#my answer: And I thank you for addressing that too Damsel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzdarlings · 4 months ago

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the rescue ; skz; aotm!hyunjin x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood: ❛ i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty. ❜ would 100000% fit Hyunjin 🩶 + requested by anonymous: ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ with hyunjin? thank you

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: artist of the month!hyunjin was inspo here. gangster stuff, reader has been kidnapped and is in a see through nightdress, most violence off page though, bad guy hyunjin who is actually a good guy, arranged marriage, multiple smut scenes, not great communication but gets better lol. smut includes fingering, blow jobs, pussy eating, piv, spanking, light choking, husband/wife kink. word count: 6300 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

“I’ve already explained,” you say, equal parts frustrated and exhausted. “My husband isn’t coming for me.”

The gangster cronies still don’t seem to understand. You are tied to a chair in their basement (because they are preposterously corny goons, tying you up like a comically silly damsel in a ridiculous film) while they berate you for your husband’s tardiness.

You have tried explaining, over and over, that Hyunjin is not coming, but they won’t accept that answer. The fools try in vain to reach him again, but his line leads straight to a dial tone.

He went radio silent after the initial video contact, when your captors demanded a price for your healthy return.

Hyunjin was quiet on the call. Your husband is a quiet man in general, though he knows how to use his charms and work a room, and he has certainly perfected the art of severe intimidation. When your marriage was arranged, one mob family to the other, you mistakenly assumed you were marrying a monster.

Hyunjin is very reserved when not conducting business. He doesn’t engage in any of the more debauched sides of the business, unlike the men in your family. Evenings at home are silent and still, the penthouse view of the glittering cityscape the only real bustle.

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you. When he took over his family’s business, Hyunjin altered a lot of their practices, cutting the crueler sectors, opting for illicit crimes of more practical varieties.

The country is in a political chokehold, government affairs conducted none too differently from the criminal underworld. The cops are all dirty, the politicians corrupt, the wealthy depraved. Hyunjin has taken it upon himself to alleviate the pressure suffered by the regular people, the civilians who truly pay the price of a broken system.

In a world with no good guys, sometimes only villains can be heroes.

You think of his face now, how he certainly looked the part of a villain on the video call. Hyunjin has a very austere demeanour, exacerbated by his severe appearance: sharp marble features and dark, vicious eyes often further darkened with heavy lining, sleek black hair, scattered scars and tattoos, and the sort of regard that judges at a glance. He is young, but he has the air of a man who has already traversed the universe and found it wanting.

You think of his face now, the silent perusal he gave your bound body on that video call. You are dressed in your favourite nightgown, your underthings partially visible through the light material, but it was not willingly donned. At the time of your kidnapping, you were attired appropriately for the wealthy wife of a famous gangster. You were returning from a family visit when your captors intercepted you in transit from the airport.

Either to intimidate or threaten or just because they could, they made you remove all your jewelry and fine clothes. They rifled through your luggage and demanded you change into the nightgown.

Hyunjin recognized the nightdress, realized you must have been stripped, and likely inferred the very worst.

“Address,” was the only word Hyunjin said. He ended the call seconds later.

“Oh, he’ll come,” your captor says. He points at you with a hand that feels more threatening than a knife. It makes your terrified heart leap into your throat. “Or else.”

“He won’t, though!” you exclaim. “You’re wasting your time!”

They are not listening. They leave the basement, slamming the door behind them.

You huff and settle back in your bonds.

It is only a matter of time before they realize you are telling the truth. Hyunjin will not waste the money or resources to rescue you. He has always been respectful of the marriage arrangement, but your husband is not sentimental. There is a professional distance between you. His decision will be based in the logic of all his strategies: nothing personal, just a matter of business.

You sometimes see a different side of him, something buried under that quiet intensity. He collects fine art and spends hours poring over his favourite pieces, listening to music, losing himself to artistic fantasies. He always comes back, but you know there are other worlds in his mind.

Every attempt to bridge the gap has been gently rebuffed, but there have been moments when your husband seems curious about you. You often catch him staring. He gets a wistful look that softens his face, even with that shield of make-up. His eyes are gentle when you talk about your passions. You never let his quietude deter your friendly penchant for chatter. He seems more than content to listen. He remembers everything too.

You know he finds you attractive, if nothing else. He has caved on that front several times over, though not right away. He didn’t touch you on the wedding night, nor the honeymoon. He left your beach holiday early to return to business, leaving you in a villa with security and his credit card. It was the first time you realized the material world was no replacement for true companionship. You missed his dark eyes.

Your family also had expectations. There would be consequences if the marriage fell through. You would be blamed, not him. Worried he would renege on the nuptials, you did everything to try and seduce him.

He politely rejected you at every turn.

Just when you were resigned, he arrived home after a job. It was almost three in the morning when he entered the penthouse. You have separate bedrooms but they share a connecting bathroom. You could hear him cursing above the running water.

You only meant to peek. The sliding door on your side was partially ajar so you tip-toed over.

Hyunjin was standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, pressing a rag to his wounded shoulder. There was a mess of blood streaked down his back, making you gasp at the terrible mosaic of pain, his body littered with violent scars.

That gasp contained multitudes, for the horror, for his beauty. His dark eyes were as severely lined as ever, expression intense as he breathed hard through the pain. Smooth black hair fell across his face when he tipped his head.

He froze at the sound of your gasp. His turn was very slow, eyes peeking through the curtain of his short hair. They captured yours.

You held your breath.

Eventually, he straightened, flicking his hair out of his face. He looked in the mirror and sighed.

“You can come in,” he said. “This is your home too.”

You slid the door open, just enough to squeeze through. Your attention was utterly transfixed on his bleeding shoulder. You could see the wound was a thin stripe. It was not deep so stitches were not necessary, but it was slightly out of his reach as it sloped towards his back.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said, thoughtlessly taking the rag right out of his hands.

In spite of the violence that raised you, or maybe because of it, you can’t stand to see suffering. You and Hyunjin have had that in common from the start. You were quick to help him clean the wound, wordlessly wiping all the blood then applying cream across the clotted cut.

He flinched when the stinging cream made contact. You went to apologize but your words evaporated when your eyes met through the mirror. You were surprised to find him already looking at you, that expressive gaze as thoughtful as ever.

“How did this happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, eyes rivetted to his reflection. “You – you have people to protect you.” You managed to rip your gaze away, looking at your task, feeling hot in the face.

“I do,” he said. “But I’d never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

This did not surprise you to hear. It is obvious that Hyunjin cares very deeply about the wellbeing of other people. It is a fact known to few. It aggravates you at times, but his reputation does not seem to bother him. He would rather people think him a monster while he secretly does good rather than be praised in public while cruel in private.

You have never known another man like him. Looking at that scar that night, the realization truly struck you.

Your fingers began to tremble where they brushed his bare skin, your eyes widening as you looked at the scar and many others. If something happened to him, what would become of you? Certainly, as his widow, you would be financially sound, but what did that matter? This world would lose something irreplaceable if it lost Hwang Hyunjin. This penthouse could be brimming with silver and gold and it would be empty, worthless.

Tears in your eyes, you succumbed to desire, kissing him very gently on his hurt shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your eyes closed, lips grazing his skin as you spoke. “Please make sure you always come home, okay?”

He did not answer at first. When you lifted your eyes and looked in the mirror, those dark eyes were so enflamed that you were surprised nothing caught fire.

“Hyunjin?” you said softly.

“You mean that,” he said, not quite a question, more like a realization.

“Of course,” you replied. You looked at his scarred back again, let your fingertips brush down the length of his spine. It made him stand a little straighter. “Have you ever known me to lie?” you asked.

He finally turned around, looking at you with an long-engrained wariness, but also a hunger. He was a starving man presented with a banquet, but one who did not easily trust when sitting at someone else’s table.

“You’re a smart woman,” he said. “I know that. And I know that you’re – good.”

Good was an exhale, like the word was too heavy for his tongue. You realized that his wariness was less suspicion for you than hesitation regarding himself. He was only starving because he though himself undeserving of the meal he wanted.

“You’ve seen – and done – many bad things tonight, haven’t you?” you asked.

Having the full force of his gaze was overwhelmingly heady. You remember how it made your heart race like you were being chased, your breath catching over and over until you were almost panting.

Arousal struck quickly, a sensation like you never experienced before. You thought you understood attraction, but not until that moment when he released a breath, so close to your face, and you became truly aware of his proximity. Of him, of all that he was, all that he did. His character, his hidden depths.

Your husband.

It made your racing heart thunder something fierce, your blood pumping hotly, throbbing places you did not know were so sensitive.

You desperately wondered what was on his mind. The gears in his head were spinning and whirring, delaying his response. Was he feeling the same tension? Were his thoughts the same realization?

My wife.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“Is there something I can do to help?” you asked.

His tattooed hand cupped your head, tilting it just so. It made your lips part with a gasp, eyelids heavy with anticipation for a kiss.

He took his time looking at you, like he was scrubbing all those bad memories away, replacing them with the flustered look on his aroused wife’s face.

“Yes,” he said again, and kissed you for the first time.

You were so glad he rebuffed your previous half-hearted advances, clumsy seductions made out of obligation rather than desire. It was so different to that kiss. You would not have known how to even ask for a kiss like that. You never knew what you were missing.

Your quiet husband and his multitudes. All that simmering intensity, hot just below the surface of his icy demeanour, burned right through his skin. His kiss was ravishing, entirely possessive, like he wished to take your whole essence into him and hold it forever.

He walked you backwards. With a snap of his wrist, he slid the door open the rest of the way, so sharp that it tried to bounce back. He continued onward, kissing you until you were dizzy with it.

He picked you up just to put you on the bed himself. Your kiss separated only then as you landed with a bounce and a breath.

He loomed over the edge of the bed, this man who was both stranger and husband, hero and villain. He looked at you like he already loved you. He looked at you and saw the reciprocation. You had fallen for him without realizing you had ever even stumbled.

He ran his hands through his hair, the sleek black locks fluttering back into place. His eyes were still rivetted to your face, to your body. You were wearing the nightdress you are wearing now. It is why it became your favourite.

He looked down at you, the material translucent enough to see the details of your body. It broke through that last layer of ice. He surrendered with a choked breath.

He unclasped a holster on his thigh, dropped a knife that was hidden in a pocket. Once unarmed, his hands went to his belt. You watched those nimble, efficient fingers, swallowing hard. You were aching to an embarrassing degree, undoubtedly obvious in your desires. No one ever warned you it would feel like this, just being looked at, never mind touched.

Then his belt was on the floor and he touchedyou for real. His calloused hands moved up your thighs, pushing the nightdress up and out of his way. He climbed on top of you, swift as a feline, mouth descending onto yours with that same desperate hunger as before.

Recollection makes you crave another kiss. You think you will always be starving for more.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, hands on his face, his shoulders, down to his chest.

He took your hands and laced your fingers with his, pinning those hands to the bed. He kissed you again, long and slow. It was all more sensual than desperate.

His voice, however, was desperate when he begged, “Let me make you feel good, please.” He kissed down your face, your jaw, your throat. “Please, my wife.” He kissed further down still, through your nightdress, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue, wetting the material and awakening every nerve beneath it. “My wife,” he repeated.

“My husband.” The words left your lips in a dizzy, delirious whisper.

It was all the confirmation he needed. Those deft and skilled hands, so quick to assemble weapons and pull triggers, applied themselves with a startling gentleness. He took you apart and put you together with the same efficient ease.

He hooked his fingers in the only material between him and his desire, tugged it out of his way. His fingers went to you, slipping through all that wetness. Those intense eyes rolled back even though it was just his fingers inside you, then he closed his eyes like it was too much, and it seemed he had to temper himself, murmuring nonsense as he let his fingers sink into you.

He kissed you again, drinking down every sigh and gasp and moan while he fucked you with his long fingers. It was like he could taste your pleasure, like he was trying to get drunk on it, every noise you made filling his mouth. He gave them back and brought you over a peak, first with his hands, then with his mouth. He laid between your legs and put your thighs around his head, losing himself entirely in you.

He did not remove a single article of your clothing nor his pants, not that first time. He simply held the material to the side as he unzipped and finally got inside you. It made your whole body keen, coming to life like it never had before. You forgot all your sensibilities and let every wanton sound and action loose.

He responded in kind. His kiss tasted like your pleasure, his heart pounding as fast as yours where your chests pressed together. You were careful near his injured shoulder, fingertips dodging scars. Your soft touch made him whimper, this powerful man entirely undone by a few caresses.

His skin was hot and he worked up a sweat, but his stamina seemed endless. He always wanted more.

You fell asleep tucked in his arms, content to believe the walls had crumbled. However, they revealed themselves in the morning light, as concrete as ever. He slipped away and left a note to excuse his absence as he was called away to business. You thought about phoning or messaging him, but those lines were not always secure, not for such intimate conversations.

When he returned a few days later, he hid behind those concrete walls, but too much had changed. There was now an awareness of your proximity and your distance. The lack of intimacy was not called into question before, the absence of something being a nothing. But now that nothing was something, or had been something for a moment, and it made you both very aware of how it was now missing – and anticipating always when it might again appear.

He tried very hard to keep away, to stay cordial at best, his habitual quietude even heavier than before. But while his silence was significant, so was his glance. Every time you turned around, he was already looking at you, a longing in his eyes and a thought on his lips that he never dared to speak aloud.

You granted him some distance for a time. When it became abundantly obvious he was holding himself in check, you realized that your own vulnerability was required to bridge the gap.

One night you crossed through the bathroom, slid open the door on his side. You found him at his desk, dressed down in a white dress shirt and pants. His blazer was discarded on the floor, his face still made up.

He stood quickly when you entered, though he didn’t say anything.

It was strange to imagine this man would need any reassurance, but you felt that was the case. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, his roving eyes studious.

You said nothing. You approached him, laid your hands on his chest, and gently guided him back into his chair. He sat slowly, his eyes on your face the entire time, even when he had to tip his head back to peer up at you.

You ran your fingers through his hair. When you entered the room, his face was tightly screwed in an expression of aggravation, but all those harsh lines softened as you traced a thumb down the sharp slope of his cheek.

There were some wipes on his desk. You took one and began to carefully remove that shield of dark make-up. His hand lifted but not to stop you, simply to rest his palm on your waist. He began to really touch you, feeling the shape of your body through your robe as you helped him come back to himself.

“Hello,” you finally said, looking at his bare face. Still impossibly beautiful.

“Hello,” he replied.

His fingertips dipped towards the hem of the robe. Before he could distract you with your own pleasure, you sunk to your knees in front of him. This startled him, his hand frozen in the air as you fit yourself between his open knees.

He caught your hand, his reflexes fast, before it could reach his fly. You could see he was already affected, a heavy bulge in the black material making your mouth water and core tighten.

He squeezed your hand and you looked up at his face. He tipped his head, blinked rapidly, an expression of mild confusion.

You took your hand back and unknotted your robe. The silk fell from your shoulders and down, sliding like water right off your body. You were completedly naked underneath.

It clarified everything, his confusion gone, replaced with surprise.

“You—” he began. It was interrupted when you put your head in his lap, resting on his thigh. You led his hand to the back of your neck and kissed him through his pants. It made his fingers clasp tighter around you.

“Please,” you said.

He would never deny you anything. Not the smallest gift nor grandest gesture. When you started a new charity to further your combined philanthropic efforts, he spared no expense in aiding the endeavour. You shared passions, and now you shared this.

He was stiff at the start, but gradually let himself go lax in his seat. His hand kept a steady grip on the back of your neck, not guiding but holding, like he thought you might disappear otherwise. He murmured your name, letting his head fall back as you worked him in your mouth.

You intended to make him finish like that, seeking nothing for yourself at that precise moment. He had other ideas, needing more of your shared pleasure to take him over that brink.

He lifted your face, adjusted his pants, and was on his feet in a matter of seconds. That hand on your neck dragged you up, up, up until your naked body was pressed against his clothed one. He clung to you needily, claiming your mouth in a wanting kiss.

His hands moved over you, every new inch of skin making him moan as he walked you towards the bed. The kiss only broke when you both sat down, his lips against yours as he breathed, almost smiling, “My pretty wife.”

“Hyunjin,” you said, shaking your head, feeling suddenly shy just because of a simple compliment.

He did not allow you to curl into yourself with any shame. When you tried, he seized you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled it. His eyes moved up and down your body, hands following, from your thighs to hips to waist and up.

“What are you doing?” you said, laughing helplessly when he kissed somewhere ticklish on your throat. The sound made him smile, even softer than before, though it turned a little wicked as his mouth went lower.

“I’m simply enjoying the view,” he said, then wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your breast, ran his tongue up and over. He licked and kissed back up to your mouth. “It’s not everyday I get to fuck someone so pretty.”

As he said this, he opened his pants again, eyes on yours as he grabbed your thighs and moved you so he could thrust up into you. His hips moved with a slow roll, letting you adjust to him. It had been a little while, and this angle was different.

And Hyunjin is not small. Your husband is built in perfect proportion, his body a long, hard, slender build – everything inside you at that moment was no exception. This angle made you whimper, clinging to him like he was a life preserver in a storm. The roll of his hips kept coming like waves and you were sure you would drown otherwise.

Your arms were around his neck, his graceful but strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you. He felt impossibly deep, every upward stroke feeling like it was bursting past something, pushing everything inside your body up to your throat.

You swallowed again and again, the taste of him still on your lips, the feel of him inside every inch of you. You clenched and tightened involuntarily, just pure animal reaction, and it made him moan and find all those sweet spots to make it happen again.

“Help,” was your somewhat nonsensical request, blurted in the midst of some moaning babbling.

Fortunately, he was and is a smart man. He understood. He clasped you tight to his body and fell back on the bed, thrusting up into you with sharper, more focussed determination, faster until you were weeping on his chest, delirious with pleasure. His shirt was unbuttoned and you accidentally ripped a few buttons right off, trying to press your face to bare skin.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said as you tumbled over a height you never reached before. You never knew you could come just from that, stimulated somewhere so deep inside you, but it made you come undone in his arms.

He watched you unravel and it made him follow, clinging to you as he just barely pulled out before coming between your dripping thighs. It was all so messy and wet, your legs trembling, but it felt so good that it hardly mattered.

He caught his breath, then looked at your face just lose that breath again. He moaned and dragged you in for another kiss.

Then you were on your back, the night far from over.

That second night is the one that truly opened the door to more. Though your husband can be reticent in other regards, he is not quiet when he is inside you. You have come together again and again, a conversation with your bodies as you look for pleasure in a dangerous world. You always find it, tucked in the protective circle of his arms, wrapped around every inch of him.

You have been out of his arms for too long. Your visit to your family grew tedious before long. Your home is with Hyunjin now and you were eager to return.

Now it seems you may never see it again. You may never see him again.

No.

Just like the night when you took control for yourself, you must take control now. You realize if anything is to happen, then you must take the reins of your own rescue. You would not want Hyunjin to compromise himself or his important business. You know if something bad happened to you, it would weigh on his conscious, even if it was the better business decision. You must eliminate the need for choice.

It turns out, comical rope bindings are truly best suited for silly movies. When the men come to check on you again, you have slipped free of your bindings. There was an array of weapons in the room, so carelessly disposed because the assailants never assumed you would get free – or, if you did get free, that you would not know how to use them.

It is true, you do not like violence.

That does not mean you do not understand it.

You leave the two men unconscious in their basement. Unfortunately, you cannot find your suitcase and you do not want to hang around, so you venture outside in your nightgown. You are debating your next move when a car pulls into the driveway.

You back away quickly, raising the gun you stole as more men get out of the vehicle. You only stay your hand because you recognize one of them, though it takes a second to place him as one of Hyunjin’s lieutenants.

Then Hyunjin emerges. You have seen your husband before and after a confrontation, but never during it. If you thought he was an intimidating figure in the aftermath, he is all danger and darkness as he storms up the driveway now. There is such an energy radiating from him, it makes you stumble and forget yourself entirely.

Then he stumbles, recognizing you. You are both startled, staring at each other with the gun raised between you.

He looks nowhere but your eyes.

“Hyunjin?” you finally say.

“I—” He looks at you, the gun, the nightdress. He shakes his head. Some of that bravado returns when he says, “I’m here to save you.”

“Ah,” you say. You slowly lower the gun, at a loss how to reply. You were so resigned to the idea this was all still business. The reality of your husband risking himself to rescue you from unknown hostiles is making your heart pound.

In the end, all you can think to say is, “Sorry. You’re late.”

That wicked smile crosses his face, his tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth. He is suddenly nothing but amused, looking at you, then at the house.

“I can see that,” he says.

He whistles sharply and gestures to the house with a gloved hand. His lieutenants run past you and charge the door, no doubt heading inside to finish the job you started.

You turn to watch them go. In your distraction, Hyunjin grabs your arm. He is fast, effectively disarming you. He catches the gun with a twirl before tossing it aside.

It is not the gun he wants; it’s you.

Still holding your wrist, he tugs you into him. You throw your arms around him. The hug is surprisingly chaste, his face in your neck as he squeezes you like it is the only thing keeping him alive and standing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

When in his arms, it seems impossible to consider you could ever feel any pain.

You shake your head, daring to kiss his cheek. He turns his face to yours, your lips close enough to brush in a swipe.

“I’m all right now,” you say. “Sorry I beat you to the punch. I – I wasn’t sure if—”

His brow crinkles. That gloved hand goes from your wrist to your chin, seizing it between thumb and forefinger. He tips your head so he can look at your face. He always regards you like he does one of his masterpieces, like he can never get his fill, like there is always something new to find. He is enchanted every time.

“You’re mine,” he says. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”

You gasp when those fingers go from your chin to your throat, just enough to pull you in that last breath of a space. He kisses you there in the sunlight, utterly shameless.

“Do not ever doubt that,” he says. His eyes are soft with his affection, but his voice is hard, skirting the edge of a threat he would issue an adversary. It makes you tingle from head to toe. “Do I need to remind you?”

You never actually answer. You are not sure if your answer would have made a difference, as Hyunjin is determined to show you the very second you are home.

You reach the penthouse. There is no time to shower or decompress once you cross the threshhold. He sweeps you off your feet, your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. You are wearing his blazer over your nightdress to preserve your modesty – not that it will last long.

He carries you to the bedroom where so many slow and subtle exchanges took place. Now, he is not slow or subtle. He is a force of nature. He tells you that he held no greater fear than losing you and he tried to keep his distance, but he regretted it the moment he saw you on that video call.

“You’re my wife,” he says, peeling his blazer off your body. “I’m your husband. There is nothing I should be holding back.”

“Yes,” you say, running your fingers through that smooth black hair. You shiver as he bunches the fabric of your nightdress, the material spilling over his fingers. “Don’t hold back,” you say, mouth open against his, stealing his every breath. “Do whatever you want.”

He tells you exactly what he wants, using his words for a change, finally letting those walls come down. He whispers every filthy thought into your ear, between kisses, between bites. You shiver at every suggestion.

And so, moments later, he is sitting on your bed. He arranges you to lay across his lap, facedown in the pillows while he runs his hands down your spine and over the curve of your ass.

“You’re my wife,” he says. The first tap of his open palm is through the thin material of your nightdress. It is truly just a warning tap, just enough to make you bounce. “Don’t ever doubt me again,” he says, swinging that strong hand a little harder.

This time a yelp escapes your lips. You wriggle until he pins you down, a hand on the back of your neck and the other lifting your dress. He already stripped your underthings, his open palm smoothing down all that bare skin.

You tingle with anticipation, braced yet still unprepared for the sharp smack he next delivers. You feel it tingle all the way up to your head, as well as the next one, and the next. You squirm under his firm grip, groaning his name as your thighs get tense and press together.

“Don’t say my name,” he says, and smacks you again. “Who am I?”

“M-my husband,” you say, practically mewling like a kitten when he next brings his hand down. “My husband,” you say again.

“And you are—”

“Your wife,” you say, though it comes out almost like a sob, a desperate gasp as he slips his fingers between your thighs and finds a new way to torture you. With your backside hot and stinging, the pleasure of his hand in that sensitive place feels amplified by a tenfold.

“Husband,” you say, hips bucking. His free hand goes from the back of your neck to your lower spine, holding you in his lap as he slowly finger-fucks you.

“Yes?” he says.

You do not even remember what you were going to say, or beg, or plead. You are overcome with sensation, tingling all over, intensifying the press of his fingers as he curls his fingers into that soft, soft place. Then you are really squirming, helplessly, instinctively, whining into the pillows.

“I make you feel good,” he says. “I take care of you. You, who are so good, and so smart, but so—”

You cry out when he angles his hand just a little differently. Your vision swims with stars as he speeds up.

“So soft,” he says, his own voice going soft, just a whisper as he makes you come all over his hand in a throbbing, aching, desperate wet mess. “Just for me,” he says in that whisper. “Just for your husband.”

“Mmmf,” is all the response you have left in you.

Your thighs are trembling and your pussy throbbing with aftershocks when he picks you up. He stands and turns, laying you on your side in the bed. You are grateful, as your backside still stings, though you suspect he is not done yet.

He strips out of his clothes, tearing through his shirt, leaving the pants in a heap. He forgets to remove his necklace. All that silver is cold against your hot skin as he lays down behind you. You do not have time to linger on it, as he gathers up the hem of your dress and adjusts himself behind you.

He has taken you many times, in many ways, many positions. When you are on your hands and knees, he is overtaken by a primal urge, your hips as leverage in his hands as he pounds into you like it is a chase. When you are on your back, he sinks into you slowly and deeply, rocking his hips into yours like he intends to fuck you forever. When you are in his lap, he rolls his hips in steady, needy waves, captivated by the sight of you in his arms.

He lays behind you now and wraps his arms around you, coaxes your thighs apart. Your nightdress is bunched every which way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and you feel especially exposed and vulnerable in this position somehow. Perhaps it is the fact he is the one holding you open, keeping you in position so he can take you.

You let yourself fall into it, fall into him. You let him tell you, with words and actions, exactly how he feels.

Before it ends, you change position. He lays back and you straddle his hips while stripping off your dress entirely. He keeps rolling up into you, only stopping when you plant your hands on his chest to slow him down. Then he practically sinks in the mattress, murmuring your name. His make-up is smudged, his calloused hands rough on your body. Whatever pains you experienced have been overtaken by his hands, by the smarting on your backside, still tender as you bring your body down onto his again and again. He has completely claimed you for himself and you take the same in turn.

“Hyunjin,” you say. “My husband, oh—”

He kisses your hand, long and hard, like he needs his mouth on some part of you desperately. Your fingers are curled into his pretty mouth when he comes, his hands on your hips and his cock buried inside you.

“Oh,” is your final sound before you slump on top of him, skin to skin.

He rolls you onto your side, though he keeps you wrapped around him, his arms around you in turn. His hair is already a sweaty mess and you rub your thumb through some of his shadowy make-up, but those familiar dark eyes are gazing at you with so much warmth. There is no more ice, no more cold concrete.

“I should let you rescue me more often,” you say with a laugh.

He doesn’t laugh back, but he does smile softly. It should be incongruous with his severe appearance, but it somehow comes together, layers of him exposed all at once as he strokes your cheek.

He looks at you like his favourite work of art.

“You were the one who rescued you,” he says. “Just like you rescued me.”

You cannot find the words to reply, so you kiss him. It speaks volumes, and he replies, kissing back.

You lose yourself to the sweetness, to the heat, to the passion, to all those things more, knowing there are many more to come with this man as your husband.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids x you #hyunjin x you #skz x you #valentinesdaystories

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captainjacklyn · 2 years ago

Note

carrying neige in bridal style by tall reader then running away with him, how romantic

Oooh ! I like the sound of that, it really is romantic ! So sorry for answering this ask so late, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I liked making it.

Pairing(s) : Neige leblanche x reader

Warning(s) : nothing too bad, just the disadvantages about being famous. Reader is gender neutral but is mostly addressed by 'you', also their tall so short people- You can always dream/j

Content : Neige was having some trouble handling the overflow of fans, as his s/o, you had to help him in the most logical way possible...swipe him off his feet and RUN FOR IT !

Neige Leblanche :

Its not unexpected for Neige to be overwhelmed by fans whenever he goes outside without a disguise to hide. As his partner, this was a daily occasion really.

But the people started to get a little too comfortable with him as time went by, some would grab him by the shoulder ever so often and others had the audacity to straight up hug him despite his discomfort.

Your relationship with him was kept a secret and you understood why, rumors spread like the plague and they can get especially nasty with celebrities like him.

Whenever you wanted to go on a date together, it always had to be somewhere private. With no one to bother you whatsoever. you did get caught more than once to be honest but eh-

Until recently, SOMEONE managed to sneak a picture of the both of you in a restaurant. And now, the secret is out.

Which means...

That Neige has to deal with an insane crowd of fans even bigger than the last time he was swarmed by admirers.

You just came back from a little conversation and the first thing you see is your boyfriend....getting bombarded with questions. Again.

Seeing him being so nervous and almost scared had you really irritated, this is going too far.

So you did the first thing that came to your mind with no thinking about the consequences.

"Coming through !"

"U-Uh ?"

"Gotcha !"

"WHA- ?!?!?! [N-NAME] ?! What are you-"

"Just hang on tight love ! THIS IS GONNA GET A LITTLE WILD !"

Now people on the streets are witnessing Neige being carried bridal style by his significant other, dashing through the alleys with a humongous group of people after them in a comedic chase.

You luckily lost them after 15 minutes of running with your lover in your arms.

"Where did they go ?!" "They went this way !" "No, I saw them heading that way !"

You could still hear the group trying to figure out where you went when Neige started to giggle like crazy.

"Eh ? Is there something on my face ?" you asked a little confused.

"Pfft- haha No, it's just....I never had this much fun running away ! Hehe, Thanks for saving me though...I love my fans but they can get a little suffocating sometimes.." Neige was actually finding the entire situation hilarious, he didn't think you would actually do something like that.

"Anything for my damsel in distress ! Now come on, we gotta go before they find us !"

"Haha ! got it."

Thank you for reading !

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sunflowersunite · 4 months ago

Note

Here for the character ask game! This is gonna be LONG, sorry i couldn't help myself 😭

2. Favourite canon thing about them?

Eren, Mikasa

3. Least favourite canon thing?

Eren, Mikasa, Levi

5. The first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Hange

6. Something you have in common with them?

Eren, Hange

8. Something the fandom does to them but you despise

Eren, Hange, Levi

9. Could you be roommates with them?

Levi

10. Could you be best friends with them?

Mikasa, Hange, Levi, Eren

17. A ship about them that you're fine with and you don't hate?

Mikasa, Hange

20. The ideal best friend for them?

Hange, Levi

thank you for the looong ask @quillsandblades, it was so great thinking about these!! (plus you asked me all about my four faves!)

For the character ask game!

2. Favourite canon thing about them:

Eren: his damned determination. Eren fights for his dreams, he fights and he just doesn't know when to give up. This just doesn't exist in his vocabulary.

Mikasa: her strength, especially emotionally. That girl will live, she will keep moving forward even if she's lost it all. How she longs for peace and fights for it. How she loves, deeply and certainly.

3. Least favourite canon thing

(This question is the reason why it took me so long to answer this, especially for the Ackermans. I just couldn't find anything negative.)

Eren: he never?? addressed his feelings for Mikasa?? I'm not saying this as in "Eremika was badly written", no, it was beautifully written, but Eren just ran from his feelings because he's a damn idiot. He planned a free future but forgot to live in the present. Also how he straight up left in Season 4, it ruined me.

Mikasa: She and Eren didn't have a proper conversation in the Paths like he and Armin did (although there's a canonical and logical reason about that one). Also she killed Eren. That was Not Cool, Isayama.

Levi: His Ackerman ancestry wasn't acknowledged properly. No bonding moments with Mikasa. Not wondering what the Ackermans even are, what their purpose is. It was brushed off entirely. "Guess I'm an Ackerman now. Oh, shit, I'll have to do tons of paperwork to legally change my name."

5. First song that comes to mind when I think about Hange?

Bauklötze, forever and ever. It's her song now.

But besides that, Curses by the Crane Wives

There's a fire in my brain, and I'm burning up Oh my, oh my Keep running for the sink, but the well is dry Oh my, oh my Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you're around Won't you stay with me, my darling When my walls start burning down, down, down?

before you kill me, no, it's not because of the fire rather than how overwhelming everything is.

("won't you stay with me, my darling/When this house don't feel like home")

How out of place she feels. But the melody is still cheerful because despite everything, she's still Hange Zoë.

6. Something I have in common with Eren and Hange

I dream big

I get excited and passionate

but my soul can feel heavy at times

8. Something the fandom does that I don't like

Mischaracterization throws me off big time in fanfiction. I don't finish if a central character is ooc. Examples I can think of right now are: Eren being depicted as a "bad boy". I don't mean "rough and a little rude", that's just Eren. I mean substances and lack of respect (towards women, especially Mikasa) etc.

For Hange, it throws me off if the ooc version of her is a damsel in distress and/or passive.

Now, specifically for Levi, I don't know if the fandom is still obsessed with him or if they've moved on. He is a great character, but the obsession was a little too much. I bet that Levi would consider himself overrated if he knew what was happening in the real world.

9. Could I be roommates with Levi?

Sure! I'm not that organised or tidy if I get used to living in a space, but I'm quiet and I respect boundaries. He'd tolerate me, I'd make him cards for his birthday, we'd watch movies together and comment on how much the script sucked. I'd help when he'd be too constipated to communicate things like feelings with Hange. She'd be my friend, I'd invite her over and Levi would be jealous of how well she and I are getting along.

10. Could I be best friends with them?

Mikasa: not best friends, but if we clicked, we'd make a great duo. We'd hang out in silence. Whenever we talked, it would be about something deep and we'd be satisfied until our next discussion.

Hange: yes! I'd tag along in her experiments, she'd read my stories. She'd inspire me to study and learn more, and have fun with it. Who wouldn't want a friend like Hange?

Levi: I don't think so. But his heart is in the right place, so we'd hang out and drink tea together and communicate in a civilized environment (?) about recent findings. Plus in the aot extended universe we've established that we're roommates, so we get along just fine.

Eren: possibly! I'd have to run behind him and therefore we might argue a lot, but I care about that idiot so I don't mind. We'd be thick as thieves. And unlike his current best friends, I'd make sure he addressed his feelings properly.

17. A ship I'm fine with and I don't hate-- Mikasa and Hange

I did not expect that question, but let me tell you, I had so much fun. Because I get to share a dumb crack headcanon of mine.

Of course my favourites are Eremika and Levihan and I wouldn't care about the ships at all if Mikasa and Hange were with other people. But hear me out:

Mikasa x Reiner. That would be hilarious if it was confirmed post canon, so much that I wouldn't even be mad. I even headcanon it jokingly. In all seriousness, Mikasa died single. But in none at all seriousness, imagine her with Reiner, who is canonically terrified of her. Imagine if they got married post canon for the tax benefits or whatever and they're basically only roommates. Reiner gets scared out of his mind every morning when he sees Mikasa because she's the focal point of his PTSD.

For Hange, Zekehan, since we're talking hilarious ships. As I've mentioned in my study on Zeke's role in Levihan, it intrigues me how a character who's not remotely interested in romance is portrayed in some fanfiction to be interested in Hange (and how under different circumstances he totally would have a crush on her, hands down). I don't like it but I don't hate it either.

edit: an actual ship where the characters are both interested in each other that I don't mind is Eruhan. Zekehan is just for the laughs.

20. The ideal best friend for Hange and Levi?

Each other, all the way. They're meant to be together in every way possible, significant other, best friend, co-captain. They're so different yet they manage to fit together so well and they communicate wordlessly because they know the other one's soul. It could never have been someone else. In every universe they find each other, and in every universe, they're best friends.

(you should know about that 😄)

Thank you again swordslinger! 😉

#answered asks #quillsandblades 🗡️

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tigers-eyes-26 · 2 years ago

Text

Colors Chapter 3

Their dance that night was a more subdued affair. Pauline couldn’t stand the atmosphere it was choking. Waluigi counted the steps out loud. She took a step closer to him instead of out. He raised an eyebrow. She whispered to his ear “I’m sorry,” She kept up the steps but kept close to him as they stepped forward and backward. He didn’t answer still counting the steps, but his eyes kept on her. “I’m just a curious cat.” She gave him a small smile. He took a step back spinning her to the beat. They came back together. “That’s sweet you had someone to help you.”

“Ok lets do that again.” He addressed the cameras. They reset.

She continued to whisper so the cameras wouldn’t catch it. “I wasn’t so lucky.” He heard her but kept counting. “I need to tell you something.” Again, he spun her around. “But only after the cameras are off.” He nodded slightly.

“Now lets go a little bit faster.”

*******

She waited for the lights on the cameras indicating they were on to go off. She turned to a scowling Waluigi crossing his arms. “What is it you need to tell me about?” She opened her mouth to answer but he cut her of immediately. “The people are robots.”

It was Pauline’s turn to scowl. He again didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I’m smart too sweetheart. They all dress the same. They are all the same age. There are no old or young people around. I maybe skinny but I am no weakling and it required me to put way more effort to swing those ladies at the club around than it is you.”

Pauline opened her mouth again, and again was denied to speak. “So, what’s the point of telling me they are robots?” He bent into her face a little.

She glared at him not wanting to try to speak again until she was sure he was done. She took a breath. “That wasn’t what I was going to talk to you about, but Yes they are.”

Waluigi gave a small fist pump “I knew it.”

“Even though they are robots. They have personalities and are very much alive and need to be treated like any other people.” She gave him a pointed look. “Capisce?”

“Yah, yah, yah,” He flippantly agreed.

Pauline decided not to continue to argue but switched topics. “What I really wanted to say is I’m sorry about digging into your life without sharing my own dirt.”

Waluigi mulled over what she said. Was he curious about her? Did he really care about what she was going to say? Ehh…What the heck it would be interesting. “Ok Shoot, what dirt do you ~wish~ to share?”

“As you can probably tell from how I speak, I’m from Brooklyn.”

Waluigi held up his hand sharply. “Don’t tell me! You knew the Mario Brothers before they came here.”

Pauline sputtered a little. “I Did…”

“You better not tell me you dated one of them!” He pointed an accusatory face at her.

“Ah…Well…”

“WHa! I bet you dated Luigi didn’t you!?” He crossed his arms and mumbled. “That timid freak somehow gets all the hot feisty babes.”

Pauline stamped her foot. “NO! I went on a date with Mario, it was to thank him.”

“Even better! Thank him for what!? That runt is always saving the damsel in distress. It’s like he has a radar or something! So, what did he save you from? A thug? The Mafia? A handsy fan?”

“No!” She shouted; she took a breath to calm her anger. She quietly continued, “From a gorilla…”

Waluigi burst out into laughter. His laughter stopped when the air was forced out of his lungs. He was suddenly on the ground with a stiletto on his chest, his arm having been captured by Pauline. “Listen buster! If I’m going to continue my story you better listen!”

“…Okay..” He wheezed out. She let his arm go and sat down near his head.

“We think a super shroom got into our world and made it to the Brooklyn Zoo. He wasn’t your average gorilla. You’ve meet DK before, haven’t you?”

Waluigi was still catching his breath but nodded.

“It was his father. We’ve sat down and had a conversation about it. Apparently, animals who eat the food from here get really intelligent. DK and group have their Island as a refuge for all those animals that end up here.” She glanced at Waluigi. He was laying on his stomach with his hands on his face. His face was giving her an unimpressed bored look.

“Anyways that’s not important to our story.” She moved on. “The Mario bros went missing from the community and everyone searched for them. Eventually everyone gave up. I didn’t. I found a pipe and ended up here in a magical world with robots that practically worship everything New York. They had modeled themselves off of 1920s Noir films and 1950s business magazines.”

Waluigi sat up in a cross-legged position. “So, they worshiped you, a girl from the magical place they only had pictures of.” He threw up is arms in frustrations. “What a dream!”

“Hey! It’s not all sunshine and roses! Not everyone thinks I’m doing a good job as mayor. I can’t blame them I never studied political science. I was a bar singer!”

He scoffed, “Cry me a river!” He stood up and brushed the nonexistent dust off his pants. “I would kill to be in your position.”

She looked up at him with a playful face. “Is that a threat?”

“Wah! That’s not my style, I don’t like to get my hands dirty. Plus, that would make me infamous.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you already infamous?”

He crossed his arms and glared down at her. “What do you know about me?”

“I heard from some reputable sources that you tend to cheat.”

He snorted. “Is that source Mario?”

Pauline got up from the floor and into his face. “So, what if it is?”

“He’s just a jealous ex.” He grinned victoriously at her.

She huffed.

Waluigi chuckled, “This is why I don’t tell people things; it can be used against you.”

“Is Mario telling the truth or is he spreading a rumor?”

He didn’t answer. He examined his hand nonchalantly. “I’ll never tell.”

“Grrrr your infuriating!” She went to punch him he slipped out of the way. She continued to throw punches and Waluigi continued to slink out of her reach, cackling at her efforts.

He slipped out of the door with a playful cry of “Ciao!”

****

The next night after their recording session.

“I have asked around if anyone here knows of your reputation.”

“Annd…?”

“And no one knows about you, all they think is you are a smug grumpy dancer.”

“Yah, So what?”

“So, you don’t have much of a reputation here. You could be whoever you wanted to be.”

Waluigi mulled that over. “Why do you want me to be such an upright citizen?”

“Its what friends do.” she said casually.

“Oh, so we are friends now?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “I thought this was only a business relationship?”

“It was at first but now I just want to help.”

“~just wanna help~” He mimicked. “Like some hero to save the wayward grifter. I can see the headlines;” he spread is hands over his head as if outlining the headlines. “Mediocre Mayor turns hardened Mushroom Kingdom criminal into goodie New Donk Citizen.”

The barb got under her skin, “I’m not doing as a pollical ploy!”

“It probably makes you feel so ~good~ about yourself!” He hugged himself and gave a faux relaxed face.

“I’m not doing this for me! I’m doing it for you!”

She was losing her cool and Waluigi could sense it. “Why do you care about me!?” He threw his hands up in the air.

Her mouth clamped down, she blushed. Why did she care?

Waluigi didn’t give her a chance to explain, “Am I just some kind of entertainment for you?” he accused.

“NO!”

“Everyone has their reasons for helping. Mario does it for the attention of the princess. Luigi to prove he’s just as good as his brother. Wario for the money. What’s yours, honey?”

She rolled her eyes at his cynical comment. “I told you already! You’re my friend, Wally, I help friends.” Waluigi opened his mouth, but it was her turn to not let him speak. “Do you not think you are worthy of friendship?”

A shadow passed over his face. He tried to rebound. “I-I am Great! The Greatest! Everyone should be dying to be my friend! I…Just…I don’t…need any more friends….right now….” He quickly reasoned. He…He needed to go. He turned sharply and speed walked out the door, blushing. Pauline watched him go, feeling victorious.

-----

Next Chapter:

Last Chapter:

First chapter:

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i-have-a-wonky-eye-too · 3 years ago

Text

Mobster!Steve Rogers x reader Part 1

Request: Can you write about mob steve. Reader doesn't know that he is a mafia so she kinda rude to him. Make it fluff and smut 😘😘 . Thank you . Happy birthday 🥳🥳 and i love your writing

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

Warnings: swearing, talk of past abusive relationship, (photo not mine, credit to owner)

>Part 2>

You hated clubs. They were filled with unwanted wondering hands. They were loud, and because they were loud, it meant you had beer fumes being breathed against your ear as some creep tried to get in your pants. Not your idea of a fun night. But the worst part tonight, the straw that broke the camels back, was when your ex showed up. Brock Rumlow was the worst mistake of your life.

"He misses you," A friend had whispered. "Why don't you talk to him? Maybe try give things another go." She smiled excitedly. "I know he wants to, he told me."

It was a set up. Most likely by him, and that was dangerous, it meant you had to get away from him, before he got mad.

So you made an excuse up about needing the ladies and ran for it. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you made it to the other side of the club, but you weren't safe. Brock knew you like the back of his hand, so he followed you.

You could curse yourself for wearing heels, it was harder to run away as he followed after you, shouting your name. You wiped your tears away as you began walking down a dark hallway to get away, only to crash into a wall of solid muscle.

"Fuck!" You dropped to your knees and quickly collected your purse, seriously considering just leaving it's contents on the floor.

"Apology accepted." A deep voice sighed above you.

You huffed and abruptly stood up. "I didn't apologise."

"I know." The same voice growled.

You rolled your eyes as you hooked your bag over your shoulder as you sniffled. "Excuse me." You pushed passed the group of men, only to have your wrist grabbed. You let out a startled gasp, expecting to see Brock but it wasn't. You narrowed your glare at the bearded blond, "What? Gonna scold me for not apologising?"

He shook his head as he frowned at you, "You're crying... And scared."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Steve, we've gotta-" A dark-haired man spoke from behind you, being cut off by the blond.

"Did something happen to you? Are you hurt?" His voice was filled with worry as he let go of your hand.

You shook your head, "N-No, I just, need to leave."

The brunet let out a small chuckle, "Not this way, doll, this is private."

"Didn't you see the sign?" Another man asked. "Pretty hard to miss." He offered you a soft smile.

You shook your head, "I... Sorry, I should-"

"No," 'Steve' stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in front of him when you flinched. "Look, you're clearly distressed and upset, so why don't you come back to my office. You can have a stiff drink, and then tell us what's happened." He smiled softly, nodding his head.

You nodded after a quick look back towards the way you'd just come. Anything was better than Brock, right?

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

"Brock, Rumlow?" Steve glared at the screen in front of him and the footage from the nights security camera's. "Who is he?" Steve looked up.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stared into your empty glass. "My ex... My, abusive, ex." You looked over at Steve. "We broke up... Nearly four months ago, but he can't seem to get it into his head, I don't want anything to do with him. I've had to change my number, change my locks... I've even spotted him a couple of times following me."

"Did you tell the police?" Steve asked, knowing the answer.

You nodded, "They said I was crazy. Without any evidence, there was nothing they could do." You sighed, "I'm sorry, you don't need to be hearing this."

Steve shook his head as he got up from where he sat behind his desk. "It's okay, Y/N."

"Yeah. Stevie's always had a soft spot for damsels in distress." Bucky, the brunet, sent you a teasing wink making you smile.

Steve glared at him, "You and Sam go locate Mr Rumlow."

Bucky nodded, "And do what to him?"

Your brow furrowed at his words as you looked up at Steve.

He shook his head. "Keep an eye on him, and let me know where he is. I'm gonna make sure, Y/N, gets home okay." Steve gave you a reassuring smile.

You opened your mouth to protest but Bucky and Sam had already left Steve's office. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before Steve cleared his throat and stood from his chair before moving towards you.

"This, Brock guy... He hit you?" Steve asked as he sat down beside you on the leather sofa.

You looked up to meet his knowing gaze and nodded, "He would usually rough me up a bit during sex he demanded we have." You whispered lowering your head. "Or, grab a hold of me, and squeezed a little too hard..." You shook your head and let out a short chuckle. "He'd never do anything anyone could see."

Steve shook his head as he let out a heavy sigh. "M'sorry, doll," He frowned at you, "You shouldn't have had to deal with the that. Not from someone who's meant to care 'bout you."

"Brock never cared about me." You admitted, more to yourself than Steve.

Steve placed his hand on your knee and gave a soft squeeze. "Sounds like you're better off without that asshole, doll." He offered you a playful smile making you smile. The sound of his cell drew his attention away from you.

You watched as Steve stood up and went back over to his desk. He picked his cell up and read something before slipping it into his pocket.

"'kay, let's go."

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

The next morning whilst you were cleaning your breakfast things away there was a knock on your apartment door. You froze, straining your hearing for any sign that it might be Brock.

You never saw Brock again last night as you Steve walked through his club, his hand in yours. You'd found yourself taking hold of it when you were startled by some guy trying to grab a hold of you. It was silly but for some reason you felt safe. Steve didn't mind, he just pulled you closer to him.

Once the two of you were outside, Steve ushered you into a black car before he followed you in asking for your address. Before you knew it, you were saying goodnight to Steve outside your apartment door.

With a shaky breath you peaked through the peep hole, letting put a relieved sigh and opened the door, smiling politely at the delivery man that held a bunch of flowers. "Hello?"

"Miss Y/N?" The yound man smiled at you. You nodded with a furrowed brow. "These are for you. Have a good day."

You stared down at the flowers that you held with an opened mouth. You couldn't remember the last time you received flowers. Definitely never received any from Brock. With the door shut, you pulled out the small card that was with the flowers.

Let me take you to dinner tonight. Steve

On the back was his number. You shook your head with a smile as you placed the gorgeous flowers on to the coffee table.

You pulled out your cell and dialled the number, as you waited you thought back to last night. You thought back to what Steve had said to you before you wished him goodnight.

"If you were mine, I'd treat you like a Queen." Steve smiled at you as he leaned against the wall.

You rolled your eyes, "How many times have you said that, to a woman?" You asked as you finally unlocked your door.

Steve shook his head. "Never. But I mean it. I'd take care of you." He whispered.

"I was wondering if you'd call." Steve answered. You could hear the smirk in his tone.

"How'd you know it was me?" You asked curiously, sitting down on the sofa.

Steve let out a low chuckle, "Just did, doll. So, dinner tonight. You like Italian? Or do you prefer something else?"

"I haven't said yes, yet." You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless.

Steve let out a low chcukle, "Sweetheart, you wouldn't have called, if you were saying no." He spoke softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I like talian." You whispered. "Thank you for the flowers." You smiled and reached out to gently touch the petals.

"You're welcome, doll. My ma always told me, 'you gift a pretty dame flowers on a date, to start it with a smile'."

You felt your cheeks begin to blush at his words. "Well... I am smiling."

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #marvel #steve rogers one shot #mob!steve rogers #Mobster Steve Rogers x reader #Mob!Steve Rogers x reader smut

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Burn The Witch 3 - Ensnared [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns.

Summary: Things aren’t always what they seem to be.

Series Masterlist

Finding out that the target you had been assigned to seduce and manipulate for information was actually a good person had its advantages and disadvantages.

For starters, the biggest advantage was that now you could prepare a strategy based on his personality. After all, good people were easier to trick, it was the people like you that would’ve given you a hard time if the roles were reversed. You had been taught to approach everyone with suspicion and pinpoint their weak spots to use against them and as it turned out, Bucky didn’t adapt the same strategy when it came to other people.

The disadvantage? You had no idea how to deal with that.

For years and years you had been trained to kill, lie, manipulate and not look back or feel guilty about any of it because you were told that all your targets were the kind of people that would’ve harmed you or others if they had the chance; so Bucky not being evil was surprising at the very least.

The infamous Winter Soldier hadn’t tried to hurt you when he was under attack, hadn’t tried to use you as a leverage to get out of there unlike what you would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

Needless to say, you were confused as hell.

“I mean when you think about it, it’s not surprising that he’s a good guy,” Chloe said, resting her feet on the table in the empty conference room, “Didn’t he fight against Thanos with Steve Rogers and everyone else?”

“I would’ve fought in that war if I could as well, it doesn’t mean that I’m a good person.”

She pouted, “That’s debatable. I think you’re a great person.”

“No I’m not. I swear to you I’m not.”

“Come on, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“If it were me, I would’ve pushed him into the line of fire without a second thought.”

“Exactly. We’re terrible people and we acknowledge that, Chloe.” Keith said as you tapped your pencil on the file,

“Back to the first impression strategy, guys. How do I meet Barnes?”

“Hold on, before we continue with the strategy you need to give me an answer about your cover job,” Chloe said, “We can’t have him suspect you’re hiding anything from him. Jobs are a huge part of someone’s life, it’ll come up.”

Keith raised his head, “What are the options?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Sales assistant, retail—“

“The last time you put me in retail for an undercover job, I ended up punching a customer.” he cut her off, “I vote no to the retail.”

“I’m sure they had it coming,” you deadpanned and Chloe hmmed.

“Fast food?”

“No, it makes my hair smell bad.”

“There’s a milkshake shop I can put you in, it doesn’t smell bad. It’s close to the coffee shop he and Wilson get their coffee from.”

“What’s the catch?”

A small grin pulled at her lips, “It’ll be good for the mission.”

You frowned as Keith sat up straighter, curiosity written all over his face. “Chloe? Share your devious plans with the class please?”

“It’s a retro milkshake shop and the uniforms are like….1940s pin up meets 1950s diner waitress.”

Keith started laughing and you stared at Chloe before letting out a groan, burying your face into your palms.

“I hate you so much.”

“Come on, it’s going to be Bucky Barnes’ wet dream, you know that!” Keith said, “On a completely unrelated note, can I see those uniforms?”

“No!” you snatched the phone from Chloe’s hand before Keith could take a look, “No you can’t!”

“I’m so going to take pictures, and when you become a handler I will use them to humble you.”

“I will shoot you if you do that, and can you please focus?” you insisted, “I have a meeting with General soon, and he will ask me about the strategy and I can’t go there with no ideas.”

“Just find something you and Barnes are interested in both, that never failed me,” Keith paused, “Well that, and my good looks.”

Chloe turned to look at him, “I gave her a huge file containing everything there is to know about him,” she said, “It will help her to make him fall in love, but meeting him is something else.”

“Guys,” he rolled his eyes “What are you, fifteen? It’s incredibly easy to meet people.”

“No, it’s incredibly easy to meet civilians,” you corrected him, “Or the bad guys. It’s not like Barnes goes to bars or anything, he’s not very social.”

“Yeah I get that but he has to do something.” he insisted, “Just hand me the file, are you sure you didn’t miss anything?”

“We didn’t—he does the same thing every superhero does,” Chloe threw her hands up, “He saves people if they’re in need, but how are we going to use that?”

You opened your mouth to answer but when the thought struck you, you took a sharp breath, narrowing your eyes. A smile lit up your face, the plan slowly forming in your mind and Keith frowned at you over the file.

“Y/N you’re smiling,” he reminded you, “It’s creepy when you do it genuinely.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” you asked as you turned to Chloe, “You’re right. Superheroes save people, and—and Barnes is not only a superhero, but he’s also a good guy right? He didn’t use me as a leverage while getting out of there, so he cares about people’s wellbeing, so to speak.”

“Yeah?”

You snapped your fingers, “I need to find someone to shoot me.”

“Same, you’re not special.”

Chloe gasped, “Keith!”

“Relax, she’s not serious.”

“No I’m very serious.”

He scowled, “Did you forget what happened when I accidentally shot you on a mission three years ago? It was just one time and you bitched at me for a whole month. You found me when I was working undercover in Brazil to show up at my apartment so that you could complain about it more, I don’t even know how you found my address, it was classified info.”

“I gave her your address.” Chloe held up a hand and Keith heaved a sigh.

“Thank you Brutus.”

“You had it coming,” you pointed out, “But forget about that for a second, okay? I think I just found our strategy. We’re going to use me as a bait.”

“What?”

“That’s how I’ll meet him. We will put me in a dangerous position and he will…” you tried to ignore the bitter taste at the back of your throat, “He will have to save me.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said, “He will help you and you will use that to lure him, did I get that right?”

“Exactly,” you grinned, “What better way to manipulate a hero than to give him somebody to save?”

She blinked a couple of times, then turned to Keith.

“Honestly, in times like these I wonder why I’m friends with you guys,” she commented, “Do you have any idea why on earth I’m friends with you?”

He shrugged his shoulders,

“I don’t know,” he said, “Because we’re fun when we’re not diabolical?”

***

The plan was pretty simple, it would look like a robbery gone wrong. You would be accompanied by one of the lower ranking agents who would pose as a robber so that if he got caught while getting away, it would pose no threat to your cover afterwards, not to mention it couldn’t be traced back to you or the operation.

Of course, you had to make sure that Bucky would stay behind and meet you while Wilson chased the bad guy off. Based on your observations on Wilson, saving people always came first rather than punishing the other person, he put the safety of innocents before anything else, so you had to find a way for them to think Wilson was more suitable for the chase.

Motorcycle. The rookie agent would get away on a motorcycle, which would require Wilson to use his wings to gain speed on him.

But God, you just hated playing the damsel in distress.

“I just want to say I’m honored that you picked me for this mission,” the agent was almost buzzing with excitement in the back alley while you waited until Wilson and Barnes was anywhere within hearing distance. “I heard- I heard so much about you Shrike. Ma’am.”

You leaned your back to the wall, crossing your arms.

“Is it true that you once killed a target using just a pencil?” he asked, “Or that you took down five armed people with a dagger?”

You turned your head to look at him better, amusement making you smile.

“Or- or that you can get information out of someone in just five minutes?” he held his breath, “Or that your father-“

“Don’t talk about my father.” You cut him off, the harsh command leaving your lips almost too fast and you felt the slight guilt pulling at your heartstrings before you shook your head.

“You’re a good shot, right?” you asked, “I don’t want to get the bullet stuck in my arm, you’ll just graze me.”

“I’m a great shot ma’am, top of my class.”

“And you need to make it look believable. Remember, if Wilson catches you—“

“He will take me to the nearest police station, and I will stay there until an agent is sent to pick me up. But do you want me to get caught?”

“Try not to,” you shrugged your shoulders “But if he does, don’t worry about it. He has no reason to believe it’s anything more than some mugging.”

His phone beeped and he checked it, then took a deep breath, “Barnes and Wilson are within hearing distance. Are you ready?”

“Let’s do this,” you said and he grabbed his gun, then pointed it at your arm. You cleared your throat, looking over your shoulder before you turned to him and let out a very high scream, probably enough to reach the people nearby. He pulled the trigger and the gunshot echoed through the alley, a burning spreading all over your arm and making you fall to your knees.

“Are you okay?” he stepped closer to you and you tried to catch your breath.

“Go!” you hissed and he ran to the motorcycle before he rode away and as soon as he was out of your sight, Barnes and Wilson ran to the alley and you started sobbing, holding onto your arm which throbbed in pain.

Good news was he was a good shot, and he had managed to only graze you. But considering that your cover was a civilian, you doubted civilians were used to gunshot wounds, so you had to make it dramatic.

“Ma’am?” Wilson rushed to you with Barnes following him and you tried to breathe through sobs.

“Thank God, please help me—“ you sniffled and looked at the other side of the alley, breathing fast, “He took my wallet, and-and he had a motorcycle…”

“On it. Buck, stay with her.” Wilson said and ran out of the alley as Barnes crouched down to your level while you kept panting, your knees pulled to your chest, leaning back to the wall.

“Hi,” he smiled at you softly and you took a trembling breath, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Hello,” you managed to say as he stole a look at your arm before his eyes snapped back to yours.

“I’m Bucky,” he said, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Can I look at your arm, Y/N?”

You pursed your lips together, pretending to consider it before you raised your hand so that he could see the graze on your upper arm. He furrowed his brows for a moment, and carefully lifted your arm to see it better under the street lights while you sniffled again.

“Am I—am I going to die?” you stammered and he let out a small chuckle.

“No,” he said, “No you won’t. It’s just a graze, it doesn’t even look like it’ll need stitches. I promise.”

“But how do you know?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of arm injuries.”

You tried to keep the look of confusion on your face before you slowly averted your gaze from him to his metal wrist and you gasped, your jaw dropping as if you were distracted from the pain.

“Bucky? As in Bucky Barnes?” you asked, “Wait, no. Right? Can’t be.”

A look of regret flashed over his face, apparently he thought that would scare you but lucky for you, you had seen it coming while coming up with a strategy.

“I heard about you!” you said, “You fought against Thanos!”

He was taken aback at the fact that you didn’t accuse him of anything his head was obviously swarming with, and that would be the one thing you could base your whole plan on.

In order to make him fall in love with you and trust you, you had to act like you trusted him, act like you had little to no knowledge of the dark side of his past. Naïve civilian girl with a soft heart was the perfect cover because as far as you could tell from his file, Bucky Barnes just wanted to come back home from war.

He had been looking for something he could call his home for decades now and you’d let him believe you were his home until your orders told you otherwise.

“That’s it?” he asked when you didn’t continue and you pulled your brows together.

“Hm?”

“That’s all you…all you wanted to say?”

“Right—” you took a deep breath, “Right, I’m sorry. Thank you for all you’ve done, for saving the world.”

“No no, I didn’t mean—“ he stopped himself, “That wasn’t what I meant. Trust me, you shouldn’t be thanking me.”

“Well I am though,” you winced when you moved your arm before turning your head to check the dark alley “Bucky? Do you… do you think that robber would come back?”

“Sam’s got it covered.” he assured you, “Don’t worry. He’s not getting away, and he’s definitely not coming back here.”

“Okay.” You murmured and wiped at your eye again with the back of your free hand before you clutched at your arm again, a sob tearing itself from your chest. “God, it just—it hurts so bad...”

He shushed you gently, “I know it does sweetheart. Let’s get you to the hospital so that it will stop hurting, alright?”

Ah.

Even by 40s standards, sweetheart was a good sign.

You shook your head, “But I can’t go to the hospital.”

“Why not?”

“I’m on a budget.”

He blinked a couple of times, “Come again?”

“I don’t have enough money for the hospital. I’m sure if I put a band aid on it or something it’d work, you said it wouldn’t need stitches and there’s a pharmacy right around the corner you see—”

“That’s not how bullet wounds work, let’s go.” He helped you up but you stumbled into him, letting him catch you as you looked up at him.

“I apologize, I just feel dizzy…” you said and he smiled softly.

“Don’t worry about it,” his voice was soothing, “You think you can walk? I can carry you.”

“No I can—I can walk,” you stammered and let him lead you out of the alley, his arm wrapped around your waist tight before he looked down at you.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured to himself, then he took off his jacket to put it over your shoulders. You pulled the oversized jacket tighter around you, brushing the sleeve over your forehead to push back your hair and only when he turned to stop a taxi you let a tiny smirk pull at your lips despite the throbbing on your arm.

Well, your superiors were going to be pleased. The first part of the mission was done.

Now all you had to do was make him fall in love with you.

Chapter 4

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #tfatws #fatws

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 2 years ago

Text

Under your spell

For the cute @levis-cinnamon-apple 🎁🎆

Hope you’ll enjoy the story!

Now that the kingdom of Camelot had become a welcoming place for anyone practicing magic, (Y/N) felt that it was the perfect place to start a new life.

As a magician, (Y/N) (L/N) struggled to find her place. The people of her former village rejected her while discreetly asking her for help to heal a sick person or to help a harvest. What a bunch of hypocrites!

But the young woman was determined not to let it get her down: now a new life was about to begin, and she would enjoy it!

Speaking of starting a new life, she heard that the King of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, was looking for a healer to help Gaius, the court physician.

This announcement came at the right time for (Y/N): her knowledge of plants and various remedies would be a great asset.

With a determined step, (Y/N) came to the castle, ready to offer her services.

🔴🔴🔴🔴🔴

Meanwhile, Merlin and Gaius were taking stock of the potions and other remedies in their laboratory.

The old apothecary grumbled:

"I wish I had done the inventory sooner. I can't make sense of all these jars!"

"It's a good thing we put labels on the jars. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to manage!" replied Merlin.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" answered Gaius.

The door opened, and a young woman entered.

"Hello Miss, can I help you?" asked the old man.

"Yes, I'm looking for a man named Gaius."

Merlin turned quickly to see who had just entered and froze in amazement. He had seen many beautiful young women who frequented the court of Camelot, but this one gave off something different.

Meanwhile, Gaius was talking to the young woman:

"I am Gaius, court physician to His Majesty, King Arthur. And you, mademoiselle?"

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N), and I come to introduce myself as a healer. They told me that I should address you."

"Indeed, it is to me. Tell me: why are you presenting yourself here?"

"I have come here to offer my services as a carer. I have a good knowledge of plants and their properties."

"It's quite a demanded skill, indeed."

The young woman glanced at the shelves filled with jars and remarked:

"I think you've made a mistake in your arrangement."

"What do you mean?"

"You've put the digitalis between the rose petals and the sage. I'm not sure that's where it belongs."

Gaius turned around and saw that the young woman was telling the truth.

"I see you have a sharp eye, Miss (Y/N). Something tells me I'd better hire you."

"Oh, thank you, Mr Gaius. I won't let you down!" exclaimed (Y/N) happily, not expecting to be employed so soon.

"I'm sure you will. But first, I want to introduce you to someone. Merlin! Come and say hello to our recruit!"

The young man stepped forward and extended his hand toward the young woman:

"My name is Merlin. And uh, I'm glad to meet you!"

"Me too," replied (Y/N), who shook the extended hand.

The moment their skins touched, both young people felt a mixture of warmth and the electricity of lightning.

They immediately withdrew their hands, blushing slightly.

Gaius repressed an amused smile: he knew his protégé and had noticed that the latter was not indifferent to the damsel's charm.

"I'm sure we'll do well together!"

"Yes, I think so too!"

💫💫💫💫💫

Several months have passed since (Y/N) arrived at Camelot Castle. The young woman became an active member of King Arthur's court. Her advice and care bring peace to the kingdom, and many people come to the healer for advice.

The young woman loved her new job since she worked with Gaius and Merlin.

The young woman took advantage of the advice and benevolence of the court physician to make progress in her medical practice.

Of course, she would discreetly add a magical element to her preparations when the situation was critical. Even though King Arthur had repealed his late father's decree stigmatising magicians and other sorcerers, (Y/N) did not want to admit her secret yet, for fear of violent reactions.

And then there was Merlin.

For some reason, (Y/N) enjoyed spending time with the young man.

She thought he had a particular charm with his messy black hair, big innocent blue eyes and slender hands, which made a big impression on her whenever they brushed against hers.

She would like to confess her love for him, but with her magic, she was afraid he would despise her.

So, for now, the young woman pretended nothing was wrong and went on with her life.

Anyway, (Y/N) was happy in Camelot and would not change anything in her life...

🔴🔴🔴🔴🔴

Merlin thought a lot about (Y/N): since the young woman was working with him and Gaius, the young mage felt that the atmosphere was different.

Already, a little more female presence could not hurt in King Arthur's court.

And even though his mentor loved to tease him on the subject, he was not insensitive to (Y/N)'s charm.

Her beautiful eyes, fair complexion, adorable smile, and mischief: everything about her attracted Merlin.

The presence of the young healer by his side was a pleasure for the enchanter.

But the only thing that prevented him from confessing his feelings to her was his magic.

Until now, he had not mentioned his powers to (Y/N) because he was afraid she would get scared and reject him.

Even though Arthur had legalised magic by royal decree, attitudes were slow to change.

In the meantime, he had to get on with his life without worrying about the rest.

Watching these two young people interact, Gaius wondered how Merlin and (Y/N) could be oblivious and not realise they had feelings for each other.

The old sage didn't know if he should be amused or despairing.

But for the moment, there was no point in rushing things: it was up to Merlin or (Y/N) to make the first move.

🟠🟠🟠🟠🟠

Three months later.

Once she put the last book away, (Y/N) sat down and ran a hand over her forehead: she was exhausted, as she had just run through the castle when she only put things away.

And then she felt that her skin was hot and that her breathing was short, punctuated by coughing fits.

That's all it would take: the court healer getting sick!

The young woman struggled to get up from her chair and tried to take a few steps around the room.

Merlin and Gaius arrived in the room with their baskets full of medicinal plants.

"Here we are, (Y/N). We have made an excellent crop," announced Gaius joyfully.

"With this, we'll have an excellent supply of remedies for the next six months... (Y/N), are you all right?" asked Merlin.

"I've had better days. I'm feeling a little under the weather," the young woman admitted.

"You should get some rest..." suggested Gaius.

"That sounds like a good idea..."

No sooner had she taken three steps than her legs gave out, and she collapsed.

Fortunately, Merlin was prompt and caught her in his arms.

It didn't take long for the young magician to understand what was happening to (Y/N).

"Gaius, she has a fever!"

The old healer reached over and placed his hand on the young woman's forehead.

"She is burning up. Let's get her to bed! I wonder what's wrong with her..."

While Gaius searched for a remedy, Merlin stayed by (Y/N), trying to comfort her.

"Don't worry, (Y/N): we'll take good care of you."

To weigh his words, the young man took his friend's hand in his own and squeezed it gently.

Immediately, Merlin's eyes turned bright blue, and he felt an immense warmth run through his body.

He turned to (Y/N) and saw that the healer's eyes had turned light green.

At that moment, he understood:

"So you are like me?"

The young woman nodded.

"And as far as I can see, I'm not the only magician settled in Camelot."

The two young men remained silent before Merlin asked:

"I know this sounds like a silly question, but why didn't you tell me you were a sorceress?"

"Where I come from, people have rejected me because of my gifts. And I didn't want to risk being rejected again - or worse."

She looked down.

"Besides, I was afraid of your reaction. I've grown attached to you, and I don't know if I could have handled you hating me."

"Hate you? (Y/N), I could never do such a thing. You have no idea how happy I am to know I'm not alone in Camelot anymore."

He added, blushing.

"And I'm glad it was you who came to Camelot."

"Me too: I'm glad you're the one who understands me best."

The two young people looked at each other without saying anything, holding their hands.

That's how Gaius found them when he came back with medicine.

Amused, he asked:

"Tell me, you two, is there something you forgot to tell me?"

Exchanging a knowing look, the two magicians replied:

"It's a long story, Gaius..."

"I have all the time in the world!"

What was certain was that (Y/N) and Merlin had fallen in love with each other. A powerful spell they are not willing to break...

Thanks for reading!

Hope you enjoyed this story!

Feel free to request!

See u soon and take care of you! 😘🥰😍

#requests #merlin bbc #merlin #colin morgan #eleanor tomlinson

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five-miles-over · 3 years ago

Text

Let Me Save You (Thomas Sharpe x Abbé de Coulmier)

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe (from Crimson Peak) x Abbe de Coulmier (from Quills) Not sure if this should be platonic or something more.

Warnings: Mentions of incest, abuse, and murder. Also 1-2 instances of swearing

Summary: While on holiday with his sister Lucille in Paris, Baronet Thomas Sharpe briefly escapes from her vigilant eye only to flee to an asylum and find solace in the company of a kind-hearted priest.

Word Count: 1,691

"I have something to confess."

Thomas placed his snow-covered hands in his lap like a little boy, blinking in the confessional. His chest rose up and down, his breath scattered after this rather unplanned escapade. Lucille never liked going to church. She had always taught Thomas that God was nothing but an evil concept meant to make humans miserable. She hated going to church, and after their mother passed, the brother and sister duo rarely ever attended a service, apart from the occasional Christmas mass.

So what was he even doing here? Had he made the right choice to go to a church in an unknown part of Paris?

No, he shouldn't be here, he told himself. Lucille would be upset if she knew that he was here. Maybe he should leave, before any of the housekeepers noticed his absence. Was anyone even listening, or was he talking to an empty room?

"What is it you wish to confess, good man?" A soft voice responded from behind the somewhat see-through wall. "Speak, for here you shall be protected by the Almighty."

So there was someone listening after all. Thomas swallowed, his throat constricted as if he were choking on his own words. The baronet could feel his heartbeat quicken, and he began to rub his pale fingers together. This was it. Tonight, he would bare his deep, dark soul and seek peace for himself, and no one else.

"Tell me, my good man. Have no fear," the voice goaded.

The baronet swallowed again, simultaneously fighting the urge to silence the priest with a scream. Instead, Thomas turned to his left, daring himself to catch a glimpse of whom this priest could possibly be. Through the weaves in the wooden window, he could see a hint of pale skin - perhaps this man remained indoors most of the time. And the black curls…they almost reminded him of his own. A shame this man chose to devote himself to God; Thomas almost smirked at the idea of damsels mourning how he could never be a husband or a lover. A morbid joke indeed.

"My sister does not know I'm here," Thomas finally muttered after a long pause. The priest complimented Thomas for being considerate and thinking of her, only for the baronet to icily thank him in return.

"Is that all you wish to confess, my good man?

Say yes, the voice inside Thomas's head spoke. Say yes, and leave this place at once. If Lucille finds out…

"I confess…" Thomas blinked, going silent again.

"Yes, go on. Speak freely, my good man," the Abbe repeated.

Thomas crossed his arms and tried to take a deep breath. Instead, his breath grew even more ragged than it already was. Heavens, he wanted to speak…he shouldn't…he couldn't. What if this priest knew her? What if there was someone else in the church - if not her, it could be someone working for her. Lucille always wanted to be in control. By running off like this, he was openly defying her in a way he'd never done before. His hands shivered, suddenly colder and weaker. His muscles continued tensing, especially in his thighs and calves.

Through the wooden wall of the confessional, the Abbé decided to take a different approach. "Are you afraid of your sister?" He asked in a soft voice, sensing the tension and uneasiness of the baronet. "Is that why you have come without her knowledge."

By this point, tears were welling up in Thomas's eyes when the Abbé's voice came through the wall. Was he truly going mad or was the priest still there, waiting for Thomas to speak? He placed a hand upon his fluttering stomach. He felt as if his insides were bubbling up and threatening to fill his throat with bile.

"I…am…afraid."

Thomas panted, realizing the words that had just slipped off his tongue. "I'm afraid of my sister," he repeated, much more audible this time. "I'm afraid of her, and that is why I came without telling her."

The Abbé took a deep breath, glad the man was able to voice his thought. "Why are you afraid of your sister, my good man?"

"I'm not," Thomas immediately denied.

"But you…"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!" The baronet shouted, clenching a fist and letting the tears freely roll down his cheek. "I know…I know…"

"Then tell me what you fear," the Abbé softly replied. He placed his palm against the wall, knowing it was the closest thing he could offer as a reassuring touch. "Your words are safe here. No one will know what you have said here, except for God. I promise you."

"I…I…" Thomas sobbed childishly. He clutched his knees while the tears blurred his vision. "I worry she'll find me. She'll hurt me and...she never…she never liked me leaving her sight. She claims it always made her sad. I want her to be happy."

"Your sister will not hurt you, my good man. The Lord protects those who take refuge."

The baronet shook his head. "My sister said that God only wanted to take people's happiness, and make them miserable…that's why she never wanted to pray."

The Abbé insisted, "That is far from true, my good man."

"Then…" Thomas reluctantly began, "Would God have mercy upon a sister with love for her brother? Would he not want to take her happiness?"

"What do you speak of?"

"My…my…my sister, she…my sister and I…we loved each other."

The Abbé nodded silently. He did not want to judge the other man; after all, one could never truly know another's story. "You loved each other."

"Yes," Thomas whispered. "We made love when we were young, she taught me how." He curled his fingers inward, wrinkling the fabric of his trousers. "Lucille told me that our love was the only thing worth preserving, and how everything else in this world meant nothing in comparison."

"I see."

"No, you don't," he asserted. "For so long, Lucille was the only real woman in my life. We lost our mother at a young age, and I married others, but she…there is no one like her. She made me promise not to fall in love with anyone else, and then promised to do the same. I did everything she told me to, everything." Thomas gritted his teeth. "I shared her bed when she wanted me. I fucked her, and let her fuck me in any way she pleased. And worse, I spilled blood for her! I willingly killed people who found out the truth about us, because nothing else mattered! Nothing else mattered except for her, and her love."

Thomas shook his head again, tightly shutting his eyes. "I kept quiet when she poisoned my wives, I kept quiet when she committed her dirty crimes, and I kept quiet when she lied to policemen time and time again! I kept quiet, and now…I don't know how to anymore."

Hearing all of this, the Abbé closed his own eyes and sighed. This man had been through far too much.

"You must be disgusted…" Thomas spat. If not before, surely the priest would have left by now. What was he thinking, confessing his and Lucille's sexual affair to this priest? It was no secret those men condemned incest.

"No, my good man." The Abbé quietly protested. "No. Rather, I am proud of your courage to speak up about these things. God is not angry with you. He sympathizes with your pain and if you take His refuge, He will certainly heal your wounds."

The baronet continued to keep his eyes closed. Aside from a ringing in his ears, the sound of his rapid heartbeat resounded inside his head. And the only thing that kept Thomas from passing out in the confessional at that moment was the priest's level-headed calming voice.

"Are you still here, my good man?"

"Yes," Thomas mustered. "Yes I am."

"Very good," the Abbé smiled a little. "Very good."

"So…what must I do now?"

"Now," the Abbé calmly advised. "You must trust in the Lord. Now that He knows of your pain, He has offered you protection. Wherever you go now, He will be watching you from above. Have faith in this, and let your soul be uplifted."

"How do I know he's there?…He was never there when I was a child," Thomas petulantly retorted.

"God was always there, and always will be," the priest assured the baronet. "You must believe in Him, that He will care for you."

After a long, aching silence between the two men, Thomas finally spoke. "I should go now."

"You wish to go leave - have you more to confess, my good man?"

"No," Thomas answered, this time with a strange sense of conviction. "I have nothing more to confess."

The Abbé nodded again. "You must be feeling immeasurable pain, my good man. Perhaps it would be foolish of me to even begin to imagine what it must be like…but I can promise you that it will pass. One day, it will all be better."

"Thank you, Abbé." The baronet sniffed, addressing the priest the way he knew most French people did. He rose up from the seat and opened the door, only to find the priest leaving the confessional as well. "Not many sinners tonight, I suppose."

The Abbé shook his head, a light smile forming upon his face when he beheld the other man for the first time. "No matter who may come here, no one leaves as a sinner, my good man."

"Thank you again for listening to me," Thomas reciprocated the priest's smile.

"My door will always be open to you, my good man."

"It's Thomas," he softly corrected.

"Enjoy your evening, Thomas." Standing on the tips of his toes, the Abbé air-kissed Thomas's cheeks and then calmly walked away.

And as for the Baronet, he closed his eyes and silently prayed, listening to the Abbé's footsteps fade into silence. God have mercy upon my sister. And protect this Parisian priest from all harm.

#thomas sharpe #crimson peak #thomas sharpe imagine #abbe de coulmier imagines #abbe de coulmier #quills 2000 #quills #tom hiddelston imagine #joaquin phoenix imagine

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

Text

no grave can hold my body down – 2/2

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: It took time to get Jason Todd away from the darkness. Sometimes it felt like he was always standing at a tipping point, at risk of completely losing himself. But not when he was with her. She made him better and she would continue to make him better.

Word Count: 9,000

A/N: I know there are a lot of contradicting opinions on Jason Todd’s height. But for my own wish fulfillment, he is 6′3/6′4ish in this fic.

Part 1

Y/N had fallen asleep after getting home from work. She had a long day and was so exhausted that she passed out as soon as she sat down on the couch. Jason had to take off her heels and drape a blanket over her.

Now he was dressed in his armored undershirt, cargo pants, leather jacket, and tactical boots. His red helmet was tucked under his arm, but he was already wearing a domino mask. If Bruce had taught him anything, it was to be prepared to a point of paranoia.

He crouched down to his knees.

Ever so gently, he brushed Y/N’s cheek.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

She stirred and winced a bit when she opened her eyes, the glare of the quiet television was suddenly harsh.

“What’s going on?” She asked, still half asleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving to go on patrol.”

“Mhmm. OK.” She hummed. “Be careful, J.”

If Y/N ever found out how un-careful the Red Hood was, she would never sleep and she’d probably beg Jason to quit his vigilantism.

“I love you,” he told her before kissing her on the forehead.

“Love you, too,” she said back so dreamily that it sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Jason slipped out of the window. He purposely chose this apartment due to the direction the windows faced, the distance from approximate apartments, and the darkness that would prevent any wandering eyes from the neighbors.

He’d been patrolling for a few hours. It was oddly a quiet night. He assumed it had to do with how cold it was outside. Sometimes criminals were weak in the most obvious ways.

Jason was standing on a rooftop, taking a breather when he felt someone drop behind him. He knew his family all too well and could differentiate all of their footsteps. Which was why he didn’t immediately shoot Dick when he thought he’d try and surprise him.

“So, Y/N was quite the hit…” Dick said without giving Jason a proper greeting first.

“What are you still doing in town?” Jason answered.

Dick sighed. “B still needs a little help on the case.”

Jason nodded, not actually caring why Dick was still in Gotham.

Then an awkward silence washed over them. Well, Dick thought it was awkward. Jason couldn’t care less.

“Why won’t you talk about her with us?” Dick’s teasing was gone and his tone serious now.

Jason turned his head away from the city view and finally acknowledged his brother. “You don’t need to know anything about her,” his helmet distorted his words to make them sound even harsher than they already were.

“Doesn’t seem like she completely shares that view.”

Jason didn’t respond. He didn’t appreciate Dick speaking on Y/N’s behalf.

“Bruce seems to like her,” Dick added.

Jason’s head snapped to him. “As if I give a fuck,” he snapped.

Dick had the audacity to laugh. “How did the two of you meet anyway? She was living in New York City when the two of you first met, right?”

“Jesus,” Jason growled. “Did all of you run a background check on her?”

Dick shrugged. “What did you expect?”

————

Y/N didn’t have any idea where she was going. With the sun having already set, she couldn’t even figure out what direction she was headed.

But she had typed the address to her hotel into the Uber app and trusted it from there. She was also too preoccupied still answering the dozens of work emails on her phone.

“Hey lady, we’re here,” the driver said rudely after she didn’t realize they had stopped.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, writing the last few words of a sentence before pressing send.

She jumped out of the car and yelled a thanks before slamming the door shut.

To her surprise, the car raced off without a second’s hesitation.

But when Y/N turned around, she realized she was definitely not in the right place. And for the first time throughout the drive, she realized she was definitely in a bad area.

Y/N heard all of the terrible things about Gotham. Sometimes she wondered if the things about all of the crime were exaggerated by the news or if the city was really rotting from the inside like everyone said. What she definitely didn’t believe in was all the vigilantes that seemed to be protecting the city. No one could ever offer up any proof, even with every single human having a video camera in their hands at all times.

But now she wishing she’d taken people’s warnings a little bit more seriously.

This was definitely not Gotham Heights, where her nice hotel was located.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she whipped out her phone and instantly tried to call another Uber. But the app was being finicky and she was getting a loading screen for far too long.

Then she heard a group of men whistle at her. The streets were filled with literal dumpster fires. There were countless inoperable cars with broken windshields and without wheels. The only women she spotted looked like they were working the streets.

‘Walk, Y/N. Just walk. Act like you know where you’re going.’ Her brain was screaming at her.

So she did while remaining on high alert.

No matter how much she pretended to blend in, she was obviously out of place and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Her heart was racing and she tried to walk as fast as she could without fully running. She just hoped to get to a main street soon and try to catch a yellow cab, since apparently all her car-service apps decided not to work.

But suddenly, a man stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking Y/N’s path forward.

“You lost, sweetheart?” He cooed.

Y/N stopped and started backing away. But when she turned around, she saw that two men were waiting behind her.

“No need to be scared,” the same men said behind her, closer this time. “We just want to talk.”

‘Fuck this,’ Y/N thought before she decided to make a run for it.

But one of them grabbed her and shoved her to the side, pushing her into the alleyway she hadn’t realized they were right next to.

It was so dark that she could hardly make out the silhouettes of her attackers. But that wasn’t going to stop her from fighting. She immediately tried to shove past anyone in her vicinity and hit whoever was grabbing her.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She screamed, hoping that there was someone in this poisoned city that would try and help her.

Except she was outnumbered by three men, which ended in her getting shoved up the brick wall that lined the alley.

“I don’t have any money,” she gasped as a last ditch effort to save herself.

“Who said we wanted your money?” One of them chuckled darkly.

Before their words could hearten Y/N to try another defensive attack and escape, there was a strange zipping sound that echoed down into the alley.

Next thing Y/N knew, the man that was pressed up against her and pinning her to wall was flung off.

Y/N gasped and tried to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough so she could actually see what the hell was happening.

“It’s the hood!” One of the men yelled to his friends before making a run for it.

Then a gun was fired off – two shots.

Y/N yelped at the noise and covered her ears.

But when she looked back up, the man who had tried to escape was now on the ground, screaming in pain as he looked down at both of his knee caps that had been shot.

When Y/N turned her attention to the other two men, she finally saw who had interrupted their assault.

It was a man – if that was even what he was – dressed in military gear of some sort. But what really caught her attention was the red helmet that was reflecting the night light and allowing her to actually follow what was happening.

Y/N watched as he punched the daylights out of one of her attackers. She saw the man’s face get more and more covered with blood with each punch.

If Y/N was scared before, she was now terrified.

Without hesitating any longer, she too made a run for it, hoping she wouldn’t be shot like the other runaway.

She sprinted around the corner. But she only got a few yards before the same behemoth landed in front of her.

He was tall, and had to be at least 6’3. Men were confusingly short in New York, so Y/N was still trying to wrap her mind around having to tilt her head slightly up. But then she realized it wasn’t even his height that was jarring; it was how utterly hulking he was. His shoulders were so wide and his chest was massive. His thighs seemed to be the same width has her entire torso.

Everything about him was intimidating and imposing.

“I gotta give you credit for being that fast while wearing heels,” he said to her as he glanced down at her shoes.

It wasn’t exactly comforting that his voice seemed to also be distorted by the helmet.

Y/N was frozen in fear, truly not knowing what he was capable of or even what he wanted.

“You can relax. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her with his hands raised. His guns were no longer in his grip, but in their holsters at his thighs.

“You just killed three men,” Y/N told him with a shaky voice as she took a step back.

“I didn’t kill them. But if you want me to, I’d be happy to go back there and finish the job.”

“What? No!” Y/N cried out.

He had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” He asked her.

“This whole damsel-in-distress thing is new for me. But I thought it made sense to run away from the guy who was shooting people,” she told him quickly.

Jason was grateful that his mask hid all his emotions and facial expressions, because he was smiling at her sass.

He looked her up and down, taking in her outfit and just her overall look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?”

He shrugged, ignoring the question. “What the hell are you doing in The Bowery? This is the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham.”

“My Uber dropped me off here. I thought I was at my hotel and by the time I figured out I wasn’t, my driver had already sped away and left me for dead.”

He took a step toward her. “What’s a gal like you doing in Gotham?”

“I work for an art gallery in New York. But there was an event that I had to attend. I’ve been here all weekend.”

Why was she telling him any of this?

Jason nodded in understanding. “Come on,” he told her.

“W-What?” She asked nervously.

“You’re not gonna get a car in this area. You should report the driver who brought you here in the first place. He knew better.”

He walked past her.

Y/N looked around her, trying to figure out if she even had any other option. She knew he was right about a car, which was probably why she’d gotten a loading screen for all of them when it realized her location.

Yes, he was technically a masked criminal. But he did just save her life, no matter how terrifying it was to watch.

Y/N decided she didn’t have much of a choice.

Before she could move, a motorcycle was being pulled up alongside her.

Y/N eyed it for a moment.

“What’s your name?” She asked him, as if it would make the situation any safer.

“Red Hood,” he told her.

Y/N nodded, not surprised that it didn’t make her feel any better. She realized she was in no position to ask for his real identity. She knew enough about vigilantes to understand that they only survived from hiding their true selves from the criminals they fought and the law enforcement who thought what they were doing was wrong.

“Where are you staying?” He asked her.

“Crest Hill Hotel,” she told him.

“Fancy,” he teased. “Hop on.”

Y/N hesitated before following his instructions. She sat awkwardly on the back of the motorcycle, unsure of what to do.

“You’re gonna want to hold on, beautiful.” He told her over his shoulder as he revved the engine.

Y/N tried to ignore the heat that rushed to her face as he called her ‘beautiful,’ and then she tried to ignore how wide and strong his torso felt as she reached to hold on.

It took 20 minutes to get to her hotel, proving that the Uber driver really hadn’t given a crap about how incorrect her original address had been.

Jason had decided to drop her off in the back entrance to avoid a scene of the infamous Red Hood dropping off an average citizen. He didn’t need that type of attention and Y/N shouldn’t be tied to him in any way.

Y/N got off the motorcycle with a surprising grace and turned to him.

“Thank you for…saving me,” she told him gently.

“It was nothing,” he told her.

Y/N just watched him for a moment, wondering what he looked like under that red helmet and without all the armor.

“What’s your name?” He surprised her by asking.

“Y/N. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

She didn’t know why she felt comfortable giving her surname. But it just came out.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Though, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Y/N suddenly dug into her purse, making sure she still had her phone and even just the key to her hotel room.

“Fuck,” she muttered without realizing it.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Nothing. I just…it sounds stupid, but I have a little notebook to write down ideas for – well, for my artwork. But it must’ve fallen out back in that alleyway when those guys shoved me against the wall.”

When she looked up at him, it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Anyways, thank you again.” She turned to finally walk away.

“Y/N?”

She shouldn’t love how much she loved the sound of him saying her name.

Y/N turned around.

“Stay close to the hotel. Gotham is different than New York City.”

She nodded.

————————

“So, when did you see her again?” Dick questioned after he listened to Jason’s retelling.

“I was helping out a friend with a job in NYC. Things got ugly. I may or may not have been shot when I showed up at her window. Her apartment was in the area and I needed a place to lay low.”

Dick laughed. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

Jason ignored him. “Anyways, I’d gone back to the alley that night and found that notebook she was talking about, and gave it to her to make up for bleeding all over her couch.”

“Always the romantic,” Dick teased.

Their conversation came to a halt. Instead of talking, they both listened to the city noises that Gotham brought.

“Listen, Jason, I know I did a poor job of being there for you and actually acting like a brother. And I also know you haven’t always been my biggest fan.”

Jason stayed quiet.

“But you deserve to be happy. And we both know Y/N does that.” Dick sighed. “But you don’t talk about her with us and you kept her from even just meeting us after years of you two dating. If we weren’t all noisy and paranoid, we wouldn’t know a thing about her.”

“What’s your point, Dick?” Jason asked roughly.

“No one ever wants to acknowledge this, especially you…but you’re more like Bruce than any of us. And you’ve seen how he pushes people away, keeping them at a distance. Y/N wants to be a part of your life, your whole life. And that includes all of us – whether you like it or not. So, what I’m saying is you don’t have to hide her from us.”

Dick knew not to expect a response from Jason. So he left him where he found him and gave him his space once again.

Jason didn’t have anything to say anyway.

Dick’s words made him angry more than anything. Because he knew they were true. Yes, he saw how Bruce behaved with women. It was promiscuous and casual, because anything else was too close for comfort. Bruce’s priority would always be Batman. And Bruce knew that no significant other deserved his lack of commitment – no matter how much they might love each other.

—————

Y/N was doing her nightly routine and applying moisturizer to her face when she heard it. She could be acting paranoid, but her instincts were telling her something was off.

No, someone was here.

Jason made a point of being loud and immediately announcing when he got home as to not scare her. So, it couldn’t be him.

As quietly as possible, Y/N tiptoed out of the bathroom and to her side of the bed where she kept a titanium baseball bat. Jason had offered her multiple times to teach her how to shoot a gun. But Y/N wanted nothing to do with them.

With the bat in hand, Y/N snuck her way to the living room where she heard the sound.

She had turned off all the lights, making it hard for her to see clearly.

But she did see a large mass standing in the middle of her living room. With just a bit of hesitation, Y/N swung the bat. But the intruder caught the bat, stopping her attack.

They stepped into the moonlight, finally allowing Y/N to see that it was Batman in his full uniform, cowl still on.

“What the fuck. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Y/N snapped at him.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bruce defended.

But Y/N was still irritated. “Jason isn’t here.”

“I know. I came to talk to you.”

She froze. “Me?”

“I need a favor.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “I highly doubt I could do anything to help you.”

“You’re wrong. This has to do with your job. You work at The Drago House.”

Y/N tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“It’s owned by the Ibanescu family. They use it as a front for human trafficking.”

Y/N shook her head. “That can’t be possible…”

“Don’t underestimate the crime families of Gotham, Y/N.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“There are files and codecs that would decipher who their buyers are and where they hold auctions around the world. Nothings digital. They’re old school. With that information, we could shut done their operation forever.”

Y/N’s face was serious now. “What do you need me to do?”

“You have always had access to all the information. You just never knew it. All I need is for you to scan the files.”

She now looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t they say you're the world’s greatest detective? I find it hard to believe that you’d have problems breaking into the gallery after hours to get them for yourself…”

“It’s only completely lockdown as soon as it closes every night. Their security system is high-end and resets every 24 hours. Could we get into it eventually? Yes. But we’ve already been at it for weeks. And we’ve received word that there’s a big…” He hesitated. “…shipment happening any day. We don’t have time to waste.”

Y/N thought about what he was telling her.

“Why didn’t you go to Jason?” She finally asked.

“You said Jason doesn’t tell you what to do.”

Y/N glared at him for using her own words against her.

The apartment went quiet again.

Then Y/N nodded slowly. “There’s an opening tomorrow night. I can get them then.”

—————

Dick’s words haunted Jason for the rest of the night. He wanted to cut patrolling early and just get back to Y/N.

Now he swiftly moved into his apartment from the fire escape and immediately took off his helmet and domino mask underneath.

But Jason froze when he saw Y/N’s bat in the middle of the living room.

His heart raced at the immediate assumption that something happened to her. The furniture was untouched and there were no other signs of trouble, but he still rushed towards the bedroom anyway.

“Y/N?” He called out, despite it being nearly 4AM.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found Y/N slowly waking up from their bed.

“J?” She murmured, half asleep.

“Y/N, why is the bat in the living room?” Jason asked as he rubbed his face and then sat on the edge of the bed near her. Without even thinking, he cupped her cheek.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up more. “I thought I heard something and freaked myself out. But it was nothing.”

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me when shit like that happens.”

“But it was nothing,” she repeated. “What?” She added with a sigh when he was giving her that disapproving look.

“I don’t care if it ends up being nothing. If you’re scared, then I’m going to be here. OK?” Then he finalized his point with a quick kiss to her lips.

She nodded. “OK.”

Then she looked him up and down, realizing that he was still completely in his Red Hood gear, only without his helmet.

“You OK?” She asked in a whisper. Her eyes already scanning his body for any obvious injuries.

“I’m fine,” Jason sighed. “I was just worried about you when I saw the bat. I thought something…”

Y/N quickly sat up in bed. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m fine. I’m OK. I was just being paranoid. I should’ve put the bat back. I’m sorry.”

A comfortable and reassuring silence settled between them.

“Why don’t you take a shower and come to bed?” Y/N offered softly.

Jason nodded and kissed her again.

As soon as he was out of the room, Y/N ran a hand over her face.

She hated lying to Jason. He didn’t deserve it. But she also knew he wouldn’t let her anywhere near an operation that Bruce was trying to pull off. This had to be the same thing that Tim had pulled Jason aside for at the gala.

But Bruce made one thing clear: he needed her help. And he wouldn’t do so if he wasn’t desperate.

———————-

The next night, Y/N couldn’t stop sweating and her heart rate was out of control. She tried to act like this was just another day of work, greeting customers, explaining the pieces, and answering questions.

But the need to get into the back offices when everyone else was gone would not stop nagging her.

With shaky hands, she tapped her ID on the scanner. Usually at this point in an event, all of her colleagues were either on the floor or had called it the end of their work day and headed home.

By some miracle, that was exactly the case.

Y/N locked the door behind her, never having seen a purpose for doing so any other day of working at the gallery.

“OK. OK. OK. Breathe,” she muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the room.

She knew where all the files were in the room. And Bruce had given her the keys to knowing what to look for. Now it was just a matter of putting the two together.

Y/N instantly went to work and started shuffling through papers, finding what was needed.

Bruce had given her a special pen that would scan every file within a second no matter what angle it was pointed at, so Y/N wouldn’t have any suspicious photos on her cellphone.

Y/N was almost done, covered in sweat and with shaking hands, when the door started jiggling.

She swore her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

With pure adrenaline, Y/N quickly put back the files that were in her hand.

But the person on the other side of the door was clearly getting impatient quickly and continued to mess with the doorknob.

Y/N jumped when it was finally kicked open. She whipped around to stare at a man who was nearly the size of Jason, but looked far deadlier. She’d never seen him at the gallery before, which meant he was definitely part of Ibanescu’s gang.

“Can I help you?” She snapped rudely, trying to use her authority to hide her fear.

“What are you doing in here?” He accused.

“I work here. Who the hell are you?”

He ignored her question. “Why was the door locked?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Y/N shot back.

And with that, she straightened her posture and started walking past him. But this man wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Just as she thought she’d slipped away, the man grabbed her by the arm.

“Excuse me,” Y/N hissed.

But he ignored her and started dragging her into the back storage area of the gallery and further away from the crowd.

Y/N tried to rip her arm from his grasp but his grip was vice-like and didn’t even seem fazed by her efforts to escape.

This was not good.

While Y/N was still hopeful that she could possibly talk her way out, she was also realistic.

Which is why she hit a button on her watch.

Jason had gifted it to her very early on in their relationship. It was a classic chronograph watch. But he had installed a panic button onto it.

“If something ever happens – even if you think you’re being overly cautious – you push this and it will send out a signal that I can track. I’ll be there before you know it.” That’s what he had told her when he gifted it, and she’d worn it every day since.

A few seconds later, Y/N was being shoved through the door that led to the back alley.

There was a group of men, just as large and intimidating as the one who still had a grip on her arm.

It was pouring rain and freezing outside. But the slight overhand of the building into the alley protected them slightly.

“What the fuck is this?” One of them asked.

“I found her snooping around in the offices,” he announced.

“I’m one of the directors of this gallery!” Y/N bit back. “I was checking the price points on pieces for a potential customer.”

“The door was locked,” the man added.

They all seemed to be looking at each other.

Y/N was frozen, trying to wait for the perfect moment to make a run for it.

But then she saw one of the men, who appeared to be in charge, eye the pen that was clipped to the pocket of her pants. She prayed that he was too stupid to think it was anything more than just a writing utensil.

But then he slowly walked up to her. He grabbed the pen from her pocket and inspected it.

Y/N swore time froze. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t feel the tight grip on her arm that was surely going to bruise her.

Then the man’s gaze shifted from the pen to her eyes.

“Get her in the car,” he told the group.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Without hesitating, she immediately started to fight the man holding her. With a swift motion, she kneed him hard in the groin, making him let out a growl and keel over. But he dropped his grip on her arm.

Despite wearing heels, she made a run for it. She didn’t get far, but she got far enough into the rain that she was already drenched.

Another man grabbed her, shoving her against the building and clenching her throat to a point of suffocation.

“You stupid bitch,” her original captor spat as he backhanded her across the face.

Y/N blinked as a ringing started in her ears and her face stung with pain.

“Get her in the car before you make a fuckin’ scene,” the leader warned.

But before they could respond to the command, the street lights went out, causing a surge of darkness to blind all of them.

Y/N tried to step away from her attackers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. But she couldn’t see a damn thing. The pouring rain was only making it more impossible.

It wasn’t until one of the men cried out in pain and guns started firing that she could see anything. Except it was too fast for her to make out a clear picture. Every so often, a lightning strike or a muzzle flash would give her a short glimpse.

Lo and behold, Batman was taking out the men one by one. But every time Y/N’s eyes focused on his tall silhouette, he’d disappear. She couldn’t keep track of his movements. And apparently neither could any of Ibanescu’s men.

“Shoot the girl!” One of the men yelled.

Y/N’s eyes widened when two of the men turned their guns on her.

But just before they fired off their rounds, a small force tackled her to the side and behind the safety of a giant dumpster.

Y/N looked up to see a young boy shielding her with his own body.

Damian.

Things were so chaotic that she hadn’t even registered he was there, too.

Before she could say anything to him, there was another presence that dropped down beside her. The next second, she was being grabbed and pulled into the sky.

From the feel of his arms alone, Y/N immediately recognized it as Jason.

His grappling gun had brought them to the roof of the building.

Once their feet were grounded onto the roof, Jason barely stepped away and grabbed her shoulders.

Y/N couldn’t read his face from his helmet. But the subtle movements of his head made it clear that he was scanning her body to see if she’d been hit. It only took a few seconds to be convinced that she was clear.

Then he was grasping her face. “Stay here,” he told her before he used his grappling gun to vault back down into the alleyway.

Y/N ran to the edge of the room to look down.

When Jason returned to the fight below, he was ruthless.

Damian had seen the Red Hood with a vengeance many a time. But this… this was something different.

No bone was left unbroken.

Jason wasn’t just neutralizing these men…he was out for blood and pain.

The leader of the little gang was on his knees, covered in his own blood, when he looked up at Jason, who had a gun pointed just centimeters from his head.

“Red Hood, no!” Bruce growled as he threw a batarang, knocking Jason’s gun away from its almost-victim.

Jason whipped his head around. “They were going to kill her!”

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Bruce countered.

While they talked, Damian knocked out the man Jason almost murdered. By now, all of them were knocked unconscious or so injured that they couldn’t even open their eyes.

Jason’s entire body froze, realizing what had really happened. Bruce and Damian didn’t just happen to be there to save his girlfriend. This was their doing. They were the ones who had put her in this dangerous situation to begin with.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jason thundered.

Just as a flash of lightening struck, he turned to face Bruce, finding his new prey.

“She had an in and I asked her to use it,” Bruce explained evenly. “She agreed.”

“Of course she fucking agreed!” Jason yelled over the rain. “She’d never say no to helping! And you knew that, and you took advantage of it!”

Then he raised his gun, pointing it at Bruce.

“Put the gun down, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Jason hissed.

The next thing Y/N knew, Jason shot a bullet towards Bruce, causing her to let out a yell from above. In her heart she knew he hadn’t aimed to kill, but Bruce dodged the shot anyway.

Now the two men were fully fighting each other. Bruce seemed to be pulling his punches and just trying to remain on the defense. But Jason wanted revenge. Yes, Bruce and him had a dark history. But putting Y/N in danger erupted something inside Jason that made him see red in a way he never had before.

Just as Y/N was going to call out for Jason to stop, she heard someone drop beside her on the roof.

Dick stood a few feet away, standing tall in his Nightwing uniform.

“Dick, do something!” She begged.

“I can stop Bats, but I can’t stop him,” he told her.

“Then get me the fuck down there! Use your zip-line thingy!”

“Zip-line thingy?” Dick repeated, clearly offended. “This is a grappling–”

“Dick!” Y/N cut him off.

“Right, sorry.” He grabbed her, held her body tight to him, and lowered them down back to the alley.

When Y/N looked up, Bruce was on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

But Jason wasn’t done with him.

“You made it clear that you don’t give a shit about me. But putting the one person I love in danger just for you to solve a case? You’ve reached a new low,” Jason yelled as he slowly started to walk towards Bruce.

But before Jason could reach him, Y/N blocked his path.

She was soaking wet and shivering from both the cold rain and the shock.

Jason could already see the bruises covering her neck and face. He also didn’t miss the small line of blood that had trickled down her nose.

“Jason,” she whimpered. “That’s enough.”

He froze.

Y/N walked to him. “Please, just take me home,” she whispered.

Just seeing her made Jason’s entire body relax. But he was also reminded that she was the priority, not Bruce.

Noticing her shivering, he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Bruce, Dick, and Damian were barely able to see the short, loving moment before Jason flung a smoke capsule onto the ground, covering him and Y/N as he brought her into his arms.

By the time the smoke disappeared, Jason and Y/N were gone.

—————-

When Jason and Y/N got back to their apartment, Jason when into autopilot mode of nursing Y/N. He pulled her into their bathroom and immediately started helping her out of her wet clothes. Y/N couldn’t stop shaking, and he noticed.

Jason only left her side for the split moment when he turned to start the shower, making sure to make it extra hot.

Then he was right back at her side, taking off his uniform and matching her nudity.

When he gently tugged her into their abnormally large shower, there was nothing sexual about it.

Now that Y/N’s skin was bare to him, he looked at all the injuries she had.

There were a few scrapes that would heal in a week or so. But Jason’s gaze went dark every time they lingered on the bruises across her throat, face, and bicep. He should’ve killed all of those bastards.

Y/N leaned into Jason’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Because she knew that’s what this was. Jason wasn’t mad at her – at least, not yet. That could very much come later. But no, right now, he was scared. He put so much energy into keeping Y/N away from his other life, only for her to be thrown right into the center of it. And it wasn’t even his doing; it was Bruce’s.

“I know,” he bent down to whisper in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed in the shower. But eventually Jason turned off the water and wrapped Y/N around in a fluffy white towel. She looked so young and innocent.

He moved her to their bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Y/N watched him as he moved about the room, getting each of them clothes – all from his own closet.

“Are you hungry?” He asked her carefully as he handed her a pair of his sweatpants and one of his hoodies.

She shook her head.

Jason wasn’t surprised. One of the side effects of trauma and shock was a loss of appetite. But he made her drink a huge glass of water before he let her get in bed. And he made a mental note to make a big breakfast tomorrow when her body recovered and realized how starving it was.

When they were both finally under the covers, Jason didn’t hesitate to pull Y/N completely in his arms, smothering her with his giant frame. She welcomed his touch and warmth, burying her face into his chest.

Neither of them knew who needed this closeness more.

Tonight had been scary. Y/N knew Jason’s anger was bound to show up at some point. But right now, both of them were just grateful they were okay.

————————-

To Y/N’s surprise, she woke up in bed alone.

But her concern didn’t last long as she heard Jason moving around in the kitchen and she could hear soft music was playing if she listened hard enough.

When Y/N moved to get out of bed, she felt all the soreness that came from being grabbed and thrown around like she was last night. She winced, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But she made a mental note to hide any signs that she was in pain from Jason.

Over their time together, Y/N and Jason got disturbingly good at reading one another. So, when Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Jason making breakfast, she immediately sensed things were not good. It wasn’t the cooking that tipped her off. His naked back was to her and she could somehow see the tension in his shoulders – in his whole body.

Y/N knows he heard her as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

“There’s coffee,” he says without turning around from the stove. He’s making pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes, to be precise.

Y/N pours herself some coffee and sits at the table, watching him.

A few minutes pass before she’s had enough of the tension.

“If you’re gonna yell at me, then yell at me,” she told him.

Jason froze for a moment, but then quickly looked at her over his shoulder. “When have I ever yelled at you?”

He had a point.

Yes, Jason was once filled with only rage. There was a reason some feared Red Hood more than the Batman. He was ruthless. Fueled by vengeance, his temper, and his disappointment in the evil that plagued the world. He fought his enemies, but he also fought with his friends and family.

But Jason Todd was none of those things with Y/N. He never lost his temper with her. He never projected his rage and hardships from what he saw as Red Hood onto her. He’d never even raised his voice with her.

“I know,” Y/N admitted. “But I also know you’re still angry.”

Jason sighed, turning off the stove and bringing a giant plate of pancakes to the table.

But Y/N couldn’t eat while having this discussion.

Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have let me do it,” Y/N countered.

“Yeah, and for good reason.”

“He used you, Y/N.” Jason tried to explain. “You’re untrained… with no exposure to this world. He knew not to involve you and he went behind my back to do it anyway.”

Y/N lowered her head in shame. There was a part of her that felt useless. She couldn’t jump around rooftops and save those who needed it. She was just…normal.

“I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.

Jason leaned forward from seeing her upset. “Y/N, come here.” He reached for her hand and baited her towards him.

She took his offer and moved from her chair to straddle his lap.

Jason held her waist tightly as he pressed his forehead to her’s. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“You’re not going to,” she reassured him.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t ever do something like that again.”

Y/N’s heart hurt at how desperate he sounded. She had realized far too quickly that Jason wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared of her death.

“I promise,” she told him.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Y/N.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jason accepted her apology with a kiss. But it didn’t end quickly. In fact, it got more heated and hungrier. His grip got firmer on her waist.

Y/N knew where this was going, especially as he thumbed the hem of her hoodie and sweatpants. But they both needed this.

“The pancakes, Jason.” She warned him.

Jason smiled as he pulled away from her lips. “Fuck the pancakes,” he told her in between kisses. “I’m takin’ you back to bed.”

—————————

A few weeks had passed since the incident. Y/N tried to get her relationship with Jason back to normal. He still insisted on keeping his vigilante life away from her. But there was more of an understanding for why now.

However, tension had risen again a couple days after the attack, when they received an interesting gift in the mail. They had opened a rather large envelope addressed to the both of them.

Inside were two first-class plane tickets to Paris with their names on them and an open reservation at Hotel Le Royal Monceau.

Y/N had stared at them with more of an understanding than Jason.

She’d looked up at Jason. “I…I told him I’ve always wanted to go to Paris when I first met him at the gala.”

He’d glared at the gift. “Typical Bruce. If he can’t punch his way out of an issue, he’ll try and buy it.”

Neither of them had said anything about actually using tickets and reservation. It just collected dust on one of their end tables.

Now Y/N sat in their apartment alone, reading another one of Jason’s books, when her cell started ringing.

It was a number she didn’t know, but she decided to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s Alfred Pennyworth,” a charming voice answered back.

Y/N couldn’t help, but smile. As if she knew more than one Alfred in the world. “Hi, Alfred.”

“I thought it would be a good time to give you that lesson you asked for. Are you free today?”

Y/N looked around her apartment. All of her plans for today had consisted of laying around, drinking coffee, doing a bit of reading.

“Yes, today would be great.”

—————

Y/N wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and had given Jason the heads up on her change of plans.

Seeing as Jason had no issue with Alfred, he didn’t seem too bothered bit it all. But he did still tell her to be careful and ended the call with a sincere, “I love you.”

It was strange going back to Wayne Manor when there wasn’t a gala being held there.

Y/N thought it would seem more like a home this time around, but it still felt like a museum to her. And yet, she still had imposter syndrome as she walked through the threshold.

Alfred gave her a warm smile as he opened the door. “It is lovely to see you again, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Alfred, please, it’s just Y/N.”

He nodded. Then he gestured for her to follow him. “Come. I have a station set up in the cave.”

Y/N stuttered to a stop. “Cave? As in the Bat Cave?”

Alfred seemed amused with her hesitation and concern. “Of course.”

“Should I be – Is that even OK?” Y/N fumbled through her question.

“Well, I don’t see the point of hiding it from you. It’s not like you don’t know all the family secrets already, dear.”

Y/N blinked at that and finally continued following him.

Alfred led her through the secret passage way as if he was taking her to the dining room. She tried to control her reactions and not come off too interested in the details of it all. But it was rather hard.

Just like Alfred told her, there was a little medical station set up in a brighter lit area of the dark and dingy cave.

Y/N half expected him to bring up the recent drama that she’d caused. But ever the gentleman, Alfred didn’t so much as mention it.

He also did as he promised, going through everything she could ever need to know while tending to Jason. He even had little models to practice sewing stitches on. He was a good teacher and Y/N was soaking it all up like a sponge.

She couldn’t imagine her going to med school at any point. But knowing these skills were going to be used to help Jason made it easier to retain.

After hours of teaching, the cave awoke as a carport opened and the batmobile sped in.

Y/N internally swore. She’d hoped not to run into Bruce with this visit. He never seemed to be home, so the odds had seemed low. But clearly she’d messed that up.

Bruce stepped out of the car, taking in the two of them.

“Any injuries, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked politely.

Bruce was about to lie, but he glanced down at his abdomen where it was quite obvious he was bleeding.

“Perfect. My pupil can practice on you,” Alfred announced.

Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh! That’s definitely a bad idea…”

“Nonsense. Best way to learn is under pressure,” he winked. “I shall go off and start dinner. Let me know if you’re near death, Master Wayne.”

Y/N watched him leave, regretting ever having come here.

When she turned back around, Bruce was removing his cowl.

“He’s right,” Bruce admitted. “Best way to learn is under pressure.” Then he moved to sit in the medical chair.

Y/N swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was. “Right.”

Her hands shook as she tried to remember everything Alfred had been through. But she knew in the back of her mind that Bruce was fully capable of stitching himself up. So, as much as this was a set up from Alfred, Bruce wasn’t running away from it like she had tried to.

Y/N hadn’t said a word as she cleaned his wound, only apologizing when she thought was necessary – even though he never made a sound of pain or even so much as winced.

Bruce seemed to be following her lead, not wanting to force her to talk if she didn’t want to.

But after 20 minutes or so of silence, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer.

“You know, you can’t buy his forgiveness,” she said as she focused on her stitches.

“I wasn’t only looking for his forgiveness…”

Her eyes flickered to meet his awaiting gaze. “You can’t buy mine either.”

“I owe you an apology,” Bruce began to her surprise. “I should have never involved you. It was dangerous, despite how in control of situation I thought I was.”

“I agreed to it,” Y/N offered. Then she looked at him again. “But I accept your apology.”

A moment passed before Y/N asked, “Are you going to say that to him, too?”

“I would if he would even consider talking to me.”

With that comment, Y/N put down her tools for a second and straightened her posture. “I may not know you very well, Bruce. But I do know that you and Jason are more alike than either of you care to admit.”

She hesitated on continuing. Did Bruce even deserve advice from her?

“He was hurt. And he showed all of you that hurt by being angry, because he didn’t know how else to tell you. He doesn’t feel heard and he doesn’t feel seen. He was lost. And it’s hard for him to just forget how you all handled it.” She took in a deep breath. “But I know he still sees all of you as his family. And you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a real father.”

Then she quickly grabbed her tools again and cleared her throat. “So, get over yourself, and just talk to him. And I mean actually talk to him – not as Batman and Red Hood, but as Jason and Bruce.”

The cave went quiet.

Y/N couldn’t help herself and looked up at Bruce. Either she was losing her mind or he was giving her a very shy smirk.

“What?” She blurted out.

But before he could answer, a motorcycle sped into the cave.

Y/N would recognize Jason’s bike anywhere. But he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, opting for his black leather jacket and a normal tinted motorcycle helmet.

After he took it off, he eyed the two of them, trying to read the room.

“Hey,” Y/N said shyly.

“Figured I’d come and pick you up,” Jason answered her unasked question, ignoring Bruce.

Y/N looked down at Bruce’s injury. “Actually, I’m all done here.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said sincerely as Y/N covered the wound with a bandage. “You’ll be a better nurse than Alfred in no time.”

Y/N grinned and took off her gloves.

But then she met Jason’s unsure gaze. They had a silent conversation.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Alfred,” she quickly told Jason, but really she was telling both of them. “Meet me out front when you’re ready?”

Jason hesitated, but nodded.

Y/N walked to him and gave him a quick kiss for comfort and encouragement.

And then she was off, leaving the two men alone.

Jason shifted his weight, not knowing where to start.

“You’re lucky to have her,” Bruce finally spoke.

Jason winced even though it was a compliment. “I don’t deserve her.”

Bruce stood up. “That’s not true.”

“You of all people know I’m not a good man, Bruce.”

He shook his head. “We may have different views on how to save this city. But we both want the same thing. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good man, Jason.”

Jason blinked at his statement.

“I owe you an apology for... a lot,” Bruce began. “The first is putting that girl in danger.” He paused. “The second was not protecting you – before and after everything that happened.”

“You mean before and after I died?” Jason wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Bruce’s jaw clenched at that.

“Anything else you want to apologize for?” Jason challenged.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But I get the feeling that you don’t want to hear it all right now.”

There was a pause.

“You’ll always be my son, Jason. Even if you no longer see me as your father.”

Jason’s eyes filled with tears at Bruce’s words. But he held them back. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t be weak. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

He couldn’t take any more of this discussion. But he knew this was what he’d been wanting to hear from Bruce for so long.

“I’ll see you around, Bruce.” He told him before putting his helmet back on.

But Bruce had one last thing to say. “Keep her close. Don’t be like me, Jason.”

‘Don’t push people who love you away and make this darkness be your only life,’ was what Bruce would never actually have the courage to say.

Jason now had the cover of his helmet to hide his expressions. But he gave Bruce one last glance before tearing out of the cave.

—————

As Jason pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the manor to pick of Y/N, Damian was playing out front with Titus on the gravel drive.

“Hey, Demon Spawn,” Jason greeted after taking off his helmet.

“Todd,” the boy replied coldly.

To his surprise, Jason got off his bike and walked to him with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Damian eyed him.

“I saw what you did that night. You saved her life,” Jason said.

Damian waited.

Jason held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you.”

The boy hesitated before finally shaking it.

Jason didn’t expect Damian to say anything. But he did know talking to him like an adult, instead of a kid, was the only way to get through to him.

Then Y/N was walking out to them with Alfred lingering in the doorway.

“Hi, Damian,” she greeted sweetly before greeting his dog as well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Jason was surprised he even remembered her name.

“Ready to go?” He asked Y/N.

She nodded. But then reached up to touch the white in his hair. She seemed to have a fondness for it. And Jason didn’t seem to mind.

“You OK?” She asked.

He nodded. “Better.”

She gave him a shy but encouraging look. “I’m glad.”

“I love you, you know,” Jason breathed.

“I know,” she smiled.

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

Oh lordy. That took way longer than I was expecting. But kept my mind off of this dumpster fire of a country. And I hope reading it did the same for you ❤️

#jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood reader insert #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batman #batfam #batman universe

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taexual · 4 years ago

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (16)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst

words: 6.6k

chapter sixteen

Despite deciding not to make your already uncomfortable situation even more awkward by discussing your kiss, Jungkook could not stop thinking about it the entire drive back to your dormitory. Actually, he’d been thinking about the kiss nearly every moment since it happened, but with you in the car next to him, his thoughts became clearer. More defined. More vibrant.

If he’d have closed his eyes – not a good idea for someone who was behind the wheel of a car; but it wasn’t like Jungkook was above entertaining bad ideas – he swore he could return to that moment when he had you underneath him on his bed, your mouth against his, right before his mother knocked on the door and interrupted you.

What would have happened if she hadn’t knocked?

“You okay?” you asked suddenly, the question startling him.

“Hmm?” he nearly swerved off the road, answering you in a high-pitched voice, “yeah. Why?”

“You just inhaled really—nevermind,” you changed your mind – it was better to stay quiet all the way home. But, aware how weird your question seemed without any explanations, you mumbled under your breath, “thought you were suffocating or something.”

Jungkook hadn’t realized his breath got caught in his throat every time he remembered kissing you, but it made sense; his body needed to give up every other activity—no matter how crucial for his survival it was—in order to make enough space in his mind to fully immerse itself into the memory.

The memory was so important to him because, based on the way you shifted closer to the door and further away from him in his car, he could tell that even the lingering possibility of bringing the kiss up made you close off. So the chance of it happening again – him, getting you to lower your guards down enough to allow another kiss – was so slim, it was incredible he hadn’t given up yet.

“So, I take it you won’t make it to my gig this Friday, then,” Jungkook said when he entered the campus, nodding at the barrier guard through his window before turning to look at you to show you that, no, he wasn’t going to try to get you to talk about last weekend, but also, no, he wasn’t going to completely let this go, either.

“No,” you said with a quick glance his way, the barbecue at his father’s company written in red letters in your mental itinerary. “Not this Friday. Sorry.”

He thought this over – “this” Friday meant that next Friday still had an opening. He liked these odds.

“Text me if my dad gets too crazy, yeah?” Jungkook asked as he pulled into the parking lot of your dormitory. “I’ll make sure to reply with tips on how to get him to leave you alone.”

“No, you’ll be in the middle of your performance,” you said – expressing your appreciation for his concern by giving him a warm smile – and then dismissed him with a wave of your hand, “I’ll find a way to handle it.”

Stopping the car right in front of the entrance – but not shutting the engine off which was, both, terrible for the environment and also not a very smart idea socially, considering that people were already watching your every step, and they were absolutely going to hear Jungkook’s car – he turned to look at you with a very determined expression on his face.

“If you don’t think I can find a way to include answering texts in my set list, I have news for you,” he said and you thought he was joking – just being reassuring – but the look in his eyes told a different story.

Your smile widened despite your protests. “Alright, noted. But don’t worry about me. Just let me know when you’re done with your gig.”

Jungkook – who’d never had to report his whereabouts to anyone before – found himself nodding eagerly.

“You too,” he said. “I mean, text me when that whole social gathering is over. I can drive over there to take you home.”

“No,” you protested again, “you have an after-party to get to. I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he countered, using your own argument against you, “I will come get you out of there early if you’ll need me to. No matter what I’m doing.”

The look on his face was resolute and, for a moment, you considered that perhaps this was his way of showing you that he didn’t want you to go to the company barbecue at all – especially not when he couldn’t be there to supervise and make sure the real story of your relationship remained well hidden behind the tale you’d created for his parents – but then, Jungkook looked down and refuted these thoughts.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “My dad already had that look on his face – the scowl he saved for me only – because he’d been expecting me to refuse to come all along, but then you… well, you softened the blow.”

“I didn’t soften it much if he still looked at you like that,” you said, lowering your eyes just as Jungkook raised his.

“No, you did. I’d have gone home, thinking—no, knowing—that I’d let him down yet again,” he said, “and that often has interesting consequences—”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Right. But now I get to go home and worry about you being there alone with my family and their colleagues, so that gives me something else to occupy myself with.”

You could have insisted that you weren’t a damsel in distress and could figure out your own way out of a tricky situation if you had to, but you chose to let him have this one. If thinking about this kept him out of trouble while you were out of campus and, possibly, unable to reach him in time, then so be it.

“That’s hardly a better way to spend your time, but if that’s what you’re into these days…” you replied with humor and Jungkook – who could tell that you were only saying this so you’d stop going back and forth with him – forced himself to smile.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” he said. “I’m starting to develop this need to constantly be in control of everything.”

Your mouth opened in genuine surprise and then – almost comically – opened wider still, when you decided to add a more dramatic effect to your reaction, so you could conceal the fact that the portrayal of you, as a control freak, had honestly upset you.

But you couldn’t express your feelings out loud because, admittedly, he was right, you did like to be in control of your surroundings. Shamelessly so, too, because you didn’t think it was wrong to know about everything that involved you.

“That’s not good,” you said. “We can’t both be in control. We’ll clash.”

“If we do, I hope it will be as epic as Harry versus Voldemort.”

You snickered at this, the tension in your shoulders lightening. “I take it you’re Voldemort?”

Jungkook looked positively outraged by this assumption. “Of course not! I’m The Chosen One.”

Now you were full-on laughing. And The Chosen One – who, technically, could have actually been called The Boy Who Lived after all the life-threatening stunts he’d pulled since starting puberty – smiled, beyond proud of himself.

Smiling at each other for several seconds – that could have been minutes or even hours for all you cared; it only felt like one blink of an eye to you anyway – you felt your chest fill with affection. That tended to happen sometimes, especially when you’d been dreading a situation – The Talk About the Sunday Night Kiss – and then managed to successfully make it out alive – by using a method, commonly referred to as, Staying Quiet and Changing the Topic.

“I meant what I said, though,” you spoke and the relief that you didn’t have to endure the awkward ‘so… what do we do now?’ question washed over you with a warm wave. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

You had leaned closer him as you said this – it was a natural instinct: reaching out to touch someone’s hand (or, uh-oh, cheek!) for more effect – but you froze mid-way, hanging awkwardly over the console of his car and regretting your very existence because you’d noticed how Jungkook stopped breathing when you moved closer, and how quickly his breathing returned to him – in the form of a disappointed huff – when you suddenly stopped.

“Thank you for taking me to the meeting today,” you ended up blurting as you pulled back, your eyes now firmly locked on the handle of the door.

“Yeah. It’s nothing,” he replied and, somehow, that was it.

The eternity you always spent in his car when he dropped you off in front of your dormitory had suddenly come to an end and, because of how weird it was to leave without saying goodbye – but, then again, were you supposed to hug? Kiss? – your hand lingered on the handle numbly, only pushing the door open a minute later.

Paradoxically, relief and concern both flooded your brain as soon as you stepped one foot outside but then, before you could exit his car, you felt him take hold of your wrist – not pulling you back per se, but holding onto you firmly enough to stop you from moving.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. You were mid-step, so you had to fully exit the car and lean down to look at him.

“Hmm?” you asked, your wrist still in his grip even though he had successfully captured your attention.

“D-don’t…” he tried to say, mumbling the rest of the words under his breath. You frowned, not hearing him, and were about to lean forward to ask what he’d said, when he cleared his throat and tried again, “let’s not be weird around each other, okay? We know each other far too long for that.”

Your plan to keep your mouth shut and divert his attention to different topics had, clearly, only succeeded in part, because Jungkook was addressing last Sunday night, after all, but he didn’t dare to bring the kiss up directly. And his acknowledgement of the fact that you were too stuck in your own head to let him talk to you about the kiss specifically, made it all worse.

“Yeah,” you said then. “I wouldn’t want things to suddenly be weird between us.”

“So, let’s not make it weird,” he said, nodding and reluctantly letting go of your hand. “Don’t forget to text me tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you pulled your hand back and, with one last smile – that looked forced, uncomfortable and weird; all the things you didn’t want it to look like – you walked away from his car and back to your dorm, ready for Inna’s tirade of questions. Questions that you had no answers to.

What surprised you about the company barbecue on Friday afternoon wasn’t the fact that Inna hadn’t demanded to know all the details of the event when you told her where you’d be going, or the fact that all of the people you’d seen at the bi-yearly meeting on Thursday, were now dressed in red aprons like your friendly neighborhood dads.

It was the fact that Namjoon, of all people, was dressed like one of those dads, too.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, evidently shocked to run into him here. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, hi!” Namjoon seemed just as surprised but he shook your hand – which was his go-to way of saying hello to people, as you’ve learned – and smiled, explaining, “I’m interning here, actually. What about you?”

You were thrown off balance by your surprise – the two of you had talked about your plans for the future before, sharing your ambitions with each other, and yet you didn’t know that he was an intern here – but recovered a moment later to explain yourself.

“Oh, I’m—the CEO is an old family friend, so I’m here as a courtesy of sorts,” you said, feeling self-conscious when you saw Namjoon raise his eyebrows after he learned about this connection. “I was supposed to come earlier to help you set up but my roommate was leaving for the weekend, and she—well, anyway. I’m only here to get acquainted with the company, really.”

Contrary to what you’d expected him to ask you next, Namjoon wondered, “do you see yourself here in the future?”

Even though he didn’t inquire about your biography outright – “were your parents powerful and influential businessmen as well?” – his question did seem to insinuate that you may start working here purely because of your relationship to the head of the company.

“Maybe,” you replied, realizing how privileged you were to be here when you weren’t even a part of the company yet. “What has it been like, interning here?”

“Oh, it’s been okay. It’s the only company that took me in,” he spoke and you felt yourself exhale in relief after you lost the spotlight. “The others weren’t looking for interns. Or they needed interns with a job experience that spanned more than my college career.”

You scoffed, understanding what he meant very well because you’d been there, too. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Namjoon said with a sigh. “And that’s why I’m here.”

“So, this wasn’t your first choice?” you asked.

“No, but I don’t regret coming here,” he replied. “It’s a nice work environment. The people are very welcoming and helpful, which isn’t something you see a lot of in corporate businesses.”

Sadly, some of the people here weren’t very welcoming in their personal lives, you thought bitterly, remembering Jungkook and his father’s tense relationship. You chose not to mention that, however, because it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

“I hope you’re not here for work, though,” you said instead, smiling as you watched Namjoon laugh awkwardly and nod at the beef patties on a plate next to the grill.

“No,” he said. “But they did put me on grilling duty – which wasn’t very smart of them, considering how terrible I am around things that can burst into flames – so I do have some hefty responsibilities today.”

You chuckled. “I could help you. I’ve done my fair share of barbecuing when I was growing up. Let me just leave my handbag somewhere—”

“The gazebo over there,” Namjoon pointed at the far end of the camping grounds, “they’ve turned it into a coat room. You could leave it there,” he looked at you and, catching his own eagerness, explained, “I would really appreciate your help. I don’t want my internship to end prematurely because I’d poisoned everyone with my poor cooking.”

Giving him a sympathetic grin, you assured him, “that won’t happen. At least, not on my watch. I’ll be right back!”

As you’d learned once you got back to the grill and started to assist Namjoon – or, allowed him to assist you – Jungkook’s father hadn’t even arrived yet. Him and his wife – according to a very chatty woman who was Namjoon’s supervisor – were supposed to come a little while later and then, following tradition, they would take a picture with the rest of the employees, sit down for a meal, and leave within an hour.

This barbecue may have been a nice social gathering for the employees of his company, but it was strictly a formality for Jungkook’s father.

“Still, it’s nice,” Namjoon said once the woman left you two to finish grilling the sausages and the patties alone, “not many CEOs bother to interact with the lower-rank employees at company events. At least, not in my experience. My dad didn’t even know what his boss looked like and he’d worked for the same company for twenty years.”

“It sounds impossible in today’s day and age, though, with everyone being on social media,” you pointed out.

“Of course. But you don’t always recognize people from social media in real life. So, it’s nice that even I, an intern, have a chance to see the CEO of the company with my own eyes. And maybe even meet him.”

“Hmm, sure,” you nodded with an unconcerned shrug. “It is nice of him, I suppose.”

Namjoon noticed your nonchalance and he knew that the reason why you couldn’t relate to him in this particular situation was because you had nothing to get excited about – you had already met the CEO.

“You said he was a family friend?” Namjoon asked you. “So, you know him quite well, then?”

You paused grilling for a second to look at him but he was watching the food to make sure it didn’t burn. And that was even better, since it gave you more time to come up with an abridged version of your relationship with Jungkook’s father.

“Yeah, uh… my mom and his wife had been best friends growing up,” you said, “and they’re still very close to this day. Now that they’re both married, their families got involved in the friendship, too. He’s always been kind to me but my knowledge of him comes from Jungkook’s point of view, so I’m probably—”

Namjoon finally looked away from the sizzling grill to get you to back up. “Wait, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, we—” you paused, realizing that he wasn’t confused about your friendship with Jungkook but, rather, about Jungkook, being the son – and the heir apparent – of the CEO. “The company—i-it belongs to Jungkook’s father.”

“Oh,” Namjoon mumbled, looking away as this revelation rendered him speechless for a quick minute. “Oh.”

You didn’t know what to make of this “oh”, so you tried to clear the air with a chuckle.

“I, uh—I had thought that was common knowledge on campus,” you said.

“I—maybe it is, I don’t really keep up w-with that,” he admitted. “I just assumed he was popular because of Parental Advisory.”

“He is,” you nodded, “but coming from a rich family probably didn’t hinder his way to the top very much.”

“No,” he snickered, “it probably didn’t. So, uh, is he coming here, too?”

You had picked up a pair of tongs from the folding table nearby and used them to flip the patties before you answered. That was why you didn’t notice how much Namjoon struggled to process this new information. You couldn’t ask him what was it about Jungkook that caused Namjoon to have such a hard time dealing with this news.

“No,” you said, still not looking at him as you focused on the grill. “He’s got a show tonight.”

“Ah, so his band comes first,” Namjoon said in a voice that would have been humorous—in a sarcastic way—if it wasn’t so acidic.

You stopped what you were doing to give the boy next to you a surprised look.

“Well—not necessarily,” you said and then tried to find a way to explain why Jungkook was the way he was without getting into too many unnecessary and overly-complicated details, “he cares about both, but he’s not—he’s got, uh, some issues with—”

“With being civil in front of his father’s employees?” Namjoon interjected sharply.

You blinked. “He—”

“God, sorry,” he blurted suddenly, putting the metal spatula down on the grill before realizing that this wasn’t a good idea and picking it back up again. He sounded exasperated as he tried to take his previous question back, “I don’t know why I’m coming off so angry about this. I was just surprised. I did hear that the CEO had a son who was presumably going to take over the company one day, but I didn’t think it was… you know.”

You didn’t know, but you could guess that Jungkook’s bad reputation preceded him and even people, who claimed not to judge others without getting to know them first, couldn’t help but judge first.

Namjoon sounded disappointed when he talked about him. Worse, he sounded displeased and even choked as he spoke, trying to cover up his own frustration so he could remain impeccably respectful like he always was – or tried to be.

He tried to avoid stereotypes but you’d gotten glimpses of his real attitude at the library when he’d revealed his assumptions about the members of Parental Advisory, guessing – and getting it right – that the members were a “troubled bunch”.

You’d admired his restraint from any further assumptions that could have shown his prejudice. But now his respectfulness irked you because it hid his real feelings and made it almost impossible for you to defend Jungkook without sounding like you were overreacting.

“There’s still a long way before Jungkook can take over,” you said, focusing on the tongs in your hands and the way they clapped with a metallic yelp each time you clicked them together. “He’s working on it and his father definitely isn’t cutting him any slack just because he’s his son.”

“Right, I wasn’t—”

“But you probably know that if you work here,” you continued, yours words coming out in a batch of agitation that Namjoon could not interrupt, “there aren’t any exclusive employees here. Everyone is being treated the same, regardless of their connection to the staff higher up.”

“No, of course!” he exclaimed before you could continue. “I didn’t mean to imply—although, I guess I did imply that he had certain guarantees that other people didn’t, which is true, of course, with him being the son of the CEO. But I didn’t mean to make it sound like he wouldn’t deserve the chief executive position. I’m sure his father wouldn’t give it to him if he didn’t think Jungkook was worth it.”

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t.”

Namjoon wasn’t going to say anything else about this – he’d already said too much – but the way you went straight for his throat when he misspoke about Jungkook, shed a new light on your relationship with him. It intrigued Namjoon even if he wasn’t fascinated by you in a romantic sense.

His interest in your relationship with Jungkook was mostly understandable, though – the two of you were so different on the surface, one could only wonder what was it that attracted you to each other.

Well, apparently, there were depths to the reckless lead vocalist of the campus band that Namjoon didn’t know about.

“I’ve heard he treats everyone here like family,” Namjoon said, trying to make his voice sound light as he shifted the topic from the son to the father.

“I’ve heard that, too,” you agreed, your voice still on edge. “The man has a great reputation around here.”

“He’s sort of living up to it, too,” Namjoon said and you saw him nod in the direction of the road that ran along the north side of the camping grounds.

You turned your head to see Jungkook’s father step out of his car, with his wife following after, from the other side. He shook hands with the few people who came to greet him.

He had a wide smile on his face – a smile that you couldn’t remember seeing in a very long time, but now that you did, you realized how similar him and Jungkook were: both of them seemed to lose ten years of their age when they smiled.

“He kind of looks like he’s running a presidential campaign,” you said, observing the scene as Jungkook’s father greeted his employees – some with a good-natured hug, others with a wave.

Namjoon glanced at you and, relieved to see that your mind was no longer lingering on your previous conversation, laughed. “Maybe a bit, yeah.”

Within moments of Jungkook’s father’s arrival, the campgrounds were in an uproar: everyone was busy grilling their last bits of food and arranging it in a way that would look the most appetizing.

The plate of food you and Namjoon had grilled definitely wasn’t the easiest on the eyes, but none of the food seemed under-cooked or burned, so both of you were content with that.

Then, just as you were about to pick the food up and carry it over to the structure tent in the center of the grounds, you were reminded that time for dinner hadn’t arrived yet.

The traditional picture had to come first.

You felt a lot like you did on picture day back at school – with one of the employees ordering everyone around, demanding they squat, scooch closer, smile wider, turn their heads, and move to the back because their clothing is too flashy – and that was what you told Namjoon when the two of you found yourselves standing side-by-side in front of the camera, very close to Jungkook’s father himself.

“I think it’s worse than it was at school,” Namjoon whispered back, glancing at the other employees and their wide smiles, “but, at least, we don’t have to wear uniforms.”

You scoffed. “Yes. Wearing dark red aprons is better.”

“This awful color makes us all more united,” he said, looking over your shoulder and accidentally meeting the eye of his CEO, who was making sure you weren’t standing too far from him, because he considered you to be his guest and, therefore, he had to make sure you received the best treatment. Namjoon figured as much, as he cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

Finally, the photographer – or, actually, the Head of Human Resources with his new Samsung – took the picture, making sure the flash blinded each and every single person posing for him. And then he took another picture. And then another one. And then a few more for good measure.

You thought you’d blinked in all of them but you hoped to never see those pictures anyway. They probably hung them up in the lobby to remind everyone who went into the building that this was a very friendly environment to work in, but the actual employees never really looked at the pictures.

It was almost funny how wrong you were about that.

“Such a pleasure to see you here,” Jungkook’s father said, approaching you as soon as the people broke apart from their designated positions and pretended to mingle while, really, they waited for the director to finish talking and lead them to the main tent for dinner.

“Thank you very much for inviting me,” you said, aware of everyone’s eyes on you as you exchanged a polite and obligatory hug. “It’s a very nice place here.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he nodded and then, much to your relief, pointed at the tent. “Let’s go have some food, shall we? I’d been saving up my stomach the whole day for this.”

You chuckled and walked next to him towards the plastic table, filled to the brim with various plates of food. There was far too much grilled meat here – it was impossible for everyone to eat it all, no matter how many people were here – but that only seemed to please the CEO.

“Would you like to take a look at the pictures, sir?” the Head of HR approached Jungkook’s father after he noticed that your conversation had ceased.

Based on how carefully he held the treasured Samsung in his hands, you figured that, either the phone had cost several million dollars, or the man was genuinely terrified of Jungkook’s father – which wasn’t unlikely, as you very well knew.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Jungkook’s father said, always so pleasant, and then stopped to take a look at the phone. You weren’t sure if you should have kept walking or stopped as well. And then he solved the dilemma for you by addressing you, “I’m going to forward the picture to Jungkook so he knows what he’s missing.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea,” you said, smiling, even though you knew Jungkook probably wasn’t even going to open the picture.

Funnily enough, you were wrong about that, too.

While you and Jungkook’s father joined the rest of his employees for the barbecue, Jungkook was finishing soundcheck with his bandmates. He checked his phone – like he did after each song – and rolled his eyes when he saw a text from his father instead of from you.

He opened it, though.

He didn’t care much for what his father said – but he had to admit, he’d never seen his father use the winky face emoji before, so that threw him off – but his eyes caught the picture he’d attached and Jungkook pressed on it without a moment’s hesitation.

Skimming over the bright smiles of his father’s employees, he scanned the picture, looking for you.

And he found you.

But not before he found Namjoon standing right next to you.

Much to your surprise, talking to the other employees – even despite the age gap – proved to be a lot of fun. Some of the older ones actually remembered you from when you were little; they recalled you and Jungkook holding onto Jungkook’s mother’s dress as she brought you two along when she came to visit her husband at the company. And the younger employees curiously absorbed everything you told them about your experience at university, sharing their own life stories with you in return.

Because you found yourself having a good time here, you only remembered that you’d left your phone in your handbag – which was across the camping grounds, tucked away in the lonely wooden gazebo – when Jungkook’s father – who was still here, much to everyone’s surprise – decided it was time to pop the champagne.

You excused yourself from the table, promising to return soon because you only meant to retrieve your phone so you could check the time and maybe check in with Jungkook in case his show was over by now.

That was not what ended up happening when you located your handbag under the various expensive jackets that were haphazardly thrown on the bench in the gazebo.

You pulled your phone out to see several missed calls.

None of those missed calls were from Jungkook. In fact, the majority of them came from Inna, which was already weird enough since she’d left campus again this weekend and she never called you. You always texted.

But what truly confused you were the last two missed calls because they were from Yoongi, Jungkook’s bandmate. You’d only talked to Yoongi on the phone once, when you were attempting to get in touch with Jungkook after he missed dinner at his parents’ place, but Yoongi was high back then so you didn’t think he even remembered.

But he did remember, apparently, because, while you stood there, puzzled and a little alarmed, his number lit up on your screen again.

Clearing your throat, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, thank God, you’re here,” Yoongi spoke and, judging from the relief in his voice, he knew very well whom he was talking to. “Is Jungkook with you?”

“Jungkook?” you repeated stupidly. “W-why would he be with me? Don’t you have a show?”

Yoongi laughed, loudly and completely humorlessly. “We do have a show. He was wasted for the most of it.”

A painful bolt of electricity shot through you. “He performed drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. At least, he performed,” Yoongi said, “that’s before the encore, though. We couldn’t find him. The fucking asshole completely missed the three final songs. We thought he went to see you.”

You felt a pang of guilt even though you had nothing to feel guilty about because Jungkook was most definitely not with you, and he didn’t have a single reason to come see you before he finished the show anyway.

“I-I’m not on campus right now,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you considered what could have happened in the span of the few hours since you left your dorm this morning, after having talked to Jungkook on the phone. “Did you try calling him?”

“Obviously. He’s not picking up. I’m pretty sure he tossed his phone into a fucking lake,” Yoongi said and then, even though he didn’t mean it, he added angrily, “he better be in the lake, too, or else I’ll kill him myself.”

Knowing that the scenario of Jungkook accidentally driving into a lake wasn’t one to be dismissed, you felt your skin shiver.

“I’ll look for him,” you promised, looking back at the celebration in the tent across the field.

“You said you weren’t on campus,” Yoongi said. “Your roommate said she was out, too.”

You weren’t aware that Yoongi had talked to Inna tonight, but that explained the avalanche of missed calls from her. You made a mental note to send her a quick explanatory text message on your way to your dorm.

“I’m coming back,” you told Yoongi, grabbing your bag and making your way back to the rest of the company. “Let me know if he gets in touch with you, though, okay?”

The boy on the other end scoffed. “He won’t. Chances are, he won’t talk to the rest of us for a week after he eventually shows up back home. As if it’s us who fucked up, and not him.”

“Did anything happen?” you asked, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. That wasn’t easy when each piece looked drastically different from the next and you had no idea what the full picture was supposed to look like. “Did someone say something to him? Did he get into a fight? Did he—”

“No. Nothing happened. We were—ah, shit, wait, his dad texted him, didn’t he?” Yoongi said but it didn’t sound like he was addressing you. He wasn’t; a moment later, a muffled, “yeah” sounded in the background of the call. Then, Yoongi continued, “yeah, we were finishing up with the soundcheck when he got a text from his dad. He read it and just fucking dipped. When he came back to do the show, he was already struggling on his feet.”

You cursed under your breath before thinking aloud, “his dad is here. I did see him text Jungkook but he was just sending him a picture—could it have been the picture that triggered him?”

“A picture of what?”

“There’s this barbecue that the company organized. His dad invited us both but he stayed back to do the show, so I came alone. We took a picture, everyone who’s here. And his dad sent it to him. Could that be the reason why he—”

“No,” Yoongi said right away, “company dinners—or barbecues, or whatever—doesn’t sound like Jungkook’s thing. He wouldn’t give a fuck about the picture. Unless you took someone there as your plus one?”

“Of course I didn’t. I was supposed to come with him but—oh, fuck.”

You stopped walking, the realization hitting you first, and the absurdity of it following right after.

Namjoon was in the picture next to you. He was just standing there, not even touching you, but was it possible that his appearance in the picture was enough for Jungkook to lose touch with reality?

“Fuck, of course, that’s possible,” you said out loud, almost stomping your feet in frustration like a kid, throwing a tantrum. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll text you if I find him.”

You didn’t hear Yoongi’s response because you were already pulling the phone away from your ear as you returned to the tent. You needed to find a way to leave without raising any suspicions with Jungkook’s father – whom you ran past in a wide semicircle like he was the plague itself – and you figured that the best way to do that would be faking a health emergency.

But for that, you needed to spend another few inconspicuous minutes by the table, looking colorless and uncomfortable. That wasn’t going to be difficult since you did feel light-headed already.

As you waited for the right amount of time to pass before you could leave, you tried texting Jungkook. You even tried calling – thinking you’d have enough time to walk far enough from the table so that’d no one would hear you – but the beeping signal never ceased and you didn’t get to hear Jungkook’s voice.

Right when you bit your lip, trying his number for the fifth time in a row as if the previous four times were just glitches in the system, someone noticed your distress.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice sounded by your ear, startling you because he was across the table from you just a second ago. “You okay? You came back to the table, looking very out of it.”

“Namjoon,” you said, your voice so grave, he thought you were about to tell him that the entire campus had burned down while the two of you weren’t there and you were the only suspects. “I need to leave.”

“Did something happen?” he asked, the concern in his voice genuine.

You nodded. “Jungkook got in trouble. I have to go back, b-but I can’t tell his father about any of this.”

You spoke without thinking about your last conversation with Namjoon or how this news could have confirmed Jungkook as a useless waste of space in his eyes. Frankly, in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less about Namjoon’s opinion of Jungkook.

You could have used his help, even if he was going to judge you for it.

“I’m going to call myself a cab,” you said, “but could you please do me a favor, and tell his dad that I’d left because I wasn’t feeling well?”

Namjoon pulled back from your chair and looked across the table to his own seat – his leather jacket resting on the back of the chair – before giving you a nod.

“Let’s go,” he said. You were already standing up but then paused and sat back down, confused.

“What?”

“I’ll drive you back to campus,” he said, “we can leave without saying anything – no one will even notice. And then, when I’m back, I can tell everyone that you weren’t feeling well and that’s why I took you home early.”

“T-that’s very kind, but I can really just—”

“No, let me take you home,” Namjoon insisted as gently as he could, afraid that his forceful tone might remind you of his previous slip-up when you were talking about Jungkook. “It’ll be my way of apologizing for stepping over the line earlier today.”

You considered telling him that he had nothing to apologize for – he didn’t know Jungkook personally and everyone was entitled to their own opinion; you’d just gotten annoyed that he was so quick to hide this opinion under the curtain of fake politeness – but, eventually, the realization that you really didn’t have the time to debate if he should have felt apologetic or not won over, and you nodded.

You needed to get back to campus quickly, even if there was a risk of Jungkook seeing you and Namjoon together again – if that really was the reason why he got drunk and missed the encore of his own show.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you said, finally standing up. “Thank you.”

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#bts reactions #bts college au #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook college au #college au #fanfiction #bts angst #bts imagines #angst #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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plus-size-reader · 4 years ago

Text

Love

Geralt of Rivia x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2005 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Geralt confesses his feelings for the reader as she’s bleeding out but when she recovers, he isn’t sure how to navigate from there.

——————————————————————————————————

Geralt told you that he loved you.

He thought you were dying, and he told you that he loved you.

However, the stab wound you’d suffered at the hands of that man wandering through the forest hadn’t been as deep as you’d initially assumed and you were nearly back to normal in a few days.

That left the three of you; Geralt, Jaskier, and you in a rather precarious position. Jaskier had taken on the tedious job of changing your bandages and making sure you didn’t tear at the mediocre stitches he’d given you while Geralt wouldn’t even look at you.

You weren’t sure what it was that you’d done but you were sure of one thing, you were sure that Geralt hated you. For one reason or another, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he never spoke to you again.

The biggest trouble with the witcher was that you barely understood him in the first place but after everything that had happened lately, you couldn’t even guess what he was thinking.

...And you couldn't even ask him because he wouldn’t be near you for more than a moment or two in passing.

So, you had to stick to what little contact you did have and talked through all your worries and concerns with Jaskier. Even now, as he was fiddling with the wrap on your abdomen, you couldn’t focus on anything more than Geralt.

“Why would he say that to me? Assuming, ah, that he wouldn’t have to ever deal with the consequences?” you asked, only stopping in the middle to wince when Jaskier pulled away the bandage from the bloodied wound a little too aggressively.

You had thought over that moment over and over again since it happened, and you still couldn’t make sense of it.

Geralt was the first one of the two of them to find you there, laying in a puddle of your own blood, the man who stabbed you long gone by then. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, or what was happening as you faded in and out of consciousness.

However, what you did remember more vividly than everything else was when Geralt leaned down over you, holding the wound in your stomach tightly with one hand and bracing your cheek with the other as he urged you to stay awake.

The pain was numbing, but after that much time, you barely even paid it any mind.

All you could focus on was Geralt’s face, and the words that fell from his lips as he tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“You’re going to be fine, just keep your eyes on me” he begged, doing his very best to keep calm though it was hard to ignore how much blood you had lost. He wasn’t sure that there was any way to come back from that.

Still, he couldn’t help but hope that you were going to pull through. Normally, something like that wasn’t going to just slip through the cracks but with everything going on, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t leave me Y/N, I love you”

It was so real, and even though you did end up passing out on the way back to the camp, it was the first thing you remembered as soon as you did wake up.

Geralt loved you, and there was no moving on from that...at least, not for you.

He seemed to have wanted to completely forget it, as if he’d never said it at all. However, you couldn’t let it go nearly as easily, mostly because he offered no explanation.

If he told you that it was some kind of mistake, made out of the desperation of the situation, you could get on with your life as if it never happened, though it would hurt. The worst part of it all was that you had no frame of reference for it.

You didn’t even know if he cared for you or not.

...And Geralt wasn’t exactly clarifying.

Jaskier considered his words for a moment or so, folding a shred of cloth over itself a few times to make a bandage for your wound. It was healing rather nicely, all things considered but if you came down with an infection, it wouldn’t be for long.

Luckily, he had spent a few nights with a medicine woman a few years back and that brief knowledge helped both you and the witcher on your travels.

It wasn’t much, especially seeing as he spent more time studying her body than the things she was trying to teach him, but it was enough.

“Unfortunately my dear, Grumpy out there is the only one who can answer that. Who knows, maybe I would have done the same had I found you there” Jaskier shrugged finally, gesturing outside the tent to where Geralt was.

He wished desperately that he could help you understand and that he could give you the answers that you craved but he wasn’t in a position to do so. Truly, the only person who could tell you was the witcher, and you both knew it.

...Fuck.

You had really hoped that Jaskier would be able to tell you so you wouldn’t have to confront the man yourself, but as it would turn out, you didn’t have much of a choice.

So, you finished up with Jaskier, making sure to thank him for being so diligent in your care and then made your way out to the river, where Geralt was currently staring into the depths.

He had been being so strange lately, and there really was no explanation for it, the obvious aside. The two of you had never had trouble speaking to each other before but this was different.

These circumstances were beyond your control.

“Looking for something, witcher?” you questioned first, finding that was the best icebreaker you could have hoped for. You both knew where this conversation was going, but it had to be handled the right way.

You were both rogues as a general rule, but sometimes it was easier to hide behind the social pleasantries that you usually disposed of.

“No”

That was about what you’d been expecting, but you’d already made up your mind. You were going to have this conversation, even if you had to knock Geralt on his ass to do it.

You weren’t going to just sit around like a damsel in distress, waiting for him to decide that you were deserving of an explanation.

All you could do was sigh, unable to keep your frustration a secret anymore. You had been raking your brain for days, when you weren’t in inconsolable pain, desperate to understand.

Nothing made him say it, in that moment he deemed as the last of your life, but he did anyway and there had to be a reason.

“Enough of this Geralt, why have you been so distant lately? I can’t understand” you asked, no longer paying any mind to how crazy you may have looked.

He wasn’t the only one who’d had to face your mortality. You couldn’t have died there in that moore, and still, you couldn’t get him to even answer a few simple questions.

Of course you were losing patience.

“I’ve spoken to Jaskier, he has no idea. I’ve given it every possible moment I could, but I can’t think about it anymore. I’m going to drive myself mad” you explained, both your hands rubbing hastily over your face.

You just couldn’t sit back and pretend it didn’t happen and maybe he could. Maybe Geralt was perfectly content with never speaking to you again, but you werent.

If nothing else, he was a good friend of yours and that would be a loss all its own.

Now, Geralt had been ignoring you purposefully, of course. He had no idea how to address what had happened there under that oak tree but he understood where you were coming from as well.

It truly wasn’t fair of him to expect you to forget it.

...But he just wasn’t sure how to explain himself.

Deep down the witcher knew that he was completely and irrevocably in love with you but that wasn’t even something he was willing to admit to himself so how was he meant to just tell you?

There was too much at stake on both sides. If you did happen to feel the same for him, you would be in danger for all the days of your life that you had left but if you didn’t, his heart would surely shatter.

How was he meant to approach you after that?

You had made it abundantly clear that you were in this voyage for the long haul and it would be terribly strange to have to see one another every day after this.

Still, there was no refuting the truth.

You had started this conversation, and he couldn’t very well back out of it again. He could only get away with that for so long, and it was time to own up to what he’d done.

“I thought I’d lost you” he started finally, his voice low in his throat as he tried to keep any composure he still had. These weren’t the sort of things he was used to talking about, and it was difficult.

Though, he had already made peace with the fact that he owed you an explanation, so he just had to swallow his pride and get it over with.

Whatever was going to happen, it was best to just get it out of the way now.

“As did I” you joked, not missing a beat as you tried to lighten the mood but Geralt only looked at you, those golden eyes of his silently begging you to just let him get through this.

...So you did.

You held your tongue, fiddling with your fingers as you let the man compose his thoughts. You understood that this was difficult for him but at least he was trying to tell you the truth.

It was more than you thought you’d get, frankly, when you came out here.

“I could not bear the idea of losing you without telling you the truth, and the truth is that I love you, Y/N” he admitted, his words shocking you more than even you were prepared for.

Until this moment, you could only think back in hazy memory to when those words had left his lips, but you had no confirmation that it was real. As soon as he spoke them into existence again, it confirmed what you’d believed all this time.

Geralt was in love with you.

“I was a coward, hiding behind what had happened but it doesn’t really matter. I have felt this way for quite some time” he shrugged, not once looking you in the eye the entire time.

He would never admit it, but Geralt was afraid. He was terrified of how you would react to his grand confession but that was quick to fade. You didn’t even have a chance to reject him really because you immediately found yourself in his arms, your lips pressed to his own.

It was a quick motion, something you shouldn’t have done, because as soon as you pulled away from him, the haze melted away from the two of you and you realized that you’d just really hurt yourself.

Though, Geralt beat you to it. “Your stitches” he warned, setting you down on the ground almost immediately after scooping you up.

The realization left you as quickly as it had came, but you didn’t really care. Frankly, you had more on your mind than a few torn sutures and from the tent, where Jaskier had been watching, all he saw was you, leaping into the white haired man’s arms again.

He was going to have to clean that all up, but it was best to just let the two of you have your moment for now.

After all, it wasn’t everyday that you admitted your love to one another.

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ourmondobongo · 3 years ago

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Hi! I love your analysis! I became a fan of Hange and Levi in a really random way so I love to see when you give your opinion about the manga, I plan to read it when I have time. I would love to exchange opinions someday hehe. But, I would like to know how you became a Hange fan and since when you ship LH ... Was there a moment between those two that was decisive for you? :)

Hi!!

Ow, thank you!! I'm still learning how I can express myself here, but I'm trying my best to get better at writing my thoughts! Sometimes they are a mess of hundreds of things at the same time, and I do chaos while writing them emotionally impacted ~ and in a foreign language 🤣

And I'm curious about how you became a fan of them, so please, if you want, you can come to tell me/us later! As for reading AoT, go for it! By now you already know all the disappointment over the end, BUT at least from chapter 1 to 90, and for Levihan scenes until the end, I still can say it's worth reading it. (I also loved all the chapters with Zeke, and Eren in chapter 131, and the Marley Arc...). You're absolutely welcome to come to chat about AoT when you wish! I'm sure we will have a lot of fun exchanging ideas and ranting together haha

Now, let's get to the answers!

(I'll be writing using Hanji because throughout the 8 years I've read snk, I usually saw it spelled like this because they were mostly from fan translations. Also, I don't like "Hange" spelling, and my Google Docs app keeps trying to change "Hange" to "Change" 🤣. She/they pronouns too.)

How I became a Hanji fan

I binge watching the AoT Season 01 after one of my college best friends urged me to watch the anime back in 2013. And yeah, I fell in love with Hans at first sight! Because in a world where everyone saw the Titans as either frightening or with utter killing intentions, Hanji Zoë was there surprisingly excited to meet them - especially the most freaks of all, the Abnormals. And I loved that someone daring to go against the common sense of the current "old times" was especially a female/woman.

~I know, from time to time there is the issue regarding Hans' gender. By no means I'll ever impose my vision of Hans on others since their character can be NB, ambiguous, have no disclosed gender, and be addressed as she/he/they as anyone wishes as many times this was explained! But I stick mostly to “she” (and I'm still growing used to read/write “they” as singular not plural!) though because for me, back in 2013, in the anime Hanji was clearly drawn and addressed as a woman, and the first impression really got deep into me because 1. I'm a black woman, and I was tired of seeing 2D women in sexualized or romantically written boxes in shounen anime; 2. I saw many traits of Hanji in myself; 3. Hanji by no means showed the fragile, cute, kawaii, general "girly" or "damsel in distress" appeal; 4. Her bravery, brain, strength, and effusive "mad scientist" vibes were my cup of tea; 5. I loved that not only men were the most badass characters or brains of AoT; 6. Both the anime/manga translations used "she" pronouns for a long time (and also my mother tongue doesn't have neutral pronouns); 7. Not actively being part of the international fandom for years made me unaware there was even a hot discussion over Hanji's gender going on… and I think you got the overall idea already.

So Hanji’s character had everything I wanted to follow: a unique non-white and adult woman with strength and dexterity to handle gigantic maneater monsters by herself, the intelligence and courage to investigate the origin and behavior of the Titans, the brain to think things out of the box, the craziness to lose her mind over things she loved and go really deep into it (aka Titans 🤣), the display of seriousness and controlled features when the moment needed (like on my blog cover!), and some hints of a darker side (like in the anime when she says she would devour Annie!). And all the while not being sexualized nor portrayed as the focus of some romantic interest narrative!! Thus, Hanji Zoë was my personal 2D dream female character becoming true! I couldn't not love her!

My love for Hans kept growing as I began reading both the manga and later watching the other animations as they were released. Everything after Season 1 to the Clash of the Titans, the Uprising, and RtS arc was PERFECT, so I won't explain every point why I love Hanji here since it would become a 100k essay (LOL). However, I will tell you: I love the fierceness she showed grabbing Minister Nick, threatening him, and spilling the raw rage in her heart at the top of the Wall; in CoT, I loved how Hans blushed as her dream of having a Titan comprehending her talk became true with Eren!; and how despite being that hurt and burned, she still guided everyone to how to save Eren from Marley Warriors with her explanations. In Uprising, I love the scene where Hanji comes from the top of the building and punches the guy in the face while he almost shoots her. Damn, the skills to face off a gun at a blank point! And I loved how serious and intimidating she sounded and looked while talking to journalists (chapter 60), and Sannes, and Flegel. Not to mention her interactions with Levi and Erwin...

In RtS, I remember after reading the chapter where Hans almost died (78), I spent the other 03 months at the edge of my sanity praying Yams wouldn't kill them for real! Then, when Hans suddenly appeared back fighting in chapter 82, I screamed as if I had won a billionaire lottery!! 😂 Levi and Hans were alive, and that was what mattered to me! Also, I love how Mikasa gave the final blow to Reiner's throat with Hans help! And, damn, Hanji looked threatening and damn right scary when she began to kill Reiner by slowly beheading him in chapter 83...

The peak of Hanji's character for me, though, was when she pulled Mikasa back from over Levi, and after the struggle, Hanji hugged Mika, and talked about how painful it was to lose people and still have to keep moving forward. That was so, so AMAZING! My heart broke into million pieces - worse confirming the circumstances of Moblit’s death, and how he saved her; God, my eyes watered a bit just by remember the scene. And Hans’s VA, Park Romi, is absolutely PERFECT to her character!!! Damn, those were AoT golden days…

As for the side materials, I know that many people dislike Hanji in Ilse's OVA for a lot of reasons, but four things I absolutely adore about it is 1. Her "As always, boring answers from boring men" line is chef kiss; 2. Hans fierceness pressuring Erwin to capture a Titan; 3. Hans explaining their “hunter” mind worked to Oluo - "Let's say Levi is coming dead set on killing you... Want me to tell you how you can win that fight? You do your homework. The place he works, the food he hates, his taste in women, the number of times he takes a piss... You find out everything you can about him. Once you know him, you can find a weakness to exploit.". 4. Hanji thoughtfully writing the ask to capture a Titan and visiting Ilse's parents. It showed before Season 2 that their character had all those nice nuances into her personality beyond the badass inventive Titan mad scientist!

I have a lot to talk about Hanji in the manga post-RtS arc, as well as in Season 4, so I will skip that part in here for now because it’s really too much to say - and now we get to how I became a Levihan!

Since when I ship Levihan

I’ve first fallen in love with Hanji AND Levi relationship right from the hair grab scene, right back in 2013, when the anime was release! But back then I still loved their characters individually more, and not as if they had a romantic involvement because to me AoT was not about it. As I moved to the manga in the same year, I still read it like a shounen non-romantic story because above all, AOT smelled like and spilled death at each monthly chapter. But I naturally like to see patterns everywhere, I didn’t engage in any ship right of the bat. I was dreading that at the moment Levi and Hanji turned into a canon couple or showed explicit romantic feelings for each other, Yams would kill one of them in the next chapter!!

It was only around 2017, after Levihan survived all the shit of RtS arc, that I could finally breathe in their relationship with heart and lungs more at ease! At that time, I had in my heart the way Levi looked at Hans’ body hurt because of Traut, and how on the beach moment instead of looking and basking at the ocean view like everyone else, Levi just kept worrying over and looking at Hanji! I mean, yeah, Levi might have been worried that Commander Hanji was suddenly going to die because of the “poisonous things” (lmao), but Isym really drew Levi staring at Hanji Zoe while there was this huge, stunning, shining blue ocean they had never seen right in front of them! It’s damn right difficult not to notice this!!!

Then, a friend of mine told me about some AoT fanfics (something I had never heard of). It was when I found the wonderful world of AO3, and above all the Levihan FANTASTIC writer Just-Quite-Essentially-Me, and I can’t put into words how that changed my Levihan shipper side forever!! Then, God, I devoured everything in Fanfiction.net and AO3 that involved Levihan! I found Drink-Your-Fucking-Milk’s amazing blog and fanarts right away too, and by that time I settled Levihan as my OTP and my AOT fav canon couple OUTSIDE the manga!! Then I found the Levi x Moblit smartpass, and I almost had a heart attack haha.

Still, regarding the canon story, I kept being stubbornly reluctant about wholeheartedly wanting to see them together in the manga because after reading and watching so many people die, I was still feeling like if they were fully open about their relationship, one of them would die. Like, nearly 99% of all AOT couples had their other half dying in the damn story. I could say I wasn’t paying much attention to the EMA story anymore - I only cared about Hanji, Levi, and Zeke development - especially Levihan survival!

But after chapter 115, the way Hanji looked so damn determined to save Levi made me flip out of the roof! The months waiting to see them back were TORTURE! And I realized I was already secretly rooting for Levihan alive and canon so badly that it hurt me to.no.end all the months waiting for chapter 126. I don’t think I need to explain how much I’ve screamed over “IFKK” (yes, I’m crazy haha). And damn, right there I screamed “IT’S CANOOOOOON!!!”

HOWEVER, unfortunately, my worst fears about Yams killing couples or possible couples in AOT became true just 06 chapters later - chapter 132 was the most hurtful stab to the heart I’ve felt during all those years reading AoT! I’ve never cried so much for a character while reading a manga!! (And I cried for a lot of reasons - because Hanji’s farewell to Levi was fucking heartbreaking, and I will never get over that; and because Hans’ death was so sudden, and the plot was so forced, and… well, I’ve some other posts talking only about this so I won’t further this topic here.)

In sum, Hanji died and took half my heart with her.

Then, I don’t even have to say again how much I cried reading chapter 136 and chapter 139, right?! They were so diamond precious!!! The way Levi remembered Hans in 136 killed me; and the way Hans looks beautiful but so sad in chapter 139 and Levi crying made me spent almost a week crying haha (Yes, I’m really the worst crybaby of all the crybabies that exist in this world!). Also, it certainly didn’t help that I had my Levihan playlist with the most heartbreaking songs set on replay and that I was saying “sayonara” to 8 years of monthly suffering with Attack on Titan...

It was an amazing, wild ride!

Now, as always, my answer turned into a whole essay, but that’s it - this is the overall story I had with Hans and Levi during these years!

And I will be waiting to hear from you again - if you want to share your story too!!!

~Thanks for the ask - it was in perfect time to rant about Hanji Brilliant Zoe!

#answering devoted hearts #I can never shut up about Hanji hahaha #nor Levihan #they are really special to me #thank you Yams for writing levihan #and Aot

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peakywitch · 4 years ago

Text

Little Hands - Michael Gray

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

word count: 2k

warnings: none (i think this one has angst?)

gif: @oberelias

It had been a year since Henry had told Y/N that he loved her.

It had been a year since they had kissed for the first time.

But a week had passed since his disappearance.

"He left." said Rosemary, her mother “And I don't know if he will come back, Y/N. I'm sorry, but I only know he's in Birmingham…” she sobbed “In a town called Small Heath.”

Y/N knew Henry would be back.

So every night during the rainy month of November she waited for him. In the afternoons she was with Rosemary, trying to calm the sadness of his mother and his little brother. At night she would stay up late, looking out the window of her room with cup of tea in her hand, waiting to see her boyfriend return from another town. To which, he had left without giving explanations. He disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving a simple note:

“I went to Small Heath. -Henry"

No goodbye, no explanation.

In the morning, Y/N woke up before the rooster from the neighboring farm. And by the time the rooster crowed, the tea was already poured into two cups. One for her, one for him.

Meanwhile, Y/N did not lose hope. Henry wasn't like that, he was coming back. She was sure.

When the thirty days of her departure were marked on the calendar, Y/N had her birthday. She turned 17 on a beautiful sunny afternoon, it was the only day in November without rain or clouds. Her family, the Johnsons, and some of her friends filled her with happiness when they gave her a new dress. They had all collaborated. Y/N was the soul of the town, always giving smiles and taking care of flowers. So her relatives wanted to give her back a bit of that happiness.

The day was beautiful, laughter, cake, some flowers and the dress.

But when the day was done and her parents fell asleep, Y/N waited by the fire, with a slice of the cake for Henry. She had saved the center, the sweetest piece. Wrapped in a blanket, the fire burned in her eyes, as tears fell and she realized the truth: Henry would not return again. He was not there for her birthday, he would not return again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the fire was dying; giving her to understand that she had to go to bed. With rage in her soul, she threw the slice of cake into the fire.

“Burn in fucking hell, Henry Johnson. Burn for breaking my heart.”

When the calendar marked ‪January 16‬, Y/N opened her eyes, feeling worse than ever.

After a sleepless night from throwing up, her body was taking its toll.

"Honey?" her dad asked, knocking on her door "It's late, are you okay?" He was still behind the door.

"No." His daughter whispered, it hurted her to breathe.

"Eve!" the alarmed cry of her father was heard, calling for her mother "You have to come, Y/N is feeling bad!"

There was agitated little chatter, and then her mom peeked through the slot left by the open door.

"Sun? Are you okay, love?" Her mom asked curious and concerned.

"No..." Y/N cried.

Her parents entered the room, after asking permission. Her mother sat next to her, touching her forehead, and her father stood in the doorway, nervous.

“You don't have a fever, darling. What do you feel? What’s hurting? "

Y/N recounted the horrible night she had just had, her pains and asked if she was dying, worried.

"Will, would you leave us alone, please?" asked her mother.

He left the room, leaving his daughter and his wife together.

"Y/N, did you sleep with Henry?" her mother asked, concerned.

"No!" she blurted out nervously.

Yes. But she was afraid of punishment.

“Y/N, you don't have to be afraid. It is something natural and normal, as long as you wanted and he did not forced you, your father and I will be fine. "

Y/N sighed.

"Yes."

"When was the first time?" her mother was a teacher, but sometimes, if she tried hard, she could guess things just by looking at a person. She was trying now.

"I don't know..." she thought "A year or so ago."

"And when was the last time?" she asked.

“A few months ago, Mom. Before…” she couldn't finish the sentence. First it was out of sadness, but she realized it was out of fear.

His mother closed her eyes and exhaled.

Shit.

It was ‪January the 18‬, and it was ten in the morning.

Y/N was standing in front of the Small Heath Police Station.

She was showing off her new dress, as she hadn't had a chance to leave her small town.

She took a deep breath and coughed a little as she exhaled. The smoke was disgustingly heavy. She entered the station and found only one man, asleep. Well, apparently it was a quiet city if a policeman was sleeping.

What I do? Do I wake him up? Do I let him sleep?

Among so many doubts, a robust man with a gray mustache appeared.

"Are you lost, miss?" the lord spoke, presenting a strong Irish accent.

"Oh, excuse me, I..." Y/N whispered, doubtful and nervous.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Inspector Campbell…and you are?" smiled the man.

"My name is Y/N, Inspector." She smiled.

"Well, Miss Y/N, what is a young lady like you doing at the police station in such a dark area?"

"Do you know Henry Johnson?" she blurted out, no introduction.

"Henry Johnson..."

"Yeah… um… He has dark blue eyes, a freckled nose, brown hair…" she tried to describe Henry.

"Does he have a mole on his forehead?" asked the inspector.

"Yes!" Y/N smiled excitedly. Then sadness washed over her: she had slowly forgotten how to describe Henry.

The inspector laughed.

"Don't you mean Michael Gray?" he asked.

"Pardon?" she asked, oblivious to the name.

"Watery Lane, house number 65." He said, while he wrote the address on a small piece of paper.

After a thank you and a goodbye, she heard the man scream:

"Stay away from the Shelbys, princess!"

Y/N walked aimlessly for a few minutes, passing houses, horses, and drunken men in the street. Watery Lane seemed never to appear. And she was getting tired.

It was official, after wandering for ten minutes, she was lost. Her feet ached and she felt like she would never find Henry. Y/N looked around, she was in the middle of the street trying to get help. At the end of the street, there was a bar: "The Garrison" read the sign. Being eleven in the morning, how many people would be inside? Sure was closed. But she would loose nothing if she tried. Determined, she walked over to that dark bar and knocked on the door. She waited a few moments, since she did not want to annoy by entering as if it were her home. A tall man opened the door for her.

“Did you knock on the bar door, love?" asked the man, with curiosity and amusement in his voice. Y/N looked him quickly up and down, it was the bartender.

"Yes, I didn't mean to disturb, sir..." Y/N smiled, making the bartender laugh.

"Do not worry, love. Need help? I'm sure you're lost "

"Am I so obvious?" she asked embarrassed, the bartender laughed “Actually, I do need help. Where is...” she looked at the paper the Inspector gave her "Watery Lane? "

“You're on Watery Lane, miss. What number do you have written there? "

"Sixty..." she looked at the paper to corroborate "sixty five"

"Oh." The man became uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His voice cleared "It's at the end of the block, on the right side, has the number on the door."

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled.

“Harry, miss. Harry." Smiled.

They said goodbye, and Y/N went to Henry's house. In a minute, she reached the black door, which featured two clean numbers. The knot in Y/N's stomach intensified, she was afraid. Because she knew the two results of this visit: either Henry stayed with her, or he left her alone. Again.

Determined but scared, she knocked on the door. Stepped back and waited a few seconds.

“Well, well, well..." smiled a boy "Did all my wishes come true?" the stranger's flirtation made her uncomfortable.

"Excuse me, is Henry Johnson here?" she asked, exasperated and almost hopeless.

"Oi, Michael, a damsel in distress is waiting for you." the boy yelled, without taking his eyes off the girl.

There was that name again. Michael. Y/N had too many questions.

"John, fuck off. I don't have any..."Henry appeared, pulling “John” out of his place at the door "Y/N...”

Henry paled, and Y/N looked closely at what he was wearing.

He had a perfectly pressed white shirt, a blue tie and a vest that matched his pants.

Henry closed the door behind him, leaving the house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Was it disdain and disgust, what Y/N perceived in that question? No, impossible. It was Henry.

"Why did you left?" she answered with a question.

"I asked you first."

"Has your question been in your head for months?" Y/N asked angrily.

"No but..."

“You left us. All of us." Y/N spat with pain "Your mother cried every day, your brother...Henry, your brother...!"

"My name is not Henry, Y/N!" he yelled out of the blue.

“My name is not Henry, she is not my mother and he is not my brother. My name is Michael Gray, my mother's name is Polly and I have a sister who died in Australia. I...”he tried to continue to expand angrily, but Y/N cut him off.

“You, fucking idiot, you had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who waited for you every night with your favorite tea, waited for you every morning with fresh toasts and all afternoon hugging your crying mother. I waited for you until my birthday. I had saved you cake, your favorite part. I went to bed at three in the morning and got up at five everyday, so I could be attentive in case you arrived. But you never came, Henry."

"I am Michael!" he screamed, his voice raised with every letter he said.

"I'm talking to who my boyfriend was!" Y/N yelled in response “I don't know who the fuck is Michael Gray. But I know that Henry Johnson left me alone, and that he got pregnant. So I'm talking to Henry Johnson, not Michael Gray."

Michael clenched his jaw, and Y/N wiped away his tears with his shaking hand.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Four months. I thought you should know, Henry...Michael...whoever the fuck you are."

Adrenaline rushed through Michael's body, everything was shaking. Y/N saw in her boyfriend's eyes how he didn't know what to say or what to do.

"Get rid of him." he said.

"What?" Y/N asked, flustered.

“I won't be with you, get rid of him. It would be easier."

Nausea invaded the girl's body, making her dizzy.

“Everything is so easy for you. If you don't want something, you run away, right?" she laughed sourly, through tears of hatred.

They were both silent.

"Why did you left without saying goodbye? Or a letter...Michael.” the name escaped the girl's lips nervously.

"I didn't want to hurt you..."

Y/N laughed. While Michael was being honest, she couldn't help but get even angrier.

“So you decided to disappear. Disappear from the life of a seven-year-old who sleeps in one of your sweaters so he can stop crying to you. Disappear from the lives of your adoptive parents, regardless of all the effort they put into raising you. Disappear from my life, the person who loves you. Like nothing in the world."

"Y/N..." Michael began.

"No, you don't get to say anything. Because there is nothing to say anymore. Except I'm sorry, but you're not sorry. Everything is perfect now for you. Look at you." She smiled wistfully “You have the perfect outfit that you always wanted, so I imagine you have a job. And a good one, as you always dreamed of. "

"But you..." he began.

“But I” Y/N interrupted again “But I'm going to have a child of yours. As we always dream." Y/N laughed “I dreamed, actually. Because you had other dreams."

And just like that, she began to walk away.

"No, Y/N, wait..." Michael yelled, starting to run towards her.

“I already waited too long for you. I won’t wait for you anymore, never again.” she sentenced, without looking at him as she continued walking.

Michael's chest sagged as he watched her walk away. He entered his house again, with a heavy heart.

"Michael" said Tommy, Michael looked at him heavily "A word?"

Both men locked themselves in the major's office, Tommy stood still and Michael sat in one of the chairs.

“Arthur had a girlfriend, before he went to war. The day before...” said Tommy, lighting a cigarette" The day before our departure, they fought. Shit, it was hell for him. They were so, so angry about something that I can no longer remember, that he went to France without saying goodbye. You know how much of an arsehole he can be." Tommy was going through a drawer, took out a sepia photo.

"She died within two weeks of smallpox, he never forgave himself." Tommy handed him the photo as he sat down in his chair across from Michael.

“We kill men, bad men. Hell, we even torture some. But we never break women's hearts, Michael. Because it is dying in life. So bloody go, and fix all the shit you've done." Tommy said, with an angry tone in his voice, but still not yelling.

"She won't even want to think of me, she'll kill me with her little hands..." Michael smiled sadly, remembering how Y/N's hands looked like baby hands compared to his.

“If she kills you, she will bring you back. Or have you not heard how she waited for you? Go, bloody idiot. Go and don't come back until you come back with her smiling and on your arm.”

PART TWO

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yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen · 4 years ago

Text

One Night - Outcome 3 (Bourne Legacy)

A/N: I am falling into a hole that I may need to crawl out of at some point but I don’t really want to right now so I am going to keep writing for Outcome 3 until I am satisfied. This is a prequel to my other story Just a Dream. :)

Pairing: Outcome 3 x F! Reader

Warning: Getting hit on at a bar but taking care of it. Talk of sexy times, and kisses but mostly romantic.

My Masterlist

You hated clubbing. The entire atmosphere of smoke and music, blinding lights, and the heat from all the bodies packed tighter than a tin of sardines. But it was Missy’s birthday and she wanted to go clubbing. So instead of a comfy sweater on the couch with popcorn and Netflix; you dressed in a skimpy dress in a sea of strangers. Watching your friends get drunker and flirt with several eclectic men and women. You were sporting a buzz nowhere near the rest but enough to let loose and move your hips to the music.

The back of your neck burns like someone is watching, but every time you turn to look, no one was there. The club was dark, and the bass thumped as the bodies swirled together in time with the music. Everyone gyrating and touching so close to one another, the heat in the air stifling, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin.

As the music shifts, you shout to your friends and point to the bar, and they nod, waving as you move over to the lit-up bar along the far wall. It was one of the most popular clubs in town, and the bar was busy, so you wait for a bartender to notice you. A younger man in his early twenties with a towel swung over one shoulder approaches.

“Can I get a gin and tonic?” you shout across to the bartender, and he smiles and nods. Sitting in the chair, you catch your breath and take a moment to look around. All too soon, your view is obstructed by a man in a white crew neck and jeans, the word tool instantly coming to mind. He looks at you like a piece of meat, and his voice is sickly sweet.

“Hey, baby, can I buy you a drink?” The bartender comes by and puts your drink down before you, and you hand him your card.

“No, thank you, as you can see,” you gesture toward your drink before taking a sip, “I already have one.” He smiles and persists further.

“Well then, how about a name? Mine’s Brent, your gonna want to remember that when I make you scream it later tonight.” Wow, this one is bold, you think to yourself and turn in the chair to face him.

“Oh, really now?” He nods enthusiastically, and you take another sip looking at him over the rim of your glass, “You do realize lines like that do not work, right?”

He scoffs and takes a long drink, “If it’s not working, then why are you still sitting here sweet-cheeks?”

“She’s waiting for me,” a deep voice drawls behind you, and you both turn to see a man looking between you and Brent. “I’m sorry I’m late baby,” he puts an arm around your shoulder, and you look at him through narrowed eyes.

You shrug his arm off and look between the two of them. “Do I have a damsel in distress written on my forehead somewhere?” Brent looks taken aback, but the other man smiles slowly. “Listen, I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, or ever. And you, I don’t need you to come and pretend to be my boyfriend to get me out of a shit situation that I shouldn’t even be in, in the first place. But thanks.” You turn back towards the bartender who places a refill in front of you and winks.

Brent shuffles off with a huff, but when you turn, the stranger is still standing there smiling. He sits down on the recently vacated stool and orders a whiskey on the rocks. You turn to him and watch as he takes a long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hair is black and filled with curls, some of them falling over his forehead gently. You lick your lips at the way he fills out the navy t-shirt and leather jacket, his broad shoulders filling it wonderfully. He looks over at you, and his eyes are amber like the liquid in the glass he brings to his lips.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like a damsel in distress. You seem more than capable of handling it yourself. Maybe it was just me looking for an excuse to come talk to you.” You let out a little smile and shake your head.

“There is little thing called hello and a handshake that is also perfectly acceptable here on the planet Earth.” He smiles and holds out a hand; you put your hand in his and shiver at the tingles trailing up your arm. “What’s your name?” he whispers, and you tell him your name, but when you ask for his, he surprises you. “Three.”

“Three? Like the number?” He nods, “Is that like a nickname or something like that?”

He smiles in his glass, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Cryptic,” you mutter, and he lets out a booming laugh.

“What do you want to know?” He catches your eyes, and you can’t look away. His eyes draw you in like a drug, and you need your next fix.

The words come out breathier than you intend, and you feel your neck warm instantly as you let out “Everything.”

The two of you lose track of time as you play twenty questions over a couple more drinks in between glasses of water. He somehow answers all your questions, but you learn almost nothing about him. Always skirting around anything too deep and keeping the questions playful like your favorite color or favorite holiday. He is straightforward to talk to, and as the night progresses, you move closer to him, hanging on his every word and watching his lips form the words. The way they move and how much you want him to use those lips for something else.

The song changes to something slower, and the dance-floor clears out a little as people go to refresh their drinks, swarming to the bar. “Do you want to dance?” He asks, and you hesitant for a second before nodding. His hand envelopes your own, warm and calloused as he drags you toward an open space under the flashing lights.

While others might pull your back flush and grind on you, he keeps you facing him, his arms coming to your wrist and bringing your hands up around his neck. Hands trailing down your arms and to your waist as you sway together. The rest of the room disappears as he pulls you close and presses your foreheads together, his eyes baring into your own.

His hands are pressed into your hips, and he controls every movement of your body. You let out a small gasp and close your eyes as his lips gently brush yours. The room disappears until all that was left in him. Three. Nothing more than a number burned into your brain. An enigma like the man before you.

His arms came up to wrap around you as he tilts you back and swings you, and pulling you back up to him. You head like a rag doll hanging from side to side until he cups your cheek and envelops your lips with his. He consumes every single one of your senses. His cologne of sandalwood fils your nose. The whiskey and hint of peppermint on his tongue swirling in your mouth as he licks inside your mouth. Your hands entangle in the curls so soft to the touch they are like velvet running through your fingers.

“I want to make love to you,” he murmurs against your lips and pulls away, breathing heavy and holding you so close like a butterfly about to float away. “One night, that’s all I can give you.”

Your voice is quiet in the loudness of the club, but he hears you when you whisper, “what if I don’t want you to leave? What if one night isn’t enough?”

He sighs and begins pulling you toward your group of friends so you can say goodbye and collect your coat. Your friends eye the handsome stranger with mild interest as they tease you about getting laid, much to your horror. Three reaches a hand for you, and you intertwine your fingers as he pulls you onto his arm and walks out into the cold. Shivering slightly, he throws an arm around you and calls for a cab.

You give the driver your address and take the time to watch the city lights shine past. Three still has your hand tightly held in his own. You reach down with your other and give his thigh a squeeze. His head lays back in the seat and turns to you, smiling before he reaches forward and kisses you softly.

The driver coughs as you get more heated, and you tear yourself away giggling. Three pays, and both of you make your way to your apartment and up the stairs. Hands everywhere and lips following behind. When you enter the apartment, he pushes you back against the wall and kicks the door shut. Turning the passion back up to a hundred and sucking the air from your lungs.

When he breaks for air and places his forehead on your own, you take a moment to think about what you’re doing. “I can’t,” he breathes, “I can’t offer you more than tonight. My job’s not something you want to be involved in. If you want me to leave, tell me now because I don’t know if I can stop.”

You think for a moment before you pull him closer and seal your lips with his and pull away, whispering, “Please don’t leave me.”

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#Outcome 3 x reader #female reader #Outcome 3 #The Bourne Legacy #Oscar Isaac

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thespianbooks · 4 years ago

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A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 22//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Just in time for ACOSF’s release tomorrow! Enjoy chapter 22!

XXX

The entire estate was abuzz with activity in preparation for the encounter with Keir and his legion of rebels. As predicted, once Rhys and the other High Lords had lifted the wards from our armed forces, Kallon alerted the steward and frantically gathered the Illyrian numbers he rallied for his rebellion. We had all been surprised when Azriel's reports indicated that those numbers had dropped—not significantly, but enough to know that we now had an advantage over the Illyrians. Those who abandoned Kallon's Illyrian rebels appeared at neither camp, leaving Cassian to assume they were remaining indifferent to either side. Regardless, they would be dealt with after this ordeal.

Through this nightmare, my heart not only ached for my mate—for the pain he endured knowing it was his mother's people who sought to betray him, but for Cassian as well. He commanded those armies, fought at their side through two wars, trained in their camps and, in spite of their ire, sought their approval. Their losses were his as well, and he took the brunt of the blame onto himself, along with their distaste. From the beginning, I saw the pain that swirled behind those hazel eyes; knowing despite everything he did, how hard he tried, they saw him as nothing more than a bastard-born Illyrian and aspired to bring him and his brothers down.

In the two days it took for Keir and his Darkbringers to arrive at Ironcrest, amidst the frenzy that ensued at the estate while every High Lord present worked and met with us in order to prepare, I tried time and time again to find a moment alone with Cassian. I wasn't sure what I would say, how I would comfort him, but I at least wanted to offer him some kind of support. He had spent the last several months, the duration of my pregnancy, trying to set me at ease; promising an end to the coup and the rebel Illyrians, all the while his own inner turmoil caused him a great deal of pain that was long-stemmed. It was my turn now to offer him some peace in the hours leading up to a confrontation he previously hoped would never occur.

By the time I managed to find the general, I had thought he was alone in the library—only seeing his winged shadow outside the double doors, until I heard Nesta's voice mingling with his in a tense and hushed conversation. I had been too far away from the doors to hear their discussion, but based on how impassioned my sister's low voice sounded, I knew better than to interrupt. Ever since opening up to me about her loss and her time with Cassian in the mountains, Nesta again began to warm towards me. She still held onto that powerful veneer, but I was glad to see that she no longer used it to push me away. Instead, she surprised my mate and I by showing up in Rhys's office with Cassian just moments before our morning meeting. With Keir and Kallon officially together at the Ironcrest camp, this would be our last assembly before all the High Lords and our forces left.

"I'll be going to this encounter," Nesta said after we concluded the session. "Since my sister is unable to travel in her condition, I will be going in her stead; as a representative of the High Lady of the Night Court."

I stared at her in disbelief, shocked that she not only acknowledged my position, but that she was volunteering to face a potentially violent conflict—for me. Despite the healthier state of mind she was in a decade later, I knew the events that took place with Hybern were still raw for her; as they still were for me. Yet here she was now, offering to represent my position in our court. I glanced at Cassian, but judging by his arrogant smirk, he already knew of her plans. I briefly exchanged a look with Rhys, a small smile on his face, but his eyes conveyed a very simple response: it was up to me.

I paused as I turned to look at my sister. Her chin set and hands clasped formerly across her abdomen as her grey-blue eyes stared intensely at mine. "Are you sure?" I asked, unable to help but be a little hesitant.

She simply nodded, unyielding. "It isn't right. For me to sit idle, when I am capable. After what happened last time-" she paused, thinking back to the attack on Velaris—when we had been housed safely in the Cabin with Elain. "You have your health, your youngling, to worry about. As your eldest sister, I can do more. I can represent you and your position in this court."

My eyes burned as I dipped my head in approval. "Thank you, Nesta."

"Well this will be a welcome addition," Helion mused. "Given how the Illyrians quake in her presence."

"Perhaps some may drop their weapons at the very sight of her," Thesan added.

"That may be wishful thinking," Tarquin said, though he too acknowledged the unnerving demeanor my sister possessed.

We all did, and knew that her attendance would no doubt send a clear message in this coup. Her powers were still unknown to us, whether she knew of them or not—she never said, but the lethal aura about her remained as strongly as it had the day she'd been made.

"If no one else has anything to add, then I say it's time," Rhys said with a look at the other High Lords, their entourages, and then at me.

My eyes still burned as I met his, my heart pounding in my chest and I wondered if he could hear it—feel it, down the bond. When no one else spoke up, he cleared his throat. "I will take Feyre up to the Cabin and meet you all at the designated camp just outside of Ironcrest," he said.

"I'll meet you there with Viviane and Eira once they are ready, it shouldn't be long, and your shadowsinger has shared the coordinates of where I should winnow," Kallias added.

Azriel nodded at the High Lord of Winter before addressing us. "I will bring Elain at the same time the High Lord and Lady of Winter arrive," he said quietly.

"Thank you Azriel," I said, quickly swiping at a stray tear.

The emotion laced in my words was indication enough for everyone to leave and attend to any last minute preparations. They were gone in a matter of seconds, but I hardly noticed; unable to look away from Rhys's violet eyes. With the room cleared, he stepped closer, holding my face gently as he brushed away the tears that began to fall in earnest.

"I know I can't go, but," I sniffed. "I don't know how I'll be able to part with you, knowing the danger you face. I...I…"

Rhys pressed his brow against mine as I wept and held me closer. For days my hormones had left me anxious for the moment my mate would leave with the others and put an end to Keir and his betrayal; so, I allowed myself to give into those emotions and the tears that accompanied them. These precious seconds in my mate's arms were just what I needed in order to feel at ease—to let him go while I stayed behind with our unborn child. Once my crying subsided, I lifted my eyes to his again and pulled back just enough to now hold his face in my hands and stare into his sparkling violet eyes.

"Don't let him get a rise out of you. You are a warrior, and warriors know when to pick their fights," I began, reiterating the very words he said to me during the war with Hybern. "Their crimes won't go unpunished. You are the High Lord of the Night Court, night triumphant. You go there, put an end to this treachery, and come back to me—to us, alive." I said fiercely, my voice quavering as our breaths mingled.

Rhysand's answering grin was slow as he nodded his head. "I swear it, High Lady," he said before pulling me into a deep kiss.

XXX

Even with my mate's promise, I couldn't help pacing about the living area of the Cabin once he, Kallias, and Azriel left. Elain and Viviane eyed me warily as I moved, Eira peacefully sleeping in a small cradle Viviane had brought along and placed just beside the leather sofa.

"Feyre, why don't you come rest?" Viviane urged as she stood, crossing over to where I had stopped pacing and began rubbing a sore spot on my lower back.

I shook my head. "I can't sit still," I said as my only reply.

It was true. The uncertainty of the events unfolding at this very moment left me restless. Until I knew Rhysand, our allies, and my friends and family were safe, I would remain on edge.

Viviane touched my shoulder gently. "You do know that walking around so vigorously can stimulate the body into going into early labor? If you keep pacing around here like this, you might very well give birth before the others return," she gave me a wry smile when I hesitated. "We don't want that now do we?"

I sighed in defeat and allowed her to help me back to the sofa, helping me lower myself onto the seat slowly.

Elain popped up just as I sat with a grunt, "I'll make us some tea!" However, just as she said that, a freshly brewed pot appeared on the table before us—along with three tea cups. She laughed nervously, remembering the magic that existed here, before going to pour us each a cup.

"I know it's hard not to worry, believe me," Viviane said as she sat beside me. "But think of it this way: this issue will finally be resolved."

I sighed in irritation. "That's all anyone has been telling me for days, what I've been telling myself," I snapped back, but immediately regretted it.

For her part, Viviane smiled in understanding-all too familiar with the quick shifts in mood that pregnancy caused.

"I just hate feeling like some kind of damsel in distress," I admitted.

"You are anything but, Feyre," Elain said as she handed me a cup.

She's right, my love

I nearly startled at the sound of Rhys's voice through the bond. Is it over? I asked in return.

His dark chuckle made me shiver. Unfortunately, we haven't started yet. We're on the front lines, waiting for Keir and Kallon to arrive

I gulped and knew this time he could feel my heart racing. I thought you might want to see things firsthand, rather than have me fill you in later

Through the bond, I felt his offering hand, dark talons beckoning me as I took it. His black adamant shields yielded to me, and a second later I was looking through my mate's eyes. From his peripheral vision, I could see Nesta standing immediately to his left while Mor and Amren stood at either side of them—Azriel and Cassian flanking them. Based on all our meetings, I knew the other High Lords, excluding Eris, were lined up just behind them. In spite of the crisp air in the Illyrian mountains, I could feel the sun on my mates' skin, could see it reflecting off his Illyrian leathers. Unlike my galloping heart, Rhys's was steady and calm; even as his sharp eyes picked up movement in the distance.

Slowly, arrogantly, Keir walked with Kallon and the commander of his Darkbringer army on either side of him. His hands were neatly folded behind his back, as they often were whenever we saw him at the Hewn City, his chin lifted proudly. Kallon at least had the sense to look a little intimidated at the sight of the three most powerful Illyrians in history on the opposite side of the battlefield; that intimidation probably coming not only from his lack of experience, but from his unexpected lack of numbers with the Illyrians. As he approached, I could see their soldiers following at a distance, but as the trio got closer, the troops stopped.

I could feel Rhys's muscles tense, wings flaring slightly at the steward's outright arrogance as he approached with a smug grin. I noticed Mor's own muscles go rigid, Amren and Nesta remained the picture of menacing ease, their cool facade's masking any rage they might've been feeling. Finally, with only a few dozen paces between them, Keir stopped in his tracks—meeting my mate face-to-face.

"Rhysand," the older male said by way of greeting.

I heard Mor growl from beside Rhys. "My lord," she corrected.

Keir didn't acknowledge her, his dark gaze penetrating as they stayed on mine—on Rhysand's.

"You forget yourself, Keir," he replied coolly, ever the embodiment of casual grace, even in the face of such blatant disrespect and deceit. "Since when do you address your High Lord by first name, and so casually too?"

The male seemed to ignore Rhys's words altogether, simply casting a glance over my mate's shoulder at the other High Lords aligned behind him—their forces also staged at an interval behind them.

"I see you've rallied this bunch. How you all actually managed to become friends after Hybern is truly a surprise to me," Keir scoffed, his disdain echoing for the word 'friends' in particular.

"Especially with that one," he motioned to Tamlin standing beside Tarquin at the far-right of the line.

I could feel Rhys's patience wavering, his dark powers seeping into his shadows and making them stir lightly. I ran my delicate fingertips along his shields to calm him, sending him another reminder: You are Night Triumphant. He is nothing.

"You openly plot against me, my mate, my crown, by rallying your army and joining with rebellious Illyrians in order to...what? Overthrow me? Kill me and take my throne as your own?" Rhys asked, his rage still in check for now.

"I've only come to take back what has rightfully belonged to my bloodline for centuries, before that ancestor of yours came along and claimed the seat of the High Lord for himself," Keir replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was one thing for your father to rule as High Lord, but to allow a half-breed disgrace to sully the throne? I have been complacent for far too long, especially now with that mate of yours carrying an abomination of such obscure proportions."

I felt Rhys hold back a growl, every ounce in his body wanting to retaliate for the threat against his mate, against me and our unborn child. Instead, he appeared outwardly unfazed. "You mean to demean my position by pointing out that I am half Illyrian, and yet here you are, allied with them," he said casually, his mask remaining the picture of ease.

"The Illyrians don't want a half-breed High Lord anymore than Keir and his lot do," Kallon spoke up. His voice was strong, but young, attesting to the inexperienced warrior that he was.

"You can come back once you've been around and bled for a few centuries, boy," Cassian retorted, all seven siphons flickering. "In the meantime, you're too wet behind the ears to speak on behalf of the Illyrians."

Keir shot Kallon a warning glance that silenced him. Turning back to Rhys, Keir straightened his shoulders, but before he could answer with some clever reply, Rhys cut him off with a laugh. A dark, whole-bodied guffaw that I had never heard come from him before. It was unscrupulous and dripped with condescension. I didn't have to see the rest of our party to feel the mood shift.

"Am I meant to be intimidated? You have your army of Darkbringers, who are assuredly substantial in numbers and skill, but yet ally yourself with the self-appointed leader of mutinous Illyrians, while said leader has only lived a couple of decades and has never seen the true course of battle," Rhys shook his head with another dark chuckle. "Perhaps the centuries haven't fared so well for you after all, it seems old age has made you lose all sense of reality"

The older male narrowed his gaze, darkened eyes igniting with contempt. "You think me a fool, Rhysand? That I wouldn't find a suitable ally outside these winged brutes?" Kallon's stare was seditious, but Keir ignored him and finally met Mor's gaze. "Perhaps, daughter, you would be glad to see another familiar face?"

Mor only raised an unamused brow at him, the sound of approaching footsteps coming from behind the group. Through my mate's eyes I saw Keir's widen as Eris stepped in line beside Tamlin; with the other High Lord's of Prythian he scoffed at only minutes before.

"Sorry about my pretty lies, Keir, but it was just too easy tricking another old male out of his sense of entitlement," Eris remarked, and though I couldn't see him, I could hear the hubris in his voice as he addressed the steward.

The male fumed at Eris's words, refusing to meet Rhysand's gaze as my mate took a step forward. "Surrender now, Keir. It's time to wake up and realize just how futile your efforts have been," Rhys said, the commanding voice of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian returning.

Of course, Keir continued to seethe as he returned a detestable look at Mor before finally facing Rhys again. He took a couple of steps forward, nostrils flaring as he spat, "You think I will yield so easily? I will correct the mistake I made centuries ago with you and murder that monstrosity your mate will bear in its cradle."

As soon as that last word came out of his mouth, everything seemed to move slowly. Blinding, white-hot rage exploded within my mate, but before he could even react, it was Mor that winnowed from his side in a split second to her father. She winnowed in behind him, an Illyrian dagger in hand, and stabbed him straight through the throat—blood splattering on her face as Keir's eyes widened again. He seemed to try and speak before Mor twisted the blade, pushing it further into his flesh. A wet, strangled sound came out of Keir's mouth as it filled with blood, Mor then kicked the back of his legs and sent him to his knees. I saw her mutter something into his ear, but couldn't hear the exact words before his body dropped to the ground in front of her.

As blood pooled from his throat, Mor stood over his body and didn't look up when Kallon shot to the skies, yelling orders to their Illyrian forces; the Darkbringer commander turning and shouting similar orders before drawing a blade aimed at Mor, who in her adrenaline-filled rage quickly pulled out her own and stabbed him through the gut. The last thing I heard was Cassian's own shouts before Rhys pushed me from his mind, sending me back to the Cabin without warning.

I gasped as though I had been holding my breath throughout the entire ordeal, grasping at my chest and stomach simultaneously as I heaved for breaths. Viviane and Elain were already at my side, but I couldn't make out anything they were saying to me as my mind raced from what I had just witnessed. Of the blood that seeped into the grass, of the gurgling sounds Keir made as he lay dying, the sounds of blades being drawn, and orders being yelled. I squeezed my eyes shut as the images kept flashing through my vision, breathing becoming nearly unattainable as I tried to desperately fight them away; reprising memories of my mate lying dead on the ground after the last war beginning to flash along with the others.

No no no no no no no

I couldn't lose him; I couldn't lose any of them.

Rhysand.Rhysand.Rhysand!

Suddenly, I felt a gentle glimmer at my core, followed by the movement of my son stretching inside of me. That glimmer seemed to warm me from the inside out as my panic slowly ebbed away, Viviane and Elain's voices finally coming through.

"Feyre? Can you hear me?" It was Viviane, and I realized then that her hands held my shoulders gently.

I opened my eyes gradually and met with her piercing and concerned blue eyes. My breaths finally regulated as she guided me back into a normal breathing cycle, knowing that I could at last hear her words. I realized then that I was clutching my belly and looked down at it as I felt my son move again. I loosed another slow breath and caressed it instead, closing my eyes as tears slipped down my cheeks.

"Oh Feyre," Elain whispered as she sat beside me, wrapping her arms around me carefully.

I leaned into her embrace, silently crying as I began to relax—this abating moment contrasting with the one I had with Rhys. Viviane rubbed my shoulder gently, and they both waited patiently for me to calm.

"I was there," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I saw what happened, through Rhysand's eyes."

Viviane frowned, "Are they all right?" She asked.

I paused. "I saw Keir die. Mor stabbed him in the throat, and then they were all shouting. Just as the fighting was about to begin, he sent me back." I said, meeting her worried gaze apologetically.

I felt Elain go rigid as I explained how Keir had been killed, no doubt recalling the gruesome details of how she had done the same with the King of Hybern. I pulled back from her arms slowly, sitting upright with a weary sigh before I went into a full detailed account of everything I had seen—that had been said and done. By the end of it, Viviane's concern seemed to marginalize.

"They'll be all right," she said. "Keir and Kallon were vastly outnumbered, so the fighting won't last for much longer. They'll have no choice but to surrender."

I nodded, though a kernel of doubt still lingered. I looked down at my stomach again, rubbing the expanse of it as my son continued to stretch and kick at his leisure. The glimmering reminder that was him had brought me back to reality, from the edge of my panic. I closed my eyes as I felt him move, feeling another flutter in response as I continued to stroke my belly.

Thank you, baby.

XXX

Hours passed and there was still no word from the others. I tried reaching down the bond on a few occasions, only to be met with my mate's impenetrable black adamant. As time went on, Eira was a welcome distraction. She awoke from her nap in good spirits, cooing and smiling at Viviane and Elain as they fussed over her. I watched from my seat with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes as I idly brushed my fingers along my stomach, thoughts still on my mate and the others as I wondered what held them for so long.

There was no doubt our numbers outweighed theirs; so, while we had hoped fighting wouldn't ensue, now that it had, it should've been settled quickly—a slaughter. I did my best to focus on Eira, picturing what my own future with Sebastian would be in a few short months, but every few minutes or so my thoughts returned to Rhysand and the others. I thought of Mor and how aptly she took out her father and his commander, what possible ramifications would come from her impulses, though I couldn't blame her for it. I wondered if Nesta and Amren had been able to keep a safe distance once the fighting began; if Azriel or Cassian would be hurt while taking down their own kind, though I knew the latter would feel more of a burden than the former.

Finally, a knock came at the door before it opened, Rhys striding inside with Azriel and Kallias following closely behind.

"Oh, thank the Cauldron!" Viviane exclaimed, gathering Eira to her breast as she quickly stood.

Kallias had his daughter and mate wrapped in his arms only seconds later, but I was too distracted with my own overwhelming relief as I saw my mate. I choked on a sob as those star-flecked violet eyes met mine, and as I struggled to push myself upright, Rhysand quickly pulled me into an embrace as he dropped to his knees before me. I slid forward, meeting his knees with mine as I landed on the ground, kissing his face and brushing back the loose strands of his hair as he did the same.

Tell me you're alright. I pleaded

I am, Feyre. Everything's alright

Though the three of them were dirty and bloodied, their faces showing the exhaustion of battle, they were here in one piece. They were alive and safe.

Rhysand's hands held my stomach gently as our brows touched, his eyes lined with silver as he stroked it gently, solace washing over him as well.

Is he...?

He's fine, we both are.

His shoulders went slack as one hand held my hip firmly. "The others…?" I asked aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine," he said as he pressed a kiss to my brow and pulled away from me.

He helped me back onto the sofa as we faced the others. Kallias had an arm slid behind Viviane's back, and from the corner of my eye I saw Elain quickly pull her hands away from Azriel's when Rhys rose to his feet. There were still tears welled in her eyes, and I saw the shadowsinger curl his scarred fists closed once Elain's delicate ones left his touch.

"The bastards managed to hold their own for a while, but with hardly any leadership in the wake of Keir's death, we had them overrun after an hour or so," Rhys explained to us.

"Kallon's novice knowledge as a warrior showed. He stood no chance against Cassian's direction and tactics," Azriel added.

"Is he dead too?" I asked.

"Not yet. Cassian got a hold of him and knocked him unconscious. Probably would've killed him, if Rhysand hadn't insisted they take him prisoner," Kallias answered.

A quick nod at Azriel, "We have plans for him and the other camp lords that went against us." Rhys said.

"But Keir is dead? Mor killed him?" Viviane asked.

"Yes, him and about a dozen other Darkbringers. Outside of that, there weren't many casualties," Kallias replied.

"We spent the rest of the time rounding up the rest of their army as they surrendered, stationing prisoner camps that Cassian, Azriel and Devlon will oversee as we plan our next steps," Rhys went on. "As for the Darkbringers, Mor and Amren are taking them back to the Hewn City."

I gulped as I recalled Mor's rage and thought of how she would handle the army of traitors her father raised. I sighed shakily and motioned for Rhys as my relief was replaced by a wave of nausea. Taking note of my illness, he helped me to my feet without another word and I quickly crossed over to the nearest bathing room—making it to the toilet just in time as I vomited. I could barely hear the sound of the voices talking in the other room over the sound of my retching, but only a minute later Rhys entered the bathing room with me, holding my hair and rubbing my back until the nausea passed.

Resting my back against the hard planes of his chest, I closed my eyes as he flushed away the mess and summoned a cool washcloth to place on my forehead. He then lifted me in his arms easily, carrying me down the hallway and towards the small bedroom.

"They left?" I asked after I noticed how quiet it was.

Rhys nodded as he sat me on the bed, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Feel better?" he asked.

I sighed heavily with a slight nod, removing the damp cloth from my head. "Yes...I think everything just hit me," I said tiredly, truly feeling the weight of it all lifting.

Is Mor okay?

"She's been waiting for that moment for centuries. Today she finally had enough," Rhys replied aloud—exhaustion as clear in his voice as it was in his eyes.

I nodded in acknowledgment and squeezed his hand, taking note of the blood that still coated his fingers. "It's over…" I whispered.

Rhys squeezed my hand back, the bed giving way as he sat beside me. "Yes, it is."

"There's still so much to do," I said, mind beginning to race.

"There is," he confirmed, a strong hand returning to the apex of my belly. "But we still have time before he comes."

My eyes stung as my sense of relief returned and I let out a wet laugh as he stroked my stomach. "He'll be safe," I said with a quiet sob.

His eyes stayed on my stomach, those beautiful eyes going distant. "He would have never been in danger if I wasn't the male that I am. If you hadn't accepted our bond, or married me, then-"

"I wouldn't be here right now if you weren't the male you are, Rhysand. He wouldn't exist without you, and I...I wouldn't either," I interrupted as I took his face in my hands again, forcing him to meet my fierce gaze.

Those violet eyes shattered at my words and a second later his arms were wrapped around me once again, pulling me onto his lap as I enveloped my arms around him in return and held him just as closely. I shook with a sob as I buried my face in his hair as his lips brushed against my neck and breathed in my scent. With this burden lifted from both of our shoulders, we no longer had to pretend to enjoy whatever short-lived peace we had been afforded during this ordeal. We now had a peace that had the potential to last for a great deal longer; a peace that our son would be born into and thrive.

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