happened between us?”

It’s out before he can stop himself but he doesn’t regret it. He has to know.

“I’m sorry for how I made you feel, and I’m sorry for what happened last week, I really am.”

“But?”

“But,” she says, “I’m not sorry for what I did. I know wasn’t well-planned, and I know there may have been other ways but I can’t say that I wouldn’t do it again, Fitz. Even with everything that’s happened. I’m sorry.”

Oddly he’s not. “No, it’s okay. Honesty, I like it.”

“Thank you.” Her laugh is a little forced. “I’ve been trying.”

They’re at the edge of something, he can tell. Both of them are waiting to see where it will go. Perhaps they could try again. He’d like that.

“I do wish I hadn’t dragged you into the mess with me, though. I regret that.”

“I’ll figure out something,” Fitz laughs tiredly. “Hunter probably has some tips or something like that.”

“I spoke to him, did he tell you?”

“Yeah, he said he saw you. Didn’t tell me much more than that.”

There’s a pause.

“You can turn me in if you’d like,” she says quietly. “If that’s what you want to do. I wouldn’t blame you.”

He could do it. He could tell his boss and he could tell her boss who the leak came from. The thought has crossed his mind. Except he could never actually do it, he knows that about himself. He could never condemn her like that.

“I can’t do that, Jemma. I just can’t.”

He imagines her tearful look on the other end of the line and coughs quickly to change the subject. “I’ve got to go now but it was nice to speak to you again.”

“It was lovely to hear from you, Fitz. I’ve missed you.”

His heart swells. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“And I’ll see you on Monday.”

He can feel her frown. “Monday? What’s happening on Mon – oh. Are you…?”

“Yeah, I’m coming back.”

Her smile is almost audible. “Well I shall see you then. Goodbye, Fitz.”

“Goodbye, Jemma.”

It’s small but it’s a step, and, as long as they’re going in the right direction, it’s enough.

-x-

When they meet on Monday morning Fitz nods and hands her a cup of tea.

Jemma says thank you and hands him a pastry.

They both smile at each other, tentatively but real, before sitting down behind their desks, both ready and willing to try again.

#aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fics #aos fics #fanfic by moi #here we go!#a gentler one for you after last week!#i hope you enjoy!

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