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laxmiree · 2 years ago

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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Rumors & Secrets – Season 2: Until Dawn (至黎明前)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for an R&S that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Translation under the cut!

[T/N] Not absolutely necessary, but it's advised to read chapter 33 first beforehand.

[Chapter 1]

The silver-like drizzle splattered the slate floor with puddles of light-colored ink spots.

Lucien didn't hold an umbrella and walked unhurriedly under the endless green shade. From time to time, he would follow the sound of laughter coming from all around and see those young people who were a little older than himself, chasing friends in the rain, or sitting under the promenade reading a book.

Those people vary in size, skin color, and appearance, but they all have smiles on their faces.

Is it because of the drizzle that swept away the heat at the end of summer, or because today is the start of the school report, a day that represents a new stage?

Lucien thought about it and leans more toward the latter.

Because people are always looking forward to new beginnings. Although he doesn't quite understand the reason for this joy, if he compares this to an interesting new book, then he probably can more or less understand.

New things always make people want to approach involuntarily.

Seeing that he was about to walk out of the last shade of greenery, Lucien withdrew his gaze and turned into the corridor leading to the student office.

Perhaps because it was almost noon, there were not many students lined up in front of the student office, and it wasn't long before it was Lucien's turn.

But the middle-aged teacher with heavy glasses in front of him just glanced at him with his golden eyebrows raised, and then he stretched out his hand and pointed to the side.

"This is where postgraduates check-in, the undergraduates check-in is in the next building."

"Teacher, I don't think I went to the wrong place."

Lucien raised a polite smile and handed over the admission materials in his hand. After a while, the teacher raised his head and turned back and forth between Lucien and the materials as if his eyes were confirming, and then he suddenly opened his mouth.

"Oh, so you are the sixteen-year-old genius from China."

A slightly exaggerated sigh set off ripples in the quiet afternoon. Lucien heard soft whispers, and even the students behind him in line took a half step forward and looked over with their probes.

After their curious eyes, Lucien just smiled faintly and looked back at the teachers who were checking in, silently shutting out the probing around him.

Until the last official seal was affixed, the teacher finally smiled and handed the materials back to Lucien.

“Lucien, welcome to our school.”

After completing the admission procedure, Lucien didn't linger too much on the campus, and walked straight into the black car parked on the roadside, its tail lights blinking immediately after one another, and slowly left in the rain.

After an unknown period of time, the car pulled into a towering building, Lucien got out and came to a large black door, looking at the dark color embossed with the word B.S. He leaned slightly to the iris identifier on the side.

In the next second, the door opened with a sound.

The cold light of the sky disappeared at the moment the door was closed, leaving only the white light dormant in the surrounding dimness.

Lucien walked quietly until he came to a room. He reached out and knocked gently twice.

"Get in."

The unhurried voice came out through the door, Lucien pushed the door and saw a man dressed in black sitting at the table, his face was somewhat obscure in the dim light, revealing only a pair of eyes without the traces of age.

"Isn't today your admission day? Why are you looking for me at this time?"

"The admission procedure has been completed, and I came here to apply for an independent research lab."

Lucien said while pulling out a list of different types of experimental equipment from the folder and handing it over.

"In addition to an independent space, I need some appropriate equipment."

The figure hidden in the darkness moved slightly and turned his gaze to Lucien

"You said before that you prioritized your studies and would not be in charge of the organization's projects for the time being. Why are you suddenly interested now?"

Lucien's expression remained the same, and he replied unhurriedly, "Before, my studies were heavy, so I was unable to spare some time. But this time, I think I can spare some energy for the research of the project."

The man's fingertips tapped on the desk with a muffled sound.

"I remember you said you want to get a doctorate, from the current time, it will take at least eight years?"

Lucien lowered his eyes and raised his lips imperceptibly.

"For me, I think four years is enough."

[Chapter 2]

"This will be your laboratory in the future. No one can enter without your permission."

The morning light outside swept out strands of pure white dust in the research room, which also illuminated the streamer in the depths of Lucien's eyes for a moment.

With independent research space, it should be quite convenient to do things in the future. Thinking like this, Lucien walked around, checked every device rigorously, and looked at the man in black.

"If new equipment is needed in the future, I will apply with you in advance."

When Lucien nodded slightly to express his gratitude, a magazine-thick document was suddenly handed in front of him.

"There is an unfinished experiment here, which was previously suspended for some reason, so now you will take over."

"Just in time for your lab to come in handy."

There is no free lunch in the world, and this is especially true for BS. After hearing the man's request, Lucien was not surprised. He took the document and flipped through it at a glance.

"The difficulty of this experiment does not seem to be too high at the moment, except that it requires a lot of calculations and a process of repeated comparisons to be made. If you are lucky and no mistakes are made in the process, it will take nearly a month or so to complete."

Silence permeated quietly, there was only a soft sound of turning pages cut the air from time to time.

Perhaps because it was too quiet, the man's voice sounded again.

"You're out of focus these days, so if you have a problem, you can talk about it."

"After all, it was nine years ago when you first became involved in the experiment."

Lucien paused as he turned the page. He glanced at the man who had hardly changed in the past nine years, and a hidden emotion flashed in his eyes.

"Do you value this experiment?"

"I don't care. It doesn't matter whether you succeed or fail."

The man's gaze looked far away, but then his eyes seemed empty, and slowly, he added, "It's only for me."

"Outside the time frame, I don't need them, and they also don't need my participation." The man said, looked at Lucien thoughtfully, and twitched his fingers casually. "If you want to get more out of this place, you need to show some results."

Lucien did not say anything, he simply put the document in his hand on the table. He then turned around and activated the device.

As if seeing an interesting scene, the man raised his eyebrows and sighed with emotion: "Your personality hasn't changed much. If you think about it, it's a pity."

"There will always be times when experiments fail, and that's normal."

With the slender morning light, the man's calm face loosened a little.

"You are right. It is because of your accumulated samples and experience at the time that the experiment in the orphanage was so successful."

Lucien didn't respond, the hum of the machine echoed in the research room. When he raised his head again, there was only himself left in the huge space.

Lucien finally took a good look around the research room that belonged to him.

Before this, he basically only walked into the laboratory as an assistant or a test subject. But now it is different. Those restraints, in one way or another, are no longer enough to hinder him, and he can devote himself to the experiments he is interested in without hesitation.

He took a deep breath and reached out to brush the machine in front of him. Inadvertently, two figures in white coats appeared in my mind. Lucien's eyes twitched as if some emotion was quietly emerging from the depths of his heart.

Now he should be one step closer to them again.

From that day on, Lucien went to school during the day and locked himself in this cold laboratory at night. He is like a machine, running day after day, night after night.

Here, no one will ask him to stop for a second.

Lucien won't stop before the experiment is successful.

Because in such a place where strength speaks for itself, he doesn't want to hide his strength. Instead, he needs to expose his abilities more. Only in this way can he hold more words and exercise power here.

After half a month, Lucien re-entered the office with a thick stack of documents.

"The relevant experimental results of Evol's energy fluctuations are out, you can check it out.".

"Not only that, but I also found a way to quickly return the unstable Evol to a safe threshold"

"The specific data and analysis are listed in the report together."

The man raised his eyes, and his gaze landed on Lucien lightly, "You are much better than the researchers here."

"Thank you. So I think I can ask for different treatment from them."

Lucien paused and looked straight at the man, "I need more authority."

"Especially the internal data of BS, including the experiment seven years ago."

The morning light coming in from the window clearly reflected Lucien's eyes. He doesn't want to go step by step in this regard. After all, in this place, sometimes it is easier to get positive feedback in a direct way than in a roundabout way.

The man was silent, then smiled after a long time.

"Then become one of the Main God as soon as possible."

"And as a reward for the results of this experiment, I can provide you with some information."

[Chapter 3]

Lucien was not surprised or anxious about such a result.

He knows very well that each vein has its own rhythm, and his own request is merely to move this vein forward more quickly.

So until there is a new pulse, he decided to live as usual.

It was different from the previous year when he was studying in England, and even though he continued to maintain his previous style of keeping a low profile, he still received a lot of unexpected attention.

Is it because the atmosphere on American campuses is not as reserved as in the UK?

Or is it because his age of sixteen seems too much in an environment full of graduate and doctoral students?

Lucien washed his hands while looking at himself in the mirror and fell into a brief moment of contemplation.

After the sound of flushing came from the compartment behind, Lucien came back to his senses and turned to leave the bathroom. When he's returning to the multimedia classroom, he found that there was another man next to his seat.

Looking at his curly hair and the striking freckles on his cheeks, Lucien quickly remembered that this was his classmate in the same major, and he liked to sit in the corner and play handheld game consoles.

"Lucien!"

The other party saw him standing at the door of the classroom at a glance, and waved warmly.

When Lucien returned to his seat, he found that the other party's book was next to his own notebook. But he just glanced at it and then spread the book without moving a few points in his direction.

"Do you remember me? I asked you a question in the library a few days ago. We are in the same major."

"Well, I remember."

"I can't believe we all took this elective course, it's great! "

"If I still don't understand something, can I trouble you again?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll be friends in the future!" The man smiled and moved toward Lucien, inadvertently narrowing their distance. "

At the same time, Lucien looked at the other party indifferently.

"Friends?"

"That's right, we can go to school and eat in the cafeteria together."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I need a friend like that."

The deliberately aggressive and slightly profound wording reveals a clear alienation. The man in front of him widened his eyes in confusion and looked flustered.

"If it's an academic question, I'll be happy to answer it for you, but that's all."

The man opened his mouth to explain something, but Lucien lowered his voice without showing any expression.

"Not only do I remember that you were my classmate, but I also have a very clear idea of who exactly you are."

"So if you're trying to "spy" on me as a friend or classmate, I'm afraid you've already missed your chance."

[Chapter 4]

The moonlight swayed silently in the corridor of BS with tree shadows wrapped around it, and Lucien walked in.

Holding a stack of heavy documents, he walked towards the research room with brisk steps. An interesting phenomenon was discovered in class today, and he can't wait to verify it now.

But halfway through, he met the man.

Lucien did not wish to stop, but before he nodded politely and left, the other party stopped him first.

"Why don't you ask me to keep away those who are spying on you?"

Even though the opening at the moment was a little unclear, Lucien quickly reacted to the other party's message and stopped.

"I don't think it's necessary. After all, making such a request won't solve the problem, it will hide those 'eyes' even deeper."

"So since I choose to stay here, it means that I accept these hidden rules."

Lucien seems to have thought of something and lightly added a sentence.

"They are not a problem as long as they're only bystanders, but if they want to interfere with me then I'll also have a way to make these "eyes" disappear."

The man chuckled at the sound of his voice, "You're perfect for Black Swan, maybe one day you can really be the main god here."

"If being the main god is a better way to achieve my goals, then I will give it a try."

Having said that, Lucien's voice was cold, making people unable to hear any emotion.

He knew very well that what he cared about from the beginning to the end was not the position of the main god. For him, Black Swan is just an organization with many pedals. What he needs to do is to choose the pedal that can reach the end faster in the most favorable way.

"The position of the Main God is not as easy as you think."

"The back of it represents the purpose of realizing the evolution of all mankind." The man looked at Lucien meaningfully."

"I never deny the purpose of Black Swan."

"After all, the strong eat the weak, if you don't choose to evolve, you will inevitably be eliminated."

The expression on Lucien's face was calm as if his views on this had already been deeply rooted in his heart. The man didn't say anything, but Lucien took a step forward with an inquiry.

"What about you, are you the same?"

The man looked sideways at the night outside the window and slowly opened his mouth after a long time.

"The power of people to reverse their fate is too small, even the so-called change is nothing more than the tacit consent of fate."

[Chapter 5]

After the voice fell, it seemed that the world was silent.

Lucien was not very satisfied with the outcome of his probing, he believed that the man still hid a lot of secrets worth continuing to explore. It seems that he needs to think more carefully before he can do so.

Without waiting for Lucien to find an excuse to leave, the man spoke first.

"I will send you the information you asked for before. But if you think it's not enough, just find it yourself."

"Whether you can get it from other places is up to you."

There was no turbulence in the man's tone, but Lucien still found a clue in it and reinforced the suspicion that he had long ago.

It seems that there are complex interest relationships involved within the organization, and obtaining information and achieving goals is far more complicated than he imagined.

Perhaps because the brief silence was perceived, the man spoke faintly.

"I thought you had long since gotten used to the BS style of handling things."

"It seems that you are still some distance away from that position."

Lucien lowered his eyes and silently covered his expression.

"You must know that even if the destination is the same, everyone's path is different. Cooperation and mutual benefit are two different things."

When he returned to the research room, Lucien put down the file and logged on to the internal encrypted email in front of the computer. As expected, the man had already sent the information.

He slid the mouse wheel, not letting go of any details, and looked carefully at the information about that experiment seven years ago. But after browsing through all the documents, he found that the information sent by the man did not differ much from the details he remembered, and there were no clues worthy of deeper investigation.

Lucien could not help leaning back in his chair, but his brain did not rest to continue filtering the information he had just seen.

It's just that for some reason, some images began to appear in his mind, smudged like ink-

It was a small house with white bricks and red tiles, warmed by the setting sun.

A man in a white coat sat in front of the window, playing with the chessboard, and then looked gently at the woman in a long skirt sitting opposite him. They played chess together under the sunset, talking and laughing, as if time had stopped silently at this moment.

For some reason, Lucien's chest suddenly felt pain.

He lowered his head in a daze and subconsciously raised his hand over his chest, feeling a crushing pain that was somewhat unfamiliar.

He didn't know why he was thinking about this, was it because of the information? Or was it because of something else?

Lucien wanted to calm down to think, but the more he tried to calm down, the more the agony was expanding endlessly. Like a deep pool of stagnant water that was suddenly thrown with stones, and the circle of dark ripples will never stop.

Suddenly, a touch of emerald green in the black and white world gradually spread out, Lucien imperceptibly widened his eyes.

In a trance, he seemed to see light falling from the cracks of the leaves and sprinkled it on a drawing board, reflecting the sketched paper cranes beautifully. The sound of clattering leaves clearly penetrated his ears, and also pulled Lucien back to reality with a jolt.

The stinging pain in his heart made him gasp for breath, and the cold and thin moonlight hanging in the air seemed to remind him that those colors and that warmth were real, but just an inattentive, illusory image buried from the memories.

Lucien closed his eyes wearily.

When can I go back to that place again? Almost subconsciously, this question floated in his mind.

Even though he has always been proficient in calculus, he could not get a definite answer to this question. But Lucien is very clear that Loveland City is the starting point of everything and the center of the "vortex".

So sooner or later, he has to come back here again.

#mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn #mlqc translations #mlqc xu mo #mr. love queen's choice

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago

Text

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller.

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter.

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom.

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?”

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor.

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist.

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however.

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet.

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed.

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet.

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you.

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone.

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone.

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed.

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak.

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket.

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back.

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you.

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye.

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?”

Jason glances over at you.

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down.

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film.

“Oh,” is all you can muster out.

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together.

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands.

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment.

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click.

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him.

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to.

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird.

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

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stay-midnight · 4 years ago

Text

Royals. I

Hyunjin x Male Reader

(Late Hyunjin Day Special)

a/n: Look at me and my late ass post again 💀, Anyways, this would be split up into two or tbree parts cause it’s gonna be a bit long than my other fics. So enjoy this for now 🤧 Smut would be on the second part which would be posted in a week or two (No promises though cuz 🤡)

Things to note: Royal AU!, Insult Fight, Implied Changsung (BinxSung), All of skz is here/mentioned, Implied Hookups, TXT is mentioned, Y/N’s a bit of a dick, Hyunjin is barely mentioned here yet, Minho is also a bit of dick, flirty Minho, Minho and Y/N tension, maybe some Seungmin x Y/N here and there too-. Prince! Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, Jisung, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Y/N and Knights! Minho and Chan. Y/N’s last name here is "Hyangsu"

W.C - 2.9K

A prince of the Hwang Kingdom is having their 21st birthday and you were invited, you were a bit salty about this since you really just wanted to relax after these past weeks of taking different lessons from your oh-so-called studious teacher.

As a prince of Hyangsu Kingdom, you were called to attend the Hwang Prince’s birthday ball, and attending this party was of your at most displeasure since you just wanted to have a relaxing break from your studies.

It was a 21st birthday after all, the age where you’re supposed to find a possible suitor and you just didn’t want to see girls fawning over someone.

You sighed in annoyance as your butler comes rushing with different clothes from your wardrobe, ranging from the royal-tailored attire, elegant clothing to a more casual one.

“Just pick me something that looks presentable as Prince, please.” you mumble to him as you glared him down causing him to tremble at your passive-aggressive tone.

You didn’t even know why they’re so serious about this, you’ve went to many royal banquet and events before, and none of them have ever got your parents or workers so.... worked up.

Is it because the Hwang Kingdom was one of the most powerful in the continent? You wanted to scoff at that thought but you may not be wrong.

In the end of playing a game of picking clothes with your butler, he picked a white suit with gold lines tattered over it, it had a gold plating at the shoulder, a red silk belt matching with the red silk long half-blouse, and white pants accompanied by white boots with a red sole.

After getting dressed you walked down to the lounge, waiting for the caravan to arrive.

You were a bit rude and snappy to people, you hated if they interrupted you one bit, not to mention you were sarcastic and people find it hard to win arguments about you. The only things people really liked about you are your looks and brains, you actually had a brain, unlike those snobby rich prince and princesses — who thinks they own the whole world, and the only aspect that are important to them are looks and money.

You sigh as you wait for the royal caravan to arrive.

. . . .

After minutes and minutes of waiting, “Sire?! The caravan is here, the carriage you are going to stay in is ready outside the palace gates.” your butler said fast, fixing his tie and cleaning his monocle afterwards.

You nodded and stood up to walk over to the gates, without command or words exchanged — the guards opened it as soon as they saw you walk down the path. Bowing respectfully at your presence which you answered with a simple “Thank you.”

You hum at the sight of the royal carriage — colored white with intricate designs and patterns made with real gold and of course, the family crest at the side of it.

A knight in a silver suddenly came out of the royal carriage, removing his helmet and smiling as he waved at you.

You let out a small smile back to him, Ah, the one and only Lee Minho, “Minho.” you spoke, reaching out to shake his hand, to which he gladly obliged.

“Y/N. Always a pleasure to see the prince. Well, if you were a bit more excited about this.” He teased, letting out a few snorts. Petting your head while constantly laughing amusedly.

“I’ll stick a fork in your eye one of these days, you stupid knight.” You gave him a death glare as a warning.

“Ah, Prince, you’re so kind~” he grinned, winking at you too, you rolled your eyes at his behaviour. He was always like this, flirty and sometimes egotistic. You didn’t mind it though since he is an amazing duelist and mentor. He isn’t a King’s guard for no reason.

But one day, his cocky attitude is gonna bite him in the ass.

You grumbled and moved forward to the royal carriage, “Lino, you should move, we can’t be late remember?” You tsked, giving Minho a smirk.

“Whatever.” He spoke up in an sassy tone, you snorted at him, to which he glared at you.

He entered inside the carriage, with you slowly following right after.

After entering inside, you sat down at one side while Minho sat near you. It was spacious inside as expected and a small window was also in place.

You had no interest in staying awake for 3 hours during the ride so you decided to take a nap.

“You could use my shoulder, you know?” He teased, patting his shoulder while smirking at you.

“Shut up.” you mumble as you shifted a bit so your head could rest more comfortably against the wall.

As much as you wanted to just sleep laying down at the long couch-like thingy where you’re sat at, you can’t because this stupid knight is watching you.

And the last thing you want is him, teasing you for being less than ‘formal’.

Slowly, the sounds around you seem to deafen itself out causing you to relax your shoulders and fall asleep regardless whether Minho is there watching your every move.

Opening your eyes as you felt someone poke your cheek, your eyes drifted slowly to the side. You were eye to eye with the knight, faces inches apart.

Your recently droopy eyes from sleeping — shot open in panic, “W-What are you doing!” you stuttered, leaning back from him which made him grin.

“We’re at the city, prince~” He pets your hair, running his hand through it softly.

You glowered and slapped his hand away, “Ugh, keep your hands to yourself, Lino.” you tried to glare the knight down.

“Ah, Feisty.” he smiled back at you to which you responded with a scowl making him laugh loudly.

“No need to be so aggressive~” Minho winked making you just look away and give up, you ignored him and looked out through the window, finding the surrounding endearing.

The loud chattering from the outside is muffled by the walls of the carriage, from at first glance, this was a very happy city.

It has a warm and vibrant tone to it.

. . .

The carriage comes to a sudden halt after riding in what seems to be a hill due to how it felt riding it earlier, the ground was sloped upwards.

The coachman driving the carriage suddenly spoke up, “We’re here, sire.” he spoke up, muffled by the wooden walls but you caught it.

With a sigh, you opened the door and slowly stepped down — your eyes widening at the sight of the towering castle.

It had a wonderful structure, the stone bricks perfectly fit into one another and of course the Hwang family crest adorned the flags that were raised.

Your kingdom’s castle was in no means small but it pales in comparison to that.

Looking around at the surroundings, you saw that a lot of royals were around, some you recognized and some that you had no idea where they came from.

You looked far and noticed the view of the capital at the city which you saw while taking a ride.

“...Prince Y/N.” After getting lost in a little bubble after staring at the refreshing view, Minho was nudging your shoulder.

“Hm? What is it?” you said, looking at him with raised eyebrows as you fixed the tie of your suit.

He rolled his eyes, “Did you even hear what I said?” he glared, tapping his foot on the ground multiple times.

“Would I be asking you if I did?” you shot back, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you waited for his answer.

He groaned at your attitude, “You have to sign up to enter the castle. Lose the attitude too, prince.” he said in a careless tone, looking at you with his icy glare.

“Who are you to talk like that to me, knight..?” you scowled at him as you stood your ground firmly.

What was happening now was in contrast to earlier, this was a more serious battle between you and Minho. These were times were usually one of the houseworkers back at your kingdom, steps in to stop both of you and succeeded most of the time.

To be honest though, this fight shouldn't escalate at all.

. . .

From the distance though, someone was watching both of you in amusement, “The party hasn’t even started and they’re bickering all ready.”

“Chan if you could stop them, please?” The man with long black hair commanded to the person next to him.

The knight fixed his posture and nodded, “Of course, my prince.”

“You can call me by my name, you know? We’ve been friends for a long time.” the long-haired man chuckled.

“Still need to use honorifics, sire.” the shorter smiled at the taller before leaving to stop the heated glare-down and exchange of insults at the entrance.

He took one last glance at the royal that was bickering with a knight, finding him amusing but at the same time, he found him interesting.

“Might need to keep an eye on that one.” he hummed to himself before going back inside the castle.

. . .

Minho just recently called you a brat and undeserving of being called a prince of your kingdom, he even mentioned your brother, the crown prince — next in line to the throne — he says of how your brother is just better than you in every way. This sends a devastating pang to your heart as this was not only hurtful to your pride but in a way, he also disregards all your hard work.

“Fuck you. You have no rights to tell me this. You are not my brother nor my parents. You are merely a fucking knight!” you said, shouting the last part.

Your own eyes are tinted with anger, wanting to choke the life out of your escorting knight.

“What, isn’t what all I said was t—”

An applaud was heard from the near distance, cutting Lino off and causing your head to turn to the source of sound.

The man with the curly locks and a pretty face bowed to your direction, “The opening ceremony of the party is starting soon, Prince Hyangsu Y/N. I suggest you sign the guest book and head on inside.” he smiles at you, dimples shown causing you go soften your look.

“While you,” he said sighing after, pointing to Minho with a finger.

“...Fellow knight, let’s chit chat for a bit.” he coughed and grabbed Minho’s hand — dragging him away despites the struggling knight's protest.

You looked around and noticed some of the royals still outside, staring at you with a hint of disappointment probably because of your fight with Minho.

You grumbled, annoyed and angry at the disrespectful knight — you'll most likely have to talk with Minho after this god-forsaken party.

. . .

A yawn almost slipped out of your mouth as the host of the party or ball, at this point you question which is it. The speech lacked any entertainment of the sorts causing you to just listen with half-lidded eyes.

Then came the introduction of the Prince that is having their born day.

A tall man suddenly came out of the curtains, aura filled with confidence and pride, gleaming and filling the room. You inspected his face and not gonna lie, he was indeed pretty, prettier than most princes you have seen — Long black locks neatly tied up in a ponytail, alluring eyes, thick and kissable li— You snapped out of your little bubble after noticing that you were checking the Hwang, this is not good.

You turned away from the center of attention and looked for your small group of friends but felt as if someone was boring holes into your skull.

Turning back, only to see no one staring at you but instead just the continuous blah blah blah’s by the Hwang Prince.

Sighing, you continue to scout the palace room for any signs of a certain fox-eyed brat, someone who dressed too dark and a ray of sunshine.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance when you still haven’t spotted the trio.

. . .

The Prince finally stopped talking and just announced that the dance will start in about an hour, giving his guests — free time to converse with one another.

After going through a sea of screaming princesses that want to marry him, you sighed in relief and just wished to leave this place. That is, until you finally caught a glimpse of a familiar royal. Finally.

You poked the shoulder of the foxy prince which startled him, almost causing him to spill his red drink over his royal wear. “God, Y/N, couldn’t you just approach me like a normal person.” he tutted.

Then returned his dimpled smile, he hugged you with one hand unable to engulf with his arms due to the drink he was holding.

“I thought you didn’t go to this clownfest.” you sighed, your words having a sarcastic tone.

“Me? Yang Jeongin wouldn’t miss a ball, especially one that is hosted by one of the richest kingdoms.” he laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is that wine or juice? Also, why are you talking in third person?” you stared at him with confusion.

“This is red water.” he sassed mockingly causing you to roll your eyes and flick his forehead a bit too hard with your index finger.

“Ow!” Jeongin squinted his eyes at you.

He pulls on your ear at payback which you took easily before yawning and looking at the clock impatiently. You wanted to return home and sleep, and also give Minho a lecture.

“Where’s Bin and Lix?” you piped up before taking a seat at the small seat near a pillar, curiously scouting the again for signs of them.

He sighed and sat down right next to you, “Felix-hyung is hunting for more exotic food, since he liked the Shark meat a bit too much and well...” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink and clearing his throat.

“Bin-hyung is getting flirted slash hitted on again by Prince Jisung of the Han Kingdom. I thought the he already gave up but nope. He still pursuing the Bin booty.” Jeongin chuckled, calling over a roaming waiter for a refill to which the worker happily obliged

You laughed at that since Han has been shooting hearts at Changbin for a long time and always had flirted with him at different parties. Changbin had always rejected his advances though.

“Also they sent a new representative from the Kim kingdom. I’ve never seen him before. Looks cute though, might be your type.” Jeongin said, nudging your shoulders and pointing at a specific direction. Your eyes raked over the prince’s form, charming and handsome but at the same time cute — He was leaning back at the wall, also drinking something.

You grumbled though, this is once again Jeongin trying to hook you up with someone again. It didn’t end well last time — The last prince, Jeongin hooked you up was Prince Yeonjun — All he wanted was sex though, causing you to immediately cut off ties with said prince, leaving a bit heartbroken at that since he only said that he wanted sex after you already spent the night together.

“Not this again, Innie.” you tsked, crossing your arms around your chest.

“Come onnn~.. I thought Yeonjun liked you a lot, he stared at you a lot during Taehyun’s party” Jeongin mumbles since he knows, that you don't like fooling around with people who didn’t even have a single interest on being on an actual relationship.

He felt bad matching you up with him, since he thought that was time you actually would get out of the singles’ list.

He nudged you and tilted his head to the Kim prince’s direction, “He’s walking over here.”

Your head immediately snapped to him, “Did he notice me staring at him earlier?!” you whispered nervously.

He raised his shoulders as he doesn’t know but you could already hear his evil mind spouting not-so-good ideas when he let out a grim grin.

“Well.....~ Y/N, I have to go find Felix, I kinda wanna try the shark meat, Ok byeeeee~” he said as if he was in a rush but this was just a part of his scheme.

“Jeongin, wait, don’t lea—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he was out of sight, the man was already extremely near you, his eyes never leaving your own.

You gulp, not knowing what to do in this situation.

In a mere second, you were face to face with the unfamiliar prince. He looked down at you with a emotionless face before sitting down next to you.

“My name is Kim Seungmin, yours?” He spoke with a honey-laced voice crossing his legs as he looked at you with curious eyes.

A smirk was starting to form at the corner of his lips before you opened your mouth to speak.

But nothing came out

He was attractive but he had soft features and an aura that resonates well with his features. He had this cute puppy-look to him but by that smirk he isn’t all that rainbows and sunshines.

Now, this is totally not good.

Little did Y/N know someone was watching this interaction in the distance, a prince than seems to be allured to you ever since he saw you within the crowd. He doesn't seem happy though~

~ tbc

#kpop x male reader #stray kids x male reader #hyunjin x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #skz #hwang hyunjin #skz fics #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz aus #royal skz #kpop scenarios

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years ago

Text

i've heard allegations 'bout your reputation, i'll show you my shadows if you show yours

summary: requested (like a year ago, sorry!) Reader and Andy getting in a legitimate fight or maybe flirting in front of him with one of his colleagues to get under his skin because he hasn’t touched her in weeks from being so busy jealous Andy would be so dominant I’m weak i took some liberties and set it at the christmas eve party at andy’s office.

warnings: andrew barber being r o u g h 😩 😩 😩 and jealous 😩 and mean bc i just so deeply want this man to yell at me and pull my hair bc he’s an angry daddy, however, he is not called daddy in this story bc i don’t do it unless you guys ask me to. so smut, and he’s in charge and i’m dead about it. more videos being made bc apparently that’s on my mind.

word count: around 7,500

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: i hate that it took me so long to post this but here i am, almost a month late with a christmas eve party story. i have very little shame tbh.

You were not unreasonable, no matter what Andy claimed. You could always admit what was your fault—which was about 80% of all disagreements—but Andy had his faults, too. Tonight? Well, you weren’t innocent…but you were not the only one to blame.

This was the third Christmas party he had taken you to. The first year had not completely been his doing. Lynn had been bothering him about it and he would have gotten away with pretending it just wasn’t possible had Lynn not run into you at the coffee shop near Andy’s house.

You had been accustomed to Andy by then. He didn’t put distance between you two because he wanted to, he just simply wasn’t the best at getting close. You practically forced him into sometimes, and it had never gone wrong, so he trusted you. A lot.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to say that much longer. You had your moments, those situations where you pushed him just a little too far. Not so far that he was angry about it, but far enough that you ended up with a sore ass and maybe a few finger-shaped bruises on your skin.

As if that was an incentive to stop?

Lately, things had been…off. Andy was working on a big case, one that he had just finished the day before. You expected that he was going to come home and make up for not having touched you in 17 days. Yet, that didn’t happen.

You weren’t trying to complain too much. The “honeymoon phase” was something that could not be applied to your relationship because you were as happy as any other day, you loved him more and more as time went on, and you guys always had sex. Always.

But there were the cases that sometimes threw a slight pause in that. That was fine, you understood and it wasn’t like you were with Andy for sex. You loved that man so fucking much, you could deal with some neglect for a little bit. Emphasis on a little bit.

17 days with no immediate plans to remedy it was crossing a line. So, on the 18th night, the night of his office Christmas party, after he merely kissed your head, told you that you looked beautiful, and didn’t fuck you in your tiny, sparkly dress, you also wanted to cross a line. A specific line because it was hard to get a reaction out of him any other way.

Andrew Barber was a jealous man. It was something you never played with because he was jealous. He wasn’t some immature idiot who was going to cause a scene, but he would interrogate you about people he felt were “suspicious”.

On your way to the party, he had wanted to catch up. He felt like this was the first time he was able to breathe since he was put on the case, and he had noticed some distance between you two. You told him about the very basic parts of your day—work, friends, family.

When he placed his hand on your thigh, you had to wonder if this was a game. Why hadn’t he fucked you? Was he trying to make you beg? That was something Andy thoroughly enjoyed, and you trusted him so much that you rarely ever knew when he was doing it. If you stopped to think about it, you would probably find a few times he’d managed to get away with it.

He let you hold his hand and to avoid having to pull away from you, he told you when to move the gear shift. It was cute, too cute for how long you two had been together, but Andy seemed willing to indulge you. He always did when he could.

But as soon as he got to the party, there was more work talk and he had basically pawned you off on Lynn. She was thrilled, of course, she rarely had time for friendships, but she valued Andy, and because of that, she loved you almost as much as he did.

It had been two hours by the time you were completely fed up. Lynn had decided she was about to head out, so she was making her rounds, and that meant that you were stuck with the other partners. Men, women, they were all talking about how great their lawyers had been lately.

Yet, reminder, you hadn’t been fucked in nearly 18 days. You weren’t going to sit around and listen to that for the whole night, you innocently decided to wander a bit. Andy was talking about his case and seemed almost oblivious to your presence. Why did he even bring you? He was the one that reminded you about it, you probably wouldn’t have realized it had gone by until well into next year since work was so hectic.

Regardless, without an answer, you were left to entertain yourself. What else were you supposed to do? Just sit around all night and not speak to anyone? Andy was a complicated man and he had only a handful of people at the job that he liked, but fewer people that he disliked. Most people, he felt indifferent about, and those were the pawns for your current game.

You flit all around the party, laughing, talking to everyone, and though you saw him seeking out your whereabouts every now and then, there was no reaction at all. He didn’t care that some of these sleazy men were staring at your cleavage or your legs—two things he should have done earlier but did not.

By the time you’d nearly spoken to everyone, you felt…possessed, there was no better way to describe it. You were mad and confused and tired, and till the day you died, you would swear on everything you held sacred, the following was not part of your plan. You simply had no other choice than to go along with it when it practically fell in your lap.

Andy hadn’t noticed your best attempts but as soon as Neal was standing in front of you, he was watching. You had not and would not have gone to Neal, it was the other way around. He was possibly picking up on all your sadness and desperation, he was probably able to spot attention-seeking from a mile away since he pulled those kinds of stunts regularly.

Andy was finally paying attention to you and that was why you didn’t walk away. Your boyfriend could deny it all he wanted, but you saw something in his eyes. There was that anger, of course, but there was also that dark gleam. The one that he had when he liked to lay you out under him and remind you who you belong to.

That was all you wanted, that was the only reasoning behind your actions. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, not until you laughed at something Neal said and he laughed back, and then he touched your shoulder.

And that was when you knew things had gone too far. You crossed a line, and you should have known better than even trying to use Neal. Because he envied Andy to no end, understandably. Why wouldn’t he try to flirt with you? No one got Andy as angry as Neal, and you should have just put your ego aside and spoken to your boyfriend.

But that window had closed and your time for being a mature, communicating adult was over. You quickly broke away from Neal after that and Andy took only seconds before he was dragging your ass out of that party and to the car.

You weren’t sure what to do. Pretend you didn’t know what the big deal was? Maybe just start blurting out apologies. He opened the car door for you, ushered you in, and then got into the driver’s seat in complete silence.

Andy had been mad at you before, but he had never been so angry he wouldn’t look at you or speak to you. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. His jaw set, brow furrowed, shoulders tense—he stayed that way the entire drive.

Andy wasn’t like this, he usually always had his temper in control. You were worried because you were one of the few people Andy sincerely trusted. It would devastate you if this gave him pause.

When he stopped the car, it became uncomfortably silent. It had taken you almost a minute to decide where you wanted to take this. “Andy, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“But I am s—”

“Get upstairs, take your dress off, and wait for me on the bed.”

Shit. You fumbled with the handle for a moment, scurrying inside and up the stairs. This was everything that you had wanted, wasn’t it? Then why the fuck were you nervous? Why were you shaking? Why did the idea of a black hole appearing and swallowing you sound so appealing?

You took off your dress and hung it back in your closet. You’d only been in it for a few hours, that didn’t warrant an actual wash. Shakily, you made your way back to the bed and sat there. What about your bra and panties? He hadn’t said. Your shoes? Fuck, what were you supposed to do?

Andy walked in and flipped on the light.

Idiot, why hadn’t you done that?

He made his way to the dresser off to the side of the bedroom, he removed his jacket first, then his cuff links and his tie. He started rolling up his sleeves and you had to look away.

You turned down to your lap. “You didn’t tell me if you wanted me to keep anything else on.”

“I also didn’t tell you that you could speak,” he asserted.

Your stomach dropped, the mere thought of not following his directions was unsettling. When Andy got like this, you wanted to do what he told you to. You wanted him to think you were his good girl. Any time you failed at absolute perfection, you didn’t take it well.

You didn’t know if you should apologize or remain silent. You were wringing your hands, something you became aware of only when he made his way in front of you and placed his hands over yours. You startled slightly, looking up at him.

He grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, keeping your head tilted back. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. You didn’t want him to feel bad because you were feeling some type of way. You also didn’t want to think this had anything to do with him. He’d never given you reason to be nervous.

“Are you scared?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He leaned down, face directly in front of yours. “Before we start, I need you to understand that you’ve never disappointed me. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” That didn’t really help as much as he probably thought it would. Even if you hadn’t disappointed him, there was always the chance that you would. And you weren’t sure he was being completely honest anyway. Neal? What the fuck was wrong with you?

“You don’t need to be nervous or scared, just be completely honest with me.”

“Of course.” You would never lie to him.

“Who do you belong to?”

Your answer was immediate, you didn’t even need to think about it. Recalling life before you met Andy was a bit blurry. Who had you been? Where? What had you wanted? “You.”

“So,” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, “this mouth…”

“Is yours,” you confirmed.

He hummed, fingers trailing from your face all the way down, between your breasts, over your stomach, stopping at the band of your panties. He paused, noting the shakiness in your breath, the goosebumps on your skin, your hands that were gripping the sheets.

Abruptly, his hand dropped to where you had been expecting it to. Your breath hitched and your hips jumped off the bed, desperate for his touch.

He made a small noise of disapproval and you hurriedly settled back down on the bed. “This pussy? Is that mine, too?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He pulled your panties off to the side and his fingers ran up your wet skin at an agonizing pace. He brought them up to his lips and his tongue slipped out to taste you. He smiled because you had managed to stay almost completely still, apart from a bit of squirming. “You’re such a good girl, baby. You know that’s one of my favorite things about you, how good you are for me.”

That gave you these awful butterflies and you felt hot everywhere. That was all you ever needed to hear. His hand returned to your center and his first finger slid into you. You looked down to see but he grabbed your jaw again and turned you back up.

“Keep watching me, baby.”

He liked to test you, you knew that. He would give you an order and try to make you disobey him. This time, when his hand fell away from your face, you forced yourself to keep your head tilted. You ignored that burning part of you that wanted to see his fingers pushing in and pulling out, covered in what was dripping from your pussy.

You focused on just feeling. One thick finger was slowly working you open for him, he always stretched you out as much as he could meaning you had to be prepared for some teasing. He prioritized this because he was big and he knew it—and you had been smitten enough before he fucked you, but after, there wasn’t a second of the day your body didn’t crave Andy’s.

Despite how rough Andy could be with you, and how generally tough he was, he liked to baby you. Sometimes, he liked treating you as delicately as one would a bouquet of flowers. He could see a lot of comparisons if he really thought about it. You were beautiful, soft, and smelled so sweet. And if he didn’t pay attention to you, well, he’d been reminded of those consequences at the party.

You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You didn’t falter when he added his second finger, nor when he curled his fingers against that spot inside you, nor when his thumb pressed down firmly on your clit.

He pressed one hand down on your shoulder, a cue to lie back. After you had obliged, he pulled his fingers out of you and told you to open your mouth. You instantly did so, closing around his fingers as soon as they were in your reach.

He pressed his fingers down and kept going until your body jerked and the noise of you gagging echoed in the room. “I wanna see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, baby girl.”

You eagerly sat up, still sucking on his fingers as you pulled his belt apart, yanked the button of his pants open, and tore down the zipper. Glancing up at him to look for any signs that you didn’t have his permission to proceed, you pushed his pants and boxers down cautiously until his cock was out.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and nodded. “Go ahead, baby.”

You moved back on the bed and situated yourself onto your stomach, propping up on your elbows. One hand wrapped around his hard length and you let the tip of your tongue come out to catch the precum dripping from his tip.

He released a shaky breath, hands at his sides because he wanted you running the show. For a while, a least. He didn’t want to guide you, he wanted to see how exactly you were going to make up for your slight misstep at the party.

You ran your tongue up his shaft lightly, feigning that whole soft act that you knew he loved. It wasn’t so much an act, but you had been bent over his desk, hair pulled, ass spanked, both holes thoroughly used. But you liked soft, too. You liked slow and gentle mornings, whispered words, careful touching. You liked whatever he wanted to give you.

You closed your lips around just the head of his cock and sucked. Unlike all other men you had been with, Andy was as patient as a saint. He loved when you teased him. Once, he had you edge him with your mouth for nearly an hour and thinking about how he fucked you after still made your toes curl.

His eyes closed and he sighed. “Fuck, baby.” His hand lightly settled on the back of your head. “So good, I could fuck your mouth for the rest of my life.” He didn’t push you down, he just ran his hand through your hair over and over because he knew how much you liked him to play with your hair.

But then his hold tightened and he pulled you off, much to your dismay. He noted your pout and pleading eyes but was kind enough not to taunt you about them. “Get on your back, sweetheart.”

You knew what he wanted as soon as he stepped away. You quickly climbed up toward the edge of the bed and rolled over, bending your neck over the mattress. You automatically opened your mouth for him, but he placed his hands on your shoulders first.

“Relax.” He leaned over and ran his hands along your arms, setting them on the mattress. He pressed your thighs down, waiting until you had lost all the tension in your body. He curled his hand around his length and stroked several times with a loose hand and a slow pace.

You watched in utter fascination. It never failed to get you wet when Andy showed so much control, over himself, over you. He was in charge of every little thing and you could tell that he got off on that. Every time he reached the head of his cock, he would press down so slightly, so close to your lips but just not enough.

“Andy,” you whispered. “Please.”

He smirked again. “Open your mouth for me.” And as soon as you did, he was slowly sliding in. He was slow at first, keeping his hips still as he slipped the straps of your bralette past your shoulders. He rolled the remaining material down until your breasts were exposed and squeezed them in his hands.

You pressed your thighs together, arching up into his hands more. You tried to relax your throat for him, knowing he was only stopping to give you a moment to prepare.

He pinched your nipples painfully and didn’t stop until you whined. He loved feeling you make that sound when his cock was down your throat, and the deep breaths as the pain faded away. Again, he tortured your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, yanked a little, until you were squirming all around the bed, making these noises around him that he rarely ever heard, your eyes filled with tears.

He leaned over quickly, releasing your breasts so he could give them both a brief kiss. You closed your eyes, humming in satisfaction. He took his time sinking his teeth into your sore, erect nipples and you squealed both times, back arching again. His tongue rolled over your stinging skin and you tilted your head eagerly, attempting to take more of him.

Sometimes, it was enough to get him naturally high, how much power he had over you, your body. He could hurt you and you would thank him; he could turn around and give you just a second of gentleness and you looked at him like you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved him. You claimed that, quite often. Andy wasn’t sure if he believed that, not because he didn’t trust you but because he wasn’t wired to think of himself as special in any way. Why you treated him like he was, was confusing to him at times.

But you were special, so fucking special. You were smart and funny, and so kind to every single person you encountered. It was a nice change from the environment he regularly found himself in. That was what you were supposed to be—a breath of fresh air from his hard life. You were not supposed to become his only source of oxygen, yet there he was. It didn’t seem he was reliant on you because Andy wasn’t comfortable expressing reliance on anyone, but he knew he was.

He stood and watched your body move with those deep, sharp breaths you were taking. Abruptly, his hand whipped across one breast, then the other. You cried out, a nice vibration around him, and now you were quivering. It was so easy for him to play your body like this because you were just needy enough that anything would have given you pleasure. Another thing he knew, another thing that made him so damn cocky.

“Open your legs,” he told you and you parted your thighs. Again, he pulled aside your lace panties and pushed two of his fingers inside you. Your cunt was dripping, your arousal gushing out as his fingers thrust in, curled, searched for that spot that made your eyes roll back. The noise of it made his cock twitch.

Your pussy was throbbing, yearning for the release that only this man could give you. You didn’t care how he did it, you just needed Andy. Hands, mouth, cock, you would take anything he wanted you to have.

“Listen to that greedy pussy,” he directed, voice low and quiet. “So desperate to be filled and fucked. But by who, baby?”

Your stomach twisted at not being able to answer him. That was why he asked when you had your mouth full of him, because if you could speak, you would blurt out reassurances that it was only him.

“Me?” he pressed.

You spoke, despite knowing it was going to sound like nonsense.

“And no one else?”

You were quick with your denial. And maybe, by now, since his cock was always in your mouth, he was a professional at understanding what you were saying. Or possibly, it was just the look in your eyes.

“You sure, baby?”

Once more, your voice came out muffled but hurried, almost panicked. He had to know that you didn’t even think about anyone else. He had to know that you thought he was the most beautiful man in the world.

He dragged his free hand up your body and it settled over your neck. Finally, he pulled out from your mouth only to thrust back in harshly. You choked, your throat contracting around him while he massaged his thumb and finger over your pulse points. He let you breathe through it before he started rocking his hips ever so slightly. You could feel him moving along your tongue and your cheeks, but they were small motions.

You always loved this position; it was easier to take all of him. It was easier to breathe on your back with your chest open, and, unlike being on your knees, it left you open for him.

He leaned forward slightly, pressing one hand off to the side of the bed while the other reached between your legs. His fingers danced along your skin without any real intent, but occasionally, he would touch your clit.

You were reaching for any part of him you could touch. Your hands mindlessly grasped at his back and kept slipping off because of his shirt. You couldn’t ask but you wanted it off. He felt your hands working open his buttons and decided to let you have something. He was going to take and take tonight, he could give you a little.

He stood up and loosened his tie enough to pull it off, then shrugged his shirt off. Once again, his palm settled to your neck. “You should see yourself right now. Shaking, wet, such a good girl.”

You reached up, gripping one hand in his pants, the other around the buckle of his belt and you pulled him in more until your throat was struggling.

“Easy, baby.” He took your hands off him, keeping a hold of one and placing the next back down on the bed. He pulled out carefully, dragging his hand up, and inch by inch, pushed back in. “You should see how deep I’m getting. I can see it right here.” The palm of his hand hovered over your skin, just enough that you could feel him, and he followed his cock again, letting you know how much of him you were taking.

It was a lot of him, not enough. And he was deep, but you needed more. You whined, a plea for him to move this along. He couldn’t want to drag this out, not after almost 18 days.

Again, he leaned over until he could touch you. His hips moved steadily, a controlled move that matched how strategically he was working your cunt, everywhere but the most sensitive part of you.

You hated that you couldn’t beg, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if you weren’t shaking or if your cunt wasn’t clenching desperately, you knew if he couldn’t feel it, he could at least see it. This went on for several moments, he was proud of how well you were taking him, and wanted to give you some type of award.

You were more than just caught off guard when you felt his lips against one of your thighs. Fuck. He couldn’t, you wouldn’t last long. But he went on, scattering kisses over your thighs, fucking your mouth just a fraction harder as he grew closer to your pussy.

As he licked down from your clit to your entrance, your eyes rolled back. Your hips jumped off the bed and one of his hands held you down in response. You were trembling, whining utter nonsense.

Several times, his tongue ran through you and you’d been so worked up, so wet and frustrated since he’d pulled you out of the party, since he hadn’t fucked you in a while, and this was just happening too fast. You wanted to focus on him, you wanted to apologize in the best way you knew how.

You tried to push him back with your hands on his thighs, but you were nowhere near strong enough.

He turned his head to kiss your thigh again. His hips stilled, most of his cock out of your mouth just in case. “Do you need a moment, baby?”

You debated. If you actually made him stop, made him pull out even if just for a second solely so you could ask him not to make you come...he would be outraged. He might even turn you over and spank you. But he also might not let you come at all. You would die, you knew you would.

You let your hands fall away.

“You okay?”

You hummed slowly, comfortably.

Still, one hand settled on your hip bone to keep you from moving, the other you felt on the back of your thigh close to your ass. He kissed your pussy slowly, sucking at your skin just a little, but not your clit, not yet.

He was careful as he began fucking your mouth again, worried he had pushed you too far. He waited until he was sure you were okay before he sucked your clit between his lips and slipped two fingers into you.

You whined around him as your body shuddered.

He kissed you again, several times to get you to calm down. “It’s okay, baby girl. Be a good girl for me.”

So, you understood, he realized that you wanted to object to this, but Andy was the greediest man you had ever had in bed. You weren’t surprised that he just didn’t care. You found it hard to mind as he began fucking his fingers in and out of you, sloppy, wet noises echoing around the room.

He was sucking again and you were desperately clutching at any part of him you could, his sides, his legs. You weren’t pushing him away now, you were pulling him in.

You were so close, your body arching up as much as it could. You felt tension building in every part of your body. Your own hands came up to your breasts mostly because you knew he would feel your hands moving underneath him.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He left your cunt neglected of his mouth for several moments, only using his fingers, as his cock drove down your throat hard.

You were choking loudly, your body again moving wildly as you gagged. It couldn’t have been more than a few times but they were determined thrusts, you were sure he was going to come in your mouth.

Instead, he pulled out completely and you whined shortly. You didn’t want him to go, but you couldn’t say that. All you could do was try to catch your breath. He didn’t even give you a moment to protest before his face was buried in your cunt.

In seconds, you were a mewling, moaning mess for him. Your body was so tight, so full of unbearable tension. You were shaking, sweating, your pussy was loud and soaking wet and you knew you were dripping everywhere, on him, on the bed.

He didn’t tease, he wanted to let you come because he wanted you coming all night. His favorite form of punishment was too much of a good thing, not withholding how much he enjoyed touching you.

You finished with a scream loud enough that the neighbors probably heard. Again.

Andy touched you through it until you stopped moving, save for the shaking aftershocks when he got a tad too close to your clit. When you were loose and sated on the bed, he started to sit you up.

You quickly turned to him, grasping his face. “I love you, only you.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I would never look at anyone else.”

“I believe you.” Even if he didn’t, this was not the place to voice that. This...state he got you in when he was this dominant, this demanding, was not completely unlike you. It was just a very obedient, sensitive version of you that he knew he had to be careful with. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt your feelings.

He touched your face and that was when you realized you were crying, he was wiping away your tears. It was either from your finish or from choking on him, you weren’t completely sure. “You’re okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m okay.”

He kissed your forehead and you felt hot. As if what you two were just doing wasn’t filthy, this was what made your heart beat faster and gave you those butterflies in your stomach.

He pulled back and kept hold of your face. “What does my baby girl want?”

“I want to feel you inside me.”

As his lips met yours, he began removing all the remaining clothing on either of your bodies. He moved you up the bed until he could lay your head on a pillow and then positioned himself over you.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he promised. “Keep saying it.”

As he carefully pushed into you, you continued to tell him you love him. You stared at him the whole time, willing your body to relax for him. He didn’t like it when you got so worked up, especially over the games he played in the bedroom. The thing with Neal was bad but it was over and you knew he wasn’t mad at you. He wouldn’t fuck you like this if he was.

You clutched onto his shoulders, trying to hold him as close to you as you possibly could. He was the one that grabbed your legs and cued you to wrap them around his body. His cock sliding into your pussy was a feeling you couldn’t understand why he’d left you deprived of.

Once his hips were settled against your thighs and he was completely buried inside you, you reached up to his face. You loved his cheekbones, you could trace them with your touch for days if he let you. And his beard, you loved feeling his beard under your fingertips.

He let you do this, explore him as if you could possibly forget anything after all the other times you did it. You remembered the first time he fucked you, you couldn’t stop staring, you couldn’t stop touching—he was so painfully beautiful. He was so patient with you, always had been, and now, despite how badly you felt his need to move, to fuck you, he was going to wait for you to be ready.

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered.

“Did what?”

“You didn’t fuck me. For 17 days. You…wanted me to make a scene—”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

“I could take it to court and win,” you countered.

He smirked. “Could you? What’s my motive?”

“You like being possessive. You like dragging me out of places, you like bringing me home, you like reminding me who I belong to.”

“And were you reminded?”

“No one really belongs to anyone or anything at the end of the day—”

“No,” he interjected, tone sharp. You always liked that tone. “You belong to me.”

“Maybe…”

“You are mine,” he repeated. “And you’re going to say it or we’re going to have a long night.”

“I will say it if you admit this was your plan all along.”

“You think I wanted you to flirt with Neal?”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t—”

He nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I know, I didn’t mean to word it like that. I know you weren’t—”

You felt slightly like you were about to panic. Flirting with Neal? No. “Never, I would never—”

He shushed you. “I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t because you are a good girl. I promise I know that.”

You settled somewhat but that lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach was hard to ignore. Flirting with Neal? You couldn’t bear him thinking you would ever do that to him. Flirting in general with people Andy felt indifferent to was off the table unless you wanted to placate his desires. Certainly, he had to know that.

“I wanted to hear you beg,” he insisted. “That was what I wanted. I wanted honest begging because you are so fucking beautiful begging for my cock.”

You huffed. “Well, you should have asked.”

“I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“You could have given me a hint. I was going around your party trying to get your attention—”

“You had it, you always do. Now, tell me who you belong to.”

“I think we all belong to the stars.”

“No,” he sighed.

“Or the moon, people who experience menstruation especially. The moon controls us, it’s been studied by scientists. There are articles.”

“Scientific articles do not support that,” he asserted and you couldn’t help but laugh. Andy was exact. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see or that couldn’t be proven. Even now, inside you, he couldn’t turn that part of his brain off.

“Baby,” he sighed as his hand came up to curl around your neck. It just rested there, a heavy reminder of all the times in the past he had held you like that, or those other times when he applied just the right amount of pressure. “I want to fuck you, I want to make you cry, I want you to be shaking after I’m done with you, I want to fill you up with my cum. Don’t you want that?”

You nodded, once again turned on beyond comprehension.

“Then be good and say what I want you to say. Don’t make me make you say it.”

“What if I want you to make me?”

“You don’t.”

Andy’s punishments were always so elaborate and such a blur. He knew how to reduce you to nothing but need, and you needed him so badly sometimes. He loved seeing you like that, but he didn’t always like taking you there. He knew how careful he needed to be during and after, so he reserved it for major misbehavior.

You brought one hand up and set it on his forearm. You could feel his skin and his muscles. “I belong to you.”

Just barely, as he stared at your face, his hold tightened. Your breath stuttered but you made sure not to get too worked up too soon. You didn’t want him to have to stop before he finished inside you.

“That can never happen again, baby.”

“I know. It never will. I’m so—”

He tightened his hand again. “Don’t say sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you say the one word you so badly needed to say.

“I don’t blame you, sweetheart, I’m just saying…it can’t happen again.”

You caught the lead of his tone. “But what if it does?”

“I might have to make sure he knows that you’re mine.”

You wanted him to let the whole world know. You knew he saw your eyes light up because he smirked. “How would you do that?”

“I might have to let him see how I fuck you. I might have to show him how I can make you beg for me, or how willingly you bend over when I’m going to spank you. I might have to show him how wet you get after I mark up your ass, maybe how whiny you get when my hand is around your throat. But maybe I’ll just have to send him the video I’ve been recording tonight, how well you can suck my cock, how badly you want to.”

You were stunned for a moment—recording? Where was the camera? The idea of Andy recording you was such a turn on. You loved making videos for him, but you’d always wanted to see one where he was with you. “You’ve been recording?”

“Would you be okay with that if I was?”

“Yes. I want to watch you fuck me.”

“You’re such a good girl.” He pulled his hips back once and then snapped up noisily, pulling a moan from your throat. “You know how much I love that sound? When you can hardly breathe but you still make all those noises you know I want to hear.”

He leaned in to kiss you, hips stilled, hand still wrapped around your neck. It was brief, a reward, a reminder. You were being good and he loved you, but he was going to fuck you.

You broke away, nodding to let him know you were ready, that you wanted this. “Please.”

He rolled over so you were on top of him. He kept his hold on your neck to keep you sitting up and used his opposite hand to grab your ass. After he kneaded your skin hard enough he knew it would bruise, he spanked you loudly, harshly. Your body jerk forward, taking him in deeper than you knew was possible.

You whined, trying to pull back a little. He gripped your ass again and held you there. It was painful but exciting, you wanted him to push your limits tonight. He so rarely did, concerned with pleasing you second and treating you delicate first.

He let you go only to spank your other ass cheek. Again, you moved forward and you felt fuller than you ever had. You ached between your legs, almost uncomfortably but the idea of having him this deep in your body was making you wetter by the second. You were dripping, you could see how wet his skin was, how much of a mess he was making of your pussy.

“Ride me, sweetheart.”

You found a comfortable position, your hands on either side of his waist in the mattress. He settled his arm between your breasts so he could still see them moving as you began jerking your hips back and forth. They were sharp, abrupt movements because you wanted to come so bad, you could hardly think of anything else. Save for your disbelief over the fact that he was making you do this yourself. But you didn’t argue because the last thing you wanted was punishment for talking back.

He closed his hand more, every sound you made was short and strangled. You moved faster, knowing he was closer when he choked you harder. His free hand took one of your breasts. He was so delicate at first, a gentle, slow touch before he was pinching your nipple so hard you were whining. He smacked your breast and you shuddered, nearly falling forward onto him, but he kept you up. Mostly because he wanted to do it again to your other breast.

Every slap against your breasts—loud and stinging, always surprising because he didn’t want you to have the comfort of a pattern—was pushing you closer to your orgasm. You were mindlessly bouncing on his cock, uncaring of the pain you felt every time you came down just a little too hard for how big he was. You felt like an animal, like you were simply a victim to your body’s depraved, primal desires.

You finished first, screaming things you would be impressed if he actually understood. You could cry, the tension built over days was finally all gone.

He rolled over once more, taking his spot on top again.

You clung to him, legs and arms, pulling him in like you would die if he wasn’t close enough. You needed to feel his whole body against yours.

“Hear that, baby?”

Oh, you heard. You’d been trying to ignore it, but of course, not if Andy had any say in it.

“Hear how wet your pussy is?”

So wet. Every time he pulled out and pushed in, the noise would fill the room. You only nodded.

Since you were wrapped around him so tightly, it wasn’t difficult for him to grab your hip and move you up the bed with him. He set you against the headboard, the pillows under the small of your back, propping you up for him.

He was on his knees now for more leverage. You knew he was going to fuck you hard. “Look at this, baby.” He slowly pulled out and you turned down to watch. “See how messy you’re getting my cock?”

“Yes,” you whined.

He grabbed his cock, used it to drag up and down your cunt several times.

“Andy, please.”

He shushed you, a slow, calm action that contrasted when he smacked the head of his cock against your clit.

You gasped and your hips jerked forward.

“Stay still,” he warned.

He did it over and over, and enjoyed watching you fail at trying to stay seated on the bed. He thrust in completely, quick and hard, only to pull out and smack your clit again. This was his routine for what felt like an agonizing hour, but you knew it was nowhere near that long. You knew even he didn’t have that kind of patience.

You cried out when he finally buried himself inside you again. As he pushed forward, he pulled you down. His fingers found your clit and you were soon tumbling over that edge once more.

As he finished, he pulled you on top of him, lying back on the bed. One arm wrapped tight around your back to pin you against his chest, his opposite hand tangled in your hair tightly. He hid his face in the bend of your neck, grunting as his hips continued to rock just slightly.

He kept you there for several long moments until he had completely satisfied himself. You were intoxicated being this close to him. You angled your head as much as you could and kissed the side of his face.

He turned over, setting you on the bed as he pulled out. You watched him curiously, moving to sit up with him. He made a disapproving noise and you laid back again. Once again, he made his way to the dresser and grabbed his phone.

“You were seriously recording?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do I usually bluff?”

Nope, never.

“Now I have a reference if you ever forget how a good girl is supposed to act.”

You suppressed an eye roll.

“Open your legs.” He came closer, directing the camera at your pussy. He touched you, spreading his cum all over your skin, rubbing circles around your clit, just barely dipping his fingers into you.

You watched his face the whole time. You loved how much Andy loved you and when he stared at you after fucking you, it was hard to miss. He was obsessed with you and he never minded showing it.

For almost a month, you watched that video every day. You were fascinated by him, the way he moved, the way he touched you. After that, you started wanting to record more and Andy never minded.

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takenbyheartstrings · 3 years ago

Text

changing of the seasons | tom holland.

[ tom x fem!reader au || warnings. fluff, swearing, angst, implications of sex, the reader drinking || wc. 5.2k (this is a bit of a long one LMAO) ] a/n. it’s currently 4:52 in the morning, so my apologies if this is so sloppy, but I’m writing it and heading straight to bed, praying there’s no major grammatical errors. Now, ik that uni doesn’t have frats or whatever, but it’s an au so idrc about accuracy ANYWAY, goodnight to all <3

W I N T E R

YOUR BREATH HITCHED AGAINST THE COLD AIR OF THE NIGHT, this cold of a day in London was not unusual, not welcomed, nor un-welcomed. You sort of loved the cold days, even if it rained so much that it was almost impossible to leave the house. It brings a sense of home to you and your roommate.

The same roommate who tried to join one of those sororities. But then chickened out last minute ‘Those girls are so fucking intimidating... I dunno how anyone does it!’ You laugh as you remember the day she came back to the dorm in shambles, only slightly tipsy. She really was the party type - but you had obligated to stay back at the dorm and watch Netflix or something, she found you coddled watching and reading. It wasn’t an unusual state for you at all, and you partied sometimes, Katie had mocked you previously, for acting as if you’re ‘Not like other girls.’ But you had to disagree, she was being ridiculous.

But that’s not where the story starts, ironically; the story starts at one of those terrible parties. Katie had dressed you in a nice pair of high waisted jeans and a tank top. You felt like you were wearing a little too less, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. You were just a little shy, so you slipped a jacket on top. In your defence: ‘Kate! It’s freezing outside!’

You were at a party where everyone knew you as the smartest kid in possibly the grade - you weren’t bullied or anything, but you weren’t popular either. Everyone knew you, and you knew them. You weren’t friends with them, but you weren’t not friends with them - you were the middle ground; the mediocre.

But in the whole time you were at this party, you managed to see the one person you didn’t like at all, and who didn’t like you.

Tom Holland was a stuck-up brat who didn’t know any better than to slack off in class, drink until so drunk he could barely speak properly, make comments about people that were anything but nice, and to make things even better, cheated on his girlfriend, and still, no matter how much he annoyed you, how much he despised you, how much the two of you tried to avoid each other... the two of you always managed to get in each other’s way.

You didn’t even knew how Tom Holland managed to slither his way into your life. But he did, and although the two of you disliked each other (although, it’s not a strong enough word), he always needed. your. help.

You saw it coming when he walked up to you at that stupid party, “What do you want, Thomas?” You questioned, your arms crossed over your jacket like they had been the whole night, a red solo cup sat in your hand.

“I need your help, passing another class.” He speaks and you can’t help but roll your eyes, you had a tutoring service, you knew what you were getting yourself into - but you didn’t think this one particular person would keep coming back for every test. There had to be something he was good at! How would he have gotten into uni if he weren’t?

You chuckled, “Is there seriously nothing you can do on your own?” You question him airing your thoughts.

You’re sat in a corner, and Tom is a charmer, so naturally, his hand leans onto the wall, keeping you in your place, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt that suggests he’ll be sleeping in it tonight after he’s blacked out on his own bed, “Look, princess,” He almost spits, “Help me out, it’s the least you can do for me, after all, you’re the one making the money.”

and although, ALTHOUGH, you hate Thomas Stanley Holland with almost every single bone in your body...

you can’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach when he calls you princess.

You look him in the eye, almost slightly flustered, biting your lip, “Fine, I’ll teach you, just come by my dorm tomorrow at four and we can get started.”

“I have practi-” You cut Tom’s words off with the knife of your tongue.

“I don’t care what you have, if you won’t pass, there won’t be any practice at all. So I’d keep your mouth shut.” Tom takes note of your poisonous tone, nodding before he leaves you be in the exact same spot he found you in.

That night you went home with Katie, she was sloshed and drunk and could throw up all over you at any moment, but you were so tired. You wanted to hold her hair back, you so truely did, but you tied it up and let her be, despite her saying it was okay and to get some rest - you really did feel bad, and she should’ve taken her own advice.

The next day you didn’t have any classes, so you were determined to cram as much alone time in before Kate or Tom came to the dorm room. So you pretty much just sat on your ass all day, typing away at your computer and laughing at stupid YouTube videos in a pair of bike shorts and a baggy white t-shirt. You could see the black bralette you were wearing underneath it, but you weren’t expecting anyone so you depending on your memory to know when to change your clothes. But you didn’t think fast enough as there was a knock on your door. You walked over, expecting it to be Kate coming back from class or from getting Coffee with her girlfriend, but there’s almost so much luck for the world, and apparently, you didn’t get any at all.

“Thomas!” You shriek as you open the door wide, the dorm room was not far from a mess, but messy enough to say, “Sorry about the mess,” You invite him into the dorm room, hastily putting the blankets and pillows back into their places.

Tom walks into the familiar room, one he had been in many times and not for harmless fun. But to get his grades up. But there was a lot of things that you didn’t know about Tom Holland, a frat boy who’s life depends on the money he just so happens to have passed down to him. But Tom wasn’t the disgusting piece of crap you thought him out to be at all. The cheating? It was a rumour made by his piece of shit girlfriend, who just needed an excuse to dump him to get with her side-piece. But he was paraded for it by his friends, so he went a long with it - knowing that what was happening was so disgustingly gross and out of line. Tom to you was a bad guy, but in reality. He would be one of the nicest people you could ever know. Partially because of you.

To make it even clearer, Tom WAS that kind of guy, he’d been sleeping with everyone in sight before he got his girlfriend, to try and prove to you that he could hold a relationship, to prove to you that he was a good guy. He stopped the comments, convinced his friends to stop the comments as well. He was trying to be better because of you.

Tom tried not to look at how good you looked in your shorts and t-shirt, but his eyes couldn’t help following every inch of your body. He was trying his best, he really was. But he had to force his eyes away.

Finally after tiding up the place, slightly, you stood up properly and spoke, “Shall we get started?”

“Yes, we should.” Tom’s voice rang as you broke him out of whatever trance he was in before. He knew full well that he didn’t like you, but he didn’t know if that was him trying to convince himself, or if it was actually true - anymore at least.

You were sat down with Tom at the desk you had brought from IKEA not too long ago, you had a monitor and PC that sat in front of the two of you as you both worked on Tom’s History assignment. There was a sudden stop between the work-flow when you saw that Tom hadn’t been paying attention.

You looked at him as he looked at you, “Tom, pay fucking attention or there’s no way you’re going to pass and as much as I dislike you, I want you to do good.”

Guess being a nice person kills, huh? You can’t truely hate Tom, because there’s some mindset of yours unable to stop caring about Tom and how he does in school, because you feel bad for him.

Tom rolls his eyes, “Fine... what were you saying?” He tries to pay attention to you but you look way too good to be able to focus, so his eyes just stay on you and your voice drowns out.

You look at Tom who’s still looking at you rather than doing the work, “Tom,” Your voice shakes him out, as you shake him, your hand on his shoulder.

You yourself, didn’t realise how close the two of you were, but as your breath was on Tom’s face, and Tom’s breath was on yours. His hand moved up your thigh - and you let it. He moved closer and closer, his lips finally meeting yours as you kissed him back, the two of you stood up as you’re still kissing the air getting hotter and hotter.

Tom lifts your shirt over your head before pulling away for a minute, “Are you sure you wants this?” He questions you.

“Tom, if you keep talking, I’m going to change my mind.” You say before pressing your lips to his once more.

He unclips your bralette, his warm lips on yours, the winter’s air was nothing compared to what was happening in dorm 4B at this moment, his kisses moving down your neck to your chest, and your soft moans echo in your bedroom, nothing was stopping the two of you.

⏤

YOU AND TOM lay there, completely breathless.

‘What the fuck just happened?’ You asked yourself in shambles before standing up and getting yourself dressed.

“You need to leave,” You tell Tom as he sits up.

He chuckles, “Why?” He smiles coyly.

You roll your eyes at Tom, slipping your white shirt back over your head. You sigh heavily as you look back at him once more, “Tom, I can’t even fathom what happened here, right now.”

“We had sex, Y/N, there’s not much to unpack here.” He speaks softly, “Look, I get that you hate me or whatever,” He stands as he puts his sweatpants and jersey back on, “But I’ve never hated you.”

He grabs his shoes and slides them back on, before grabbing his backpack and leaving you to your own thoughts. That was the first time you’d ever heard him say something like that. That he never hated you. You had just assumed he did because of the way he acted towards you. You fell back onto your bed.

You started to question your hatred for Tom, but you didn’t know how long it would take before your feelings would soon unpack, it was harder to do than expected. You thought it was black and white. But it’s a lot harder, way harder than you initially thought.

You heard the door open as Katie slammed the door behind her shut, checking in on you as her head popped into your room.

“Katie, I had sex with Tom Holland.” You spoke, almost afraid of the words that came out of your mouth.

S P R I N G

THE FLOWERS HAD STARTED TO BLOSSOM, you hadn’t talked to Tom since what happened in your room and you made every effort to ignore him or avoid him no matter how hard he tried.

What happened with him happened in January, it was now April. It had been four months, four months of just thinking. Debating with yourself and debating with your feelings. Tom didn’t make it easier to think about him either. He was trying to grab your attention so madly that it drove the two of you insane for each other.

Your phone didn’t stop pinging with text messages and emails and phone calls from the boy. It drove you mad.

You store at your phone for longer than a minute while drinks were happening for a little girls night that Katie had planned, “Stop staring at your phone, Y/N,” Katie’s girlfriend spoke.

“Sorry,” You apologised softly, as Ciera laughed.

“Don’t apologise,” She sighed, “What’s happening for you right now is complicated, you had hate sex and you’re scared of commitment to the person you had hate sex with when he’s more than ready to commit to something you’re not.”

You whacked Ciera over their arm, “OW!” She shrieks.

“Sorry Ciera, but I’m not afraid of commitment.” You tell them, “I’m just afraid of committing to Tom himself,”

Katie walks into the kitchen, three glasses in her hand, “He’s a good person, y’know,” Katie sits down the glasses in front of you and Ciera.

“It’s true,” Ciera speaks, “He’s not as bad as you say he is,”

You end up rolling your eyes at both of their words, “I know, but I’ve just always seen him in the worst light there is, rude to teachers, to people, at parties he gets blackout drunk - always coming to me when he needs help, tries to form a friendship, forgets all about it the next day and comes running back to me again, so sorry if I’m a little on the fence.” You tell your best friends.

Ciera rubs your arm, looking at Katie, “We’re gonna leave you to cool off and think alright, we’ll be at the bar about five minutes away, we’ll see you soon.” Ciera and Katie sigh leaving you to your thoughts.

You walk over to the couch and turn on the TV, sitting down you look at the glass of drink in your hand, placing it down on the coffee table. Your dorms windows were open so you just looked at the night sky through them, it wasn’t cold nor hot. A little warm - you wished you could forget about all of the shit that was happening at the moment. But Tom wouldn’t leave you alone, he texted you asking you how you were doing, trying to grab your attention. You had to admit it, it was kind of sweet of him to text you once a day and ask. To call you to try to ask. He left a voicemail everyday too, and they were filled with nice messages for you to listen to. Just him talking about his day.

You thought of what you had said earlier, being scared to commit to Tom. You sighed as your head turned back to the TV, you felt something in you that you hadn’t felt before. A sense of urgency. You slipped on a pair of shoes and made your way to Tom’s Frat house.

It wasn’t late, so you just banged on the door. Out came Harrison Osterfield, Tom Hollands best friend - not to mention the fact that you also helped him pass a couple of his classes, he was Tom’s best friend and a good guy. He made an effort to say ‘Hey Y/N!’ in the Quad or if he sees you on your way to class.

Why couldn’t you like Harrison? you asked yourself as he met your eyes.

“Hey Haz,” You smile.

Haz chuckled, “Hello, Y/N, what can I do for you today?”

“Do you by any chance know where Tom is?” You queried, “It’s kinda important? I dunno, but I have to talk to him.”

“Well, he’s upstairs in his room, third room on the right.” He said opening the large door a little more to let you inside.

You made your way into the large mansion (well, a really big house, but extra points for the spiral staircase in the middle of the house), the house looked different with nobody in it. There was lots of room to move around and you didn’t have to sit in one corner of the room. The floor was a pearled white marble, something you hadn’t actually seen before. You made your way up the large staircase and over to Tom’s room.

Before entering, you knocked on the door, when you walked in you saw something you didn’t want to see at all, “WHAT THE FUCK, TOM?” You almost screamed, as he looked up at you, fear in his eyes - he was obviously in bed with some blonde bitch.

“Y/N WAIT,” he hurries to put his pants on before running after you.

“NO TOM, I’M NOT WAITING FOR YOU, I CAME HERE TO BE MORE LIKE YOU’VE WANTED FOR THE PAST THREE MONTHS AND YOU’RE IN BED WITH SOMEONE ELSE, I WAS READY TO FACE MY FEARS AND JUMP INTO THE DEEP END.” You felt like you were on the verge of tears. He had done all this waiting for you, so you felt like you owe him some time, time to talk to explain himself, but it didn’t feel worth it.

Tom’s face goes red, “I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU, Y/N, SO DESPERATELY AND THE ONE TIME I ASK YOU TO WAIT YOU SAY NO-”

“YOU WERE IN BED WITH SOMEONE ELSE, THOMAS,” You groan frustrated, calming yourself down, “I was afraid to commit to you, Tom. I always saw you as some shitty person, but after seeing you wait for me taking your time. I’m still not ready but I thought, ‘Hey! that’s the beauty of something scary, you never know!’” you quote your thoughts, “BUT I GUESS I WAS RIGHT.”

You made your way out the door as Tom grabbed your arm, “Y/N,” His eyes looked into yours, they were clearly sorry - but you couldn’t buy it anymore, “I’m sorry.”

You knew he was, you could hear it in the voice crack, the tears that were now running down his face. He sniffled as he held your arm, knowing that he fucked up. Although you wanted to wait, you knew you should’ve made a move sooner. You had so much time and even going into the frat house today, you didn’t even know but you knew you’d never be ready for something like this without going into it head on.

Tom fucked up by not waiting when he told you was.

Although the two of you weren’t dating, it still hurt like a knife to the chest.

“Fucking, bullshit Tom.” You said it. Immediately regretting it when it came out of your mouth.

You stormed out of the house, Tom’s hot hand leaving your skin.

S U M M E R

YOU, KATIE AND CIERA are on the beach, you’d actually flown to another country to do so, Greece was lovely this time of year.

You store into the clear blue waters as Katie and Ciera swam their lives away staying next to each other. To say the least, you were quite jealous of them. Not just because any chance at a relationship with Tom had flown out the window. You were shattered at the thought. The girls thought a nice getaway would do you good, better than Tom could ever. But they were wrong.

Now that you and Tom weren’t going to be together, you wanted him more than you could’ve wanted him before. You stood up, your toes in the sand as you called out to your friends.

“Guys! I’m gonna go for a little walk around, I’ll catch you guys back here in a little bit,” They both nodded, not giving a second thought before you walked away. This was more of an excuse to get away together and have you be the third wheel.

You walked through the streets looking around at boutiques and stores that line the streets. You walked into a few and ran your hand over the racks. You didn’t buy anything. But the thought was nice, as you walked however, you saw a familiar face standing in an Ice-Cream shop.

“Haz?” You asked as he turned to you with a smile.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, “Hey, Y/N!”

After you and Tom had the argument, you had been avoiding Tom at all costs, you hadn’t however been ignoring the other guys, and the other guys told Tom how you were doing. You would smile and talked to his friends and the second he should show up, you leave Tom in the dust and in the dark.

“So who are you here with?” You questioned Haz.

His smile falters but he catches it, “Just the boys, you know, Tuwaine, Harrison...” he trails off for a moment, “Tom.”

You sigh, “Well, I hope you guys are having a good time, I better get going, Katie and Ciera are waiting at the Hotel for me.”

Harrison groans playfully, “How about you text your friends and come hang out with us?” He smiles, charming.

“What about Tom?” You questioned.

Harrison sighs looking at you softly, “You and Tom need to talk, wether it’s under the influence, or wether it’s sober. You and him need to talk - he’s completely crushed. He has been for four months, you guys haven’t talked in four months, even before that you barely talked.”

“Look, Haz, Tom and I slept together and he pined for me and then I got him in bed with some blonde bitch and the rest is now.” You glared at Haz for even trying, but he was right - the two of you needed to talk. It wasn’t debatable anymore, you let out a heavy sigh, “But, I’ll go, you’re right.”

“Okay,” Harrison smiles, “If you want Ciera and Katie to come, they can.”

“Trust me, they’re probably very busy.” You laugh and wink as he leads you back to where the boys were partying for the night. It came quicker than it left, one minute you were on the beach, the next it was dark and you were at a bon fire, where there were only five partygoers, you and four boys.

“HARRY!!!” you hear three voices chime loudly, as you walk out Haz those cheers stop.

“H-Hey, Y/N,” Tom speaks nervously.

“Hey Tom.”

A few moments later, is what it feels like, after you’ve drunk a few drinks, you’re laughing with Tom, smiling with Tom, getting feely with. Tom. You were telling so many stories about your life during uni, during high-school and embarrassing ones at that. They traded theirs and you traded yours. It was turning out to be a fun time, and then Haz, Harrison and Tuwaine all turned in. You watched as the fire burnt in front of you and Tom, the yellow and orange flame.

You weren’t totally sloshed and neither was Tom, maybe just a little tipsy, a little more relaxed, “Tom, I’m sorry,” You spoke, “What happened between us all those nights ago - It just really hurt, Tom.”

“I can’t keep telling you how sorry I am, I fucked up,” He sighs.

You sigh, “We both fucked up, Tom. I should’ve told you how I was feeling and I shouldn’t have made you wait for me.”

“And I shouldn’t have fucked someone else,”

“You had every right to-”

“NO I DIDN’T.” He raises his voice, “I shouldn’t have slept with someone else, because I am so in love with you.”

You couldn’t believe what he had told you, “Tom I-”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I just- I needed you to know,” He stands, walking away before you can say anything else.

A U T U M N

ALTHOUGH YOU KNEW HOW TOM FELT ABOUT YOU, you still decided to hangout with him, be friends. Figure out what you wanted to do about it. Do about your feelings for him. You felt like you were leading him on but every time you asked him about it, he assured you differently. He was okay with being friends, but you’ll always know he’ll want more.

You and Tom walked through campus, the leaves that blossomed now orange and yellow, falling from the sky - crunching under your feet, a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands. You had a warm navy winter coat over your figure. Tom linked his arm with yours.

“I’ve got class,” He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket with a reminder telling him about his class.

You smile pulling him closer, “I’ll see you later then,” He hugs you and you tighten it, not wanting to let go of him, but reluctantly doing so. You watch as he walks away, Katie walking up behind you with her own cup of Coffee.

“Where’s he going?” Katie asks you and you look over at her.

“Class.” The word comes out of your mouth, almost as if you’re sad to watch him walk away. That’s because you were sad to watch him walk away.

Katie chuckles, “Let’s get back to the dorm, Ciera bought donuts!” She jumps, excited to go back.

“What kind?” You question your best friend.

She freezes, “Well she’s my girlfriend so,”

“That means that she was clearly thinking of you, so I take it they bought-”

“Jam!” Katie smiles, as the two of you walk, she skips.

This is what you wanted with Tom. You wanted him to buy you donuts and for you to get excited when he doesn’t even ask what type you want - you wanted him to just surprise you with the smallest things. Remember the smallest details. But you had missed it all, every morning, Tom brought you a coffee as the two of you headed to the only class the two of you had together, that he hadn’t asked you for your order at all, or your birthday earlier that month, he brought you your favourite soft drink, even though he hadn’t asked you what it was. Not to mention he wrapped your gift in your favourite colour. But you were so blindsided to all of that. You weren’t seeing it at all.

You got back to your dorm and left Katie and Ciera to watch TV on the couch when you headed into your room. You sat on your bed, as you looked at the shelf that sat across from it, Tom’s present sat perfectly on it. It wasn’t much, it was just a Viynl of your favourite TV Character, he had told you he wanted to get you something else - but they didn’t have it in stock anywhere. To which you assured him it was okay. You sighed at you just looked at it; store at it. Almost a minute had passed - what seemed like the longest minute of your life. So many thoughts had travelled through your head. So many questions.

All of them unanswered.

All, except for one. This question had been everything since the night you and Tom slept together for the first and only time, but looking at the present. Thinking about the late night studies or when the two of you recently developed the stupid habit of meeting in the library when the two of you couldn’t sleep, or just going on walks around the campus - laughing with each other. You were so afraid. But you were stupid for being so afriad. Tom had been a better friend than anyone could have ever been (except for Katie and Ciera of course), you and Tom had a connection that was irreplaceable. Somewhat unbreakable. It’s hard to think that you hated him. hard to think that you found him unbearable. But it was also hard to think that you could avoid him. Ignore him. Stop being friends with him.

But you just ended up together in the end anyway.

So what was the point? What was the point running from something that was always going to catch upto you anyway?

⏤

NIGHT FELL ON THE CAMPUS, you weren’t exactly sure what you were doing but it felt like the night you caught Tom in bed with that girl all over again. But this time you knew you wouldn’t. Because Tom assured you he wouldn’t. Not till you told him no. So you took his absolute word for it.

You looked at the large doors of the Frat House that sat in front of you, knocking violently, waiting for someone to open the door - It was Haz, and although you didn’t say anything. He knew what you were going to do. So he shut the door, and you took a step back composing yourself, readying yourself for what you were about to do and you could never be truely ready, but you had to trust your gut on this one.

You weren’t on the doorstep anymore, you were on the ground, in front of the stairs that lead to the House as Tom walked outside. You weren’t wearing anything special. You were wearing your bike shorts and a white shirt. You were wearing white runners and ankle-high socks. Your hair the same as it always was. You looked at the boy and his curls with a smile.

He knew what was coming - but he let you speak, “Tom, for a long time. I was scared. So fucking scared that I pushed you away. If I’m going to be completely one-hundred percent honest with you, I’ve had feelings for you from the start. But I let my thoughts get the better of me. I let myself think you were some douchebag, when in reality - you’re the exact opposite. You’re the kindest, sweetest, most caring person in the world. God, this is so cliché.” You chuckles as he laughs along with you, however, you start to tear up a little, overcome with emotions, “I always thought I was incapable of finding someone to love, someone who would love me the same way that Ciera and Katie love each other or the same way that Patrick Verona and Julia Stiles love each other.”

Tom smiles at the last reference - you had forced him to watch 10 Things I Hate About You on one of those lonely nights the two of you spent unable to sleep and you told him you cried so much at the movie - he assured you he wouldn’t. But he failed.

“Look Tom, what I’m trying to say is that-” You stop yourself for a moment. It takes everything in your body to finally spit it out. Say what you’ve been wanting to say and when you do. It feels so good.

“I... Love.. You.” You said it.

Tom bolts over to you, pressing his lips to yours it’s more desperate and hungry something that reminded you of the first night the two of you kissed. But it was just as magical, just like every single kiss to come, just like every single peck on the cheek. Every single laugh. Every single smile, hug, handhold. Every single night where the two of you will just lay next to each other. The movie nights, the dates.

All of it.

Because every single time it does. Every single time any of those happens.

You somehow manage to fall in love with him all over again.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader imagine #tom holland x reader imagines #tom holland imagines #x reader #tom holland x you

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years ago

Text

The Enforcers: Part 10 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

synopsis: reveal, don't conceal.

wc: 1.4k

tw: none

masterlist

"Come out one at a time with your hands up."

You stand idly by as the militia pulls people out of the SUVs; lingering behind Suguru as he watches the former members of the CSB kneel on the ground and be restrained with zip ties. When you see the familiar pink hair of Yuji Itadori, you start a little, eyes widening as he lays on the ground and is zip tied before being brought to his feet and made to kneel beside another comrade of his.

Of yours.

You can't see all of the faces, but the fact that Yuji made it out alive meant that he would try his best to get the others out alive. And that's enough for you.

A sea of about eighty people are kneeling on the cold floor of the aircraft hangar beside the main building, and every single one of them is restrained.

"Your entire organization has been burnt to the ground," Suguru begins. "And you come to me to get answers?" No one speaks. The implications of his words are enough to make everyone in the area gulp hard. "Why not ask your Grand Council?" Suguru wonders and chuckles from the guards echo around the room.

"We did," a voice - Nobara Kugisaki - calls out, and you raise onto the tips of your toes to try and see her. "but they sent us away without an answer."

"What about your leaders?"

Another silence.

"One of you tell me what truly happened. And be quick about it, my patience does not extend far."

"They sent..." Choso. "They sent in people we did not know to gun us down. We were all gathered in the Grand Hall, where we originally thought we would be informed about the next steps to take since we filed our grievances."

"And?"

"They told us to go to our barracks and wait for further instruction. The massacre started as soon as lights went out."

"It was so dark," someone cries out, sniffling. "They shot my partner before... before--" Various people begin to sob, and you grab Suguru's arm, looking over at the group sadly. Every single one of them had escaped from hell, and now they're here, looking to the both of you for help. Suguru peers over his shoulder at you, face set in a grim expression.

"Maybe we should give them some time before we ask them about everything," you whisper.

"The sooner we know as much as we can, the safer we'll be," he replies, turning back to the crowd in front of him. "All of those who work for us will be brought to the conference room. The rest of you will be given a good meal and put in temporary residences. You will be heavily guarded and watched. You will not be permitted to leave the Fallen Sun District until we have determined that everything is safe. Communication with your families that reside outside of the district will be cut off, and communication with the media will be punished. Guard set A, take those who are our agents. Guard set B, take the others away."

_____________________________________________________________

You sit beside Suguru in the conference room, arms crossed. You all look at the agents filing in, and Choso comes in as the last one - which isn't really a surprise - capping off the small crowd of ten double agents.

"I need details," Suguru states, and looks back at the person at the door, who nods and switches off the lights. A projector switches on, and an aerial map of the CSB headquarters comes on the whiteboard wall. "Where did the chaos begin? Where was Toji? Yuki? Gojo? And where are they now?"

"From the South Wing down to the Cafeteria, then the killers split up and took the East, North, and West Wing," someone mentions, and Suguru draws lines in accordance with the account.

"And the leaders of each faction?"

"Gojo disappeared long before the massacre began, but I know Toji orchestrated the attack," Choso answers.

"How?" you wonder, squinting your eyes. "And don't tell me you caught him talking about it in the open and said nothing."

"That's how it happened," Choso states grimly. "I'm the one who sent the email. I thought you would come and help us, Suguru." Suguru doesn't reply, staring at the aerial map and biting the inside of his cheek. "Those people died because you didn't come to help us. Do you know how many bodies I had to crawl over just to get to freedom? How many people had been shot down in their beds?"

"You know I know what that's like," Suguru replies tersely. "You know I know what it's like to have no fucking help."

"Then why? Why did you let us be slaughtered like animals, Suguru? Why couldn't you just do the right thing and come and help us? You put us in that mess! And you left us to die!" Choso stands up suddenly and produces a revolver from the inside of his coat, and points it at you. Guards instantly unholster their weapons and aim them at Choso, red lights pointed at his entire body.

"Don't shoot!" you cry out, hands up. "Don't shoot him!"

"Is it because of her?" Choso wonders, eyes empty and devoid of compassion. "Did she tell you to stay put?"

"Don't shoot!" you repeat, bullets of sweat running down your body inside of the vest. "Don't shoot."

"She told me to go and get you." Suguru finally answers, his own weapon pointed at Choso. "She wanted to save everyone's life."

"And why didn't you?" Choso whispers, gun still aimed at you.

"Because I didn't have time. And I didn't have the resources. You, out of everyone here, should know I would put my life on the line for my people when I can." Choso chokes out a sob, dropping the gun and collapsing onto the floor in a fit of tears. His piercing cries echo in the small room, and you rush to his side, holding him close to you. He sobs into your shoulder, whispering apologies and shaking furiously.

"Don't apologize," you whisper, rubbing his back slowly and methodically. "It's okay. You've been through a lot, and just need to rest."

_____________________________________________________________

"I'm going to the media to break the story," you mention, facing Suguru as he brushes his teeth.

"What?" he cries out, mouth full of white foam. "No. You're not going anywhere. Too risky."

"Send a guard with me, then."

"No." He spits into the sink, and you cross your arms, frowning. "I'm not giving you permission to do that. If Toji pops up, you're fucked. I'm not taking that chance."

"So you can't leak an interview with me? Like the ones we recovered from the Archives?" Suguru braces himself on the sink, hair falling down his face and shielding his expression from view.

"Babe," Suguru breathes, sighing and shaking his head. "It's possible."

"I'll tell my story. I'll leave you out of it."

"You can't tell your story without me," Suguru whispers, tying his hair back with the rubber band around his wrist. "Do you think we should get other stories corroborating ours?"

"Yes," you answer immediately. "A thousand times, yes." Suguru's onyx eyes drop to the sink, and you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his large frame. "Do you trust me?"

He places his hands on yours and nods slowly.

"I trust you," he murmurs. "And I love you."

"I love you, too."

Four hours later, you're sitting in front of a camera, eyes staring into the lens with the intensity of your mother and father's expressions in their own videos.

"Ready?" Suguru wonders, leaning over and touching your hand from behind the camera.

"Ready." He clicks the record button, and a red light begins to flash.

"My name is Y/n, and I am a former Kitsune. Over seven months ago, I began my career with the CSB, and since my time there, I have learned so much about their inner workings, their scandal coverups, and how they tried to end my life not too long ago." You swallow hard, tears coming to your eyes. But you inhale deeply, pushing the emotion down as far as it will go. "You may have heard that I was kidnapped by those who run the Fallen Sun district. But that is simply not true," you assert, shaking your head once. "Everything you know about the CSB is a lie."

_____________________________________________________________

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#geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #getou suguru

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

“We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

“They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

“Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

“How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

“Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

“Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

“Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

“That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

“So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam’s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

“Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

“Our place looks like a flop house.”

You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

“No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

“Maybe we could stay a while.”

Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

“I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

“It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

And then the boiler broke.

Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

“Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

“Definitely the first place I would check.”

After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

“Hardware store, I thought?”

“Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

“Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

“Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

“Think you know what you’re doing?”

“Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam��s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

“Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

“Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

“You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

“Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

“I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

“I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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itsjustmyfantasyroom · 3 years ago

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Your here.

Warnings: Pinning with a happy ending.

WC: 1521

Enjoy x

You were far from in the mood, but he was one of your best friends you had to be there for him, show your support even though you were sad about his decision. You had watched year after year the people you cared about the most leave. Losing Nick and Rafael hurt you the most and you had just started to get close to Peter before he up and left too.

Rafael kept in contact with you more often than not, but Nick broke you in ways you had never been broken before. He broke the news he was leaving after the incident in court, confessed he had had feelings for you for a while and then he was gone. You spoke every now and then but it always lead to a conversation about why he didn’t tell you how he felt, which would always end up with one of you hanging up on the other due to being so frustrated. So now, once every couple of months you got a “hope your well, been thinking about you” message and that was pretty much it for the communication between you both.

You stepped into the lift pressing the ‘R’ button that was going to take you up to the roof top bar. You looked at yourself in the mirror fixing up your black velvet thigh high boots, pushed down your black leather skirt and ran your hands around your waist to make sure your white long sleeved turtle neck shirt was tucked in. You pulled your lip gloss out of your clutch quickly re applying some and then tucked one side of your curled hair behind your ear and the door’s dinged opened to the roof.

You stepped out, the music hitting your ear drums straight away and you scanned the space to look for the private function sign. Your eyes met Bella’s first and a big smiled pulled to her face as she waved at you and mouthed “over here”. You made your way across the roof and walked over to Bella giving her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, making small talk,

“Where is Sonny?”

“Over there” Bella pointed to Sonny talking to Liv and Fin.

You nodded kissing her on the cheek again telling her you would talk to her again later making your way over to the others. You hugged Liv and Fin hello and left Sonny till last. Getting up on your tippy toes hugging him around his neck, Sonny wrapping his arms around you,

“Your here” Sonny pulled away smiling down at you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders.

“Just for the food. I’ am not celebrating you leaving” you raised an eye brow at him with a half-smile.

“Love you to Y/N” Sonny smiled with the crinkles next to his eyes “Come, let’s get ya a drink”

You and Sonny excused yourselves from Liv and Fin, his arm hooking around your neck, you both walking to the bar. You were looking up at Sonny laughing at something he just said when you looked ahead of you seeing Amanda talking to someone in dark jeans, a navy button down and blue jacket. Amanda looked over their shoulder giving you a big smile and a wave as the person she was talking to turned around.

Your face burnt, your cheeks red and it was lucky Sonny had his arm around you, your knees going weak as a pair of dark brown eyes met yours with a smile you had almost forgotten. Amanda walked around Nick, pulling you away from Sonny wrapping her arms around you in a big embrace before she pulled away and Nick walked over to you wrapping his arms around you in a big hug,

“God I’ve missed you” he whispered into your ear pulling back kissing your cheek before taking a step back.

“How good is this?” Sonny smiled big between you all “All of us back together again”

You hadn’t taken your eyes from Nick’s when he gave you a wink and Sonny pulled you out of your head asking you if you wanted your usual. Sonny and Amanda walked to the bar leaving you there with Nick and he took a step closer to you,

“You don’t look happy to see me” Nick licked his lips.

“I haven’t said anything”

“That’s my point” he shot back.

“You’re starting already? I haven’t heard from you. This is the first time I have seen you in what- 4 years and this is how you want it to be?”

“I’ve messaged you” Nick’s jaw went stiff and you saw him take a deep breath and you rolled your eyes.

Nick took a step closer his hands wrapping around your wrists and you looked up at him, his face softening,

“We are finally face to face” you looked at him with a straight face and he let go of your wrists.

“Your going to start that here? Now?” Nick muttered.

“I’ am not asking for much. But clearly it’s too much for you even after all these years”

The night had worn on and you avoided Nick as much as you could. The private room hire was up and who was left had moved out into the roof top bar for more drinks and dancing. You weren’t up for much, but it made you happy to see Sonny so happy, so you stuck around. You were sitting up on a high table watching everyone’s bags looking out over the dark sky line of the city when you felt someone come up next to you and a glass appeared in front of you,

“Shot of rum, ginger beer and a lime wedge” You looked up and seen Nick looking down at you, pulling a stool close to you and sitting down.

“Thanks. You remembered” you gave him a small smile.

“I always drink it when I miss you” Nick rested a hand on your knee “Please stop avoiding me”

You looked over at him, your eyes scanning his face. You picked up the glass taking a sip of the drink and moved on your seat to face him, your knees coming to settle between his spread legs and he gave you a soft smile making your heart melt and both his hands came to rest on your knees.

“How’s LA? How’s the kids?”

“LA is beautiful and the kids are great. Gil got expected into Collage and Zara's doing amazing at school”

“That’s good”

“How is Manhattan?”

A half smile came to his face. You looked down at his long fingers resting on your knees and you sighed,

“Same old really”

“Look at me Y/N”

You looked up meeting Nick’s eyes,

“I’ am sorry I did what I did. I should have told you a long time before I did. I shouldn’t have told you and then left like that. But I was afraid. Afraid the one person that I finally had feelings for didn’t want me and my heart would be broken again”

“Ni-“

“Please let me finish” you nodded back at him “I thought if I told you and left I didn’t have to deal with it”

“And you could move on”

“I didn’t want to move on from you Y/N- I just, didn’t want to hurt you. I’ am not the easiest-“

You brought your finger up to rest on his lips and he looked at you wide eyed,

“Don’t do that. You are so easy to love, I have been doing it for years. You never gave me a chance to show you how I feel for you and that’s not fair. You dropped that bomb on me and then you up and left, and never let me speak about it with you. You pushed me away but tried to keep me close and that messed with my head Nick” you dropped your hand from his lip and rested it on top of one of his.

“I’ am so sorry my love” Nick sighed and looked down. You stood up from your stool stepping between his legs, both his hands came up to rest on your cheeks “I really have missed you, more than you will ever know”

You grabbed onto both his arms and lent forward, your face close to his and he grinned up at you. You lent forward your lips meeting his in a sweet kiss which soon turned deep when he moved his hands from your cheeks and wrapped his arms around your middle pulling you into his solid chest, yours moving around his neck. Nick pulled back from you smiling,

“I fly out tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a month for 3 weeks”

“Ok” you nodded slowly at him, smiling.

“During those 3 weeks I would like to spend as much time with you as I can. My job is offering me to work between here and LA. 3 weeks here, one week LA. I want to work on us Y/N, I have pushed it away for so long and I don’t want to anymore, I love you.”

Tags: @beccabarba @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @alwaysachorusgirl @amorestevens

#nick amaro #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro x you #detective nicolas amaro #nicolas amaro #svu x reader #law and order svu #SVU fanfiction #SVU FANDOM #svu fan #nbc svu

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years ago

Text

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants.

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme.

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music.

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called.

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment."

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy.

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered.

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine.

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache.

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window.

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?”

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light.

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have.

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry.

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read:

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass.

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch.

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!”

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

PERM TAG LIST:

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#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro character fic #moulin rogue #french kiss #javier peña au

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caitlyn-winchester · 4 years ago

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Pilot Part 1

Disclaimer link in the master list of this story

Cordell Walker x Daughter!reader

word count: 2,180

warning; character death, angst, gunshots, little fluff, comfort

masterlist

It was a sunny afternoon, a perfect day to be riding around with the windows down jamming out to music with my mom. We were going to meet up with my dad before we headed out to deliver supplies. It was one of those days where my mom let me go with her to drop them off since there was no school. She’s always helping people which is what I admire so much about her. I would love to help people as much as she has, that's why I go with her sometimes so I can learn how to help others.

We pull up on the dirt road and see my dad’s truck approaching. My mom parks the car and gets out. “Well look at you. Did you get your guy?” she smirks at my dad.

“Do you even have to ask?” he states, taking off his hat and putting it on the hood of his truck.

“You get huffy when I don't ask” I chuckle to myself at my mom's response.

“Yeah, I got my guy.” he rolls his eyes and approaches mom more, “You heading out already?”

“Yeah I gotta pick up Geri. she’s got the supplies” she says then dad pulls her into a kiss.

“Ew! Come on guys!” I yell through the car window. “I’m right here.” They pull apart and laugh looking at my direction with their arms still wrapped around each other.

“Its love sweetie, you’ll understand when you’re married one day” mom tell me with a smile

“Which won’t be till your 40!” my dad adds in.

“Really dad” I rolled my eyes and hopped out of the car. I walked toward them crossing my arms, trying to be annoyed but fail and end up smiling. Dad laughs and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m serious Butterbean. No boys” He pulled me tighter in the hug and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. He pulled away smiling, then looked at mom and said “And you’re going to be..”

“On the approved route that you gave me.” she finishes his sentence. He nods and looks over at me again.

“And you little missy will..”

“Stay with mom and listen to her directions.” I replied.

“Okay.” Dad nodded satisfied with our answers.

“Don't worry, Ranger Walker. We’ll be fine” Mom pulled me into a side hug and I leaned my head on her shoulder. “Now get up to the house. Augies waiting on you, with your parents. It’s game night.”

“Right. Uh, how do I play that game again? Every time you tell me the rules I-I black out. And I’ll be at a loss without my usual partner” He says looking to be at the last part. I roll my eyes.

“You’ll be alright, Dad. you might lose every game because I’m usually the reason we win.” I smirk

“Oh really” he said

“Babe.” mom cut us off “just go in there, go have dinner. They're just excited to see you. You could lose every single game and it wouldn't matter”

“Why are you talking about straight to me losing?” he laughed and kissed her again

“Oh for the love of” I grumbled to myself. Jokingly of course, I'm happy that my parents love each other so much.

“Hey. Be safe.” Dad told mom once they pulled away. She nodded and dad looked over at me and said “You too Butterbean”

“Of course daddy.” I said, hugging him one more time before climbing back into the car.

»»————-　★　————-««

It all happened so fast. One minute mom, Geri and I were handing out supplies then the next mom was telling me to run. We kept trying to run but the person was still chasing us. I was running right beside my mom but then she told me to run in a different direction.

“What?” I said as best I could while running.

“I need you to run in that direction,” she nods her head to the left, “ and keep running until you reach your dad’s and my spot, you know where that is right?” She asks and I nod my head. “Good and no matter what happens or what you hear, do not turn around.”

“But what about you?” I ask her tears welling up in my eyes.

“Don't worry about me, just keep running alright”

I nodded my head and said “I love you mom.”

“Love you too baby, now go!” she told me but I looked at her hesitantly. “Now Y/n/n!” she yelled and started to pull out her phone.

I took off in the direction she told me to go in. I was so scared, I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest, my lungs and legs were burning, begging me to stop. I heard the faint sound of a gunshot and scream in the distance. It took everything in me to not turn around and go back to my mom but I kept running. I had to, she told me to not stop “keep going, keep going Y/N, she wouldn't want you to stop running” I kept telling myself. I'm tired, confused, scared and overwhelmed at this point. I tried to wrap my head around every scenario that could have happened a couple of minutes ago. Who got shot? Mom? Geri? Was the shot fatal? Did the shooter miss? If I go back would I have been able to save them? Tears are pressing against my eyes, I just want to go home. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me going at this point. I don't know how long I’ve been running for but I eventually saw my parent’s the white gazebo at Lady Bird Lake.

»»————-　★　————-««

Emily pulled out her phone and called Cordell’s phone, she waited a couple rings before he answered.

“Emily, you alright?” he asked.

“Just had to call you. I told Y/N to go to our spot. Something's not right.” she answered sounding scared

“What do you mean?” Cordell asked, growing concerned for his wife and daughter. Emily didn't respond, Cordell can only hear her panting over the phone. “Emily. Emily.” he says trying to get a response from her. Then he could hear a gunshot and her scream over the phone. His heart dropped and he started to panic, this can't be happening. “Hey.” he said before the line disconnected. He quickly told his family that the call was work stuff. He didn't want to scare them with what he just heard on the phone. He quickly went outside and tried his wife’s phone again. All he got was voice mail. He yelled in frustration and sadness and started crying. The worst thing has happened to him, he lost his wife and possibly his daughter. His daughter! Cordell suddenly remembered that Emily said Y/N would be at their spot. He quickly pulled himself together the best he could and hopped in his truck. He started making his way to Lady Bird Lake praying to God that his daughter will be there. His heart was pounding, Cordell normally doesn't get scared a lot but in this moment he is. Pulling onto the road leading to the gazebo he sees his daughter run out of the trees and collapse. At the sight of her he feels slightly relieved, at least he didn't lose both of girls in the same night.

»»————-　★　————-««

As soon as I reached the white gazebo I collapsed. I start coughing and gasping for air because my burning lungs need it. I flinched away when I felt a hand touch my shoulder, scared it might be the shooter and he might have followed me here.

“Hey, hey, Y/N/N, it's ok.” I heard dad's voice. I looked up and saw him kneeling on the ground to be at the same level as me. He opened his arms out to be and instantly jumped in them and clung for dear life. Dad instantly responded by wrapping his arms tightly around me, stroking my hair and every once and while my back. With the adrenaline worn off my emotions finally caught up with me and I finally burst. I started sobbing, my whole body shaking and I started gasping for air again. “Oh butterbean, you're ok now. It's all over. Take some deep breaths for me.” my dad said the calmest he could while repeating the soothing motions. I could tell he was trying to hide how upset he also is by the shakiness in his voice and I could feel tears drip into my hair. “Are you hurt?” He asked me gently and I shook my head in response.

“M-mom,” I was able to stutter out once calmed down enough “she told me to r-run….then there was a gunshot...I don't know if she’s-” I wasn't able to finish the sentence as I started to cry again. Dad shushed me and continued to keep telling me it's going to be ok…..I’m trying to believe him but I don't know if I can.

»»————-　★　————-««

Eleven Months Later………

It’s dad's homecoming night. He’s returning from an undercover case he was on, I haven't seen him in eleven months and haven't talked to him in three. August and I started living at our grandparents house and Uncle Liam moved in shortly after to help take care of us. Uncle Liam and I got closer as he became my rock during dad’s absence. The whole family and dad’s old ranger partner, now chief, are waiting outside for dad to arrive home. He’s late of course, I am not even surprised at this point, and i’m starting to think he is not even going to show up at this point.

“Let’s just go inside” I told August

“He’s coming” August responded, looking down the road hoping for dad’s truck to pull in. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, absolutely! Neither hell or high water could keep him away.” I said sarcastically. Then a vehicle pulls up onto the road leading to the house. My heart sped up and I got excited at the sight, I was finally about to see my dad again. That excitement fell when I realized its not dad’s truck but its Stan Morrison’s.

We greeted Stan and all went inside to have dinner. I was quiet for most of the night, not that anyone really paid attention to me. There wasn't really much for me to talk about since this dinner was supposed to be for dad, which he falled to show up too completely. After dinner I just went into my room while the rest of the adults talked. I started drawing in my sketchbook, nothing too detailed I just like doodling really. Tears were pressing against my eyes, I was so excited to see him again but when didn't show up at all I was heart broken. A knock at my door made me quickly wipe my eyes. The door opened to reveal Uncle Liam, he gave me a small smile.

“How are you holding up Y/N/N?” he asked. I just shrugged my shoulders and continued to look at my doodles. “You know I need a better response than that.” He said while walking further into my room and sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“I just...miss him you know? I haven’t seen him so long. I wish he never took that stupid case.” I said.

“Your dad is saving people when he’s on a case, but I understand that you miss him….and that you're mad at him too.” he told me giving a reassuring smile

“Was it that obvious?” I laughed a little and he nodded smiling.

“Get some rest ok. You have school tomorrow.” He told me, walking towards the door but I stopped him before he could leave.

“Do you think he’s mad at me?” I asked.

“Y/N, we talked about this.” he sighed

“ I know Uncle Liam, it's just...think about it, if I went back when the gunshot went off maybe I could have saved mom?” I mumbled.

“The key word in that sentence is maybe. I told you where the wound was there was an unlikely chance you could have saved her. And if you went back there was a more likely chance you would have gotten shot too.” He reassured you.

“Don't tell me you don't think that if mom was alive, dad wouldn't have been on a case for this long” I snapped. “I should have done something! But I didn't!” I cried. Liam quickly sat on the bed next to me and pulled me into a hug.

“Listen here Y/N, you did the right thing. I know you don't think so but you did but trust me when I tell you, you did everything right. You listen to your mom’s instructions and isn't that your dad’s rule anyway? ‘Always listen to mom’?” he comforted and I nodded at his question.

“I just want him here” you sobbed.

“Me too, me too.” he agreed, rubbing your back comfortably.

PILOT PART 2

#jared paladecki #cordell walker #walker #cw walker #walker texas ranger #supernatural #walker fan fiction #genevieve padalecki #Cordell x daughter!reader #ddm #micki ramirez #daughter reader

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years ago

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 28

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cw: light physical violence, spiraling thoughts

They always say that time stops. The world freezes. Nothing so much as breathes when you meet their eyes. The world is dreamlike, and the two of you are the only things in it. The only life, pulled together by instantaneous love.

That wasn't what happened when Patton saw Virgil.

Instead, time seemed to skip a beat, then move even faster than before.

Several seconds were lost, and Patton stared around as the room changed. Remus’s parents were hugging the other person who entered with Virgil, who he guessed was Remus’s brother Roman. Remus was standing now, closer to the mantel on the other side of the room, and suddenly Remus’s dad wasn’t even in the room, he was outside with Roman, and Virgil was leaving too. Patton exchanged a look with Remus—he clearly recognized Virgil. He looked scared, and kept biting his lips. Patton felt fear rise, and almost stood up himself—it felt strange, to be the only thing that hadn’t moved. Like he was in the eye of a storm. It was times like these that Patton wished he could hear.

Roman was back and Remus seemed to cower away, turning his face. That didn’t hide him. Roman’s eyes landed on Patton for a moment, who waved awkwardly. A crease of confusion appeared between his eyes, barely affecting his cheery smile, then he saw Remus and his face lost all color and the smile slid from his lips.

Roman stepped forward slowly, as if time had stopped for him—and maybe it had. Patton felt afraid to breathe, afraid to disturb the almost shimmering quality of this meeting. Roman approached his brother, and Patton could certainly see the resemblance. Sure, Roman’s hair was shorter and styled, and he was clean-shaven, but the two were almost exactly the same height. Their hair color was within a shade of difference, and Roman had that same dimple that Remus did. Even their body types appeared to be modeled off each other. If Patton hadn’t known better, he would have guessed they were twins.

Roman was turned away from him, so if he said anything, Patton didn’t know. What Patton did know was that Remus said something, accompanied with a slight quirk of his mouth, then crumpled against the wall as Roman’s fist hit his face.

Patton did jump up now, and Remus’s dad ran to check on Remus while his mom held Roman back. Then Patton turned to the door and saw Virgil again, clearly saying something, eyes scrunched up as he ran his fingers along his forearm.

Virgil. He looked just like himself, but different. His hair was shorter—normal length for him, probably, just dipping into his eyes. His eyes were far more clear than Patton had ever seen them, and he was surprised to see just how sparkly they really were—almost as if rays of sun were peeking through the cloudy grey. His jeans were torn and splattered with paint, but it was probably on purpose. He was wearing a hoodie, plain black, not near as nice as the purple-patched one Patton was wearing. His cheeks were full, there was a ring on his hand, his shoes were nice.

For everything that made Virgil unrecognizable, there was something that was unmistakably him. The shadows under his eyes matched the black of his jacket. His fingers tapped lithely on his forearm, as if spelling. His stance was slouched, and the curve of his lip caught between his teeth spoke volumes about how anxious he was. He ran one hand through his hair, causing it to stick straight up and causing Patton to experience a wave of intense homesickness. This was his Virgil.

Patton was across the room in three strides that felt like only half of one, time skipping again until he found himself in front of Virgil, tripping over a bump in the carpet, quite literally falling into his arms. Virgil tensed. Patton waited.

And waited.

Wasn’t this when everything was supposed to become perfect? The moment where it all washed away, and nothing mattered except him? A shield against the outer world, safe forever in his arms.

But Patton still felt hurt. He still felt angry at his father. He still felt lost. He still felt like something inside was broken, or missing, or taken. Being with Virgil was supposed to fix everything, but nothing felt like it had changed.

Tears built up in Patton’s eyes as he let Virgil push him away. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Why wasn’t it okay yet? Why did he still feel wrong?

He loved Virgil so much. Maybe he could be not-okay. Maybe he could be not-better, with Virgil.

That sounded . . . all right. That sounded lovely, even.

Softly, Patton took Virgil’s arm, not letting him jerk away when he tried. Virgil, he traced, trying not to let the tears spill onto his cheeks. Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. It’s me. It’s me. It’s Patton.

“Roman Hyrum Allred! Do not punch your brother—do not punch anyone!”

“Nah, it’s . . . it’s, uh, okay. Dad.” Remus prodded his nose gingerly. It stung, but didn’t seem to be broken. “I told him he could.”

Roman shook his hand out, pulling away from their mom. “Hey,” he said casually. “Where’ve you been?”

Remus let his dad help him up. “Around,” he answered, just as casually. He didn’t really feel like baring his soul at the moment.

“Remus, are you all right?” his dad asked quietly, checking out his face with concern. It must’ve looked pretty bad. Still, Remus waved him off.

“Yeah. Just glad he remembered the three R’s.”

Across from him, Roman smiled sheepishly. “I kept my promise.” He laughed slightly, then let the smile fade. “Why are you here?” This was sort of what Remus had been afraid of. He didn’t exactly feel welcome, but to have it spelled out like that sucked. His family had grown up without him. Roman looked so old, No longer the little middle-school kid in the front row of the choir concert. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it—he’d accepted long ago that he’d lost them, probably forever. Now, though, it really hit home. Remus hadn’t just lost them. He’d lost an entire life, one that he wasn’t sure he could ever get back.

Even now, surrounded by his family, he felt like a stranger. The house was the same house, these were the same people, but he no longer belonged to them. It felt fake. Nothing like how he’d imagined a reunion to be.

Remus wondered if he could pass off the tears as a result of the burning in his nose.

“I, uh,” Remus cleared his throat. “I got lost. And trapped.” He held Roman’s gaze. There was nothing familiar in those eyes. “I tell ya, all I’ve wanted for years was to come back.”

“So why didn’t you?” Roman asked. He didn’t waver, didn’t even blink, his expression more solemn than Remus had ever seen on a thirteen year old--because he wasn’t thirteen. He was a whole adult.

“It’s not that simple—” Remus started, but Roman cut him off.

“Yes it is.” His tone brokered no argument, and Remus watched the openness in his eyes shutter closed. “It is that simple. All you have to do is tell me where you were and why you couldn’t come back. That’s all I need. Then I’ll forgive you.”

Remus balked. He wasn’t here for forgiveness—except he was, sort of. He wanted to make up for leaving them, he wanted to tell them everything that had kept him from returning home, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he sit them down and calmly explain that he got caught up in a cult that brainwashed him to the point of rewriting and erasing old memories? How could he tell them that he only barely escaped with his life, then struggled to even remember their names?

“I can’t,” he muttered. Roman turned away. “Of course,” Roman said tiredly. “Like always. Virgil, would you—?” he fell silent. Roman’s arms fell to his sides as he stared at something. Remus leaned to the side, trying to see what it was.

Remus had seen Virgil when he’d walked in, but had completely ignored him. It was absurd for him to be here—what were the odds that Virgil would be kidnapped by a cult Remus was in, and also know Roman, halfway across the country? Remus would have written it off as a hallucination if Patton hadn’t also seen him. So instead, he decided to focus on more tangible things, like his college-age brother and his unfamiliar eyes.

Now Virgil had fallen to his knees, his mouth an ‘o’, choking on tears. In his arms was Patton, also bawling his eyes out. They were holding onto each other so tightly Remus could see Virgil’s knuckles turning white, bunched up in Pat’s hoodie. Honestly? Remus wasn’t surprised. Other than, of course, the ongoing shock that Virgil was even here.

This was the weirdest day ever, and coming from a man who had lived in a cult for about a decade? That was saying something.

Roman crouched beside the two, laying his hand on Patton’s back. “You must be Patton,” he said kindly. “It’s so good to meet you.”

Okay, now Remus was crying. When had his brother graduated from the shrimpy little eighth grader who was constantly picking fights to a smiling young man who would comfort people he hardly knew? Not for the first time (and certainly not for the last), Remus wished he’d never left.

Virgil laughed wetly, briefly letting go of Patton to lightly smack Roman’s arm. “He can’t hear, moron,” he croaked.

Remus left before he could see any more, stumbling a bit in the doorway of the kitchen. This wasn’t really his moment. This wasn’t his moment, or home, or life. This all felt so . . . weird. So . . . out of place.

Roman seemed happy, at least. Better than he’d been before he left. Remus couldn’t believe he’d remembered, and kept that promise all those years.

“You gotta stop fighting everyone.”

“You’re not my dad!”

The kid turned away, tension in every line of his body. Remus rolled his eyes. “So?” he said, shutting his bedroom door. “Stop acting out. It’s embarrassing.”

Roman laughed bitterly. “For who? You?”

“Yeah, maybe!”

Roman turned back. Tears were dripping from the corners of his eyes. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be good at school! That’s all you all want from me, isn’t it? You don’t actually care about me!”

If Remus knew anything, that was teenage angst. Roman was barely thirteen, why did he have so much already?

“I never said you had to be good at school,” Remus replied, gesturing to the bed. Roman didn’t sit down. “I just said you need to stop fighting. School blows. I don’t care if you get good grades or whatever. But it’s even worse without friends, and y’aren’t gonna have any of those if you don’t stop throwing hands and start shaking hands.”

“But I want to hit things!” To prove his point, the kid stomped hard enough that the bed shook.

“Okay, how about this?” Remus took a step closer, spreading his arms wide. “You’re mad? Hit me. You can take it out on me because I’m your brother. You can lose friends. You can’t lose me. We’re stuck together.”

Roman bit his lip and looked away. Remus waited patiently. After clearly thinking it over for a few moments, Roman turned back. His eyes were squinted, but trusting.

“Promise?”

“‘Course I do.”

“But what if there’s someone else who really needs to be punched?”

Remus burst out laughing. “Like who?”

Roman shrugged, his foot tracing a circle on the floor. “I dunno. Some people just need it, y’know?”

Remus considered it, still chuckling. Some people did need it. “All right, people who deserve it. Maybe. . . .” he paused, then it came to him. “Three groups of people, okay?”

Roman nodded, grinning.

“The three R’s,” Remus said, counting them off on his fingers. “Racists, rapists, and Remus. That’s who you can punch, and that's it. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Then Roman’s fist collided with his stomach and Remus ducked away, laughing.

Well, Roman had kept his promise. Remus hadn’t kept his own.

“Son? Do you need anything?”

Remus stared out the kitchen window, trying to avoid looking at the all-new tiling, or his mother, or back at the living room. “N-no,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m good. Thanks, Mom.”

Virgil’s brain wouldn’t shut up. It kept accusing Patton of being a hallucination, or telling him he was back in the room, or insisting that this was just a dream.

Virgil ignored it. Even if this wasn’t real, it was everything he wanted.

It was night now, but his mind hadn’t stopped racing. Just this morning he’d been running to English to turn in a paper before the professor’s office closed, and now he was in bed with the love of—with Patton wrapped around him. Virgil had no clue what time it was. He didn’t want to move to tap his phone and jostle Patton. Still, it was probably late enough that everyone else was asleep.

Patton wasn’t. He was laying very still, his head pressed against Virgil’s chest, but he was definitely not asleep. His breathing was too loud, and his body too stiff.

The first thing Roman had done was call Virgil’s therapist to gloat or something. Virgil had begged him not too, but a Roman with a purpose was unstoppable. So now Virgil had no therapist because Roman got caught up in the moment and fired her.

Throughout all that, Virgil never let go of Patton. He knew his way around the Allred household better than Patton did, but let him guide anyway. They even held hands during dinner, making it awkward to use silverware, but Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

It hit him again just how impossible this was. That Patton was here.

Remus had told a very long story about it, but one that was definitely censored. He hadn’t talked much at all about his own time in the cult, which Virgil was very curious about. He hadn’t recognized him until he mentioned rescuing Virgil.

Remus had put all the pieces together, in a way. He was the connection, the one who knew everybody in the story. It felt crazy—the same man who dragged him from the cult was the same man who was friends with Patton’s dad and was the same man who was his roommate’s long lost brother. No, it didn’t just feel crazy. It was absolutely insane.

Patton shifted, drawing his leg down from where it was draped over Virgil’s. Then he snuffled, reached out, and clicked on a light. He lay half on top of Virgil, so that they were chest to chest, his legs on the other side of the bed, his hands resting on Virgil’s head and face.

Virgil lay still as Patton traced a hand over his face. The room was silent and Virgil didn’t dare break it. His eyelashes fluttered as Patton smoothed down his brows with both thumbs in gentle, rubbing motions. He’d already done this to Patton several times today, so he figured it was only fair that he let Patton do what he needed to.

Virgil’s heart seemed to shake in his chest. He still felt not-quite-right. Maybe he didn’t believe this was real, or the despair of losing Patton was still too fresh to have him back already. Somehow, though, he knew that Patton would be able to fill the cracks. The parts of him that felt not-Virgil could be Patton. Without even conscious thought, Virgil’s hands moved in the signs he’d practiced over and over and over.

“I love you.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath. Patton’s hands left from where they were combing his hair out of his eyes. Virgil didn’t feel worried. Well, for a second he did. For a brief second, his stomach dropped and the world ended. Then Patton spoke.

“I love you.”

Virgil froze. That—that was—Patton—?

It sounded just like him. It sounded like his quiet, wheezing laugh, that got higher in pitch instead of louder. It sounded exactly the way his hands felt, rubbing up and down his back during a night-long hug. It sounded like how his smile felt under Virgil’s fingers, the way one side was higher than the other and his lips were slightly cracked in the middle. It sounded like Patton.

Slowly, almost as if scared, Patton’s hands returned to his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly.

Virgil did the same, one hand buried in his hair, the thumb of his other hand pressed into Patton’s cheek while his fingers curled near his ear.

As if unsure, Patton came carefully closer, Virgil’s hand putting light pressure on his head to tilt it down.

The room was quiet, nothing but their steady breathing breaking the silence. The darkness that was all that Virgil could see somehow no longer felt oppressive, more . . . unexplored. Full of everything, all the disappointments and happiness and anxiety and hurt and new and love.

Cracked in the middle, Patton’s lips pressed gently against his, barely moving at all. His hands tensed, but remained gentle on Virgil’s cheeks. Virgil reciprocated softly, letting Patton lead. The tip of Patton's nose brushed against his, feather light. Slowly, and with a very soft kissing noise, Patton pulled away, drawing Virgil's chin up with him.

Virgil’s hand on Patton's cheek traveled down to his mouth, tracing that smile that was higher on one side.

Then he pulled him back down.

~ Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail @anteonnix @fantasticfander21

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sope-and-shine · 4 years ago

Text

The Right of a King: Pt. 1

-> SFW // Soulmate!AU // fluff, angst // mummy!Namjoon -> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader -> Word Count: 15.1k -> Summary: Life as the night guard for your local high-end museum was supposed to be simple and easy. The most dangerous part of your job was only supposed to be the middle-aged patrons who insisted they get a discount for a line being too long. Nowhere in your contract did it say you’d be taking care of a 1,000 year old king that had been mummified. Thankfully, for you he’s harmless, but the storm that comes with him is not as welcoming. -> Warning(s): mild language, brief crude humor, Namjoon is kind of a jerk but he gets better...kinda, also a bit of a misogynist, technology abuse RIP the museum equipment, Jimin IS that salesman that uses his charm to steal your money - but will anyone complain? no.

A/N: This whole fic is a BEAST i sWEAR! I am however really excited to share this fic with everyone! This was originally for a collab that never got to happen -RIP - but I liked the idea too much to just throw her away!

I do want to give a huge shout out to @sakuraguks-main for beta reading this as well as my squad for their constant encouragement throughout the writing process.

Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to writing part 2

Masterlist

* * *

“Just the lunch box and the banana milk this time?”

“Uh…” You look up from your wallet to view your items on the counter. It was just one prepackaged lunch and a few banana milks, much less than you usually buy on your routine dinner stop. You don’t want to buy too much, but you’d need something for later in the morning too.

You settle for grabbing a few bags of chips off the rack next to you and set them on the counter, “I’ll take those too.”

He nods and rings them up, bagging them while you pay with your card. He grabs your receipt and tucks it in the bag, handing them to you as you slide your wallet back into your bag, “Have a good evening, (Y/n)!”

You nod, “Thank you! See you tomorrow, Gyu!” You wave to him as you exit the convenience store and step back into the bustling city.

Stopping for food is always a must for you before every shift with it being smack in the middle of your route. If you were to spend 10:00p.m. to 8a.m. by yourself with no food, you would probably go insane. It wasn’t like you couldn’t bring them from home, but it was much more convenient to stop on your way there. Occasionally, you’ll attempt to pull back on your snack intake, but Gyu never makes it easy on you when you do. He just makes it another typical day for you.

Wake up at 2:30, take a shower, do your school work, get ready for work, leave the house, stop to buy food from Gyu, and then arrive at the grand entrance to the Seoul Museum of History and Art.

The building itself is 4 stories high - not including the lower level storage it sits on top of - and 1 city block in length and width. It’s exterior is grand and extravagant with 3 large pillars that encase the 4 doorways that lead into the lobby. A large staircase greets you at the sidewalk, flower beds decorating the front along the brick railing on either side of the stairs. You never take the stairs on your way in, choosing to take the ramp hidden in the flowers up to the entrance instead. You’d have enough problems walking around the entire museum, adding more stairs to the mix would only ruin your mood.

Thankfully, Jin is always there to greet you on your way in. He never fails to brighten your day when you see him. Dressed sharp in a white button down tucked into fitted black dress pants with a grey suit jacket on top, he stands with his hands together in front of him and a large welcoming smile. His hair is parted just off center, not losing shape even as he nods to the patron in front of him.

You wait for him to finish his conversation before you greet him, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Jin chuckles. He lets his shoulders relax, moving his neck from side to side before looking at his watch. He looks impressed, “Wow, you’re earlier than usual.”

You shrug, “Yeah, Hoseok said he needed to talk to me about the exhibit pieces that are coming in.”

“Say no more,” Jin raises his hands in front of him and shakes his head, “I’ve heard all I need to.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” You laugh. You shake your head and sigh, “I should get going so I can get ready to clear the last minute rush.”

“Don’t work too hard, night guard.” He gives you a mock salute and you turn away, waving goodbye to him as you continue down the corridor into a sea of people.

Most people would think a museum wouldn’t be so popular, but your crowds never seemed to dwindle. You suppose you’d have Yoongi to thank for that. He ran the museum so smoothly it was almost like clockwork. Doors opened at 9 and they closed at 9, new exhibits rotate in and out every 7 ½ months to the day, and employees were put through severe background checks and training just to make sure they’d be competent enough to work in his museum. Everyone that works in the museum was handpicked by Yoongi himself, and everyone chosen contributes everything they have to be here.

You pass by the gift shop, spying Jimin at the counter helping a few kids pick out candies. He notices you passing and smiles, giving you a quick wave that you return before he gives his attention to the children in front of him.

You continue on down the hall, passing the cafe and the restrooms. The walls begin to lose their decor the farther you go, becoming planer and planer until you reach the break room doors.

“He was like, ‘do you think toys for cavemen were any different from present day? Like that shit must be wild bro’ and then they all started laughing at me when I said they didn’t have a Toys R Us, so yeah, they were different from now.” Jeongguk says as you enter the room. His impeccable timing for ‘strange conversation’ never ceases to amaze you every time you walk through the door.

Jeongguk’s a great guy, always very respectful and eager to learn more, but he’s been working as a tour guide in the museum for about a year now and he still hasn’t seemed to pick up on anything. You’re pretty sure Yoongi only hired him to keep the single ladies coming back. It was hard to correct someone with such a cute, bunny smile and such remarkable enthusiasm in the work place.

“Do you think it was an inside joke?” He proceeds to ask, his attention trained on Johnny who stands at the locker to the right of yours.

The man in question can’t stop himself from giving the younger a disappointed frown, “Dude...you’re the joke…”

Jeongguk tilts his head in confusion and you jump into the conversation, “I’m sure they’re just being teenagers, Guk. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” You turn to briefly glare at your locker mate as you open it, turning your frown into a smile when you face Jeongguk again, “Tomorrow is another day!”

“You’re right!” He closes his locker and throws his bag over his shoulder, his confidence already returning, “I’ll learn everything I can about cavemen toys and come back tomorrow prepared to tell all of my tours about them!”

He leaves before you can say anything back, off to do whatever it is he usually does after work. You don’t mind though, it’s a little hard to understand the college sophomore anyways. At least with him leaving you can relax before your shift starts.

Johnny sighs next to you, “You mother him too much.”

“I don’t mother him. I just don’t want to explain to him what they’re actually talking about.” You argue, placing your bags on the hooks in your locker. You take off your overcoat and replace it with your black security jacket, fixing the collar, “Besides, he’ll figure it out by this weekend and then he won’t make eye contact with either one of us for the next week.”

“Whatever you say.” He pulls out a lint roller and hands it to you before closing his locker, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Waving behind you with the roller in hand, you say, “Have a good night!” You hear the door open and close behind you, leaving you alone in the room to sort yourself out.

You make quick work to de-lint your black work pants, setting the roller at the top of your locker. Then you take the bags you set down and pull them over to the table at the center of the room, leaving your locker open while you take out your food to be refrigerated. When you have everything you need, you place the leftover snacks back on the hook and shut the door.

The door opens on your way to the fridge, Hoseok walking in with a folder in his hands. He looks up from whatever he’s reading and his eyes widen in surprise, “You’re here!”

You open the fridge, “Yeah, you told me to come in a little early.” You set your bag on the top shelf, close the door, and turn to him, “You wanted to talk to me about tomorrow?”

“Right.” He approaches the table and sets his stuff down, sorting through a few papers before he pulls one from his stack. He extends it to you, “This is all the information about who we’ll be meeting with tomorrow. It has times, names, and a manifest.”

“Everything is the same from the texts you sent me, right?” You ask, eyes skimming over the sheet for anything new.

“Yes! Each artifact was individually packed, so we should only have 12 new pieces coming in tomorrow.”

“Okay, so we just need to keep an eye on what they bring in.” You say, more to yourself than to him. You take a moment to let the information sink in, nodding in understanding when you’re sure you have it all down. You look back up to Hoseok who’s already discarding his security jacket, “Did you have any luck on new night guard help?”

“Ah-...no,” Hoseok sets his jacket over the back of the chair in front of him. He’d been searching for new help ever since Chanyeol left, leaving you to run the night shift alone. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t ideal for a museum in the middle of the city. You knew that and so did Hoseok. “I’ve been working on it, but it’s been hard with the new arrivals. Besides, you know how Yoongi is when he’s hiring new employees.”

You nod, knowing exactly how anal the museum director could truly be, “Yeah, I know. Just keep me updated though?”

You don’t really mind working by yourself, but you could only go so many days without a single day off. Thankfully, Hoseok was understanding of this, “I will! I’ll work something out, I promise!”

“Thank you,” You smile. You grab your bag off the table and hoist it over your shoulder, “I’m gonna go clock in and see about ushering the night crowd out.”

“Hyuk should be starting on level 1.” He informs you.

“I’ll take level 4 then.” You bid Hoseok goodbye and head across the hall to the security room, setting your stuff down in your chair and clocking in at the main computer. You take a moment to check the camera’s, looking for the most populated areas to look out for and which exhibits you could close as you go through.

This was something you did everyday. You’d find the unpopulated areas first so you could sweep the rooms and lock the exhibits behind you. One by one, you make sure to clear the floor before you move to the next level.

The third level is much busier than the other levels, having had the most change to it’s layout since the new exhibit was brought in 2 weeks prior. Families make their way to the stairs while couples try to catch one last look at exhibits they missed in favor for another.

Walking into the Ancient Dynasties Exhibit, you nod to the partons that you pass on their way out, stopping by the occasional straggler to let them know it’s time to go. You rarely ever have problems with getting someone to leave - maybe once or twice you’ve had to get physical with someone or call the police to escort them out of the museum - but the number of times is so small you could count them on one hand. There’s only one person you have to repeatedly kick out of the exhibit, and he’s worse than any patron you’ve ever dealt with.

“Taehyung, I need you to leave.” You tell him, approaching him from behind. His green, 3 piece suit is only slightly wrinkled from his work throughout the day, his jacket discarded and set off to his side.

The bubbly curator turns his head over his shoulder, dirty blonde locks still kept in a perfect side-sweep thanks to his “very essential” hair gel. His smile is almost a tease as he says, “Just a few more minutes.”

You cross your arms and sigh, “I’m counting.”

The saying “Just a few more minutes” has lost all meaning with Taehyung. You haven’t believed him since your third day of working together. He’s never been good at leaving his exhibits, wanting to take pride in his work. Despite having the ability to take pictures of the area as it’s curator, he insists on committing them all to memory. In hindsight, it’s very endearing. However, his wants tend to put you behind your own schedule.

He turns back around and you take a seat next to him on the bench. You take an obligatory look around the section he sits in, glancing over each artifact that decorates the walls. From tapestries or writing displays that hang on the walls, to small podiums with items far more fragile encased in glass. In front of you - roped off and on a placed on a small stage - is a large sarcophagus covered in gold with two lit candle placed beside it. Behind it is a wall of flowers, all apparently favorites from when the King was alive.

“Have I told you about Namjoon hyung?” He asks, referencing the mummy in front of you.

King Kim Namjoon of the Kim Dynasty. The only king of Korea to be mummified. Of all the exhibits you’ve been through with Taehyung, this one was his favorite. You could really say he’s obsessed with the dead King! Even with 6 more exhibits to his name. Taehyung spent almost all of his time in this section.

“I think I could talk about this guy in my sleep!” You laugh, nudging his side playfully, “And should you really be calling him ‘hyung’? If anything, he’s an ‘ahjussi’ to you.”

“Yes, but I know so much about him that he feels like a hyung to me!” He argues with a certain admiration in his eyes, “I’ve spent years waiting for this moment to have him in one of my exhibits, and now he’s right at my fingertips!”

He really isn’t exaggerating either. Before the king arrived, Taehyung would show you continuous updates about his uncovering and the updates on how his body was kept. The day his exhibit was approved, you thought he was going to explode. Of all the curators and all of the possible museums, he got King Namjoon. Anyone who didn’t know would’ve thought he won the lottery. In a way, he did.

“His exhibit here is a permanent one, Tae. He’s not going anywhere, so you don’t have to worry about him leaving anytime soon.” You assure him, placing a hand on his arm. Your smile turns into a grin, “What I am worried about is you leaving soon. Get out of my museum before I go find Yoongi.”

“I’m not afraid of Yoongi.” You raise an eyebrow at him and his shoulders drop, “Okay, so maybe I’m terrified of Yoongi, but that’s not important right now!”

You give his shoulder a light nudge, “Go home, Taehyung. The rest of your hyung will be here tomorrow.” You tease.

He sighs and leans his head back, “You say that like he didn’t arrive all put together. He’s a mummy, not Frankenstein.”

You hit his arm, “Get out of here.”

“Okay!” He stands up and turns to you with a boxy grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

“I never do.” You wave him off, watching him saunter out of the exhibit with a little jump in his step. Even after 14 hours on the clock of rounding the museum to look at his works, he’s still running like he just woke up. Some days you wish you could be as happy with your job as Taehyung is, but how many people truly loved working the night shift in a dark, quiet museum?

* * *

“Alright, let’s make this fast and efficient everyone!” Yoongi barks, walking up to the loading dock where you and Hoseok stand on opposite sides of the doors. He eyes the unloading crew unlocking the truck and sends them a warning glare, “It’s a full moon tonight, and I will not be out at 3am like last time.”

“You need to relax, Yoongi,” Hoseok warns him, still standing across from you, “It’s just a few small pieces and then we’ll be out of here before your ‘witching hour’ is here.”

Hoseok wiggles his fingers for a “spooky emphasis” and you stifle a chuckle. Yoongi is not as amused, “Laugh all you want, but at least I won’t be dead.”

“Is that a threat? Can I file an HR complaint?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi sighs, “Just do your job while they unload so we can leave.”

You offer a teasing grin and a nod, “Yes sir~”

Yoongi walks away and Taehyung replaces him, standing next to you instead of in the way of the workers. He rolls back and forth on his feet, watching happily as if he were a child at Christmas.

“Did I tell you what’s coming today?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure you may have mentioned it here or there.”

Of course, you know what was coming in. Your job is to protect it with your life. Hoseok gave you the run down via text on your last 5 shifts and again today as soon as you walked through the doors. More paintings, a chair, a dusty old book, and the shining jewel of the King’s tomb.

“His lover’s necklace!” Taehyung beams, “According to what we know, this necklace was used by the King to find his soulmate. We believe that because he didn’t take a queen, he never found his other half.”

You shrug, “Maybe he wasn’t really looking.”

“Maybe...maybe not. Most historians believe he mummified himself so when fate brings his soulmate to him, he’d wake again and they’d spend eternity together.” He turns to you and flicks your forehead, “You would know if you actually paid attention to me.”

You push him back, “Well, excuse me if I can’t listen to you talk about his majesty for more than 10 minutes a week.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and turns back to the movers. His annoyance quickly turns to excitement as he catches sight on the last box being carried in, “Is that the necklace?”

“Uh…” The man carrying the box looks at the label on the side, nodding to Taehyung in confirmation, “Yes sir.”

“Oh! Follow me!” Taehyung grabs your arm and pulls you after him. You turn your head back to Hoseok for help but he’s already waving you off while he closes the loading doors. You both follow the crew member to the table where a few other small items are being opened already, waiting long enough for the man to open the box for you. You can’t see the inside of the crate with Taehyung in your way, but he gets the first look at whatever dingy piece of jewelry is inside. He flails in excitement, “Look at this!”

Taehyung rushes forward, pushing the man helping him out of the way to reach into the box. When he turns around, he holds a smaller box in his hand, “It’s right here!”

“That’s another box…” You point out, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“It’s not just another box!” He argues. He undoes the latch and pulls the lid back towards him, revealing the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. A delicate string of silver stones bedazzled with small fuschia gems all laced together with a golden band weaving under and over. It glistens in the shine of the storage room work lights, drawing you in with every hypnotizing twinkle.

Taehyung smiles knowingly, enjoying your sudden engrossment in the artifact, “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

You nod, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch the delicate jewel. It takes a surprising amount of restraint from you just to pull away, “It’s definitely pretty.”

Yoongi claps his hands from the table beside you, “Let’s get these up to the Ancient Dynasties exhibit and in their places so we can get out of here.”

Everyone takes a box and begins to move upstairs, you and Hoseok helping the men with the old chair to ensure it doesn’t get stuck on anything. With the few items left to be brought into the exhibit, it didn’t take long at all for everything to be settled into their rightful places.

“Perfect! It’s all perfect!” Taehyung cheers, clapping his hands and squeezing them together. His excitement for this event was unmatched, and you know that in the morning when you see him next, he’ll be bouncing up and down just as he is now.

Hoseok nods to you, “Let’s lock them up.”

“Right.” You pull out your keyring and begin the process of going case to case while Hoseok sets their alarms after you. You make it all the way around the room until you stand in front of the necklace again. It’s beauty draws you in, having never seen something like this before. Many would think it too bulky and busy for someone to wear everyday, but a part of you could see it’s appeal.

A part of you wouldn’t mind wearing it at all.

Taehyung walks over to where you stand locking the cases and audibly gasps behind you, “Fix it!”

You jump, “Fix what?”

“The necklace! It’s not straight!” He points at the case and you turn your attention back to the object beneath the glass. Staring at with a clearer mind, it is indeed tilted just slightly to the left. If you were to just glance at it, you probably would have never noticed. But nothing could get past a perfectionist like Taehyung, “We have to fix it now!”

“Okay!” To appease the overly attentive curator, you unlock the case and adjust the necklace yourself. You pull the delicate string of stone and gem into place, locking it back up when you’re done. It glimmers in the corner of your eye as you turn back to Taehyung, “Better?”

He grins, knowing fully well that you’re more than annoyed with him, “Perfect.”

“Alright, now that we’re all done, everyone needs to leave so I can go home.” Yoongi announces.

Hoseok chuckles, “You really don’t want to be up past midnight do you?”

“I don’t care about being up past midnight. I don’t want to be out past midnight.” The older man grumbles, most likely cursing the other in the back of his mind, “There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Hoseok teases, making Yoongi glare at him even harder than before. He turns to the movers and waves for them to follow him, “Gentlemen, let me show you back to your truck. We wouldn’t want the grump over here to bite your head off.”

The group follows after Hoseok and so does Yoongi, “You’re so lucky you’re my friend, Hoseok, or I would fire you so fast.”

Hoseok only laughs at his loose threat, “Well, if you’d like to take the bus then be my guest.”

They all leave the exhibit and you turn to Taehyung who still stands in front of the case admiring the necklace inside, “So, I’ll see you early tomorrow, Tae?”

He turns back to you and gives you a large, reassuring smile, “Bright and early.”

“Go and get some rest for your big day then.” You say, placing a hand on his back and nudging him towards the door.

You watch him leave the exhibit, laughing at the way he dances to the music playing in his head. You take the responsibility of closing the gate, glancing over the exhibits contents between the bars before following Taehyung yourself. You say goodbye to Yoongi and Hoseok at the front door, ensuring the door gets locked behind them before getting to your own duties that were halted because of the shipment.

---

It’s later in the evening when you finally get to make your rounds through the empty halls of the museum. You’d checked every camera in the building twice, filling out your night paperwork as well as the visitor log for Hoseok to look over in the morning as you went. All you really had to do was roam the halls every now and then, keeping an eye on the monitors for anything suspicious.

The night shift was never quite as tiring as the day shift. Your interaction with patrons or real people was always far below what Hoseok and the dayshift would have to deal with - that was part of the reason you chose to take over the night shift. It was a bit more time consuming with just you, but hopefully Hoseok will find someone to replace Chanyeol before the New Year.

You hear a faint bang down the corridor and you pause. You’ve heard bumps like this before, mostly when it would rain and the tree by the ramp outside would hit the window. Rain wasn’t on the forecast for the evening, but that had never stopped it before. Not so easily scared, you continue on down the hall, stopping at the end of the hall when you hear it again.

“What the fuck…?” You say to yourself, a slight shake in your voice. The bang sounds again and you reach for your flashlight, it being the only protection against intruders.

In the three years you’ve worked as a security guard, you’ve never had a break in. Even before you, there had never once been an attempt by anyone to steal anything. In reality, the alarms should’ve gone off by now if someone had made their way into the museum. That meant that someone was smart enough to get past the security system, or you were going crazy.

You really hope you’re going crazy.

You make your way down the hallway, following the bumps and bangs into the Ancient Dynasties exhibit. The gate is locked - it hasn’t been unlocked since you left the room at midnight - but the noise isn’t one easily mistaken.

Against your better judgement you unlock the gate, stepping in and leaving the gate cracked behind you. If you needed a quick escape, then you wanted to be able to yank it closed as well. The noises cease as soon as you’re completely past the gate, sending an ominous chill up your spine. At a glance, nothing in the room seems out of place. Nothing looks to have been moved or damaged, but that does little to settle your unease.

“This is normal...everything is normal.” You say to yourself, trying to trick yourself into having the courage to move forward.

You spot the necklace in it’s spot close to the sarcophagus. It’s glass remains intact, just like every other item within the exhibit’s walls. It would make sense for someone to come after it considering it’s value, yet there it remains untouched.

“So where did the banging come fr-Agh!” You scream as the sarcophagus lid bursts open, falling to the floor in front of it and ripping the ropes connected to the wall right out.

Inside the now open casket, the ancient king covered in tattered, dusty cloth rolls his head. You can see his mouth move from underneath the dirt as he yawns. His arms raise to stretch in front of him, the mummy taking one step out of his box.

You can only stand in shock as you watch what happens in front of you. You had to be dreaming. There was no way you were actually awake witnessing a dead king coming to life in front of you. This had to be some sort of sick joke from Yoongi for calling him short. Maybe Johnny for calling him out in front of that group of fourth graders. Someone has to be messing with you.

The mummy turns his head to you and your breath hitches. You’ve never wanted to have seen The Mummy so much in one moment than this one, wishing you knew what exactly to do in this situation. You wish your feet would move, but they’re planted so firmly to the ground that they feel more like cement than limbs.

The monster before you takes a step in your direction, and you scream. You will yourself to move back, but you can’t stop yourself from stumbling over your own feet. You trip and land on your bottom, your body not even registering the pain as you attempt to scoot back away from the danger that continues to follow after you.

Every step he takes is another scream that releases from your lungs, your fear getting the best of you. It isn’t until your back hits the large display case that helps to divide the room that you realize you have nowhere else to go. You turn your head away, preparing yourself for whatever is about to come.

But nothing does.

You take a peek at the tall being before you and notice that he’s stopped moving, towering over your cowering form with his head tilted. His mouth opens and sounds come out, but his speech is muffled by the bandages. He seems to realize this though as his bandaged hands fly to his face.

You watch him pat around his face and neck until he finds a loose cloth, pulling it out and beginning the process of unwrapping his face. You watch in horror, unsure if the image before you will haunt you forever or not. To see what’s left of a 1,000 year old decomposed body that’s been “preserved” was something you never thought you would ever have to bear witness to. Hopefully, your therapist for this experience will understand.

If you get that far.

However, you weren’t expecting to see a full head of healthy brown hair appear as he went, nor did you expect to see healthy, tanned skin be freed from the confines as well. Brown eyes meet yours and a smile is uncovered, “Hello.”

“Hi...” You blink rapidly, hoping if you do it enough times your vision will clear, but the man in front of you still half-covered in gauze doesn’t disappear. You shake your head, “Am I awake?”

“You are as awake as I am.” He says with a pleasant smile.

“That’s not a very reassuring answer...” You can’t help but stare at him in awe and wonder just how this was happening. Of course, Taehyung had told you countless times about this supposed curse or whatever it was, but you thought it was all just a hoax your ancestors believed in. There is no possible way that you are actually awake and experiencing reincarnation or rebirth or whatever this is firsthand.

“Ow!” You feel a pinch on your calf, pulling you from your thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Or more specifically, the person before you.

“Well, did you feel that?” He asks. In your dazed state, you hadn’t noticed the man bend to your level and reach out to pinch you with rag covered fingers. The dust and mold leave a stain on your work pants and you can’t help but frown in disgust, “Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately I did.”

“You must be frightened and confused. Allow me to introduce myself-” He bows his head to you from where he kneels on the floor, “-I am King Kim Namjoon of Korea.” He looks back up and smiles bright, showcasing his dimples, “It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

You tilt your head in confusion at his choice of words, “I’m sorry, you’ve been waiting for me? I don’t understand.”

“Are you not aware of our bond?” He asks, tilting his own head to the side.

Of course you know about his bond, it’s all that Taehyung has ever told you about! His necklace was gifted by the moon goddess so that when his soulmate touches it, he’ll wake up and they’l-

It takes you a moment to realize that he believes you to be his long lost soulmate, and you’re ready to spiral into another frenzy when you do, “No…”

Soulmates aren’t real. Nobody just walks around and bumps into their soulmate on the street. They don’t hear their voice in the back of their heads. They don’t wait over 1,000 years to be matched with a fucking dead guy.

“No.” You repeat, more confident in yourself.

“I understand you may be confused as to what this all must mean, but I’ll explain it to you-” Namjoon tries to reach out to you again, but you’re quick to push him away this time.

You stand from the floor in a rush and take two steps towards the center of the room where the two display cases separate and show a clear path to the exhibit’s only exit, “No, you won’t. Please return to your box.”

He stands up after you but stops when he sees you step back again, “But we’re destined to be together!”

“Destiny isn’t real! This-” You gesture with both hands from you to him, “-isn’t real!”

“Our bond is as real as you and I!” He argues. You can feel the want and passion dripping from his voice. It isn’t hard to tell how much he truly believes you’re his soulmate, but he’s dead wrong - no pun intended. “I’ve spent so long waiting for you.”

“Nope.” It didn’t matter how many times he flashes you that lovestruck look. Soulmates weren’t real, and whatever is going on in front of you isn’t real either, “This isn’t happening.” You turn away from him, resorting to pacing out your frustrations instead of voicing them.

Namjoon watches you with a disappointed frown and slumped shoulders, “Well, this isn’t how this was supposed to happen.” He mumbles.

You attempt to calm your breathing, pleading with your rationale to find some way - any way - to explain what’s happening. The whole interaction felt like a crazy fever dream that manifested on the worst day of a cold. They’re always weird, but they’re never this realistic.

You turn back around to address the not-so-dead king and yelp when you see him pulling at his wrap, “What are you doing?!” You ask as he tugs and pulls at the rotten fabric.

Namjoon looks up, pausing his ministrations to give you an answer, “I’m removing these incessant wrappings.”

He returns to his unwrapping, leaving you to watch him as he goes. He wasn’t naked - thankfully - but you weren’t prepared for him to immediately unwrap himself. In all honesty, you wanted him to wrap himself back up and return to his box. Fortunately for you, under his wrappings he wears a loose white shirt and loose tan pants, his shoes long forgotten.

When he finally frees himself, he takes a moment to look around the room. His gaze trails over the walls, “What is this place? Why are we not in my tomb?”

“You’re in a museum.” You explain, watching closely to gauge his reaction. In a way, he wasn’t really that old in retrospect, but you doubt he’d seen a museum before.

He turns to look at you, just as confused as you expected him to be, “What is that?”

You shrug, “It’s a place where people go to see old things and art.”

Namjoon breaks into a smile, a red tint coloring his cheeks, “I wouldn’t say I’m art.”

“I didn’t.” You say, causing Namjoon’s face to drop just the slightest.

He’s quick to mask his disappointment with a polite smile. Turning to the side of the case he stands on, he looks back to the exhibit around him. He looks up and his eyes trail over the lights above him, “What dynasty is this?” He asks.

“Uh...the capitalist dynasty?” You reply, unsure of what you would call this era of time. Namjoon looks confused and you sigh, “You’re in the 21st century.”

“Fascinating…” He takes a long look over the glass case a few feet in front of him - the one that holds the crown made for his queen - before he moves forward, reaches out, and swipes a hand over top of it, collecting a thin sheen of dust on his fingertips.

“Don’t do that!” You rush forward and grab his wrist, pulling it away in fear of the alarm going off. Anybody who even got too close to it should set it off, yet no siren wails at his touch. The alarms had been set by Hoseok himself, so they have to be broken if neither of you were setting it off, “What…?”

“Can I have my arm back, or is this a new rude custom I’m unaware of?” Namjoon asks, staring at the place on his wrist your hand holds hostage.

“No, just-...” You release his arm and take a breath as a poor attempt to remain calm, “-just don’t touch anything.”

“We’ll need to touch the case to get your necklace so we can return to my home together.” He says as if what he suggested was completely normal for him.

You’re once again taken aback by his words, unsure if you heard him correctly or not, “I’m sorry?” You ask.

“We’re soulmates,” He explains, “It’s only natural for you to come live with me, so we can spend our days together.”

“We will not be going anywhere together!” You tell him. You step forward and grab him by the shoulders, turning him around so he faces his sarcophagus. You attempt to push him, “You will be staying here in your box, and you’re going to go back to sleep.”

Namjoon fights against your attempts, digging his feet into the hardwood floor beneath him. He scowls at the realization of what you’re trying to do, “Did you not hear what I said earlier? You are my destined lover. That’s how this is supposed to work!”

“And I told you that destiny isn’t real!” You argue, now using your shoulder to push all of your weight against him.

Namjoon turns to face you, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward. Namjoon grabs your arms before you can fall to the floor, using this opportunity to hold you close, “Is my life not enough proof for you?”

Dark brown eyes bore into your own, his sincerity written all over his features. You can tell he’s hurt, but you can’t help but continue to fight against him, “I don’t know! I’m still trying to process everything that’s happening right now!”

“As soon as we leave, I will explain everything to you in much greater detail.” He says, now offering a smile. However, leaving with him is the last thing you wish to do.

You push away from him and take a few steps back towards the exhibit's entrance, “We are not leaving.”

“I am a king, I have wealth beyond your wildest dreams! I can take care of you and it is my job to do so.” He reaches out and takes you by your wrist, “We’re going!”

“I don’t even know you!” You yell, pulling your arm away from him once more and stepping closer towards the exit behind you.

Namjoon looks annoyed, but he takes a deep breath before he continues to try and pursued you, “Why don’t you allow us to get to know each other then? At least tell me your name.”

“Just-” You pause, unsure of what you should even do. You take a few more steps back and he follows, “Stay there!” You demand, raising a finger to him. He does as told - whether he wishes to or not - and allows you to take a few more steps back until you catch sight of the gate in your peripherals. As long as he stays where he is, you could slip out without him, “Good.”

Namjoon, however, takes offense to you keeping your distance from him. This was no way to treat a king, especially ‘your’ king nonetheless, “Do not speak to me as if I am a child! I am a king, may I remind you.”

“You may. But may I also remind you that your rule ended over 1,000 years ago and you no longer hold any power.” You say, watching the frown on his features deepen into a scowl. With every minute that passes, his calm exterior continues to break, showing you his true nature. You take this moment of weakness against him and reach for his exhibit key on your belt, “I, however, am in charge of this museum after hours, so you have to listen to me.”

“I am a man-” He tries to argue, but you’re quick to shut his misogyny down.

“-And I am a woman,” You retort, thumbing through the labeled keys. Hoseok always made fun of you for trying to organize them, but it looks like the jokes on him. Not that he would really believe you if you told him.

“Your man card doesn’t work in this age, so try something else, your highness~” You tease.

Namjoon crosses his arms over his chest and glares, “You have quite the tongue when you’re not screaming.”

“Thank you, I get it from my grandmother. Now-” You slip through the crack you left in the gate and pull it close, pulling his key from it’s retractable clip and locking him in, “-go back to sleep.”

He blinks a few times before he moves towards you. He places his hands on the bars and pulls at them, but they don’t budge under him. His eyes widen in shock and he turns to you, “Did you just lock me in here?”

“I did.” You nod, smug smile and all.

“Unlock it. Now.” He demands, tightening his hold on the bars.

“Hm…” You pretend to contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your chin before you come to a fake decision, “No.”

“You insolent girl!” Namjoon yells, banging his fists against the gate that holds him.

You step back with wide eyes, stunned by his sudden outburst. You knew you were making him angry, but not this angry, “Wow, that’s one way to talk to your apparent soulmate.”

“I’ve been pleasant long enough! It’s time for you to accept the truth and let. Me. Out!” He demands.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I will.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” He huffs.

Staring at him through the bars, you take in his features. He’s angry, that much is clear. But there’s something else about him that just seems more hurt than anything. You don’t want to feel bad for him, but you have to give him credit where it’s due.

You release an exasperated sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? This is probably hard for you and...a fever dream for me-” Fever dream is perhaps the most lax way to describe this experience, “-but I think your necklace chose the wrong person.”

Namjoon stiffens and he almost looks offended at your assumption, “The moon goddess is never wrong.”

“Well, this time she is,” You insist.

“So what do you expect me to do?” He asks.

You shrug, “I’d prefer it if you went back into your box.”

“You want me to live my life in a box? After I’ve already spent so much time in it?!” He asks.

“Yes! No...I-” You’re unsure of what to say. On one hand, you feel a bit guilty asking him to return to a box he’s spent 1,000 years in. He died once, believing that when he woke he’d be greeted by his one true love. Instead he woke up to you screaming at him.

But on the other hand, he was supposed to be dead.

You sigh, “I don’t know what I want, but I can’t deal with-...” You raise your hands, grasping at the air before gesturing to him, “-this.”

The king looks offended, but he holds his tongue. Instead he crosses his arms and straightens his posture, “Well, I will not be going back in that box.”

“Wha-?” You cut yourself off, in disbelief of this man’s stubbornness. You huff, “Then go find your palace or wherever you lived before!”

He shakes his head, “I won’t leave if you refuse to leave with me.”

“Then you better get used to your view, because this is all you’ll be seeing!” You state, finally having enough of him. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, something you should have done when you first came up to the exhibit.

“You’ll come to realize that our intertwined fates will not go away just because you wish them to!” He calls after you, his voice echoing off the walls around you, “And then you’ll be crawling back to me!”

When you continue walking and refuse to answer him, he yells again, “At least let me explore!”

“Not happening!” You call over your shoulder.

“This is humiliating! You can’t do this!” You hear him rattling the gate again, but you pay him no mind. “Come back here, you insolent child!”

You bypass every other exhibit that you were supposed to check, instead rushing back to the safety of your office. Once you’re in you bolt the door behind you, just in case anything else in the building decided it needed to come to life as well. You drop yourself in your office chair and take a moment to yourself, giving yourself time to take in all of the events that just transpired.

The mummy from the new exhibit just came to life, you were somehow able to talk to him without passing out, he thinks you’re his soulmate, and now he’s upset with you because you locked him in his exhibit that he shouldn’t be freely roaming in.

You turn to your monitor and switch through feeds until you find Namjoon’s exhibit. He’s still standing by the closed gate, his hands slipped through the bars to try and fiddle with the lock. His posture that he once held with you is lacking, not as pristine as it was before. You can’t help but watch him with pity as his attempts to get out continue to fail.

But you can’t bring yourself to go back before the night ends.

30 minutes before the morning shift was due to come in, you use the intercom to tell Namjoon he’d have to return to his sarcophagus for the day. You couldn’t hear him, but you didn’t need a microphone to know he was not only confused but also very unhappy about that. You managed to convince him by informing him they would take him away to rot in a cell without you if he didn’t, and that seemed to kick him into gear.

Thankfully, he didn’t need your help making it back to his bed or putting the cover on top. You were not about to go down to his exhibit. Especially when the room itself looked completely untouched on the camera. The ropes that had been torn from the wall were back in their place as if nothing had ever happened, and the wrappings the King decided to discard were nowhere to be seen.

After that, you sat and waited for the morning shift to come and take over for you. You said good morning to all of your coworkers, and then you left. You went home and you went to bed, but waking again didn’t feel like a new experience. The looming feeling of knowing what awaits when you get to work again haunts you until your once again clearing the exhibits for the night.

You make it to the exhibit that has weighed you down for the past 12 hours and you hesitate to step inside. Clearing the room and locking it up will start the night, and then you’re left with the chances of seeing him again. Seeing him again means that everything you saw last night wasn’t a joke, and that you really have a living mummy in your museum.

What’s worse is he thinks you're his true love.

You come across Taehyung, once again sitting on the bench in front of the king’s sarcophagus. He wears a loose white button down and a pair of black dress pants, balancing a sketch pad on his thigh. He attempts to draw the exhibits main attraction with the altar that took weeks to create. If only he knew the object of his affections was alive and well only 15 feet away from him.

“Having fun there?” You ask, sitting next to the fashionable curator.

He takes a moment to answer, defining a line on his paper before he acknowledges you, “I always do when I’m here with Namjoon-hyung.” You roll your eyes at his use of ‘hyung’ and he chuckles. He turns his attention back to his paper, “Did you have a good rest of your night?”

You feel every bone in your body tense at the mention of the previous night. Last night was almost an out of body experience for you, and there was no real way to describe what you went through.

You shrug, “It was okay, same old same old.”

“That’s good! I’m glad you’re doing well here on your own at night.” He looks up from his shading and sets his pencil down, his expression becoming somber, “It must be hard without Chanyeol.”

“Yeah, it can be...” Working without Chanyeol really wasn’t any worse than working together. The only thing is now your new coworker is a 1,000 year old un-dead guy, but that’s a little much to explain, “But it’s fine! It really isn’t that strenuous on me at all.”

He smiles at your response and turns to look at his drawing, “I guess I’m holding you up aren’t I?”

You want to tell him more than anything that today you want him to stay just a little longer. Today is the day you want to hear all about every exhibit in the museum. More than anything, you just don’t want to face Namjoon alone, but no one would believe you if you told them the truth. So instead, you hum in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Once again, you watch him pack up and dance his way out of the exhibit. Only today you follow close behind, locking the king’s exhibit and rushing to the next - much more normal - exhibit.

---

It’s surreal to watch Namjoon through a screen. Sure, seeing him the other night was an experience, but to see that your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you is another trip entirely! With Namjoon truly existing, that leads you to really question his claims. You did touch the necklace, but so had plenty of others. Not to mention, it took him almost 3 hours after you’d touched it to wake up, so who’s to say that Taehyung isn’t his true soulmate? Even Yoongi could be!

Anyone but you.

He’s much more different now that he’s ‘chilled out’ from last night’s events. He’s no longer pacing back and forth or banging on his exhibit’s gate - though he has tried to pull it open once or twice. Now, he just sits on the bench where you had sat with Taehyung, only he sits facing away from his final resting place.

He looks to be in deep thought, as if he’s contemplating something as he stares ahead of him. You like him better this way, calm and quiet instead of trying too hard to convince you to run away with him. This king you could babysit until he fell back asleep as he should’ve been in the first place.

With him seemingly content, you allow yourself to work on other things you’d normally do throughout the night. You mainly focus on the online coursework you didn’t get done due to the distraction on the screen in front of you, organizing your office in between assignments. You don’t really pay any mind to your cameras until you catch movement coming from Namjoon’s.

On the screen, he appears to be waving his arms and yelling, resembling those people you see on TV when someone gets injured. You can’t help but sigh. You’ve been putting off your rounds just so you wouldn’t have to go by his exhibit for him to accost you, now you didn’t have a choice but to go see what was troubling him before he broke something.

You grab your flashlight and tuck it into its place on your belt clip, leaving the safety of your office to see what his majesty so desperately needs from you. It must be desperate if he’s yelling for the entire city to hear. You quicken your pace to get there faster, hopefully before anybody besides you has the chance to hear his cries.

“Soulmate!” He yells, his voice clear as day as you reach level 3, “Come here! I demand your presence!”

“If you don’t stop yelling for everyone to hear you, then I’m going to turn around and leave you alone!” You yell back, assuming he hears you when the yelling doesn’t continue. You make it to the gate of his exhibit and find him waiting for you with his arms crossed, no longer as relaxed as he was when the night began.

“What?” You ask, stopping in front of him.

He doesn’t give you the pleasure of knowing right away. Instead, he looks you up and down with a hard glare, “You didn’t bring me food.”

“That’s what you’re yelling about?” You ask in disbelief.

Namjoon takes offense to your indifference, “Yes! For your information, I am very hungry for someone who hasn’t eaten in over 1,000 years.”

In hindsight, you’d most likely be a little angry too if you hadn’t eaten in so long as well - though it’s not really an excuse for his behavior last night. But explaining why an unconscious guy was chilling on the floor of a locked exhibit with security footage showing him coming out of the sarcophagus would not be fun for anyone involved.

“I’ll be right back.” You leave him to run back to the break room, grabbing the prepackaged lunch you had bought for yourself, a pair of disposable chopsticks, and a banana milk that you kept stashed behind Hoseok’s forgotten lunchbox before heading back up.

Namjoon gives you a strange look when you come back, his eyes trained on the box in your hand, “What is that?”

“It was my lunch, but you probably need this more than me.” You look for the key to his exhibit on your belt, sifting through until you find the right label and pull it up to unlock the gate. You pause before turning the lock, “Move back to the case.”

“Really?” Namjoon asks, his eyes narrowed in a glare. You return your own glare until he finally gives in and takes the steps back to the case as you asked him to, “Happy?”

You nod and turn the lock over, opening the gate and slipping inside with the food you brought for him. You hand him the lunchbox and the milk before you reach into your back pocket for the chopsticks, “Sorry if it’s not what you’re used to, but this is all I’ve got-”

“-There’s no need.” He raises a hand to stop you - an action that irks you to no end - and sits on the floor with the food you’ve given him. You watch as he struggles with the tape that holds it together, holding back your laughter when he manages to get it off the box and stuck to his fingers instead. He seems to relax when he rubs it off on the floor, but his next challenge comes when he opens the packet of chopsticks and there’s only one inside, “What this?!”

“I’m going to assume you’ve never seen this before.” You bend down to his level to take the chopsticks from him, holding each one and pulling them apart to create two, perfectly good chopsticks. You bite back a laugh when you see the amazement written across Namjoon’s face, “Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Very…” He says. You hand him the chopsticks, watching with amusement as he tries to fit them back together. One drops and he fumbles to catch it before he realizes you’re still watching him, quickly using the utensils to shove food in his mouth as a distraction.

“Here.” Not wanting him to embarrass himself further, you take his banana milk and open it for him, setting it beside him while he eats. He takes a moment to take a sip and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What is this?” He asks, holding the bottle close to his face to inspect the label.

You shrug, “It’s just banana milk.”

“Well, it tastes fantastic!” He tilts his head back and chugs the rest of it, wiping his mouth before turning back to you with the same expression of a puppy ready to play, “Is there more?”

“Uh…” You hesitate to answer, afraid he’ll try to boss you around again, “Yeah, we do.”

“Bring me-!” He stops when he sees your expression sour. Instead, he clears his throat and bows his head, “If you wouldn’t mind, could I please have another?”

“Sure thing.” You smile, and he smiles back. It wasn’t much, but it felt like an understanding after the fiasco that happened the night before.

So, you rush back while he continues eating, grabbing two more banana milks and a bag of chips for you to munch on yourself. When you come back, you’re not surprised to see that he’s finished his food and left the box laying on the floor with the empty milk container. You want to be upset with him for just leaving his trash lying around, but it’s hard to be mad at him when he’s trying so hard to work the kiosk.

“This infernal contraption doesn’t work!” He yells, hitting the top of it as if that would somehow make it work. Of course, he’s not the only person to try this - you’ve seen many middle aged men try to do the same thing when you close - but it would only prove to break if he didn’t dial it back.

“Don’t do that!” You rush to his side and push his hands away, blocking him from touching the kiosk any more. “You can’t just hit things and expect them to work. That’s not how people solve their problems.”

“Well, it doesn’t have a mouth, so how am I supposed to talk to it?” He questions.

“Okay…” You heave a sigh and grab the headphones that rest on the kiosk’s base, a pair for you and a pair for Namjoon. You place yours on your head and then move to place Namjoon’s over his ears. He flinches away from your touch and you pull back a bit, “It’s okay, I’m just going to show you how this works.”

He relaxes, bowing his head so you can place the headphones over his ears. Once they’re well adjusted, you tap the screen of the kiosk to bring it to life. You read through the options designed for the exhibit, choosing to let it read through information about Namjoon himself.

“The Kim Dynasty-” The woman’s voice fills both of your ears, scaring Namjoon so much that he jumps back and his headphones clang to the floor.

His scared expression is priceless, eyes wide and hands raised to defend himself. You laugh, picking up his headphones and extending them to him, “That’s supposed to happen.”

“How is it doing that? Is there a woman trapped in each of these?” He asks, eyeing the other kiosks that line the wall beside the one you share.

You shake your head, “It’s called a recording. They made a copy of her voice and put it in here so the people that come here can learn more about you.”

“Oh…” He accepts your answer and the headphones in your hand, “I see the moon goddess has been very busy.”

“Here.” You grab his hand and fix it so his pointer finger sticks out, guiding his hand so it presses lightly against the glass to select a different option. A new section of Namjoon’s life begins to play and Namjoon seems impressed by the ‘power’ he holds in one appendage. “This is called a touch-screen. You just have to tap the buttons on the screen and it’ll change.”

He nods, staring intently at the screen before him. He tilts his head and taps the little home button at the top left, surprised when the screen changes from a video to the screen it started on. He smiles, his dimples popping out as he chooses another option, “This is amazing!”

His smile is infectious, as well as his eagerness to learn more about the technology in front of him, “I’ll just leave you to play with that for a bit, I have a job to do.”

“Yes! Okay.” He waves you off, paying more attention to the kiosk than to you.

You lock the gate behind you when you leave, though it doesn’t seem like Namjoon even took notice of either action. Even after you rush through your duties to come back to him sooner, he’s still playing with the same kiosk with a child’s enthusiasm.

“You’re really enjoying yourself.” You muse, standing off to the side behind him.

Namjoon nods, his fingers still dancing across the screen, “This technology is amazing! If only we had this in my dynasty. I can only imagine the advantages we would have had.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, it definitely comes in handy. Though, a lot of people believe it’s made us weaker as a society.”

“I can see why. Everything I could ever want to know about myself is right here at my fingertips,” He says, scrolling through the different options he could look through. He comes across a picture of himself and grimaces, “I wish they would have used a different portrait.”

You chuckle in amusement, “Well, if you’re not having my trouble, then I‘m going to get back to my office.” You go to leave the room again when Namjoon grabs you by the arm.

“Wait!” He yells, pulling you back to him. It takes him a second to realize what he did before he let’s go, “Sorry!”

“It’s fine.” You mumble.

“I just-...” The king pauses, taking a moment to collect himself, “I wanted to know if I could look at more exhibits tomorrow?”

His eyes look down into yours, so hopeful for a good answer. You’re unsure, “I don’t know…” You want to say yes to him, but there’s so much at stake if you were to let him walk around on his own. Granted, he couldn’t trip the alarms, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t break anything.

“I won’t touch anything, I swear!” He promises, both of his hands reaching out to take your own. He holds them to his chest, lightly cradling against the fabric of his shirt as he begs you, “I just don’t want to spend the rest of my time sitting in this room when there’s so much more around me.”

That gets you.

If there was one thing you could understand, it was being somewhere new with so much knowledge that you just had to know more. For someone like Namjoon, this was more than that. He had a whole world to try to come to terms with, and he was standing in the best place to do so. If you denied him that, then would you be able to deal with it?

“Tomorrow.” You say, “I’ll let you explore the museum tomorrow.”

Namjoon’s eyes light up and it looks like a weight is lifted right off of his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate to bow to you, “Thank you, soulmate.”

“It’s not the whole museum!” You add quickly, “And my name is (Y/n).” He seems unhappy at first, but he does eventually nod to give his thanks where it was due. You give a polite bow back, “You’re welcome.”

The next night comes all too quickly for you. Leaving him alone to explore was more than nerve wracking. You were probably out of your mind for even considering letting him out on his own, let alone trusting him in the first place. Sitting in your office you’d check the camera’s every few minutes just to be sure he was still in the hall, or you’d pinpoint his last location and make your final round of the museum according to how he’d walk through the halls.

That first night, Namjoon only went through his exhibit and the rest of level 3. Occasionally you’d catch him playing with a water fountain on the camera’s in front of the bathroom. Another time you caught him turning towards a planter and you quickly changed screens, reminding yourself to open a bathroom for him for the next night.

As two more nights pass, you notice his want to get closer to the exhibits than to just sit on the outside. More often than not, you caught him with his face pressed against the metal bars trying to get a closer look at everything. It wasn’t hard to tell that he wanted to be in the room with the art itself, but a part of you is still worried to let him have that extra inch.

It’s only on the 5th night when Taehyung takes notice of your woes that you change your mind.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, leaning over himself on the bench to look at you. You sit with your hands in your lap just staring at Namjoon in front of you, wondering if you can really trust him to continue keeping his word. You don’t notice Taehyung, nor do you hear his question. He rolls his eyes and taps your knee twice, “Hey!”

“Huh?” You blink away your thoughts and turn your attention to him. Unaware of what he asked, you tilt your head in confusion, “What?”

Taehyung hums to himself and nods, “I’m right, something is wrong with you.”

“What do you mean something’s wrong with me?” You ask defensively.

Taehyung sighs and shows you his watch, showing you that it’s 5 minutes past weekday closing time, “This is the longest you’ve let me sit here rambling to myself. 10 minutes past our normal time!”

You shake your head, content to push him away, “I’m just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

“By what? Is it a work problem? Family troubles? You can tell me, I’ll listen!” He assures you.

You have no doubt in your mind that he will listen to you, but how do you explain your situation is the real problem at hand. There were only so many excuses in the world, and if you weren’t careful you might get yourself fired just for using a bad analogy.

You weigh your options and sigh, “My niece - she’s really little and way too rambunctious to come here - really wants to come and see the art on display. I want her to come see where I work because I know she likes the art, but I know my sister is worried about her breaking something or causing a scene.”

“Hmm...I see.” Taehyung hums, not showing any sign of suspicion against you. He really thinks about your ‘concern’ before he comes to a conclusion. “I think she should come and see.”

“Really?” You ask.

He nods, “Yeah! It’s best to let children experience art and it’s creativity for themselves! Even young children have an eye for art, and those who truly appreciate it only want to see it up close to see every detail.”

“I guess that does make sense…” Thinking about it, he does have a point. Namjoon may be from a different moment in time, but he’s still a grown adult.

Taehyung seems to sense your uncertainty and places a calming hand on your knee, “Art isn’t meant to be viewed from afar. It’s made to make us feel emotion.” He explains, “Even the most unlikely of patrons can find something that makes them appreciate art.”

Even after your talk is finished and you’ve left Namjoon’s exhibit unlocked for him to let himself out, you’re still debating your next course of action. There’s a big risk in letting him roam through the exhibits, but you can’t in good conscience let him sit around doing nothing forever.

You find Namjoon on level 4, his face pressed against the bars of the Apparel Through the Ages exhibit. You sneak up behind him and clear your throat, “Good evening, your highness.”

Namjoon stumbles back, not expecting you to be there. It’s amusing to watch him scramble into a more respectable position with his hands behind his back. He glances your way, “Have you come around already?”

“No, I haven’t,” You say. You pull at the keys on your belt and jingle them, “I’ve come to open an exhibit for you.”

“What?” He’s surprised, “Will you really?”

“Someone told me that those who appreciate art want to take in all the details they can.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Namjoon wants to see more than he can see at the exhibit’s gates. An old soul like his could probably use some new perspective, “You choose the exhibit and I’ll unlock it.”

“Any of them?” He asks.

You nod, “Just lead the way.”

The light in his eyes that you saw the night before comes back and it relaxes you for some reason. Even as he takes your wrist to lead you down the hall to the exhibit he wants to see, it’s as if he’s two different people. It’s almost confusing how quickly his demeanor changes with you. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he becomes a child. Yet the moment you offer something new - something for him to learn about - it’s as if he’s just a child at heart.

When you open the Animal Kingdom exhibit on level 2 for him you’re thrown for another loop. He only gives you a simple thanks and walks away, leaving you to question if he’s just inherently an asshole or if he’s just petty. Even as you come back around from your rounds to close up for the night, he still seems to flip back and forth with his own personality and his thanks.

You go home that morning confused and on a mission. You throw the notion of sleep out the window and settle onto your couch with a cup of coffee and your laptop, determined to know more about this so-called King that intends to ruin your life little by little.

A simple Google search brings you many results, ranging in portraits and newspaper articles to biographies written by renowned historians. You click on the first link available, taking you to a page drowning in photos and art. It would seem that even in life, Namjoon enjoyed surrounding himself with art.

His portraits were absolutely breathtaking - you could understand his disappointment now that you’ve seen more than just the one - and the pictures they showcase of his palace are surrounded in flowers and gorgeous statement pieces littered across the grounds. It’s surprising to read that they’ve remained there for so long without any disturbances. You would have thought they’d taken one or two lawn pieces like they had taken Namjoon, yet they remain in their home without any signs of distress to them.

You take another long sip of coffee and move onto another page, checking out a more informative website. This one goes into detail about his life as a prince and as a king. You discover that he became king at the young age of 17 when his parents sadly passed away during an ambush to the throne. Apparently, he changed over half of the Kingdom’s laws the very next day and saw to every change in policy himself. It only took him 3 months to get the people of his kingdom to trust in him and his guidance, which - according to the article - was a big feat for his time.

You’re surprised to read about his contributions to his people. He strongly encouraged his people to progress forward and bring him their concerns, he housed over 30 children in his home at one time because they had no homes to go to and he even had a sort of sanctuary for animals to be cared for under his watch. He oversaw their historians writing, ensuring that they put every detail on paper. Even his failures were written down under his careful eye, despite his power to erase them from future generations

This Namjoon was so kind and caring. He was so well educated and well-spoken, and he was loved by all of his people for his generosity and understanding nature. How is it that a man who was known for being so kind, could be the same man who bossed you around and demanded that you spend the rest of your life with him?

How is it that a guy who sounds so sweet on paper can be a total dick in real life?

* * *

After hours of research with no sleep and a cold shower to wake you up, you find yourself standing in front of Namjoon with a copy of The Little Prince tucked on top of the food you’ve brought him for the night.

Namjoon accepts the food, taking the boxed lunch with one hand so he can pick up the book with the other. He inspects it carefully, flipping it over a few times to look it over, “What’s this?”

“I did a little research on you, your highness. According to historians and the internet, you were quite the avid reader.” You’d read a lot about Namjoon, and every website you visited gave you list upon list of books read by him when he was still alive and well. They all spoke of his fascination for fantasy novels and those with deeper meanings behind them. The Little Prince seemed like a no brainer to you when it came to more relevant novels to fit his tastes. “I figured you might get bored sooner or later, so I brought you something to pass the time until you fall asleep again.”

“You know that’s not how the enchantment works, yes?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment before you reply, “No, I don’t know that. Do you?”

“I-” Namjoon is at a loss for your teasing words. Instead he frowns and turns his nose,“It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen it happen! I trust the moon goddess!”

“Mhmm, whatever you say~” You laugh, much to his annoyance. Namjoon sits down to eat his food and you take that as a sign for you to continue doing your job, “Enjoy your book and your food.”

You go to leave, but the king calls after you, “Can’t you stay here? Keep me company?”

You pause. His company wasn’t terrible, but you don’t want to stay and risk giving him a sense of false hope. He was still over 1,000 years old, and you were still a broke college student trying to pay her way through life. You’ve never been the type to play with someone’s emotions, and you weren’t going to start now.

“That’s not in my job description.” You say. You almost regret your choice when you see his sad expression, but you steel yourself, “Have a good night.”

You leave him, not coming back until you’re making a lap on your rounds. And there - sitting against one of the large display cases - sits Namjoon with the book held loosely in his hands, his face holding a look of pure concentration and a ghost of a smile. He looks so peaceful and content sitting cross-legged on the hard wood of his exhibit, you almost feel bad for asking him to return to his sarcophagus. But that night he goes willingly.

And you can’t help but notice the glow of the necklace on your way out.

---

“Hey-!” You turn your head away from the water fountain, hearing Jimin’s voice call down the already noisy hall. You spy him at the entrance of the gift shop, but his attention is on a girl passing by who’s turned to look at him as well. He holds a box in his hand, but you can’t see what’s inside from where you stand. “Have you seen our new merchandise that just came in?”

“Uh...no, I haven’t.” The girl seems slightly uncomfortable. Either from his approach from the gift shop for her to buy something, or just from a guy who looks like Jimin approaching her - you don’t know which.

You walk closer to the gift shop, curious yourself about the mystery box in Jimin’s hands.

“This - my lovely lady - is our newest piece of jewelry.” He opens the box and you catch a glimmer of silver and fuschia, “The necklace of King Kim Namjoon’s lost lover.”

Her face lights up initially when she sees it, but then her face drops and she shakes her head, “Oh, no, thank you.”

“You don’t want to buy it?” He asks. Jimin pouts and you can feel the immediate distress coming off the poor girl he’s talking to.

“It’s pretty, but it’s a little expensive…” She tries to explain her situation - whether it’s true or not - but Jimin is relentless.

He looks around the hall to make sure no one is too close to listen - all but you anyways - and gets closer to her, “But don’t you know the legend behind the necklace?”

“Of course I do! King Kim Namjoon’s soulmate is supposed to wear this necklace.” She says.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Jimin makes a point of string into her eyes, unwilling to break their eye contact, “Legend says he prayed to the moon goddess herself to find his true love and she gifted him with her own special moonstone to guide his other half to him!”

He moves closer, so that the two are almost shoulder to shoulder just so he can give her a closer view of the product, “These pink stones are pieces of the King’s soulmate's heart, and they’ll glow brightest when his lover wears his necklace by his side!”

“Wow...that’s so romantic.” You can see her resolve breaking, and you almost feel bad for her that Jimin is the clerk on duty today.

“Do you want to know the best part?” He asks, his smile reaching his cheeks and his eyes full of mischief that resemble love almost too closely. She nods enthusiastically and Jimin brings the box closer so she can see, “This gold string that holds it altogether represents their connection to each other. It’s a bond that can’t be broken by anything in the universe.”

He carelessly throws an arm over her shoulder, just light enough to be seen as friendly. Though, it would seem the small trick is already working it’s magic on the poor thing. He squeezes her shoulder, “A lot of people believe that wearing this necklace will bring you closer to finding your own true love, so they package them with their own prayers to the moon goddess in hopes she’ll grant them eternal love as well.”

“Really?!” She asks. She looks to him as if he holds the whole universe in his hands, having been swayed by the blonde’s charm.

“Yeah!”

Just like that, you watch him lead her back to the counter and then wave her and her new treasure goodbye, holding a sticky note close to his heart.

“Should you really be lying like that?”You ask from the store’s entrance. You’re more than disappointed to see yet another girl fall for the man’s charms

Jimin shrugs, “I didn’t lie. I just stretched the truth.”

You walk up to the counter and snatch the note out of his hand, “Stretching the truth sounds a lot like lying.”

“Don’t you have a monitor to watch somewhere?” He teases. You hand him the paper back and he sticks it in his pocket, bending below the counter to grab another.

You can’t help but think about what he said, and the legend behind the real necklace. You’ve heard a lot about the real thing, but all of it usually went in one ear and out the other as myth for you. Now that you know it’s real and far from a hoax, you have so much more that you need to know.

Jimin pops back up with a stack of necklaces in his arms and sets them on the counter in front of you, pulling out a sheet of tags that go with them. You take the sheet from his hand and peel one off, handing it to him, “Can I ask you a question? About the necklace?”

“Sure, but Taehyung is the expert around here.” He says, accepting your sticker to place on the box in front of him.

“You think I don’t know that?” You laugh. You look down and peel off another one, “Is all of what you said about the necklace itself true? About the real necklace?”

“According to Taehyung it is!” He nods, not even sparing you a glance, “The moon goddess gave the King a necklace so powerful that only he and his lover could tear the bond if they chose to, but they never got the chance to meet.”

You hand him another sticker, but you stare into space as you do, “That’s...really sad.” You can’t help but think of the pain Namjoon had to go through knowing his soulmate would be by his side, but not knowing it wouldn’t be in his first lifetime. Not only that, but to wake up and then be met with someone who doesn’t even want to be his soulmate? You can’t help but think about how you’d act towards him if the roles were reversed and he were in your shoes.

You’d be devastated.

“It is.” He takes the sticker from you with one hand and flicks your forehead with the other. You flinch and pull back with your hand rubbing the spot he hit while he just smirks at you, “You would know if you ever listened to Taehyung.”

“Yeah.” You don’t even register your response before handing the sticker sheet back to Jimin and pushing off the counter, “Thanks Jimin! Have a good night, okay? Don’t call me at 2am like last week.”

“No promises~” He sings, going back to his work in front of him.

Later that night when you’re handing Namjoon his dinner, you sit with him to eat yours as well. The look Namjoon gives you as you calmly open your dinner across from him is almost too good to ignore.

“What are you doing?” He asks, slowly unboxing his own lunch.

You pay him no mind as you break apart your chopsticks to start eating, “You wanted me to keep you company, remember? Or is my presence no longer appreciated?” You pick up a clump of rice and turn your attention to him, eyebrow raised.

Namjoon is quick to shake his head and get started on his own food, “Of course it is!”

You both eat in awkward silence, neither of you quite sure how to start a normal conversation. You’ve only ever made polite talk with him, and he only ever seemed to anger you no matter what he said. The only time you were ever civil was when you would show him something new.

Namjoon swallows his food and clears his throat, “Where would you like me to escort you tonight, my lady?”

You shake your head, “First of all, don’t call me ‘your lady’ or anything else other than my name.” You warn him, pointing at the tag on your jacket. He nods and you continue with your rant, “Second, I have some rounds to do, so you can join me tonight as long as you don’t bother me too much. Understood?”

“Yes, my la-” You narrow your eyes at him and he corrects himself, “(Y/n).”

The two of you finish your food quickly with some small talk made here and there. When you’ve cleaned up, you allow Namjoon to lead you to another exhibit he’s yet to see. All the way on level 1, he wants to see art he’s more familiar with.

“So, you said you asked the moon goddess for a chance to meet your soulmate?” You ask one you’re inside the museum.

“Indeed,” Namjoon nods, listening to you as he takes in the art around him, “I prayed to her one night on a full moon and I begged her to send me a lover. Someone I could confide in and care for, and would do the same for me.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “And instead she gave you the necklace?”

“No, she gave you a way to find me.” He says, a genuine look of happiness on his face.

“Still-“ You feel a heat rising in your face and you can’t help but turn away from him out of embarrassment. Your eyes land on a painting of a couple and you feel the knife dig just a little deeper, “-you asked her for someone to rule by your side as your equal and she let fate tear you apart.”

He shrugs, “Maybe we weren’t meant to meet before now.”

His calm exterior bothers you. If you had asked for what he had, you’d be livid! He made a promise and that promise was misguided!

“How can you be so calm?” You ask, allowing your thoughts to be heard.

Namjoon stops to look at a picture of a cherry blossom in the winter, it’s petals covered in frost. He smiles, “You said you read about me from one of your current books. The internet? What do they tell you of me?”

You chuckle at his misunderstanding of what the internet truly is, “Well, the internet told me that you were a very generous and beloved king. They said you were intelligent and caring.”

He chuckles, “I’m flattered.” He looks to you with an amused smile and you elbow his side carefully, causing him to laugh, “I’m only joking!”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, sure.”

Moving on to the next painting, he follows after you, “What else did your book tell you?”

“Well, it told me about your love for the arts.” You remember the extensive biography you’d found during your research. You didn’t read it in its entirety, but you did skim through it, “I read that you would host a festival every year?”

“Yes! Just something special during the summer seasons to enlighten everyone.” He has a far away look in his eye as he recalls the fond memories of his past life, and you can only begin to wonder what a day in his life would have been like, “I’d import goods from everywhere just to have the best for my people.”

“It would seem you’re truly generous, your majesty~” You tease.

“Namjoon.” He corrects you. You give him a quizzical stare and he only smiles in return, “If I’m to call you by your more common title, then you should feel free to use mine. I am attempting to woo you after all.”

“Right.” You smile awkwardly, remembering that you were actually trying to give him a chance. You’d actually been comfortable for once, that you hadn’t even noticed just how easy it had become to talk to him.

“And to really answer your question of why I am as calm as I am,” He pauses in front of a portrait of a town under the night sky, his attention trained on the light orb in the background of the painting. “The moon goddess is lonely herself by nature, so separated from our world. Just like this portrait, we see her, but we pay her no mind.”

You stand beside him and take your own, clear look at the picture. If you would have looked at it on your own, your main focus would have been on the town and the people in the foreground. You would have glanced at the moon, but the orb and her stars were painted so faint compared to the rest of the picture.

“She came to me - and perhaps it was out of boredom for her own happiness - but she made me a promise. Promises are something I don’t take lightly.” He says. His words are spoken like a true king, but you can’t help but wonder if he himself truly means what he says.

Namjoon turns to you with a peaceful smile, “Fate works in mysterious ways, and sometimes it’s best for us to wait and see what it brings.”

He’s ready to move on and you both bask in a new found silence as you continue to walk through the exhibit, stopping occasionally at a portrait here and there. Though at every painting you stop, you can’t help but look at the man next to you.

This was the man described in everything you read. This was King Kim Namjoon at his finest, and you were privileged enough to be there.

“Did you really house orphaned children?” You ask out of the blue.

He blinks at first, registering your sudden outburst. Though, when he does realize what you’ve asked, he smiles fondly, “I did. Of all the people we should take care of, our children and our elderly are most important!”

His words are filled with passion, and you can tell he really cares about the people he’s talking about, “Our elders have shaped our generation, and we shape the generations after us. It’s only fair that we see they’re well taken care of.”

There’s a part of you that truly wishes to see what he was like as a ruler for yourself. You smile, “Well, I guess the internet doesn’t lie.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, though I’m probably not the correct person to ask.” He sheepishly admits, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

You nod in understanding. He really didn’t know much about this era or it’s advancements besides the kiosks in his exhibit. It takes you a moment, but you think of the perfect exhibit to introduce him to the 21st century.

You take his hand in yours - effectively catching him off guard - and you pull him in the direction of the exit, “Well, allow me to educate you about the world I live in.”

Namjoon doesn’t even attempt to hide his blush this time around. He only nods and allows himself to follow you, “Please.”

You lead him out of the more classic featured art section and into the Modern Art Exhibit. This exhibit starts very tame, sticking to photography and modern painting styles before it morphs into free form art sculptures in the connecting rooms.

One sculpture is made of metal and it’s shape reminds you of a round mushroom. It's definitely interesting, but you don’t necessarily understand it’s appeal. It would seem Namjoon is confused as well.

“This is art?” He asks, his head tilted to the side as he follows his distorted reflection.

“It is.” You assure him. You had a feeling he wouldn’t get it either, you just wanted to show him what he was missing. You sigh, “I don’t really understand it either so don’t fe-”

“It’s so intriguing.” Namjoon says, cutting you off.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, slightly confused.

“The structure and the colors, they’re so complimentary to the other! I don’t want to look away.” His entire being is completely enraptured with the piece in front of him. It’s so simple, yet his eye contact doesn’t break from his reflection. “I feel as though I am in a trance.”

You squeeze his hand - not even caring that your hands are still connected, “Well, there’s much more of this to see.”

A look of pure joy and elation blossoms on Namjoon’s face and you feel a faint flutter in your heart. You’d never noticed how bright his eyes shine until now, nor did you notice just how cute his dimples really were.

Are you really falling for him?

~ Read: Part 2 ~

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