#these books have had me at the brink of tears at least 5 times now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsdanii · 4 years

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i loved the rejecting and regretting series!! could you do one with akaashi and osamu? thanks again!!

Hey, bub. Thank you so much for requesting. I'm happy that you're loving my works, it makes my heart soft 😭♥️ Here's your request! I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated. Mwah!

Rejecting you and regretting it pt. 5

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: rude behavior (resolved), cursing

a/n: Do read the warnings before you proceed. Warnings have been put there for a reason.

ft. akaashi keiji, osamu miya

Title says it all

Akaashi Keiji

With your grades in literature almost at the brink of destruction, you had to swallow your pride and ask one of your classmates to tutor you

While you're the best in most subject areas, you sucked when it comes to literature

You didn't see the point of studying articles, analyzing literary pieces and using poetic words

But for the sake of graduating, you had to take the subject

But it seemed like the subject hated you just as much as you hated it

And so, one afternoon, you slammed a limited edition book you knew Akaashi, your classmate and your crush, liked on his desk and stared at him with pleading eyes as you begged him to tutor you

At first, he rejected the offer, opting to pat your head before leaving the classroom

But you were persistent

It wasn't long then when he started taking pity on you

All your papers had red marks in them and everytime there was a test, you would stare blankly at your paper and jot down nonsense ideas

At the sight of you in the brink of tears, Akaashi sighed and decided to help, given that you have to focus and not do random stuff during your sessions

And that's how you found yourself in this current situation - hand holding the pen tightly, your eyes focused on the man in front of you instead of the story analysis he's explaining, and your heart beating as if you just finished a 5km run

"Are you even listening?"

You blinked your eyes at him and smiled sheepishly before scratching the back of your head. You knew that a small blush was probably visible on your cheeks now but of course, you had to play it cool.

"Of course," you said with a confident nod. "You were uh, talking about young love."

Akaashi rose an eyebrow at your answer as if challenging you to elaborate.

"The main character was in love with the guy... and the guy doesn't like her? And she-" you paused for a moment and grabbed the book you were reading, eyes scanning between the lines before continuing your probably wrong answer. "She died?"

With a sigh, Akaashi stood up and sat beside you, your elbows pressing against each other as he leaned down to write something on your book.

"Okay, first and foremost, she didn't die. She left. This part here-"

As he continued explaining, you felt yourself getting lost once again. Your eyes scanned over his features, taking notice of how long his lashes were and how flawless his skin was that you were almost tempted to caress it. His scent surrounded you for being too close which tempted you to shut your eyes.

"I like you," you blurted out unconsciously.

The both of you froze as soon as the words escaped your lips, eyes widening and lips parting as you stared at each other with shocked expressions.

Fuck.

Aaashi, who was the first to compose himself, cleared his throat before sitting upright. "Y/n-san, I'm really flattered by your infatuation but you do know that I'm only here to tutor you, right? We agreed to focus. We're supposed to be studying, not flirting with each other."

"I know but..."

"I can't accept your confession, I'm sorry," Akaashi said before sighing. "How about we end this session already? I don't want your mind wandering while I talk here knowing that you're out of focus."

You immediately shook your head no. "It's okay, Keiji. You don't have to like me back, you know? Just let me like you. You can just pretend that nothing happened. I promise I won't do anything that'll make you feel uncomfortable."

Despite your facade, Akaashi knew that you were forcing yourself to act unbothered. It wasn't really hard to figure you out. Like a book, he could read you within seconds and know exactly what you were thinking and how you were feeling, and at this moment, he knew that you were just pretending.

For the sake of not making you feel uncomfortable and guilty, Akaashi nodded before continuing his explanation regarding the story.

Surprisingly, you stayed true to your words. You didn't say anything out of the line nor forced your confession to him. Akaashi admired you for that since most of the girls whom asked him for help from the past were only after his looks and the sake of getting in his pants.

As your session came to an end, you stretched your arms out. You released a breath of relief before smiling at him. "Thank you so much for teaching me, and I'm sorry for taking so much of your time."

You started keeping your things and piling up the books you're going to borrow from the library. Standing up, you gave him a small bow before grabbing your bag. "I'll see you around then?"

Akaashi just nodded and watched as you made your way out of the library, not knowing how hard you were gripping the books you had in your hand.

That night, you cried your eyes out. Sure, at your age, it may seem childish to cry over someone, but this was Akaashi we're talking about.

The Akaashi Keiji.

The one whom you've liked ever since your first year in college. The one you've liked the moment you saw him sleeping inside a nearly empty library, several cups of coffee and littered paper surrounding his table as if he had been studying the whole night. The one who never noticed you but you never failed to notice.

Your Akaashi, or at least in your dreams, he was yours.

You stared at the now empty tub of icecream on your lap and sniffled. Grabbing another roll of tissue, you began to wipe your tears and your runny nose before playing another cliche romance movie to soothe your broken heart.

Your study sessions with Akaashi continued for a couple more weeks but unlike your previous meetings, you weren't as enthusiastic.

You were focused and attentive, but it just wasn't the same. Akaashi noticed how you would try to put a bit of distance between the two of you, how you would avoid looking at him in the eye, and how you avoided touching him.

But what he noticed the most, were your swollen eyes the day after you confessed to him. He knew that there was only a 50% chance that it was because of how you were rejected by him, and yet he felt an immense feeling of regret. The moment he saw you, he realized that he never wanted to see you like that again.

But he didn't know how to approach you. No, you didn't ignore him like the other girls do. You also didn't say any nasty remarks nor talk shit about him.

What you did was pretend as if everything was okay, as if nothing happened. It felt normal... too normal.

And it terrified him.

One time during your break, you slipped a test paper in front of him, a big A+ written on the sheet of paper making Akaashi lift his eyes from the paper towards you.

"You did good," Akashi said with a proud smile.

"Mhm, I guess I did," you said before taking the paper from him. "I wouldn't have gotten this score if it weren't for you though. Thank you."

He shook his head no before leaning back on his chair. "That was all on you. All I did was guide you."

"This might be our last study session."

"What?" Akaashi said as he stared at you with an expression you can't quite decipher.

"I mean... I don't think I need any more help. I feel like I can manage on my own already and I've no one to thank but you." You looked away from him before continuing, "I think it would benefit the two of us if we stop this already. While I'm grateful for you, I don't think that it's good for me anymore. I thought that if I acted like it didn't matter then it wouldn't, but Keiji..."

"No," Akashi said with a shake of his head.

"What do you.."

"I don't want to stop this." Gripping his hair, Akaashi, took in a deep breath before reaching for your hand.

"Y/n, I don't want to go back to how things were before. I don't want to be just your classmate. I'll miss how you would stare off into space and daydream while I'm explaining to you and I'm going to miss how you would make up answers just to prove that you were listening when in fact you weren't. I'm going to miss you, and I know that if we stop this study sessions... I may never get the opportunity to be this close to you again, and I don't like that."

Akaashi squeezed your hand in his and intertwined your fingers. "I like you. I like you so much that it scares me."

"Keiji.. look at me, please," you said softly as you tried to take your hand back.

Feeling your movements, Akaashi tightened his hold on you and shook his head no. "Y/n..."

"I'm not going to leave," you assured him and smiled when he finally let go of your hand.

Akaashi watched as you stood up from your seat and made your way to his side. He was then surprised when you suddenly sat on his lap and wrapped your arms around him.

"Did you really mean what you said?" you asked which made him immediately nod.

"Of course. I really do like you." Akaashi carefully wrapped his arms around your waist, watching for any negative reaction, and pulling you closer when he didn't receive any. "You're sitting on my lap and basically hugging me. Does this mean that you still like me?"

"Of course, Keiji," you said with a smile.

"Then..." Akaashi collected your hair to one side and gently placed his hand on your nape, his eyes traveling down from your eyes to your lips. "Can I kiss you?"

With a simple nod from you, Akaashi pressed his lips against yours.

a/n: yes, you made out in the library. This is Akaashi were talking about and there's no way I wont take the opportunity to make out with him in the library lmao.

Osamu Miya

You were one of the lucky fans of the Miya twins, specifically Osamu's

Why? Because you're Aran Ojiro's sister and that meant that you can freely see your crush any time of the day

The team basically treats you as their own sister

Although it gives you a lot of perks, it also had its disadvantages

Because no matter how much you try hinting your feelings towards a certain Miya, he just won't acknowledge it

In fact, you didn't get along with him

Unlike the rest of the team, Osamu would always pick on you

You actually didn't expect it to happen because you thought that Atsumu was the playful one among them

But boy did Osamu prove you wrong

There weren't any time of the day that you won't pick at each other, spouting remarks here and there until the other gives up

It never went overboard though. You both knew your limits and when to stop

Or at least that's what you thought

Because today, he chose to target the wrong topic

You were currently seated in the middle of the court with the rest of the team. All of you were in the form of a circle with an empty bottle in the middle.

It was Atsumu's idea to play a game of truth or dare before you all go home. According to him, it would be effective on "cooling" off their bodies from the intense practice. Even Kita was forced to participate, thanks to Atsumu's constant whining.

With a wide grin, Atsumu spun the bottle which made most of you take in a deep breath due to the anticipation.

Finally, the bottle stopped. The tip was pointed at you while the other side was pointed towards Atsumu.

"Y/n! How lucky of ya! Truth or dare?" he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

"Truth." You couldn't help but roll your eyes after that, knowing that what's to come will probably be something silly.

Except it wasn't.

"Then... If yer given the chance to date someone from the team, who would it be?" Atsumu asked proudly, giving Osamu a side glance before focusing on you again.

You heard your brother groaning from beside you making you giggle. Placing his arm on top of your head, Aran gave each of the members a glare.

"Hm... I'd probably date 'S-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, Osamu let out a loud chuckle. All eyes snapped to his direction, watching him in confusion.

"Sorry, sorry," Osamu said after composing himself. "Did ya really have to ask that? Of course she'd pick Suna. Haven't ya notice the way she looks at him every practice?"

"Huh?" Suna muttered absentmindedly, his eyes lifting up from his phone towards Osamu.

"Don't even try denying it, y/n. Plus, even if ya try, I know Suna will basically reject ya. I mean, I can't even stand ya. If it were me, I'd reject ya on the spot. Yer annoying and too loud and that thing ya do with yer hand when yer explaining? Super annoying. Ah! And don't ferget the way yer nose scrunches when yer deep in thought," Osamu said without any pause.

Once he was done, he titled his head a bit to the side, trying to peek at your face that was now casted downwards, your hair covering most of your face. "Oh, are ya crying? Did I ruin yer confession?"

To his surprise, there were indeed tears streaming down your cheeks when you lifted your head up. Everyone grew silent, completely shocked at the sight.

"I was going to confess to you, dumbass." With that, you stood up, grabbed your bag and ran out of the gym.

Aran immediately stood up to follow you, but not before throwing a glare to Osamu.

Atsumu, who was the first to break the silence, turned towards his twin. "Okay, I know that I'm dumber among the two of us but that was a real jerk move right there, 'Samu."

Osamu could only stare at the gym doors with shock and regret written on his face.

"You're on the bench until I'm sure that you and y/n-san made up," Kita simply said before standing up. "Game's over. Let's all go home."

The following days, you avoided Osamu like a plague. It even reached the point that you have to eat lunch inside your classroom instead of eating with the team like you usually do.

Even Aran was pissed at Osamu. Aran knew that a playful banter was normal between you and Osamu but never had it ever reached this point.

You were basically crying all night when you arrived home and if not for Aran's patience, you wouldn't have went home in the first place. When you left the gym, your brother found you in a nearby park, your knees up to your chest and your head hidden from view.

He wasn't oblivious about your feelings towards Osamu but he never mentioned about since he wanted you to tell him or any of the members when you're comfortable enough. It was only unfortunate that the moment you felt confident enough to confess, Osamu had to pull that shit on you.

"C'mon, Aran. I need to talk to them," Osamu pleaded as he tried to get pass your brother.

Aran stood firmly infront of your apartment, his arms crossed over his chest and his figure blocking the door. "You really have the audacity to march your way to our apartment after the shit you put my sibling through? What, you got tired of sitting on the bench during matches? Can't impress your fanclub anymore? Go home, Miya."

"I'm sorry, okay? I wanted to apologize to them but they've been avoiding me. This is my last resort." Osamu said and gripped his hair in frustration.

Once he saw a peek of you trying to hide yourself behind a wall, Osamu immediately grabbed the opportunity. "Y/n, I'm sorry! Talk to me, please! I... I don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry..."

You soften at the pleading voice of Osamu and revealed yourself from behind the wall. Walking over to the door, you placed a hand on Aran's shoulder. "Give us space to talk, please?"

Your brother threw a glance at Osamu and sighed at the determined look on his face. "Alright," he muttered before turning towards you. "Call me if anything happens, alright?"

Upon hearing you hum in agreement, Aran placed a hand on your head to ruffle your hair, chuckling as he heard you whining before he went out.

You invited Osamu inside your apartment, making sure to close the door before settling yourselves on the living room.

"Water?" you asked out of courtesy but Osamu only shook his head no. "Talk then."

Osamu felt an unsettling feeling inside him at your dismissive tone. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"I was used to havin' banters with ya that I didn't realize that I was already sayin' too much. I didn't mean to hurt yer feelings, y/n. I know that it may sound ridiculous considerin' how harsh I was to ya but I really didn't mean those words."

You listened attentively to him as he continued to apologize, your tears once again flowing down your cheeks as you remembered everything that happened. "I really like you, 'Samu. I don't even know how or why but I just do and I guess I was hurt, not only because you rejected me but also humiliated me. I don't deserve that," you said and brought your knees up to your chest, clutching the throw blanket as you sobbed.

Osamu was beside you in an instant, his arms enclosing you as he pulled you to his lap. "I know...I know. I'm sorry," he whispered as he rubbed your back soothingly. "I guess I got blinded by jealousy. I thought that ya were going to say Suna's name so I assumed that ya like him."

Wiping your nose with the sleeve of the hoodie you're wearing, you looked up at him with a frown. "Jealousy? I thought you hated me. Why would you even feel jealous?"

"Do I really have to spell it out fer ya?" Seeing you nod, Osamu sighed and pressed your face to his chest in order to hide his flustered cheeks. "I like ya, okay? I always pick on ya because I wanted yer attention. I didn't actually expect ya to fight back but ya did. That's why I was intrigued by ya, and if ya still like m-"

"Yes," you answered without even letting him finish. With your face still buried to his chest, you could hear his heartbeat picking up. You pulled away from the hug and looked up at him, you cheeks still slightly damp from crying.

"Yer not kiddin'?" Osamu asked as he stared at you, his hand reaching up to wipe your cheeks with his thumb.

"I'm not. I'm still a little hurt so you have to make it up to me, but my feelings? They're still here," you answered honestly.

A smile made its way to Osamu's lips upon hearing what you said. Pressing his forehead with yours, he tightened his arms around your waist to hold you closer. "Thank ya fer givin' me another chance, angel."

After making up and stealing kisses here and there, you and Osamu decided to cuddle on the couch, your back against his chest and his arm resting against your waist.

It safe to say that when Aran came back, the most sour expression made its way to his face. It hadn't even been two weeks when he witnessed you literally crying your eyes out and now, he comes back to you sleeping on the couch with the man that made you cry.

"Fuck my life," Aran muttered with a groan.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

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sluttbuttsstuff · 3 years

Text

Hucow!AU Part 5 (FINALE!!!)

WOOHOO!! It’s finally Bruno’s turn, I saved best boy for last. All parts combined in gdocs are 29 pages total, this is def the longest thing i’ve written in over a decade!! I hope you enjoy, and look forward to whatever i decide to write next

thanks, and enjoy!

as always. credit goes to @dark-side-blog2 for the wonderful hucow! au

WARNINGS: not sfw, yandere, duncon, noncon, sleep fucking, force feeding, manipulation, dark themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, all characters 18+!!

After taking care of Narancia and tucking him into bed, Bruno returned to your room once more. You slept like the dead, worn out from a long night. Bruno smiled proudly, you had been wonderful for them. Each bull, you had accepted their love, their passion, their essence and earned your place in the herd once again. It filled Bruno with such joy, knowing that you were the perfect mate for them, for all of them.

You were caring and kind for Narancia, playful and fun for Mista, calming and gentle for Fugo, accepting and attentive for Abbacchio. And for Bruno: you were everything. For so long, there had been a piece of the puzzle missing in his life. He had a family with no mother, no children.

Bruno had met you first in a very dark part of his life-his herd was beaten, driven from his home in fear, on the brink of death with no hope. And then, you had appeared, an angel hidden away in paradise, offering safety, shelter. Much more than that, even, with a little bit of convincing, and a lot of planning. He would have his family, his children, and you.

Bruno knew how to play the long game, how to strategize and manipulate, but he only did it for good reason. He had to, you were too prideful, too stubborn to realize how much you needed him. You were running a giant farm several acres large by yourself, no employees, relatives or neighbors to help. Bruno couldn’t have that,now could he? He and the other bulls took over the hard work and heavy lifting-eventually, after a lot of hemming and hawing from you. Bruno managed to talk you into it; it was beneficial for both of you, a way for the bulls to earn their keep and for you to get some help.

The bulls helped with Bruno’s plan as well, in their own ways. Mista put his cooking skills to use, making you healthy meals infused with lackweed (Mulgeo, a plant that encouraged your body to lactate) and pills that increased your sexual urges. He’d even been adding charcoal to your meals to cancel out your birth control; it wasn’t necessary, Bruno had gotten rid of your birth control months ago while you were asleep, but Bruno appreciated it nonetheless.

Narancia had gotten you to warm up to them very quickly, being as innocent and naive as he was, and Bruno was able to use him to display his parenting skills. Yes, Narancia was a grown bull, and mostly treated as such, but he was still the youngest, and hard not to spoil. Plus, the way you seemed to light up when Bruno would baby Narancia- it was clear your maternal instincts were awakening. Good! It was excellent practice for your own children.

Fugo was admittedly the most awkward around you, it wasn’t really his fault, though. He had the least experience out of the bulls with women, but Bruno could tell his true feelings about you. So, he encouraged Fugo to show his strengths to you; mainly his brain. There was an old tractor collecting rust that needed repairs, and you had lost several crops last season due to lack of irrigation. Fugo was able to repair them, thanks to researching some books and some help from you. Plus, it was one less job for you to do, and another reason for you to depend on them. Bruno knew Fugo was nervous, but Bruno was certain he’d be a good mate and husband. He would make their children very smart.

Abbacchio could be a little rough around the edges, it's true, but he clearly had a soft spot for you. While he would smack Mista and Narancia around when they got on his nerves or got ornery, you he respected and let a lot slide. Bruno had seen you tug on his tail (admittedly by accident) , elbow him (after a funny joke), and even put flowers (that he was allergic to!) in his hair! Abbacchio had taken it in stride, and even defended you when Mista’s teasing or the other shenanigans went too far. Plus, Abbacchio’s skills as a lockpick let them sneak into your house when you were away or sleeping. Very useful indeed…

Bruno knew he had to share you, as much as he wanted you for his own. He couldn’t hurt his herd, his brothers, who loved you almost as much as he did. So Bruno was patient, he let them have their turns first, keep the peace….

But Bruno couldn’t wait any longer.

The timing had to be perfect, to ensure he had the best chances. He had snuck into your home months before, stealing and disposing of your birth control, and destroying your refill prescription. Thankfully you were too busy and preoccupied to make a new appointment with the doctor for new medication, which Bruno appreciated greatly. Digging through your trash, he was able to record and determine your cycle, in order to find out when you would be most fertile. He would allow his herd many things,including you.

But his child would be first.

Letting the others go first- he allowed it before you were truly in heat. They didn’t know why, but were grateful nonetheless, eager to claim you.

He pulled back your blankets, after making sure you were deep in R.E.M. sleep. Birds started chirping as dawn rose outside, but you were dead to the world. So much, in fact, that when Bruno pulled back your bed sheets you didn’t so much as flinch. You were still nude, too tired to put your pajamas back on last night; Bruno admired the early morning light glowing on your body. Bruno kissed down your face and body everywhere the sun touched, relieved you were still asleep. Bruno made note of every bruise and marking on your skin to treat later that morning, as he went lower and lower down your body. Spreading your legs, you tasted divine. You were definitely ready, too: now would be his best chance.

Licking the others out of your core, he heard you quietly whimper- he paused, waiting for you to stir, but you eventually drifted back to sleep. You always were cute when you slept, the way you would sometimes talk in your sleep or kick your legs “Running.” Bruno had learned a lot observing you, and intended to learn a lot more from you today. He cleaned you out with his tongue and prepped you thoroughly-maybe it was petty of him, saving you all for himself, but Bruno was the alpha bull, and the perfect mate for you. That’s why it was so important to not just get you pregnant, but pregnant with his children. It’s what you, the both of you deserved.

Once Bruno was certain you were ready ( you were still soft and wet from last night, and pleasantly warm against his tongue and fingers) he leaned over you, pulling your legs up against his shoulders into a mating press. It terrified him how easily you slept, how dangerous it would be if his herd hadn’t found you. What if someone else had found you before them, taken you like this in your sleep? It worried him so, that’s why he had to do this, claim you and protect you from any rivals.

Bruno stroked your cheek, before pressing inside. Finally, after all this time, he was inside of you, warm and wonderful and all his. You squirmed in your sleep,but otherwise accepted him without complaint. Bruno was so happy he could cry, he settled for kissing your shoulder as he pushed into the hilt. Bruno couldn’t hold his urges back any longer, he thrust into you again and again, hitting against your sweet spot. You cried out in your sleep, jumbled noises Bruno convinced himself were his name. In this position, he was able to reach so deep, force himself as far inside as he could reach.

His grip on you tightened, feeling the strain of the position, the slap of his balls on your ass fueling his desire more. But it wasn’t enough, he had to make sure you felt good too. He suckled your chest, licking your nipples the way he had seen you enjoy. Your pussy was so wet he was able to rub slick onto your hard throbbing clit, careful to rub the raw skin gently.

“Y/n, I’m so thankful to have found you, finally we can make our dreams come true~” Bruno whispered to you, desperate for you to know the feelings he’d held back for so long.

“I can hardly hold back with you; I’ve been waiting so long for this, and I can tell now that so have you. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, we all will. Just give in, you can trust me.” Bruno pleaded, close to the edge. Bruno grit his teeth, it was about to end, all too soon. Bruno wasn’t ready, he wanted to stay like this with you forever. Relief washed over Bruno as he heard you cry out in release, tightening around him and bringing him to release.

“I’m cumming, y/n. Please, accept all of me!” He gasped,spilling his seed inside. Tears Bruno had held back spilled down as his emotions overcame him, something he would only allow to happen while you couldn’t see. He was certain this was the right thing to do, now more than ever. You were his, all of theirs, safe and protected.

In the next months, you would become full with child. Naturally, you would have to stop manual labor-which would be fine, you could depend on your sturdy bulls to run the farm for you. And then when you had their children, you would need to raise them. Obviously, you had five capable mates to help you; taking turns feeding them, staying up on long sleepless nights, teaching them right from wrong. So many precious memories to be made with you, Bruno could

hardly wait.

As Bruno turned to leave you to rest, he saw you start to rise.

“...Bruno?” You called weakly, and Bruno was by your side in an instant.

“Y/n? What’s wrong, you’re up so early?” Bruno asked, concerned.

“...It’s hot” you groaned, reaching out for him. Bruno’s heart fluttered, you called out for him. He felt your forehead; admittedly sweaty, but not necessarily from illness.

“You are a little warm. Let’s get you out of these sweaty blankets and cleaned up.” Bruno helped you out of your sheets, and ran to get a damp washcloth. He returned quickly, sitting on your bed and wiped the cloth over your body. Your body flushed, and whenever you thought Bruno wasn’t looking, you would glance over at him. Bruno smiled to himself, you really were spoiling him this morning-he couldn’t be more delighted.

“Are you feeling any better? You should take it easy today, you had a long night.” Bruno said as he washed your stomach.

“Umm, yes, im-ahh!” You jumped, as Bruno’s wash cloth reached your nether regions.

“Relax, bella, It’s important to clean this area as well. We don’t want you getting sick now do we?” Bruno continued, unfazed by your reaction. You fidgeted a moment longer, but considering all that had happened, you relented. What more could Bruno do to you?

He toweled you off quickly, patting you dry and then headed to your closet.

“Let’s find you something extra comfortable to wear today, shall we?” Bruno asked, flipping through your hangers. What a shame, most of your outfits were utilitarian and industrial, not befitting a mother to be.

“Oh, Bruno, you don’t have to-” You began, but Bruno cut you off.

“Here we go, perfect! Ah, and this shade of lavender will look lovely on you!” Bruno proclaimed, holding up a flowery sundress made of soft cotton. Very comfortable, but not the best for farm work. Bruno couldn’t be stopped though, grabbing some undergarments for you (how did he know where you kept them?) and helped you sit up in bed.

“Let’s get you dressed, as much as I love the thought of having you nude all day, nothing will get done around the farm with the boys fawning over you.” Bruno chuckled, sliding socks onto your feet for you.

“Bruno, please! I can dress myself!” You pleaded, trying to pull away, but Bruno stopped you with gentle but firm hands.

“Bella, please-let me take care of you the way you’ve taken care of us. It’s only fair, isn’t it?” Bruno smiled, tugging your socks up to your ankles. He held a white pair of panties out for you, “Step in, dear, one foot at a time” You groaned, turning an adorable shade of red Bruno loved, but did indeed let him slide the panties up and onto you. He convinced you to skip a bra today (Bruno wasn’t completely selfless) and slip into the sundress, snug as a bug.

“Much better! Now, do you want to see if you can get some more sleep? You didn’t get many hours of sleep last night, and your body must be very sore.” He asked you, stroking your cheek. “Well, maybe later, but-” You began, only to be interrupted by your growling stomach. Bruno chuckled, “Ahh, of course, let’s get you fed shall we?” he winked, placing a hand on the small of your back and escorting you to the kitchen.

You tried to make yourself breakfast, really you did, but Bruno wasn’t giving you any leeway this morning.

“Please, Bambina, let me cook for you. You always make the rest of us meals, and I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.” He told you, sitting you on a kitchen chair, rolling up his sleeves. True to his word, he was decent in the kitchen-more than decent, in fact. Bruno fried up a pig’s worth of bacon, crispy and fried with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Eggs, sunny-side scrambled and over-easy, just a little bit runny and fresh from your henhouse. And the cru-de-ta, a mountain-pile of fluffy home batter pancakes, smothered in homemade syrup and creamy smooth butter dollops piled on top. Bruno piled your plate to the brim, sure to give you only the crunchiest bacon strips and roundest pancakes, with plenty left over for the boys. It was a miracle the other boys hadn’t woken up yet, but you supposed they were still wiped out from the night before and needed a little more rest.

Bruno didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the one on one time with you he rarely got. Sitting patiently for him like a good mate, letting him clean you, dress you, even feed you. Bruno was determined to spoil you, so you would never want for anything other than him again. Looking around your plate, you asked Bruno, “Sorry, but you forgot to grab a fork and knife. Would you mind?”

Bruno smiled, unblinkingly, “Oh no, I didn’t. Open wide~” He cooed, stacking a silver fork full of your breakfast. You looked at him incredulously, “Seriously?”

Bruno didn’t relent, smile unwavering, “You wouldn’t turn down all my hard work and this delicious food, would you?”

You wanted to argue with him, you really did. For every inch he gave you, he took a mile, and it was starting to be humiliating. But for whatever reason, Bruno always made you cave. Besides, after everything you’d been through, he’d never hurt you, always gentle and caring. So, against your better judgement, you sheepishly opened your mouth for him.

Bruno lifted the fork into your mouth, watching your lips close around his fork. You savored the buttery rich flavor of the pancakes, the spongy texture bouncing lightly in your mouth as you chewed. To say it was delicious would be an understatement; you were starting to consider letting Mista and Bruno handle mealtime more often. Bruno bit the corner of his lip, watching you eat your meal. You wanted to pout, not give Bruno the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed being babied like this, but you couldn’t help smiling as you swallowed bite after bite, opening your mouth and even leaning forward. Each bite was better than the last; the salty sweet bacon grease and runny eggs soaked into the pancakes, soaking up the flavor medley and sending your palette into overdrive.

Bruno loved every minute, watching you let your guard down for him, licking up syrup from your chin, even letting him wipe your cheek clean with a napkin. Your stomach puffed out as you ate through your meal, it excited him to know he did that to you, and that your stomach would soon be even more distended and full with his baby. Your plate was nearly clean, but you didn’t think you could eat another bite. Bruno had given you so much already, and it was all delicious and rich, and had no more room.

“Please, Bruno, I’m full to the brim. I’m sorry but I can’t eat anymore.” You groaned, clutching your stomach.

“Oh please, just another bite, bambina~ you’ve done so well, you’re almost done.” He cooed, forking the last bits on your plate. You tried to excuse yourself, but Bruno stuffed it into your open unsuspecting mouth. You nearly choked on the utensil forcing your way into your mouth, a sugary syrupy mess that was starting to nauseate you. It was too much, too rich, but Bruno held your mouth shut.

“Please, y/n, you have to eat more. Think of our children, won’t you?” You froze, as you remembered everything that had happened last night with a wave. You looked at Bruno, mouth still full and ready to vomit. His gaze tore into you, more serious than he had been all morning. In fact, the last time he looked at you like that…

Bruno rubbed your back, as your eyes watered and spilled over. Poor thing, were you already having morning sickness? No worries, it was only natural; he would take care of you. You were having trouble breathing, not sure if it was the food or the panic setting in.

“Come on Bambina, you’re almost done. Just swallow it all down, you can do it~” Bruno hissed, as he plugged up your nose. Bruno sighed, watching your eyes bug out; he didn’t want to be harsh with you, but what other choice were you giving him? You needed to follow his orders, that’s how he kept you safe and happy. “Now, y/n”

Despite the lump in your throat, you had no choice but to swallow, the lack of oxygen making you gag. How could you forget who you were dealing with? How could you let him take advantage of you again and again? You wiped the snot and tears from your face, catching your breath. You flinched as a familiar hand reached out and grabbed your chin. Bruno turned you to look at him, his face calm and smiling as if nothing had happened.

“There, Bambina, that wasn’t so bad was it? You have to let me take care of you, okay? We don’t want you hurting yourself do we?” He asked, voice soft and patronizing, like he hadn’t just force fed you against your will. You wanted to run away, but didn’t know where to go. It didn’t help any as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Yo, y/n! You’re up already? I thought we wiped you out last night!”

“Guess we’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Are you okay, y/n? You look ill. Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Ohh, it smells so good! Did you make breakfast for us, y/n?”

You were surrounded. No way out. Five strong angry bulls that had taken over your life, your home, even your body. You couldn’t trust them, not any of them. There was no escape.

“What’s wrong, bella? Are you crying?”

“Don’t cry, y/n! There’s nothing to worry about, we’ll take care of you!”

“You can count on us, y/n. We’re mates, after all.”

You were trapped.

Trapped.

You opened your mouth to scream, but it was no use.

It’s not like anyone would hear you, anyways

END

#sluttbuttsstuff #fic #not sfw #hucow!au #yandere #bruno #brunoxreader

156 notes · View notes

ktheist · 4 years

Text

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’?

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say.

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?!

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.” yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile.

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner.

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes.

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm.

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites.

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon.

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer.

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you.

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.”

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything.

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading. the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying.

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance.

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane.

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else.

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths.

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 5: Reunion

Here we go! The big one! Honestly I feel like this chapter might be even more emotional than chapter 65 when they finally get together. I hope you enjoy and are now forgiving me for that last cliffhanger!

(and also disclaimer i do NOT ship jon/sansa, that photo was just the right Vibe™ so please no one come for me)

word count: 5956

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan tensed, the blood in his veins spiking with apprehension. The laughing group was just down the street, only a few blocks away from him. But they were hidden from his sight by a thick blanket of fog.

However, that meant that he was also hidden - so Rowan could take his time.

His senses strained as every sound, sight, and smell from within a quarter mile came streaming into him. He could hear everything, from the drops of fetid rainwater off a nearby gutter, to the whipping of the wind around a sharp corner, the pattering of rats’ paws in the alleyways, the snoring of an old man, warm in his bed, and the giggling of his daughter as she stayed up well past her bedtime, her soft hands rifling through a well-worn book.

Then there were the scents of the city. Rancid and foul place that it was, there were still some pleasant things to be found – such as the soft clouds of flour from a corner bakery just beginning to wake for the morning rush, burning sage and melting candlewax, a lavender sprig wilting in a nearby window, and –

And then he tasted it. The barest hint of jasmine, lemon verbena, and flickering embers. The scent of home.

The oath in his chest seemed to purr with delight.

Aelin was here. She was right here –

But she wasn’t alone.

Rowan could hear the quiet steps of one– no, two others. The first was small and light-footed, probably a young mortal woman, who smelled of mint and some kind of southern spice…almost like pepper and fig leaves. The other was a male, perhaps a young demi-Fae. Though his movements were quiet, his steps were far heavier, marking him at over 6 feet.

There was also the scent of blood about the male, which had Rowan’s hackles rising. But it was old and sour – likely an old wound whose infection had only just begun to heal over. And as their movements were light and unhindered, their conversation free and open, Rowan wasn’t particularly worried that a fight was brewing. But still, his guard stayed up.

The man’s true scent spoke of warm furs and roasting chestnuts and…and something else, something almost…familiar.

His thoughts distracted, trying to place the strange smell, Rowan unthinkingly shifted his stance, causing the soft scrape of leather on stone to echo through the fog.

And the tension in his body ratcheted to new heights as he felt the group fall abruptly silent.

All was still. Rowan’s hands began to sweat.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she ordered him back to Wendlyn?

Rowan did his best to rally his thoughts, as he slowly made his way forwards through the mist. Making sure that each of his movements were choreographed far in advance. He didn’t want to surprise them, particularly that strange male, whose scent he still could not place…

And then Rowan was breaking through the fog, and he could finally see them, could finally see her. Vaguely he heard the male and the young woman say something to each other, but Rowan couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away from the cloaked woman standing stock-still barely a dozen feet from him, her lovely scent billowing with shock.

Aelin’s face was covered with a hood, so he couldn’t see her reaction to him, couldn’t know if she recognized him. But then she was taking a hesitant step forwards and loosing a shuddering breath and a small, whimpering noise that was almost a sob. And suddenly, Rowan felt all of his worries disappear as easily as the morning snow beneath the midday sun.

It was Aelin. And of course she didn’t hate him, of course she was as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

And then she was running, running straight into his arms and Rowan could feel his every muscle, his every bone all the way through to his soul, sighing in relief. Relief that she was here, that they were together again. Relief that he was touching her once more.

Rowan grabbed Aelin and pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping completely around her small frame as she buried her head into his neck. He curled around her, breathing in her scent as if it were the last drops of water in a blistering desert, as if it were a life-saving elixir. As if her scent alone would take him from the brink of hell.

Rowan didn’t realize truly how much he’d missed her until that moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan registered that she was crying.

“How did you get here? How did you find me?” Aelin pulled just far enough away that he could see the edges of her face beneath the hooded cloak; the pointed chin, the delicate nose, those beautiful, upturned lips –

Rowan slowly found his voice. “You made it clear my kind wouldn’t be welcome on your continent. So I stowed away on a ship. You’d mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned over her, carefully assessing.

She was changed. Even though only a month or so had passed since he last held her, Aelin seemed different. Older. She carried herself with more weight, more authority.

His mouth tightened. “You have a lot to tell me.”

She only nodded, gripping his shoulders even harder. And Rowan couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

Rowan carefully raised his right hand, and brushed it against the softness of her cheek, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “But you’re not hurt,” he said softly, needing to make absolutely sure. “You’re safe?”

Aelin just nodded again, burying her face in his chest.

Rowan felt as though the city could fall apart around them, and he would not move one inch. He would never be able to hold her for long enough.

“I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” It was almost a tease.

“I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure.” He didn’t like to evade the question, but he couldn’t speak of Lorcan in such an exposed place. So instead he changed the subject, “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca – especially in the mornings.”

Aelin laughed lightly, squeezing him once again. As if making sure he was real.

But tears still streamed down her cheeks, and Rowan found that he couldn’t keep his worry down any longer. Perhaps she was injured, and was keeping the truth from him, trying to keep him from worrying –

“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying and failing to push her back far enough so he could read her face.

She refused to move a single inch.

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, “because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering.”

Rowan let out a roar of laughter, the sound so wild that he heard the vermin in the alleys go silent. And the gaze of Aelin’s two companions really started bore into him.

But Rowan payed them no heed as Aelin finally pulled away from him, a wry smile curving her lips. “Bathing isn’t an option for a stowaway,” he said, finally letting her go, but flicking her nose before she could sidle out of his reach.

Aelin shoved him right back.

All Rowan wanted was to push her in return – to touch her, poke her, prod her, until she was snarling and writhing and snapping her teeth.

But the demi-Fae male at the other end of the alley was eyeing him carefully, his scent a potent mix of worry and aggression and protectiveness. And Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be patient for much longer.

“Are you just going to make them stand there all night?” Rowan asked.

“Since when are you a stickler for manners?” Aelin slung an arm around his waist, as if she was worried he would disappear on her. Neglecting, of course, to remember that it was she who disappeared on him, and not the other way around.

But instead of fighting the point, Rowan just put his arm around her shoulders as together, they turned and walked back to where her companions were waiting for them.

As they approached, Rowan fully turned over his attention to the two strangers, carefully cataloguing their every move, scent, and sound. Taking note of the muscles they favored, each blade hidden beneath their clothes.

The woman, an archer if ever he’d seen one, looked out of place. As if she were desperate to get out of their hair. The male, however, looked as though he wouldn’t move for all the world.

His every gesture thrilled towards Rowan, his instincts screaming at him challenge him, to measure himself against him. And as Rowan drew closer, he finally placed that familiar piece in his scent – or at least he thought he did.

The demi-Fae smelled of Aelin, the scent layered and complex. His first thought was that they were sharing a bed, an idea that clanged through him, uncomfortably. But the scent was too old, too deep – and once Rowan spotted that golden hair, that fair skin, he knew that he must be looking at the face of Aedion Ashryver.

Aelin’s cousin.

His face was mostly covered, but from what Rowan could see, the bones were strong and sharp. Unforgiving. But the male was young, barely into his twenties, and he was still coming into his power.

The Fae blood in his veins was strong, stronger even than Aelin’s in some ways. Rowan couldn’t tell if he could shift – but if he could, Aedion Ashryver might even be strong enough to rival any in Maeve’s court. Perhaps strong enough to rival even him.

And Rowan knew that Aedion wanted to find out. Wanted to challenge him. To prove himself, to Rowan, to their queen.

Rank would have to be established.

No matter the male’s strength, he was still but a boy. And though he was reportedly a fine warrior, Rowan was one of Maeve’s war-torn lieutenants, was Aelin’s bloodsworn. Her Second.

Aedion would have to find his place. Rowan could only hope that he would do so gracefully, without bloodshed. He doubted it would much endear him to Aelin if he killed her cousin in some ill-begotten contest.

Aelin pinched Rowan’s side, and as he hissed in response, Rowan realized that the two of them had been locked in a stare. So Rowan casually broke their gaze and pinched Aelin’s shoulder right back.

He had been playing these games for a long time, had been playing them well before Aedion’s grandfather, and his father, and his father before him, had been more than a flicker in his mother’s womb. Touching Aelin so informally, refusing to acknowledge that challenge burning in Aedion’s eyes – they were signs of dominance, attempts to put the boy in his place.

And Aedion knew that. But he didn’t say anything as Aelin turned back towards the group, saying, “Let’s get inside.”

But the other woman, the archer, was edging away from the group, her eyes flickering between him and Aedion. “I’ll see you later,” she said, not seeming to refer to anyone in particular. And she barely waited a moment for a reaction before sidling into the shadows and out of sight.

Rowan stored his curiosity away for another time as Aelin pulled him forwards through the mist, and they headed deeper into the slums. Aedion fell carefully into step behind them, and Rowan could sense that the male hadn’t given up. Far from avoided, their confrontation had been delayed, allowing the roiling tension between them to build and build and build.

Rowan tried to keep himself from looking forwards to it. To ridding the boy of his arrogance, and cementing his own place with their queen. He didn’t succeed.

Together, the three of them walked through the night, Rowan keeping careful note of every sound, every flicker of movement, every strange scent. And this far into the slums, there were many of those. He did his best to ignore the rot and filth and vomit.

He also tried to keep himself from focusing too much on that empty space between his body and Aelin’s, the way that it seemed to crackle with energy. The way that he wanted to make it disappear.

No matter how many resolutions he made, how many times he told himself that he couldn’t pursue her, that it would be a mistake to let themselves get any closer, it all seemed to go up in flames the second her eyes locked with his. The second her scent curled in his nostrils.

But he didn’t have a choice – he had to keep control of himself.

They walked together until they came upon an unremarkable wooden warehouse, and Aelin fell to a stop. For a moment, they paused while Rowan examined it – making note of every entrance and exit, every window, every dimension. Only once he was absolutely sure the building was empty did Rowan step aside, allowing Aelin to unlock the rolling metal door and enter.

Tugging him by the hand, she led him through a large storeroom, mostly empty besides a few stacks of wooden crates that smelled of ink, and towards a wooden staircase that led to the second level, where Rowan guessed they would find her apartment.

But whatever expectations he had unconsciously formed, once Aelin turned the lock on that bright green door and revealed her home to him, Rowan knew that there was no way he could have ever anticipated this.

The apartment was fit for a king. Plush, luscious couches, mahogany furniture, hardwood floors topped with soft woolen rugs, a carved marble fireplace, and just so many books. They were everywhere, on the large dining table at one side of the room, stacked on the floor by the couch, on shelves framing the fireplace, atop the mantelpiece – even piled high on one of the soft armchairs.

Aelin had carved out an oasis for herself, right in the middle of the least likely place imaginable.

While Rowan examined the apartment, Aedion had moved in from behind them and was now standing beside the fireplace, his hood still up, hands within easy reach of his weapons. Not that it would make a difference.

From what Rowan could see, there were at least two bedrooms and a kitchen in addition to this larger, shared space. But before he could make a thorough survey of the building, Aelin was tightening her grip on his arm and saying, “Aedion, meet Rowan. Rowan, meet Aedion. His Highness needs a bath or I’ll vomit if I have to sit next to him for more than a minute.” Then she was dragging him into the next room and shutting the door behind them.

For the life of him, Rowan didn’t know why it made a difference, this being alone with her. A simple closed door. But it did.

They were now in what Rowan could only suppose was her bedroom. Aelin was leaning against the closed door, and he could feel her studying him.

Rowan turned, studying her right back. Her lithe body was clothed in some tight-fitting material, though much of her silhouette was still obscured by that damned cloak. Along with most of her face.

But he didn’t miss it as Aelin bit her lip.

Against his will, Rowan’s eyes slid to her mouth, his blood running hot as the space between them went taut.

“Take off your hood,” Rowan said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Aelin crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

He pursed his lips, then yanked back his hood. “From tears to sass in a few minutes. I’m glad the month apart hasn’t dimmed your usual good spirits.”

“Your hair! You cut it all off!” She rushed towards him, pulling off her own hood as the distance between them closed. And it took all of Rowan’s self-control not to reach out and touch her again.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Rowan didn’t know if that was due to a fault of memory, or if she actually had become more stunning during the month separating them, but he didn’t much care.

Her gold-and-turquoise eyes still pierced him through, and even though she no longer had her magic, they still seemed just as molten. But for some strange reason, she had decided to dye her hair a flat, uninteresting shade of red. It was dull, and did nothing for her pretty skin.

He wanted to scowl at it.

“Since you seemed to think that we would be doing a good amount of fighting here, shorter hair is more useful. Though I can’t say that your hair might be considered the same. You might as well have dyed it blue.”

“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.” She cocked her head, her eyes dangerous. “When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. Aelin barely kept her laugh in.

Rowan tried to change the subject, turning to look over the lavish bedroom. “You weren’t lying about your taste for luxury.”

That was an understatement. The space was beautiful and warm and welcoming – and not only because it was filled to the brim with her scent.

Candles dotted every surface, casting a soft warm light. The bed was in the corner, beside the entrance to an attached bathroom. And Rowan was sure that it would be more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. Across the room was another marble fireplace, the door to a very large closet, and a window gracing the adjacent wall. Along with yet more books.

“Not all of us enjoy living in warrior-squalor,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Rowan gave up on conversation and instead closed his fingers around hers. Another moment passed while they just looked at each other.

Those eyes – they were full of secrets. Of stories.

Rowan opened his mouth to demand that she explain everything, to explain why her cousin was here, why she seemed so heavy with worry, why the city was teeming with Valg – but Aelin cut him off before he could speak, pulling them into the bathroom.

She flitted about the room, lighting a few candles by the sink and on the ledge above the tub, saying, “I meant it about the bath.” She twisted the faucets and plugged the drain. “You stink.” She bent to grab a towel from the small cabinet by the toilet.

Rowan was starting to worry that she was purposely avoiding telling him what had happened this past month. His voice was flat as he said, “Tell me everything.”

Aelin was silent, grabbing a green vial of some gritty power and another of what he thought was an oil, and dumping generous amounts of each into the rising bathwater, turning it milky and opaque.

“I will, when you’re soaking in the bath and don’t smell like a vagrant.”

“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.”

She just glared at him. “Funny.”

Rowan’s face almost split into a grin. “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“Just get in.”

Chuckling, Rowan obeyed her, and began the long process of undressing. Before he could wonder whether she would be staying to watch him strip, Aelin turned from the room, shrugging off her cloak and unstrapping her various weapons. But she neglected to shut the door behind her.

Rowan stripped anyways, discarding his clothes carelessly on the floor and placing his weapons atop the cabinet, next to all those mysterious bottles and vials. By the time she was done with him, she’d probably have him smelling the like a gods-damned flower shop.

Rowan just sighed, lowering himself carefully in the tub and shutting off the faucets. He had to keep himself from groaning at the delectable warmth – the hot bathwater was almost as pleasant as the relief of holding Aelin had been.

But only almost.

A few moments passed as Rowan began the sorry task of scrubbing away at the thick layer of dirt and grime covering him. All the while trying desperately to keep himself from listening too closely to the sounds of cloth on skin coming from the bedroom, as Aelin pulled off that tight black suit of hers and changed into something more comfortable.

It made Rowan wish that Aelin had drawn a colder bath.

By the time Aelin returned, the water was so clouded by soap and dirt that he doubted she could see anything beneath.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, her eyes flowing over all his exposed skin. But Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, instead continuing to scrub at his check and shoulders, splashing water on his face.

She only handed him a washcloth, saying, “Here.” And he wasn’t sure, but her voice almost seemed rougher than usual. Rowan just dunked the cloth in the water and began rubbing it over his face, his neck, his chest.

Aelin was still looking at him.

Another moment passed, and then she mutely handed him some lavender soap. Rowan sighed in resignation, accepting his fate. He would just have to smell like a flower shop – Lorcan would be shocked to see him now.

Then Aelin sat on the curved lip of the porcelain tub and began to speak.

She told him of her journey across the ocean, of the plans she had made and of losing her magic. Of arriving in Rifthold and immediately setting after Arobynn, and learning of what had happened here through the spring – of Dorian and Chaol and Aedion, and what they’d lost in the wake of the king’s wrath. How she’d discovered that Dorian was now possessed by a Valg. How she’d failed to kill him, but managed to save Aedion from certain death. She told him of meeting Nesryn, the woman from earlier, who was a pretty great shot. And of getting to know Lysandra and Evangeline, who were still trapped under Arobynn’s thumb.

She spoke very little of Chaol, and whether she had let him back into her life. And she said nothing at all of her plans for the future. But Rowan knew that he would have to be satisfied with what she did tell him. At least for now.

By the time her story of demons and danger and deceit was done, Rowan was nearly finished washing himself, and the bathwater was considerably less warm. Once again, Rowan found himself mourning their missing magics. Aelin would be able to keep the bath warm with less than half a thought.

Rowan absentmindedly raised the soap to his head, thinking to wash his hair with it, when Aelin squeaked. “You don’t use that in your hair!” she hissed, quickly standing up and rifling through the cabinet of bottles and vials.

Rowan scowled, seriously considering dolloping the lavender soap on his hair while she wasn’t looking. But patience won out.

“Rose, lemon verbena, or …” Aelin sniffed at the glass bottle. “Jasmine.” She squinted down at him.

Rowan just looked back up at her. Do I look like I care what you pick?

She clicked her tongue. “Jasmine it is, you buzzard.” She moved to stand just out of sight at the head of the bathtub, and before he really realized what was happening, Aelin had already dumped some of the sweet-smelling tonic on his head and her hands were brushing the top of his head, rubbing in the soap.

Rowan knew that he was supposed to stop this, knew that this was far, far too intimate. Knew that this was coming very close to breaking all of those careful rules he had set for himself.

But the second he felt her touch, all his resistance crumbled to dust.

Her fingers weren’t rough, but they weren’t too gentle, either. Aelin found exactly the right amount of pressure as she massaged the soap into his scalp, moving from his hairline to his ears to his neck and back again.

The scent of the oil wafted down towards him, mixed in with her own scent. And without thinking, Rowan took in a slow breath, luxuriating in the scent. It felt as though his face was being caressed with the taste of night-kissed jasmine.

Aelin’s fingers began playing with his hair. “I could still probably braid this,” she teased. “Very teensy-tiny braids, so – ”

Rowan growled, more out of habit than real irritation. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes as he felt his whole body relax.

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

Rowan couldn’t even summon the will for a rebuttal. Instead, he let out a low noise in his throat, a sound of pure pleasure. It might as well have been a purr.

Rowan hardly cared.

He knew he’d probably yell at himself for this later. But Rowan also knew that he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. And no matter how upset he might be in a few hours, he knew he would never regret it.

Just as Rowan was beginning to wonder whether Aelin’s fingers were starting to prune, she spoke up. “You haven’t said anything about your magic.”

He tensed, and Aelin’s hands stilled. “What about it?”

Rowan felt her lean down to peer at his face, her hair sliding from behind her shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. It sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“I take it it’s gone,” she said. “How does it feel to be as powerless as a mortal?”

He opened his eyes, his brow falling into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I spent the first few days sick to my stomach and barely able to move. It was like having a blanket thrown over my senses.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m dealing with it.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Grumpy, grumpy.”

Rowan snarled in annoyance – but it was more at the fact that she had removed her hands from his scalp than because of her teasing. Aelin only pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders, silently asking him to dunk his head underwater.

He did so, and by the time he emerged, Aelin was standing and holding out a bath towel for him to use. “I’m going to find you some clothes.”

“I have – ”

“Oh, no. Those are going right to the laundress. And you’ll get them back only if she can make them smell decent again. Until then, you’ll wear whatever I give you.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said, taking the towel from her.

Aelin just rolled her eyes, turning away from the bathtub just as Rowan stood up, water sloshing everywhere. She didn’t look back at him, moving straight across the bedroom and directly into the huge closet.

Rowan was somehow simultaneously disappointed and very, very relieved. He didn’t know if he would be able to control himself if she saw him – her long looks were already heavy enough as it was.

But still, there was that other voice. The one that wanted her to see all of him. Just as he had already seen all of her.

Rowan shook himself slightly, then began toweling off. Thinking cold thoughts.

Once he was mostly dry, Rowan wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked through the bedroom, and into the absolutely massive closet. Only to find Aelin crouched on the floor, staring at the open drawer in front of her.

For a moment, Rowan just looked at her in confusion. But then he remembered.

All those years ago, before the king, before Endovier, Aelin had lived in this apartment with Sam. Right before he had been killed.

These must be his clothes.

“You don’t have to give those to me,” Rowan said, soft as he could.

Aelin started anyways, twisting in place to face him. For a moment, she only stared at him. And Rowan wasn’t sure if it was because of the scent of the dead boy swirling around them, escaping from the dresser full of his old clothing, or because Rowan had taken her off guard, but Aelin’s look was dazed. She looked completely at a loss for words.

She swallowed, then finally spoke. “Clean clothes are scarce in the house right now, and these are of no use sitting here.” She pulled out a pale shirt and held it up. “I hope it fits.”

Rowan looked at it apprehensively, then took it. Sam had been an eighteen-year-old mortal when he died, and his clothes definitely reflected that. Rowan had his doubts about ‘fit.’

Aelin quickly looked away from him, her face carefully blank as she rifled through the drawer for undershorts and pants. “I’ll get you proper clothes tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll start a riot if the women of Rifthold see you walking down the streets in nothing but a towel.”

Rowan huffed a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced. He knew that Aelin would never stop mourning that boy, no matter how long she lived. But it was different now, being here. Where she had last seen him living and breathing.

It made it so much more real. That she had loved, and lost. Just as he had.

And Rowan couldn’t help but feel as though he were intruding.

But instead of pulling away, and leaving Aelin to wallow in that guilt and sadness alone, he stepped forwards, under the pretense of examining the contents of the closet. Thinking to help her the only way he knew how – with distraction.

But soon, he found himself entranced by them. So many luscious fabrics, exquisite embroideries, soft furs… “You wore all this?” He looked at her with wonder.

She nodded, quietly getting to her feet. Rowan flicked through a few of the garments, eyeing the tunics and dresses and shirts – some of which were the finest he had ever seen. “These are … very beautiful,” he admitted.

Aelin’s voice was soft. “I would have pegged you for a proud member of the anti-finery crowd.”

“Clothes are weapons, too,” he said, remembering all those times he had been stuck at court dinners, parties, festivals – with all that careful maneuvering. Fae playing games with each other for centuries, whole generations.

He continued searching through the closet, but then paused when he glanced a luxurious gown of pure black velvet. Its sleeves were made of tight, sheer silk, the neckline skimming just below the collarbones. And while the font was completely unadorned, the back nearly took his breath away.

A great, golden dragon roared down the spine of the garment, rendered perfectly in glittering metallic threads. Spraying a torrent of golden fire up to the neckline where it poured over the dress’ shoulders. It was so detailed that each scale was perfectly visible, as the serpentine dragon curled down the skirt of the dress to rest on the hemline, where the tail swung around the edge of the garment, as if lazily brushing the floor.

Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.”

Aelin reach out a hand to brush to soft velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too…old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”

As she spoke, Rowan ran a finger down the golden spine of the roaring, furious dragon, marveling at the rippling texture. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

Aelin looked up at him, meeting his gaze. The gold in her eyes just as molten and burning as the flames of that golden dragon.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

And the vulnerability, the pure openness he could see in her eyes made something in his gut clench tight. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Why he made all those gods-damned rules in the first place.

“We weren’t apart that long.” His voice was cold as ice.

Aelin scowled. “So? Am I not allowed to miss you?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, and guilt was already swirling in his stomach for the lie he knew he had to tell. “I once told you that the people you care about are weapons to be used against you. Missing me was a foolish distraction.”

Aelin’s face darkened. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

When Rowan didn’t say anything, Aelin swallowed and pushed the clothes into his arms. “You can get dressed in here,” she tossed the words at him like a blade, walking out of the closet without another word.

Rowan made sure she didn’t see the way her tone had cut into him.

He breathed deep, shoving away those emotions to deal with them later. It didn’t matter if she thought him cold, or heartless. Not if it kept her safe.

So Rowan breathed again, and began trying to worm his way into a dead man’s clothes. Trying not to let that bother him too.

As practical as he was, the last thing Rowan wanted to do was put on the clothes of the mortal man Aelin’s had loved, and who loved her. It was like forcing himself into someone else’s love story, the unwelcome addition. The replacement that nobody wanted.

He stretched the undershorts over his thighs, and then carefully shrugged his way into the pants. They were too short, but they fit. Barely.

The shirt however was another story. Just looking at it Rowan knew that it would be too tight. So instead of risking tearing it, Rowan figured it would be better to go barechested.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Aelin had gone into the bathroom. From the sound of it, she was washing her face. But this time, she had closed the door.

Rowan tried not to read too much into that gesture.

When she returned, her face darkening at the sight of him in the comically-small pants, he held the shirt out to her, saying, “The shirt is too small. I didn’t want to rip it.”

Aelin took it from him gingerly, then just looked at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go out first thing,” she said softly, then breathed in through her nose, quick and sharp. “Well, if you don’t mind meeting Aedion shirtless, I suppose we should go say hello.”

Rowan shook his head ever so slightly. “We need to talk.”

Aelin’s hackles instantly rose. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“The kind that will make me glad you don’t have access to your power so you don’t spew flames everywhere.”

“That was one incident, and if you ask me, your absolutely wonderful former lover deserved it.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, remembering. Remelle had certainly deserved it. And if Aelin hadn’t intervened, Rowan might have ended up doing something he would have regretted. Like murdering Remelle.

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it so much.

Aelin just sighed, “Now or later?”

“Later. It can wait a bit.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded, turning towards the door to the great room. Where Aedion was waiting for them.

···

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#warrior and the wildfire #rowaelin #rowan pov #rpov #queen of shadows #rowaelin ff

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fanfic-she-wrote · 3 years

Text

The Resurrection of Dracula: Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It was early morning when Charlie dropped off the truck where Ben used to live. That way they couldn't trace the truck back to him when the cops eventually went looking.

He sat for a moment staring into the rear-view mirror. He felt exhausted, practically on the brink of collapse. The past few days he had so little sleep and it had begun to show. He noticed that dark circles had begun to form around his eyes giving them a sunken appearance.

He leaned his head back against the seat and let out a forelorn sigh. Only a few hours ago, Ben had been alive sitting in the very seat beside him. Now he was gone. Ben wasn't his best friend, in fact he didn't like how much he drank or how he relentlessly made a pass at anything that moved, but did he really deserve such a fate?

Why then was he so determined to help you and Dracula? He was so confused. He could very well have been under your control, but was he really? What he was doing now certainly didn't seem like it. Deep down, he found that it wasn't even about you. It had always bothered him about how secretive his family was. Why he never knew till now, but as he fell deeper into the rabbit hole, he found still more secrets waiting to be uncovered.

"I'm sorry Ben." He whispered to the air as he hid the keys on top of the sun visor and climbed out of the truck. Somewhere he hoped Ben heard him and understood. It wasn't his fault...

He then got on his bike, revved up the engine, and took off toward home. As he stopped at a light, he checked his watch. By the time, he got home his mother would be at work. Which was just fine. It gave him enough time to do what he needed to without her interference.

He pulled up into the driveway and ran up the stairs. The lights were off, which meant she wasn't home as he expected. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. How quiet it was, Charlie noticed as he made his way to the library.

He had to find out what Lorrimer was working on before he died. Surely, he had to have something written down somewhere.

He went over to the desk and began carefully searching through the doors for anything that had the name Carmilla written on it. When he didn't find anything on the desk he searched through the bookshelf, pulling out each book as he went. Still nothing. He stood in the middle of the room feeling frustrated. Somehow he had a feeling his great grandfather had found out about Carmilla and had planned to destroy her. If she was anything like you had described she was certainly a force to be reckoned with and even as experienced as Lorrimer was, he didn't stand a chance.

Annoyed, he kicked the side of the desk making a loud thud noise as the wood collided with the side of his shoe.

"Charlie? What are you doing?" A voice said from behind him. He turned around and saw his mother standing there, wearing a very concerned expression on her face.

"Mum? I thought you were at work." He said sounding surprised. Had she been there the whole time?

"It's my day off." She told him, stepping into the room. "Charlie, I don't know what's going on with you lately, but you're worrying me."

"I'm fine, mum." He quickly lied with a shrug.

"Charlie, I won't get mad if you'll just tell me what's going on." She assured him.

"Nothing is going on." He lied again, looking away, unable to stare her in the eye.

"I know something is wrong that you're not telling me. You can trust me. What did you do?" She questioned further, hoping he would give in.

"Nothing! Will you leave me alone?!" He finally snapped, pushing past her, but she grabbed him by the wrist stopping him in his tracks.

"It's Dracula isn't it?! You've brought him back." She accused, becoming angry.

"So what if I have?!" Charlie yelled back, pulling his arm away.

"Why? Didn't you understand anything you read about him?" Jessica asked, her heart sinking.

"I did." He answered, annoyed that she thought him incompetent.

"Then why did you bring him back?"

"I found something...or rather someone. I found his wife." Charlie revealed.

"His wife?!" She exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes, it was in Lawrence Van Helsing's journal. I found the map that lead to the spot where he cruelly hid her away for the past 128 years!" He explained. She fell silent, unsure what to answer.

"Why would he do that?" She asked.

"Lawrence Van Helsing thought she was committing murders when it was actually a woman named Carmilla. I had hoped to find some information on her. I think that's why your grandfather went missing. He must have found out about her." Charlie went on. Jessica's head began to swirl. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Did he tell you anything or write anything down somewhere?" He asked her, but she quickly changed the subject.

"Charlie, why are you helping them? They are evil. Our family has spent centuries fighting them." She said trying to reason with him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"They didn't deserve what happened to them. They're innocent. You didn't see what I saw tonight. They love each other."

"Dracula wasn't so innocent when he tried to make me like him and when he tried to bring about an apocalypse!" She hollered angrily at him, the memories flooding back of that terrible night. The flames...lying on the sacrificial slab, Dracula standing over her...

"What?!" Charlie gasped, taken aback.

"Yes, it was the 70s. Your great grandfather and I just managed to escape and kill him." She finally blurted out, a tear trickling down her face.

Charlie shook his head. He just couldn't believe that. Why should he believe her after everything? All the lies...all the secrets.

"Charlie you have to stop before it's too late!" She begged him.

"No I won't! This family has had too many secrets for too long. I will fix this...for everyone, whether you will help me or not." He vowed, pulling away from her and starting towards the door.

"Charlie! Wait!" She called out. He stopped and turned to face her. "You're right. I'm sorry. I thought that by keeping things from you, you would be safe." She let out a sigh. He was so much like Lorrimer, it was almost like they were the same person.

"Then please, help me. I want to make things right." Charlie pleaded.

Finally, she gave in and said, "I remember him saying something about a Carmilla just before he died." Jessica looked up at the ceiling trying to remember what it was. "Something about a nightclub...Renfield's I think it was called. I didn't think it was important at the time so I just forgot about it." She remembered. "I don't know how the two are connected though." She added with a shrug.

"Thanks!" Charlie exclaimed, an excited gleam in his eye at this new piece of information.

"Charlie, I know you think the Draculas are innocent, but they could just as easily kill you without a second thought. They're not ones to cross." Jessica warned him.

"I know. I'll be careful." He promised with a reassuring smile. She walked over to him, pulling a chain off her neck as she went.

"Take this. Just in case." She said, handing him a silver cross.

"Thank you." He put it on and tucked it underneath the collar of his shirt, giving it a quick tap.

"I'll let you know if I find anything else about Carmilla." She told him. Even though she was worried, at least she knew what he was doing, and maybe he was actually on to something...

Later that night, Charlie returned to the manor. He found you and Dracula in the parlor attempting to clean up some of the disrepair.

"I think I've found something." Charlie abruptly told them upon entering the room.

"What?" You asked, intrigued. Grateful to take a break, feeling overwhelmed by all the mess.

"Before my great grandfather, Lorrimer, died," he began. "He told my mum something about Carmilla and a place called Renfield's."

"Renfield's?" Dracula asked, tilting his head curiously.

"It's a nightclub in London." Charlie answered.

"It's not much, but it's a start. I think it's time we finally pay her a little visit." Dracula said turning to you.

"That's what I thought you'd say." Charlie remarked, pulling his backpack from over his shoulder and opening it. "I bought you guys these. I guessed at the sizes. Hope they fit." He handed you and Dracula each a small pile of clothes.

"I think our clothes are just fine." Dracula refused, handing them back.

Charlie let out a small frustrated sigh, pushing them back. "No offense, but they're a bit outdated, especially for the place we're going." He explained. You exchanged a worried look with your husband before reluctantly changing into your new clothes. You hadn't liked the clothes you had seen so far and were nervous.

"I look absurd!" Dracula exclaimed folding his arms, shooting a displeased look at Charlie.

"I don't know, dear. I kinda like it!" You told him as you looked him up and down, your brow raised. Charlie snorted realizing where your eyes were looking.

He wore a black leather jacket, a black button up shirt which was slightly left upon at the top, form fitting black jeans, and boots.

"As long as you like it..." He mumbled squirming uncomfortably in his tight jeans.

As for you, you wore a small jacket and a black low cut long sleeve shirt with the sleeves cut at the shoulders, a choker, tight black leggings, and black knee high boots.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Although I would much rather you not wear that around...others." Dracula admitted.

"Jealous, my dear?" You teased with a smirk.

"Yes." He replied in a husky voice, grabbing you by the waist, pressing your body against his. "Don't forget you're mine." As if he had to remind you.

"Don't worry. I won't." You reassured him as you stroked his hair through your fingers. He leaned down to kiss you, but Charlie interrupted.

"Sorry, but we only have so much time." He awkwardly reminded you. Dracula let out a groan and released you.

"We'll do this later." You quietly told him, feeling slightly disappointed as you followed Charlie out the door.

"I took my mum's car." He said, unlocking it. Dracula opened the door for you. You excitedly got inside and looked around.

"Look Vlad! There's no horses." You exclaimed. Dracula chuckled. How cute you were.

"I know. Wonderful isn't it?" You nodded your head in agreement.

"You guys ready?" Charlie asked, starting up the car.

"As ready as I'll ever be." You replied.

"To Renfield's then."

#good stuff coming in the next chapter #😉#dracula x reader #x reader #reader insert #christopher lee #hammer dracula

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

Text

Title: Honestly

Author: @cellophanerose

For: @more-ofyou-tolove

Pairings/Characters: KomaHina

Rating/Warnings: Rated G. takes place during pre-trial chapter 5 in sdr2, so it contains spoilers, mentions of self-harm/suicide/violence, and angst. Based only on the game’s canon and differs from the anime on an important point involving Kamukura.

Prompt: What if Hajime found out he was Kamukura before Chapter 6?

Author’s notes: Thanks for the great prompt!! I hope you enjoy it!

When Hinata opened his eyes, he began to fall. The plunging sensation turned his stomach inside out, and he strained his eyes trying to make out anything in the total darkness. He saw nothing, but for some reason, it didn’t make him panic. In fact, he had trouble feeling anything at all.

All at once, he was in a familiar scene: sitting at a desk surrounded by faceless - pointless - students. Though their figures weren’t defined, the pressure he felt from them was overwhelming as he started to sweat. He had to get away, he had to get away, but how? Hinata was aware of his answer now, and could no longer look away.

His desire to be talented, his all-consuming need to be anything other than himself, led him to the reserve course. Here, it was supposed to be better - at least, that was the lie he had been fed. But even as the scene shifted around him and the backgrounds changed, the heavy feeling wasn’t released. In fact, it seemed to be even worse here, as if the pressure building inside of him was working with its outside equivalent to tear him to shreds. It was too much, far too much, as a distant yet familiar pain coursed through his head. For some reason, Hinata knew this is where it should have ended.

But it did not.

Instead, the scene stretched on and on until he was up and running. He knew, vaguely, that this was a memory and that he was breaking some sort of script, that maybe he was going too far, but the dream wouldn’t end and the pain became too much for him to bear. The hallway he ran through kept extending, as if offering him more and more chances to turn back.

He did not.

The scene abruptly shifted and at some point, he had stopped running. Everything was distorted as if someone applied a filter directly to his eyes. Hinata’s limbs moved on their own, taking up a casual pace. A terrifying sense of dread filled him, which was at war with the overwhelming feeling of calmness felt by his body. He caught a glimpse of something out of the window - a curtain of sharp black, but he didn’t have time to contemplate that as his body stopped at a door and reached out to open it.

I have to stop, right now! Please!

His body paid no heed to his mind as he passed through the threshold. A group of students seated around a table looked up at him as he entered, confusion visible on their features.

Hinata made one final bid to stop whatever this was and threw everything he had into stopping his own body, but it was to no avail.

“Who-” before the student had even started her question, Hinata was moving with lethal certainty and terrifying speed as he ripped though her. Blood splattered on his clothes as the other students cried out and jumped from their seats. There was no point though - for whatever reason, Hinata was inhumanly fast and strong as he continued to tear through the other students. As he took the last student’s life, he felt nothing. He walked over to the room’s window and only then did Hinata see himself: a grim figure with long black hair and eyes as red as the blood he spilled on his clothes. A stranger who shared his face. A brief and light feeling of disappointment flashed through him until he was once again left with nothing.

Hinata shot up from his bed and immediately ran into the bathroom. What little food he had eaten yesterday threatened to come back up as he hunched and cried over the toilet. Even when the retching stopped, his whole frame continued shaking with the force of his sobs.

There was no way that was real - logically, it was impossible…so why was guilt pouring out of every nerve of Hinata’s body? Guilt and regret were overflowing, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of it.

After what had to be at least a half an hour, Hinata stood up on unsteady legs to wash the sweat and tears off of his face. Every bone in his body ached and the shaking still hadn’t stopped as he turned the faucet on as cold as possible, collecting the water in his hands and throwing it in his face. He didn’t want to face himself, but he forced himself to look in the mirror to chase away the doubts in his mind. All the mirror reflected was a drained and sick-looking Hinata, with his normal green eyes and short brown hair. Hinata felt something akin to relief and made his way back to bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, but couldn’t bring himself to lie down. Despite his body being exhausted, his head was buzzing with activity. He curled in on himself, clawing at his biceps and dragging his nails across the length of his arms. The sting felt good, but it wasn’t enough. He gripped harder and he tried to chase away the dream by digging his nails into his skin as deep as he could. He had stopped crying, at least.

…Was he capable of such atrocities? Hinata didn’t want to think so, but doubt needled his mind. That sort of directionless slaughter he saw could only be done by a monster, and now Hinata wasn’t so sure he wasn’t one.

A lot had happened earlier that day, he reasoned to himself. He had woken up on the brink of starvation and to another dead friend, learned from Komaeda that he really was just a talentless nobody, and then watched yet another classmate be executed after working through the class trial.

This was Komaeda’s fault, in the end. Komaeda had gone and unlocked those unpleasant memories of being a reserve course student. It was easy to be mad at Komaeda, to shift all blame onto him, and Komaeda seemed eager to be contrarian and rude to everyone since learning Hinata’s true nature. But…if the earlier memories were true, what did that mean for his dream? What was that dark visage he had seen in the windows of the school? He was no murderer, or at least he thought.

Wasn’t Komaeda saying something to that extent? Right before the class trial, Komaeda went off on a seemingly unrelated tangent about some book.

“The story is told from the point-of-view of a high school girl involved in a serial killer mystery…But when you get to the end…Surprise, surprise! The girl was actually the killer!”

“The protagonist is just a projection of the reader…And this projection turns out to be the killer… Which means…”

“‘The killer you were looking for the whole time was inside of you all along,’ he said,” Hinata repeated Komeada’s earlier words to himself, shaken by the implications he only now picked up. He hastily jumped up as a revelation struck him.

“Komaeda said the Hope’s Peak file only contained information about me, and how I was from the Reserve Department, but…what if there was more to it than that?” From the start, Hinata knew Komaeda wasn’t divulging everything he had learned from clearing the Final Dead Room, but he was too caught up in learning he was a reserve student to question it further. Now, though…

“I - I need to know…!” Hinata was full of manic energy, as he rushed out the front door, forgoing even putting on his shoes, to go and confront Komaeda. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest as it became all too clear to him that Komaeda had found something in those files that caused such a shift in his demeanor, and the odds that it pertained to what Hinata had just dreamed were worryingly high. He didn’t bother to quiet his footfalls - if any of the remaining few classmates heard him, then so be it. It must have been past 2:00 AM, but Hinata could not bring himself to care as he slammed his fist against Komaeda’s cabin door. The lights inside the cabin flickered on and he heard Komaeda approaching the door. There was no turning back now.

The look of disdain was clear on Komaeda’s face when he opened the door, but he appeared awake and alert.

“Really, Hinata-kun, I knew that you lacked any talent, but your added lack of consideration or timing is appalling,” Komaeda sneered, as his eyes raked over Hinata. “…Are you even aware your arms are bleeding?” No, in fact, Hinata had completely disregarded anything else besides his current goal, bodily injuries and humiliation included.

“That’s not important,” Hinata urged, “Let me in.” Komaeda did not look impressed. “Hm, I would say it is important, seeing as how you’re getting blood on everything.” Those innocuous words hit Hinata with another wave of nausea as he knelt down and held his head in his hands. Komaeda’s eyes widened and he stood up straight from his casual leaning on the doorframe as he watched Hinata crumble in front of him and take loud, gulping breaths. Komaeda knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw them, and through the cocktail of feelings he was bottling up at the moment, a bizarre urge to help welled up.

“Get in here,” Komaeda said, as he kneeled down to hoist Hinata back on his feet, keeping in consideration his injured arms. After placing Hinata unceremoniously on his bed, he grabbed a cup of water and forced it in Hinata’s direction. It seemed to take a few seconds for Hinata to process this, but after Komaeda coaxed Hinata’s hands out of his hair, Hinata grabbed hold of the cup and began drinking. No words were exchanged as Komaeda flitted across his room, searching for something to clean and cover Hinata’s arms with.

Hinata kept his eyes trained on Komaeda while he finished his water and set the cup aside, unsure of what to make of the current situation. He had calmed down, somewhat, and was at a loss for how to now approach asking Komaeda for the file. In his march over here, he imagined demanding the file from Komaeda, letting his anger carry him through his thought-up scenario. But now, even after some snide remarks, Komaeda was running a wet towel over his arms, wiping off the blood and revealing the angry red marks that were easily identifiable.

Komaeda kept his touch to a minimum and his mouth shut tight as he grabbed some bandages and began wrapping up Hinata’s arms. The wounds were clearly self-inflicted…of course learning you have no talent would be devastating, but had it really driven Hinata to panic and hurt himself? Or…

When Komaeda finished his bandaging, Hinata avoided eye contact when he mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’, which Komaeda responded to with a quick nod. Unsaid things hung heavily between the two of them. The energy that carried Hinata over here was long gone, but his desire hadn’t changed. Finally, he spoke up.

“I need to see my student profile, Komaeda.” ‘Ah, so it is about being a reserve,’ Komaeda thought bitterly.

“Do you truly distrust me that much, Hinata-kun? Or do you need to see it in black and white to face the truth? Like I said, that’s all there was to it. Just the fact that you are talentless and desperate to be accepted by Hope’s Peak..” Komaeda wanted to be resentful, but he couldn’t muster up much anger in the face of Hinata looking so small.

“There’s more, isn’t there?!” There wasn’t any desperation in Hinata’s voice like Komaeda had expected. All he heard was agony. Komaeda watched as angry tears welled up in Hinata’s eyes, threatening to overflow, causing Komaeda’s own eyes to prickle. “What did I do…?” Hinata whispered, most likely to himself. There was something happening behind the scenes that Komaeda couldn’t see, and it scared him.

“Why are you here, Hinata-kun?” They both knew that Komaeda was asking a different question, but neither of them acknowledged it. Hinata didn’t answer him, choosing instead to stare blankly ahead. Just when Komaeda was ready to call out to him, he spoke up.

“You know that book you were talking about?” Hinata’s voice was surprisingly steady, as if he wasn’t fully there at the moment. Both the words and the tone caught Komaeda off-guard. “The one about the serial killer.” As if Hinata had to specify. Komaeda held his breath, knowing that whatever happened next was out of his control - he had simply poured gasoline near a fire ready to ignite. “Were the girl and the killer really the same person? Did she truly just…forget?”

Hinata’s cold stare landed squarely on Komaeda, eyes flickering with something intangible. It caused a shiver to run down his spine. “Or is it more accurate to say the girl we knew never existed?” Komaeda was pinned in place just from Hinata’s deadly glare - not that he would go anywhere, but the lack of control frightened him. He knew he had to choose his words carefully.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

“Does it matter, in the end? Memories or not, a killer is a killer, right, Hinata-kun?” They were all Ultimate Despair - it didn’t matter how they got there, or that they didn’t remember it. Whatever Hinata had remembered, or thought he remembered, changed nothing. It’s unforgivable. Unforgivable, especially for you, who was supposed to be the Ultimate Hope..!

“Of course it matters!” Hinata rose to his feet in anger. “How am I supposed to know who I am if it doesn’t? The person I see…he isn’t me. Am I…Am I…?” Hinata gasped and held his throbbing head as angry tears started cascading down his face.

Did Hinata know? What Hope’s Peak had done to him?

“His name - my name - was…” The embers licked at both of their feet. All that was left was to burn.

“Izuru Kamukura.”

With those two words, the flames erupted to life around them. Komaeda’s heart beat hard against his chest, as if trying to escape the inferno. He held his breath, uncertain if there was any air left in the room.

“But I’m not him…! Right? Komaeda?! Am I the lie, or is he?!” With dizzying speed, Hinata was in front of him, hands latched onto Komaeda’s arms. “Would I even want to exist if that…that thing was really me?” Desperate for an anchor, he leaned his body against Komaeda until Komaeda was forced to put his arms around his waist so they wouldn’t fall.

But if we could fall together, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“So you have to tell me,” Hinata’s voice rumbled against Komaeda’s shoulder. The entire situation was completely overwhelming, both mentally and physically. Komaeda had never been this close to anyone. He felt needed - something he couldn’t remember happening before, and that heady sensation may be why the tight grip on his façade had loosened, even for himself.

He couldn’t bring himself to hate Hinata, no matter how much he tried. The Hinata he knew didn’t deserve even a fraction of what Komaeda was currently facing alone. Komaeda was willing to put his life down for the sake of hope, and despised despair with every fraction of his being. This was a fact. Komaeda was also in love with Hinata - well-meaning, hapless Hinata who admired hope, was strong in so many ways Komaeda wasn’t, and was loved by everyone. This was also a fact. These two conflicting truths warred in his mind constantly since he learned their shared history. Lashing out at everyone, especially Hinata, felt good, or at least he had originally thought. Now though, seeing Hinata so hurt that he would go to even Komaeda for resolution, he felt a strong pang of regret. Would any of this have happened if he didn’t reveal anything about the student files? Would he still have torn up his own arms? Even now, Komaeda was hurting Hinata, by not telling him the full truth, by letting Hinata be held by someone who would betray him, who would die. His next words fell out of his mouth without his permission.

“I’ll tell you what I know about him. Call it a farewell present, to the you I…” ‘Thought I knew’? ‘Loved’? It didn’t matter. Komaeda did not let himself fall further than he already had. Hinata’s face was still buried in Komaeda’s shoulder, but the grip he had on Komaeda’s biceps tightened, signalling that Komaeda had his attention.

“Like I told you, you were just a reserve course student, completely ordinary with no stand-out traits. Maybe it was that complete lack of any semblance of talent that made them choose you - or maybe it was just luck.” Komaeda poured all of his strength into keeping his voice steady and even, to reveal as little as possible, but even he had to scoff at the phrase ‘just luck’. “In any case, you were chosen for an experimental procedure which would theoretically implant talent into you. You would have every talent the school had ever seen, truly someone worthy of being Ultimate Hope.” Komaeda paused to imagine it, and to steel himself for the next part.

“However, instead of becoming a beacon of hope, Kamukura was just as bad as the others. Ah, but I’m no better, either…” Komaeda didn’t feel the need to specify who the others were or what that meant. He had a feeling Hinata wouldn’t care once he heard what came next. “The file said there wasn’t a trace of Hajime Hinata left in him. Whether it was intentional or not I don’t know, but you no longer existed.” Komaeda heard Hinata’s sharp intake of breath and felt him stiffen. “And that’s where it ended.” Komaeda may have been feeling sentimental, but to say anything more than that would put his plans in severe jeopardy. He couldn’t risk Hinata knowing the whole truth and piecing together Komaeda’s intentions. None of this mattered in the end, he told himself, even if the thought caused his grip on Hinata to tighten. They stood in their awkward embrace for a while, before Hinata finally regained some composure and took a step back. He didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed. Instead, he felt as if a chasm had opened up and was ready to swallow him whole. After he was able to convince himself that he wasn’t going to disappear, he forced himself to ask Komaeda something he couldn’t possibly know the answer to.

“Then…who am I?” Hinata let out an empty laugh. “You said that I stopped existing, but that’s a lie, right? Right now, everything feels too real, and I can’t deny that what I feel is real, too. Maybe I’m in hell for killing all of those people…maybe that’s how a ghost can mistake himself for a human. There isn’t a single thing about me that was ever real, is there?” Hinata’s mind and mouth were both wandering, looking for a truth to latch onto. “In the end, I must just be a well-made lie.” And isn’t that depressing? Being a lie who had forgotten along the way that he was a cheap imitation of something that may have once existed - being something fake, yet still forced to feel this all-real pain.

“You’re wrong.” Hinata jolted at the fierceness with which Komaeda said those two words. Some color came back into his sight, and for once, he felt something other than dread pounding in his heart.

“To me, you’ll always be Hajime Hinata. You exist as you are now, whether you like it or not. Maybe to anyone else you aren’t real, but you are to me.” Hinata looked at him owlishly, and Komaeda’s blood immediately drained from his face. That was too much. “ A-A talentless reserve like yourself isn’t allowed to decide if he’s real or not. Quit acting so presumptuous, forcing your worldview onto everyone else.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, as well. This is ridiculous. Komaeda was now looking everywhere but Hinata, willing his heart to quit beating so fast. It almost worked, too, until he heard a muffled sob coming from Hinata.

His eyes locked back onto him, who was covering his mouth with one hand while using his other to blindly feel behind him for the bed and, without fanfare, crashed into it. His hand fell from his mouth, releasing with it the sound of unhinged laughter. His face was contorted into a hysterical grin and tears were once again gathering in his eyes. Komaeda had no idea how to deal with this, so he didn’t. He wasn’t sure his voice would reach Hinata like this, anyways.

“Of course you would say something like that,” Hinata said breathlessly as the laughter died down. Hinata looked at Komaeda - truly looked at him for perhaps the first time, without being blinded by admiration or hurt or betrayal, and felt a slurry of emotions, but above all, a connection. A desire to get closer. A hope that, maybe someday, when everything was over…

Things clicked into place for Hinata while on the other hand Komaeda was absolutely baffled. He gets the distinct feeling that he’d been caught somehow, though. He certainly felt transparent - so transparent, in fact, that unless he stopped this now, Hinata would see through to his desires and try to stop him. What’s worse is that Komaeda was sure Hinata wouldn’t have to try all that hard to convince him to want to live, and that thought was frightening. His mind flashed back to hospitals and diagnoses that served as death sentences. He cannot - will not - cling desperately to a life that will soon be over when he could at least use his death in a meaningful way.

While Komaeda stewed in his own thoughts, Hinata began reaching out to grab his hand when suddenly the gravity of the situation hit him like a brick house. He just let Komaeda comfort him, and that comfort caused Hinata to see things that weren’t there. He came to Komaeda to get answers about himself because he knew Komaeda wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Who’s to say he wasn’t hiding more? The feeling welling up inside Hinata was far too dangerous, and he snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned. He had felt so sure, but the doubts still started creeping in. Komaeda caught the motion as he stared at Hinata, hurt and relief warring in his mind. Hinata stood up suddenly, eyes glued to the floor. He needed to get out, he had too much on his mind, he can’t deal with this-

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“…Me neither.”

What appeared to be an agreement masked the multiple layers of misunderstanding and fear, but they were both stubborn and scared, so they let it fall. Hinata took a shuddering breath and walked to the door. It hurt too much to face Komaeda as he said, “Thanks for everything.” He heard Komaeda hum in response, but couldn’t see the despair swirling in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Hinata-kun.” And, without another word, the night ended.

Days later, when Hinata is crouched beside Komaeda’s corpse, he thinks, ‘Ah, so this really is hell.’

“Goodbye, Komaeda.”

#komahina #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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bisexualhobi · 3 years

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wait I think I agree not today is really bad but now rank all their title tracks from best to worst pls

lmaoohdksjjdjf i love this question so much anon but due to the fact that i’m me this would get way WAY too long. so i’m doing the top 5 best title tracks and then top 5 worst ones okay? i’m looking at google and apparently they have 26 korean singles so yeah that’s too much.

to rank them as objectively as possible I'm gonna try to take into account gp impact (which is not the same as chart impact since the fandom inflates those numbers), production, creative value (how innovative/different from other pop songs was it?) and the concept of the music video/aesthetic in general.

BTS TITLE TRACKS: TOP 5

5. Black Swan (2020)

am I cheating by putting here a pre release single? maybe. but it would be a disservice to leave this one out so bear with me

⭐gp impact: this song made more noise as a pre release single than the title track. I saw it in at least 3 end of the year editorials for best kpop songs of 2020. and the thing is it could have been WAY bigger but a lot of stuff happened that sadly made it go away too soon. I don't think this one is as famous or recognizable as the others in this list which is why it's going last, but also I think this song is the most underrated gem in bts discography so it's still going here.

⭐production: this song beat out the front runners (I need u, save me, DNA) solely because of its production. there are not a lot of kpop songs out there that manage to pull off what this song does. it's powerful, it's nostalgic, it's a dark and sexy song without being too on the nose. the mixing is SUPERB I remember the first time I heard it I thought "this would blow the fuck up if it was a Travis Scott song" and I will DIE on that hill. this is an example of heavy autotune on a song done right, not like the rest of their super autotuned songs that sometimes come out unrecognizable and empty sounding.

⭐creative value: it's not truly a new concept in pop to make a song about the Death of the Artist. it’s also not something a rookie group can do, this song needed to be released at exactly the time in bts’ career that it was. there’s just no emotional impact if you just sing about how the music makes your hear beat and you’ve been in the industry for,,, 3 years. this is the type of Swan Song you release at the peak of your career, so that really contributes to the message. mixing a trap beat with a ballet motif is GALAXY BRAIN SHIT.

⭐️concept: the ballet influence is just beautifully executed, this song is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship on all fronts. i think they could literally build an entire ALBUM off this concept, so the fact that they jampacked it onto one single song is both amazing and a little sad for me. i wanna hear more of this. i want a literal Black Swan (the darren aranofsky movie) horror concept where the protagonist falls prey to his own madness because he strives for perfection. but yeah, the song itself and the orchestral version just make this a complete golden concept in my book.

4. IDOL (2018).

⭐️gp impact: i think a lot of people that didn’t know anything about kpop vaguely knew about this song when it was released. i know i wasn’t into kpop at all but in my pop culture circle there was a small bleep from this song bc of the concept and the dance. i think it’s a great “embassador of kpop” track, like if you wanna explain to someone with no previous knowledge what kpop is about you can show them a performance of this song.

⭐️production: the production is a little all over the place for me. the instrumentals are amazing and really creative tho, but like in terms of mixing vocals and the structure of it, it might be a little too grating. it’s not the best produced song in ly: answer by any means but it still makes it work

⭐️creative value: the whole hanbok thing is a 10/10. bts weren’t the first ones to do it, but they did it in such a tightly executed way that honestly that “classic korean roots meets the edgy western feel” concept belongs to them now. groups are still recreating it. it’s a really innovative concept in general.

⭐️concept: the music video is,,,, something. you might love it or hate it, but it’s memorable. i think the purposeful way in which they made it as loud and brilliant as possible can be taken either as a camp adjacent or just as the group going nuts with the budget, which props to them. the choreography is also a BIG plus. the south african influence is really well executed and they made sure to do it as cultural appreciation and not appropriation. definitely the most memorable thing from this song is the choreo

3. Run (2015).

⭐️gp impact: this was their second song to have a music show win. it was the lead single from hyyh pt2 and honestly it might be the best song off hyyh as a whole. it cemented bts as not just another kpop group, because it made non fans turn their heads too! from what i gather this really propelled them forward and made the fanbase grow a lot.

⭐️production: hyyh pt2 is super well produced. i feel like this song in particular makes a fine job of mixing the vocals but it’s not outstanding. the best part is the instrumentals. but overall it’s a really good song with amazing lyrics and a great melody.

⭐️creative value: this built off of what they did with pt1 so they were already in a comfortable place, when they found this sound they really explored it well and deep and it works! i’m glad they went this emo pop route because it was a good contrast to what was dominating the charts in kpop in 2015.

⭐️concept: the aesthetic is PERFECT. there’s not a single other thing that i could add or that i wanted gone. it’s the perfect mix of coming of age teen film and heartfelt, dreamy pop. the music video is by no surprises the favorite mv of a lot of the fandom. the cinematography is beautiful and the song and the video perfectly capture that fleeting moment in life when you’re in the brink of adulthood.

2. Mic Drop (2017).

⭐️gp impact: this song was the first bts song to chart on the billboard hot100. back when the fandom had no idea how to chart, mass buy etc. that’s enough said. (personally i think mic drop is the quintessential bts song and their best release so the fact that i’m not putting it first should count as something).

⭐️production: for the purposes of this ranking i’m using the original mic drop and not the steve aoki remix even tho it was the steve remix that was released as the single. the song has the BEST mastering i’ve heard in kpop. the transitions are flawless, the beat is pure fire, the entire first minute is literally the hardest hype rap i’ve heard in kpop. everything about it WORKS.

⭐️creative value: it’s kinda funny how this song got released the same year as kendrick lamar’s humble, because imho it’s the best hiphop song of that year after humble. 2017 was truly the year of the diss tracks. bonus points for including it right after the billboard acceptance speech skit in ly: answer. SUPER refreshing among the ed sheeran type of pop that dominated that year.

⭐️concept: it’s a great concept but not innovative by any means. still, it works and bts managed to exploit it to the max. the choreo, the mv, the styling, everything was amazing!

1. Blood, Sweat & Tears (2016).

⭐️gp impact: it's probably the first song to put bts on the map beyond the kpop sphere. it really set the tone for their 2017. it's one of their most famous and recognizable songs to date.

⭐️production: this song is STUNNINGLY arranged. the mix, the ambience, the progression,,, it's all brought together to make a very well crafted song. it has a distinctive electronic/pop sound to it that still manages to set itself apart from the trend that was going at the time. black swan is probably the closet single they have to this in terms of production.

⭐️creative value: the song itself is very in compliance with the 2015/2016 trend of hype songs with edm influence, (ie. closer, shape of you, cheap thrills, let me love you, something just like this, etc.) but it still packs that punch that makes it sound fresh even for 2021.

⭐️concept: it wasn't the first song to sound like this in kpop ofc but it was the first truly sexy concept for bts. the aesthetic is innovative and very well thought out, the mv is amazing and the choreography too. i read somewhere that j-hope had a lot of input for this choreo so that's amazing. also blond taehyung is literally the best thing to come out of big hit.

WORST BTS TITLE TRACKS

ok so here we go with the worst ones! this is in ascending order as i prepare myself to pick the worst of them all, but please remember this isn’t meant to be mean spirited, i am simply applying the same criteria to their most underwhelming songs but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own merit! it’s just that out of 26 singles, SOME of them have got to come out at the bottom right?

5. Life Goes On (2020)

⭐gp impact: this song is not memorable with the general public, its #1 on the bb was the product of mass buying and even though it's a feel good song made to comfort fans in the times of pandemic it's still bland and boring. I think it had no music show appearances either, and as far as bts ballads go this is just bottom tier. it’s not that it’s terrible, it’s just very underwhelming

⭐production: the autotune in this song is very poorly executed, it doesn't add to the song the way black swan does for example. it's just off putting and the melody is really forgettable. it's funny bc the chorus is directly pulled from the 2018 reggaeton super hit "La Canción" by J Balvin and Bad bunny lmaooo 💀 so I can't get that out of my head either. the structure is just fine and has nothing of substance

⭐creative value: the song is attempts to be a heartfelt acoustic song but it really has nothing that sets it apart from other songs product of the pandemic like Justin and ariana's stuck with u. for a song in a self produced album it's the song with the least input from the group. the lyrics are good, but they're not as sincere or groundbreaking as for example Spring day.

⭐concept: as a ballad ofc I'm not expecting it to have a grand choreography, and the mv being filmed in their personal dorms to reflect the lockdown is actually a nice touch but besides that there is nothing exciting, innovative or even sincerely comforting about the song and the concept. the greatest thing abt it is the fact that jk directed the video, which is actually pretty good.

4. We are bulletproof pt 2 (2013)

⭐gp impact: this song made no noise back in the day and to this day its just beloved by the fandom due to a sense of nostalgia and "remembering bts' roots". don't get me wrong it's amazing that bts still perform it in the year of our lord 2020 because you can't forget where you came from, but it's not a good or memorable song by any means.

⭐production: I went back to listen to it for this and oh god. I can't remember the mixing being THIS bad. jimin, jin and taehyung sound exceptionally bad, they don't sound like themselves especially jin. it's just a really poorly mastered song, but then again the rest of their debut album isn't far better.

⭐creative value: this is straight up ripping off early 2000s black culture from the US. not only the music, the styling for this era in general is unfortunately really bad and culturally appropriating and overall it's a mess.

⭐concept: there is nothing of substance to be said about this song. it's just really a miss. the mv is terrible, the only thing that can be salvaged from this is the choreography, but besides that the whole thing feels sloppy, rushed and is also kinda cringey.

3. N.O. (2013)

⭐gp impact: no noise. this song was just a really weird pick for their first comeback when attack on bangtan or coffee was right there. not to be mean but no wonder they didn't have a music win this year.

⭐production: it's an objectively bad song. it's just really underwhelming, the whole mixing feels amateur. it's not a good hiphop song and it's not a good vocal arrangement and the chorus is also a rip off of a late 90s American song I can't find right now

⭐creative value: this song isn't innovative in any way, it's just..... there. very meh in general, I have nothing more to say about it

⭐concept: the storyline kinda wants to go somewhere with the music video but it doesn't manage to make a connection. the styling is plain, simple and not flattering at all. it tries to make a protest of the Korean school system but it doesn't say anything beyond "school bad" which we already knew

2. Not Today (2017)

⭐gp impact: its a very middle of the list song for a lot of the fandom. I literally know of no one that claims this as their favorite mv/era/song. when you ask people about their least favorite bts songs they won't mention this one either, you know why? because it's that irrelevant. it had no music show wins either. it's precisely because of this why I put it so high up on the list. there's nothing worse than an unmemorable song, if it was widely hated then at least that would be a response.

⭐production: it's a really mediocre song in terms of structure and melody. it tried to be hype but it falls short. the chorus feels half finished and the message of the song is just “the revolution has begun”? which okay? but it adds nothing to the You never walk alone album either.

⭐creative value: there is nothing exciting about this song, and the chorus is too grating. the rhythm is repetitive and nothing new either in kpop or pop in general.

⭐concept: sadly there's not a lot to be said for the song. it says nothing of value and what it says falls flat. there's no innovation. you can actually see a lot of idol in this song, and also ON. those two songs are what this one tried to be but failed.

1. War of Hormone (2014)

⭐gp impact: thankfully none. this song got the treatment it deserved, if they had won a music show for this one it would feel tainted lol. now it's just a meme in the fandom but overall it made zero noise and contributed nothing to bts' evolution

⭐production: the production is very lazy, which is odd because dark & wild has some pretty tight tracks. but this one is just meh, nothing outstanding and the melody is just annoying

⭐creative value: this is a song that was probably born out of the desperation to have a gp friendly hit. it tries really hard to replicate an outdated idea of what boy bands should be, and it does it badly. simply put this song is very mediocre and misogynistic and the fact that it's a running gag in the fandom that "feminism isn't important when war of hormone comes on" isn't funny and it's actually cringe. please stop

⭐concept: the styling is so ugly :( the mv is very low budget which isn't surprising but they managed to make more with less in past releases. it's just embarrassing and I wish this song didn't exist, there's a reason why they never play it anymore lol. overall a dark mistake in bts' career

#asks #long post//#song analysis #bts

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dancer-cotillion · 4 years

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The Hanger

I wrote this a long while ago as the first chapter of a VR AU Oumota fic. I wrote 5 and a half chapters before I drifted away for reasons I can't remember. But I looked over it again recently purely on a whim and I actually really like most of what I had so I'm considering going back and finishing it. I can't promise anything though so we'll see. But since I like what I wrote and because this first chapter can easily stand on its own as a sad one shot, I decided to go ahead and upload it.

The hydraulic press hummed loudly as it lowered. It took all of Kaito’s self-control to lie still and keep his eyes closed. What if Kokichi passed out from the poison and couldn’t stop it in time? What if the emergency stop button didn’t work?

But just when it seemed he could feel it above him, weighing down on him without even touching him, it stopped. Heavy silence filled the air as he let out a long breath.

“’Kay, you can… move now.” Kokichi voice was strained, possibly even more than it had been before Kaito had gotten under the press.

Kaito slid out from underneath the press, careful not to move the jacket beneath him too much lest the little bit of it visible in the video jumped places and gave away their trick. He didn’t dare open his eyes until he was all the way out and straightening.

Kokichi was just stepping down from the control platform. He was pale and sweating, his face drawn with anguish.

“You okay?” Kaito asked and immediately wanted to kick himself. He’d asked a lot of dumb questions in his day but that had to be dumbest.

“Oh, I’m doing just fine, thank you,” Kokichi replied with a good facsimile of a smile that would’ve fooled Kaito under different circumstances. How many of his prior smiles had been false too? Considering what he’d said upon Kaito questioning the reason for his plan about how it’d had all been act, he actually hated the killing the game, it was very possible that almost every smile of his had been false.

“Sorry.” No amount of ‘sorry’ would ever make any of this okay. Kokichi was dying, if Kaito didn’t kill him with the press, the poison would. He’d had the antidote but he’d given it to Kaito, dooming himself. Would Kaito have been able to do the same in his position? Sacrifice himself to save someone who’d considered him an enemy even for a plan like this. He… didn’t know. One thing he did know for sure though was… “I’m sorry for how all this turned out and… for how awful I treated you.”

“Don’t be, I set myself up as your enemy on purpose. You and all the others were supposed to hate me otherwise none of this would’ve worked.” And at the end of this plan of his, he was going to die a gruesome death. The others would all hate him even more for it too. Could anything be more tragic?

“I don’t hate you, I never did.” Kaito didn’t have it in him to hate someone. He’d just… let the stress of everything get to him. That was no excuse, he was supposed to encourage everybody and get them all to work as a team but it was all so much. So… he’d played favourites and only helped a small number of people. He didn’t regret how much time he’d spent with them but… he should’ve done more for the others, Kokichi included even if he did often go out of his way to be antagonistic. It was too late now though, Kokichi was dying and Kaito didn’t have much longer left himself; the taste of blood in his mouth now seemed permanent.

One last thing he did have time for though was… “I’d like to consider you a friend if that’s okay?” He held out a hand.

Kokichi stared at it before looking up to meet his eyes. “Getting all sappy because I’m dying, huh? But all right, sure, we can be friends. No reason not to, I’m choosing to trust you with my plan after all.” His hand was hot and sweaty in Kaito’s as they shook, sealing the deal. And it might’ve just been Kaito’s imagination it also seemed to be shaking a little. Pain, fear, or both? It was hard to guess.

“Now,” Kokichi said as they let go, “can… can I have one last request?”

“Uh… sure.” There wasn’t much Kaito could do for him but as long as it was within his ability to do, he’d gladly do it.

“Regardless of how our plan turns out, whether it fails or succeeds, once you step out of the Exisal and reveal it to them could you… remind everyone that I’m a liar?”

“Why?”

“Because I… want them to remember me as a liar and a sneak, not some poor little misunderstood sad boy to be pitied because I died a tragic death trying to save everyone.” He scowled at the thought as if being pitied was far worse than being hated. … Which well, made sense. Kaito wasn’t sure if he shared that sentiment but he understood it so…

“Sure, I’ll make sure to remind everyone you’re a liar.” In his heart he’d known the truth though and would never forget it.

“Thanks,” Kokichi whispered as he turned back towards the press. He got under it silently and carefully.

With a grimace, Kaito turned towards the control platform. He only got a single step before a soft sob behind him froze him in his tracks. He turned back towards the press and knelt down bedside it so he could see Kokichi better. His brave mask had finally broken as he stared down his impending death inches above him. Tears leaked from his eyes as he shook.

Kaito took his hand, gently squeezing it. What words could he possibly offer in comfort? They were high school students for fuck’s sake, death was not something people as young as them should be facing, especially death like this. It was wrong and unjust on so many levels and there was nothing Kaito could do about it.

“I… don’t want to die,” Kokichi choked out in a whisper, squeezing Kaito’s hand.

“I know.” Kaito didn’t want to die either. At least he still had some time left… not much though. “You’re not alone though, I’m here.” It was the only comfort he could offer.

There was long moment of silence, broken only by another soft sob, before Kokichi answered with a whisper. “T-thank you.”

“You… you want to… let the poison do it.” It wouldn’t make a difference if he was… crushed after he died, right? No one would be able to tell the difference. And that way Kaito could stay by his side until the very end.

Kokichi let out another soft sob. “Can’t… risk it. We’ve already taken so much time… discussing everything and setting it all up. We don’t know how… long before the electro-bomb wears off.”

“You sure?”

“Yes and… i-it’ll be over faster.” That… didn’t sound like it truly appealed to him. On the brink of death even his ability to lie was crumbling. “Just… promise you won’t let my death be for nothing, please.”

“I promise.”

They were silent for a few minutes while Kokichi steeled himself again. Or tried to, he wasn’t doing a great job at it and who could blame him for that? He as slowly dying of poison, about to get crushed to death, Kaito wouldn’t have been able to pretend to be okay with that for even a few seconds let alone how long Kokichi had been keeping up the act for.

But he eventually let go of Kaito’s hand. “Do it. Don’t hesitate. And don’t forget the camera.” His voice was firmer than it had any right to be even if the look on his face and tears leaking from his eyes betrayed it.

“All right uh…” Kaito straightened. “Good bye.” People in movies and books always seemed to regret not having wished their friends or family farewell before they died so he’d at least have that, right? Not that he’d have long to be haunted by this – a small mercy that came with his own impending death via terminal illness – but he had to say something.

“Good bye,” Kokichi replied, his voice nearly inaudible, a few seconds later as Kaito headed up the control platform. He almost turned back towards him but… there was nothing more that could be said or done. It was best to just get it over with, end his suffering and pack everything up before the electro-bomb’s effects wore off.

At the top of the control platform, Kaito felt almost sick as he looked at the controls and camera. Was he really about to press a single button and… end Kokichi’s life? That just wasn’t right. Things weren’t supposed to work like that. How could he possibly…

“Don’t hesitate,” he whispered to himself as he put one hand on the record button on the camera, the other over the button that would send the press down. With a deep breath, he pressed them both at the same time.

The press’ hum resumed, much quieter from up here but still filling the heavy silence and thankfully drowning out any further sounds of sobbing Kokichi might’ve made. Kaito didn’t want to watch but… at the same time he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t see Kokichi from this angle, the press was too low, but… this was the closest thing he could get to being there for him in his final moments, right?

So, he watched the press, already so low, lower further. It settled home with a sound somewhere between a wet pop and a crunch followed a half second later by the clang of metal meeting metal. Blood sprayed out from under it like a large water balloon filled with red paint had burst. And just like that, Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, was no more. All that was left of him was smooshed flat as pancake under the press and the splash of blood that had escaped it.

Hands and face numb, Kaito stopped the recording and packed up the camera and its tripod. Then he set about, preparing the rest of the crime scene; cutting the cord to the control platform and double check to make sure nothing remained that’d give hint to what they’d done.

The tears didn’t hit until he was hidden safely away in the Exisal. He hunched in on himself as he let out a shaky sob that turned into a painful cough. He wanted to curl up in a ball but the pilot seat didn’t allow for it. So he sat there and cried into the spare jacket Kokichi brought for him way earlier that day – felt like a lifetime ago – that he’d grabbed before entering the Exisal without even thinking about it.

Eventually his tears petered out, leaving him feeling empty and hollow. He’d have to get his act together for the trial tomorrow but that was hours away. And he was alone so he could allow himself to feel miserable for not just having killed Kokichi but everything that had happened since the start of this killing game. All the suffering and heartache they’d all been through for… what purpose? … None, right? There was no good reason for any of this… and yet so many of them had died for it… and Kaito had killed someone because of it. No more though, this was the end. It had to be.

#My writing #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #Oumota #Kokichi/Kaito #Canon major character death #angst #sadness

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thesleepy1 · 4 years

Text

A Morning Finding You

A/N: I was just in the mood for some Johnlock and although I have an angsty multi chapter fic in mind I realized that that’s a lot of work. And with most of my readers interested in Jack Kline fics and Eskel fics I don’t think they’ll be a following for my angst. This is sort of to test the waters and see who is interested. Unbeta’d as always. Also my first 5+1 fic. And probably the longest fic I have written. I regret everything.

Pairings: John x Sherlock

Summary: Sherlock is planning something and it's making John worry. Especially since everyone but him was in on it.

Word count: 2916

Warnings: Language, suggestive language, mention of kidnapping, mention of pass near life experiences,

Sherlock was up to something. John just knew it. He had been acting odd for the past week, more so than usual and it was making John worried.

The first was when John came down to find the kitchen clean. No beakers or knives out of place. No heads or body parts in the fridge or cabinets. The kettle was even on the stove with hot water ready for morning tea. John’s favorite mug was just placed next to the stove as if it was supposed to be there every morning.

John had to be honest, it freaked him out, but he was not one to say no to a cup of tea. Then as he stepped into the living room turned office he froze in place. It was clean. Like actually clean. Every article, book, loose paper, everything, was put into its rightful place. The chairs were in their place. His laptop sat closed at his desk. Hell, even the floor looked like it had been vacuumed recently.

“Sherlock!”

“Oh, deary. Sherlock’s gone out with Mycroft, I believe,” came Mrs. Hudson’s voice from the stairs. “Oh goodness,” she exclaimed at the sight of the flat. John could rule her out for the culprit that cleaned his flat.

“That’s what I thought.” John had that look of dishevelment and disbelief. For once in the years that he lived in the 221 B Baker Street, he looked out of place. His hair stuck out on one side. He was in his robes, soft but it's been days since he washed it. And then there was the moustache he had grown out to spite Sherlock.

“W-what happened?” Mrs. Hudson choked out, her hand going to her mouth. She took in the room like it was a crime scene. And in a way it was.

“I have no idea,” John shook his head, running his fingers over the laptop. “It’s been dusted. My bloody laptop has been dusted!” he laughed hysterically, taking a sip of tea only for it to be scalding hot. “Argh!”

“Oh do be careful, dear,” Mrs. Hudson took the mug from his hand, afraid he would spill onto the clean surfaces.

“Yes, yes. Did you say that Sherlock was with Mycroft?”

“Well, not exactly, but there was a car waiting for him outside so I assumed.”

-----

The second time was when John arrived at Mycroft’s ridiculously large estate. The man lived alone with a couple of maids but his house was large enough to fit a hundred people. John had seen it done when Mycroft was forced to host a gathering.

As he exited the cab that he called and paid for, he was greeted by a maid who looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place where he knew her from. And before he could ask she disappeared. “Odd,” John thought to himself as he entered the room the maid led him too.

She seemed to do it with glea which didn’t seem like a trait that Mycroft would look for in hiring maids. Then again, the older Holmes brother probably had someone else to do that for him. The rich bloke.

“Aw, Dr.Watson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” came Mycroft’s voice from behind his desk. His messy desk, John noticed. There were files and all sorts of papers askew. Books were open and there were at least three mugs of tea sitting on the desk. This picture of dishevelment was something out of Baker Street, not the British Government himself.

“Uh, um. I thought Sherlock was here?” John asked, unable to tear his eyes from the uncharacteristic disarray.

“Why would that brother of mine be here?” Mycroft clasped his hands together like he was some devil that tricked John into selling his soul.

“If not here then where is Sherlock?”

“How should I know? It's not like I have a leash on him or anything,” came his smooth reply. He was hiding something as well, John knew it. Something that would explain the state of his desk, he bet.

“No, but you do have your eyes on him.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Mycroft asked with a hint of something in his eyes that John couldn’t place.

“I’m onto you and Sherlock,” John exclaimed, walking through the door. The maid from before was waiting with a tray in her hand, more tea for Mycroft. “Have I met you before?” John asked before the thought could leave his mind.

“I don’t know, have you, Dr.Watson?” She had that devilish look that Mycroft had. The same look in fact. Brunette and possessed.

John looked down at her hands that were grasping the tray. They were calloused in all the wrong places. Her hands looked more like Sherlock’s than a maid’s. Like she constantly played an instrument rather than carrying trays for a sad excuse of an informant.

“No...I don’t think so,” John admitted, leaving with a cold unsettling feeling.

-----

The third time should have rang all the alarms in John’s head, but to be fair he hadn’t had breakfast that morning. Just the barely touched tea that was sitting at his immaculate desk. Immaculate desk, he didn’t think he'd ever say that outloud.

“Oh, John, good morning,” Molly greeted him in the morgue, her smile wavering.

“Good morning, Molly. Has Sherlock been by?” he got straight to the point.

“Um, I-I haven’t seen him in days,” she hesitated, fidgeting with something at her station.

“Days? We were in here the day before last,” John exclaimed, looking closely at Molly. She looked rather fine, her hair was in a ponytail, she was wearing lipstick, her desk was clean as a specialist registrar's would be, her blouse was ironed. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place, but for her voice.

“Um, well, what I meant was I haven’t seen him in a while. Recently...it was an exaggeration, really,” Molly explained, her eyes darting around the room.

“Well do you know where he could be?”

“Have you tried Scotland Yard?” Molly asked though she looked like she regretted speaking. She said too much, she went off script and her mind was trying to make up for it. “O-or have you talked to his brother? Mycroft right? The tall one in parliament?” she stumbled, rereading the lines in her head.

“Yeah, but something seemed off about him.” Molly froze in her place beside her station, her eyes were blown wide and she stared down at her hands like they were the most interesting thing.

“I’ll try again though, it was like he was hiding something.” John neared Molly, his slight height advantage making itself known. “Do you know what he could be hiding?”

Molly averted her gaze from his, “N-no idea.” John nodded, leaving the morgue when the thought popped into his mind. She was wearing lipstick.

-----

The fourth was at Scotland Yard. He was planning on going anyways but Molly’s apprehensiveness just gave him a gut feeling that this was where his questions would be answered. Hopefully. Lestrade was usually in the same boat as he was.

“John!”

“Greg, good to see you. Do you-”

“Busy.”

“I’m sorry what?” John’s confusion was crystal clear on his face. What did the detective inspector mean by busy?

“I’m busy,” Greg stated like that explained everything.

“Yes, but this is important.”

The phone on Greg’s desk dinged in a notification. “Can’t right now,” he reached for the phone on his desk like it was his life force. “My wife wants me home early,” he checked his phone.

“You aren’t married.”

“Yeah, but that was yesterday.” He scrolled through his phone, texting whoever was ever on the other side something frantic.

“You can’t just marry someone in a day!” John exclaimed, throwing his hands up. The other detectives and desk jockeys looked up from their computers to see what the commotion was. One of them being Donovan who looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“He can,” Donovan spoke with authority. She turned to Greg, “And I expect you home by five.” With that she left the building with her coat thrown over her shoulder.

“You and Donovan?! Since when?”

“Like I said, yesterday. And really John, I have to get to work.”

-----

The fifth time was during work, seeing as how running around London had caused him to be two hours late. The woman at the front desk, Diana? Kira? Ariebella? Sydney? Whatever her name was, was very displeased with his tardiness.

“You’re late,” she stated bitterly.

“I know, I know. I got caught up with errands.” She used to sound so nice, or was that Margot? He wasn’t sure and with the morning he had, he couldn’t be bothered to look into it.

“Errands, errands. It's always errands with you. Well whatever you were doing that was more important than your job, you have sixteen patients waiting.”

“Sixteen?!” John gasped, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. He really didn’t want to work today. “Fine, bring them in.”

“If you were actually here on time you would have known that they’re already in there. Go do your job, Dr. Watson.” The clank and clinks of her nails on the keyboard could be heard on his way to his office. It was heaven to his migraine.

“Thanks, Alana,” John called behind him.

“It's Clementine, idiot,” she retorted with a sneer he didn’t see but could easily imagine.

“Of course, Clementine, how could I forget,” John mumbled as he closed the door behind him. Suppressing a groan he turned on his heel to face his first out of sixteen patients.

“Good afternoon, Dr.” said his patient, an old woman who was on the brink of death, agewise.

“Good afternoon, miss…?”

“Holmes,” came her assertive reply.

“Holmes...you wouldn’t have been related to Sherlock by any chance? Would you?” John asked, never really ever having the chance to meet the rest of his flat mate’s family. What with one of them kidnapping him and the other wanting him dead.

“What relations do you have to him?” Her question would’ve been rude if he wasn’t already expecting it. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Eurus had to get their personality from somewhere.

“I’m his friend and flat mate. Believe it or not we solve cases together,” he explained, taking a seat across from her.

“You must be John Hamish Watson then. I am Sherlock’s aunt.” John winced at his full name. Sherlock must’ve told her. How much did Sherlock’s family know about him? Enough to know his full name apparently. All that Harry knew was that he was alive and living in London.

“Well it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure would be all yours for I am here for a reason,” Sherlock’s aunt said briskly.

“Of course, how are you feeling?”

-----

The sixth and final time was after work. John got through all sixteen patients and an extra five patients that came later in the day. This made it so he left the office, thirty minutes after his shift. Clementine wasn’t even at the front desk anymore. She just left him to close up on his own, which on any other day he wouldn’t have mind but his migraine had not lightened.

“Sherlock just kill me now,” John moaned, slipping his keys back into his pocket. With everything going on he was surprised he remembered to grab the damn thing before leaving the flat.

“He can be unpleasant but he’ll never kill you,” said Mrs. Hudson from her car. The one she used only in emergencies.

“Mrs. Hudson is everything okay? What are you doing here?” He ran up to her car, checking her for any injuries or bruises or otherwise.

“Oh stop that, I’m perfectly fine. I’m here to get you.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why?” John raised his eyebrows, his mouth ajar.

“Why? Because I want to, of course,” she smiled, gesturing with her head for him to ride in the passenger’s seat.

“I won’t say no to a free side from you,” John pulled the door shut as he sat down, setting his bag on the floor and buckling his seat before realizing they weren’t going to Baker Street. “Um, Mrs.Hudson?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll know in a moment.”

A moment passed and they were getting closer and closer towards central London. “I really don’t know where we’re going.”

“Oh be patient, we’re almost there.”

“And where exactly is there?”

“You will see.”

John would really much not like to see. He wanted to know, now. Today was odd already, he really wasn’t in the mood to be kidnapped by his landlady, or held for ransom. Mrs. Hudson grabbing her purse only to see it empty did not reassure him on the latter.

“Here we are, dear.” By here she meant a restaurant far too expensive for his paycheck. He could already feel his wallet groaning in his pocket from the small bites of food on large plates that were advertised.

“I’m not sure-” But she had pushed him out of the car and sped off. With his bag for that matter. All he had on him now were the clothes on his back, his wallet and keys. He’d been worse off honestly but now he wasn’t sure where he was.

“Fuck.” John looked around, hoping to find a cab to take him home when he spotted some very distinctive brunette curls. “Sherlock,” he groaned, having had looked for the man and finding the man brought very different emotions out of the doctor.

“Where the hell have you been?” John yelled to the taller man, not caring that he was causing a scene.

“I had errands to run,” Sherlock answered, stoic and baritone.

“Errands to run!? I have been looking for you all morning. You made me late to work. Again!” John threw his hands in the air, stomping his foot. He was drawing an audience and there were even some who brought their phones out, expecting a show.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You did that of your own free will,” Sherlock smirked, smug as he came to the conclusion, “Were you worried about me?”

“Of course I was. Everyone was acting as if they were being held captive. The flat was clean, as in spotless, Mycroft was an utter mess, his maid wants to kill me, Molly was wearing lipstick, Greg’s apparently married to Donovan, I met your aunt of all people at work, and then Mrs. Hudson practically kidnapped me! What the bloody hell is going on, Sherlock.”

“I asked them to distract you, not make you go insane,” Sherlock grinned, looking down at him through his ridiculously long eyelashes. He was in an equally ridiculous get up, a three piece suit with a velvet blazer that looked straight out of Mycroft's wardrobe.

“Well they did a great job of that, I feel like my head is splitting in two,” John shook his head, not wanting to believe all of this was done by Sherlock but he shouldn’t have been surprised. This was exactly something the lunatic would do. He faked his own death for two bleeding years, distracting John for the morning was nothing to the detective consultant.

“I’ll order you a drink then,” Sherlock began walking into the restaurant like he owned the place. Did he? No, no, John didn’t want to know.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to eat out,” John grumbled, feeling underdressed compared to the other consumers.

“Well Mrs. Hudson said I should make it special. And Mycroft recommended the restaurant so you should really be blaming them.” Sherlock pulled out a seat at a table set for two and gestured for John to sit. He did so reluctantly, feeling out of place. Sherlock took the seat opposite. “Distracting you was my idea, if you were wondering.”

“Of course it was.”

Sherlocked beamed, trying to hide his chuckle. “Yes, well I couldn’t have you following me while I got everything ready.”

“So are you going to explain what all of this is for?” John made a gesture to indicate everything around them. If the gesture happened to look like his middle finger then they could kindly fuck off.

“Our anniversary.”

John raised an eyebrow in question, wishing he shaved his spite-stache earlier. “I’m not gay, Sherlock.”

The mentioned man rolled his eyes but relented, “Of course, of course, but what I meant was the anniversary of our first meeting.”

“You did all of this for an anniversary for some day?” John asked, thanking the waitress who handed him the menu. She looked familiar as well, brunette and with a glaze over her eyes.

“It wasn’t just some day or else Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t have parted it on her calendar,” Sherlock explained, thanking the brunette waitress. She turned to face John as she brought over the drinks and that was when it clinked.

“Eurus!” John exclaimed, pointing to the waitress who was also Mycroft’s maid.

“Happy anniversary, John,” she congratulated him.

“She helped too.”

“I more than helped, I made sure everyone was in their place.”

“You bloody idiot, you really went all out,” John looked at Sherlock in utter disbelief. What did he get himself into when he decided he loved this man. Wait, what? Since when did that thought come into his mind? Since when did he love Sherlock?

“Anything for you, John.”

“I’ll just leave now, seeing as I’m no longer needed. I’ll bring condoms with your dessert.”

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marlenethemenace · 4 years

Text

WHEN: 9 December, 1979, between Dueling Club and dinner WHERE: Transfiguration corridor

“Not looking for me, I hope.”

Marlene’s feet -- which had carried her to the empty Transfiguration corridor of their own volition, propelled by the last few scarlet threads Vivian Travers had shrouded her in -- came to an electrified halt. They might have been looking for Gilbert Selwyn, but the rest of Marlene had not been. In fact, half of her had thought he wouldn’t be there when she came looking, but the other half of her had hoped it. Being alone with Gilbert ever again was one of the last things Marlene wanted for herself, if she even wanted it at all. But now, in the wake of his voice---

Marlene kept her back to him as the panic set in, more familiar to her now than she wanted to admit, especially as she realized the power it wielded had never waned. It spanned across the wide, gaping chasm between want and need that she had always wrestled with, especially where Gilbert was concerned. As she found herself inching closer towards the latter -- and closer to the wizard who had happened upon her with loud, ferocious steps -- Marlene wondered if this thing she dreaded didn’t fall neatly into that category.

“I need to talk to you.”

Unsurprisingly, Gilbert stayed silent. But he nodded. He nodded, and then he opened the door to his favorite unused classroom with well fabricated kindness. He stepped to the side, allowing for Marlene to lead the way in before he closed it behind them.

Before she could lose the nerve, Marlene opened her mouth to speak, loose ends flying about as she searched for the precise ones that had haunted her on the way up the stairs---but the attempt proved fruitless when the lock clicked in her ears, and she was forced to confront, at long last, a face she had only seen of late in dreams and nightmares. This was the first time in months that Marlene had taken note the details of Gilbert’s face, and how they had changed from the way she remembered him. Glimpses of dark hair and cheeky smirks in the corridors had hardly made a picture, and Marlene found now that the pieces she had drawn in from memory were strangely shaped, deformed and discolored when held up for comparison. The bags that had once dangled beneath his eyes were gone now, replaced by a new breed of confidence that had changed the angles of his mouth when it was at rest. And yet, he looked the same---just as patronizing and misunderstanding as he had ever been before. Maybe even, somehow, more. Worse, Marlene dared to think as she grew brave enough to meet Gilbert's eyes. Flat, plain, monotonous eyes that had once stretched to such depths. Or had they? Marlene wondered as a dissatisfied scowl slunk its way onto her face. Maybe there had never been any real depth there to begin with; or perhaps it had always been Marlene’s, skillfully projected and refracted back at her where he lacked by the both of them. She felt especially lacking now, hollowed out and useless everywhere but the eyes that had been burdened with this new, uninviting image of an older and just as unwise Gilbert.

“I haven’t forgotten your birthday.” It was simultaneously the most and least surprising thing to come from Gilbert’s mouth. He had always managed to exist just beyond the periphery of understanding when it came to Marlene, a point only proven further when he pulled from his bag a long, thin box that boasted an obviously expensive piece of jewelry inside. He extended it, but she did not take it. Even when waved in her face, it was the dimmest of details in this vibrant nightmare of a moment. “No matter which owl I try, Brian’s not been very receptive.”

“That’s not what I’m here for.” Marlene snatched the box from between them. She turned the unopened box over in her hands, stunned into silence again by the attempt at an olive branch that felt more akin to an unpotted cactus in her fingers. But Gilbert knew that. He had to know, in some capacity, why it was she had come here, even if she was later than expected. Her anger didn’t feel so erratic and loud anymore, like it had when Vivian had first swaddled her in it; it instead rattled impatiently beneath her feet. Once her eyes had adjusted to the way the shadows that hung from Gilbert’s shoulders had shifted, Marlene still didn’t know how to begin.

“I know I said you didn’t have to say anything.” She had hoped he would at least pretend to concentrate on setting up his cauldron, the same way she hastily stuffed the gift into her bag with great intent, but the weight of Gilbert’s unoccupied gaze stayed, weighing down her every movement, coloring the anxious breath that controlled her every word. “Or even that you had to acknowledge it.” She would be glad to be home at Number 5 an hour from now, she told herself as she zipped her bag shut, freshly scrubbed clean and bundled up with thick socks and a wool blanket. “And I meant it then. I really did.” Maybe a little lighter with the truth of her tangled and torn feelings discarded from her shoulders. “But it bothers me that you didn’t.”

A far more long and treacherous silence than the others stretched beyond the time Marlene had allotted herself for this poorly budgeted interaction. Silence was unsurprising with Gilbert, but what did surprise her, once Gilbert had walked around the room only to land on the edge of the table in front of her, was his continued nonchalance, the same perfectly practiced pretending that had driven her to the brink of insanity in these lonely past months. It took, this time, the form of another long silence, and more disappointing words.

“It bothers you that I didn’t do what, exactly?”

“Don’t.” The world was suddenly crimson again, this time without Vivian’s help. But this was not so vibrant a crimson. It was dark, certainly, but not nearly so fleeting. Instead of filtering Marlene’s vision like a thin scarf around the eyes, it colored the earth at its very roots, seeping up through the quaking foundation in a toxic haze. “Of all the things to be a cunt about, Gil.” Two furious and fiery tears cropped into the corners of her eyes, sprouted not from sadness, but the irrevocable anger that longed so desperately to escape that it cracked her voice on its way to freedom. “And now you want me to be the one to say it out loud---”

“Say what?”

“The letter,” Marlene hissed back at his impatience. “The one that Rosalind found.” She watched Gilbert’s face carefully now, with no inkling of a clue as to what it would reflect back at her next. “About me being pregnant.” Unsurprisingly, Gilbert remained, again, silent. But Marlene sensed something different in this silence---a certain lack of intention, an air desire for a loud response to crack it open with, an unpreparedness that she, ironically, had not been prepared for at all. When she allowed the truth to sink in, accompanied by the memory of Rosalind’s satisfied smirk as she had slunk away that night on the beach, Marlene felt as flatly ironed out as the eyes that stared back at her.

“You didn’t know.” The twin tears in her eye slid down her cheek, taking with them every last exhausting ounce of anger that Marlene had clung to. Just as she had when she had written him in June, she clung now to the simple facts. “She found the letter,” Marlene said slowly, eyes widening with every word. “And she didn’t tell you. She didn’t tell you I was pregnant.” But it was all for naught. No words came to break the silence; no emotion colored the blank expression on his face. Even with the truth laid so largely and plainly between them at last, Gilbert gave Marlene nothing in return.

“But you took care of it, didn’t you?”

Nothing but disappointment.

“Yes, Gil.” Her teeth clenched behind the words, making it all the more impossible to get out the next, even as she deadpanned them. She thought she understood him now, after all these years. Even one drop of emotion from her now would have unleashed an unforgiving, messy flood. Maybe Gilbert was simply an old neglected dam, ready to burst at the first sign of minor disrepair. But then came the relief in Gilbert’s eyes as she uttered the words, “I took care of it.” They gave Marlene enough pause to retrace those steps. Maybe there really was nothing there to be held back.

“Good.” Good. “Great.” Great. It was the only sincere smile Gilbert had dared to give her in those moments alone. And Marlene, taking a page from his book, refracted an insincere one right back. “And you’re alright, aren’t you?”

She was---physically, at least, which was all Gilbert cared about, if he even had the sense to do that. Anything else--- Marlene was too numb now to recognize anything she might have been feeling, much less to reconcile it with him now. The blood that had beat the war drums in her ears earlier had returned, this time with a much more melancholy symphony than before. It didn’t beg her to fight anymore; perhaps because she knew now that there was nothing there for her to fight for.

“I’m alright.”

Marlene smiled through the lie; he wouldn’t know the difference. And if he did, he wouldn’t care enough to let on. “It just seemed important that you knew, is all.” And now, it just seemed silly. Like a defunct firecracker, she shot past him for the door, nodding through the echoes of whatever parting words Gilbert was offering her now. When she could stand them no longer, she slammed the door in his face, and kept walking.

#drabble.#dated. december 1979 #c. gilbert selwyn #c3. vivian travers #c16. sturgis podmore #ignore the 1500 typos this has been a journey to write

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the-real-nekoma-kenma · 4 years

Text

Marauders Discovery:

James, Sirius, and Peter were all very concerned. It had nothing to do with their grades in charms class or something to do with Lily. Nothing of the sort. It was about Remus.

Where was he? Why did he keep disappearing every once in a while? Why was it that new scars would appear every few months? Whenever he disappeared, why did he always end up in the hospital wing? All of the marauders were extremely concerned and no matter how much they brain stormed the situation, they couldn't find a plausible answer to the questions.

During one of their "why is Remus being weird" sessions, he walked into the common room carrying several books in a tote with dead eyes and pale skin.

"Remus, hey, are you okay? You look terrible. Are you sick? Need any help?" Sirius inquired. All that he got in response was a simple head shake and a few little grunts.

Remus walked over to the nearest couch, plopped down, grabbed a book, and started reading. The rest of the marauders studied him carefully, watching his eyes scan the pages and flip through the book a bit more aggressively than he would usually treat a book. Remus's eyes started to flutter shut until he finally gave into sleeping and set the book down in his lap.

"I don't want to alarm anyone, but did you guys see the title of the book he was reading?" Peter asked, noticeably scared.

"No, why? What did it say?" James shot up in response.

"Well... it was a little hard to make out but I think it said something about Lycanthropy. He brought in more books with him too. What are they about?"

Sirius butted into the conversation quickly, "Maybe he's just studying up on werewolves for some reason. It's Remus you guys, he's kind of a nerd, ya know."

James sat cross legged tapping his fingers against his thighs in thought.

"Okay, I've got two ideas. Both of them are terrible but I say that we look at the rest of the books before we make any assumptions. Idea one, Remus is a light sleeper so if we walked towards him he'd wake up sooooo let's just drag the bag towards us from here."

"Dragging the bag would probably make a bit of noise though," Sirius rebutted.

"Well that's why I made another plan Pads. Okay so plan number two." James turns and stares Peter in the eyes.

"You turn into a rat and jump in his bag, look around, see what all is going on"

"Nuh-uh. Not a chance. I'm already scared plus if someone sees me they're probably gonna try and light me on fire because oh my god it's a rat, kill it!"

Sirius butted in again, "Have James pick you up and then drop you into the bag. He walks the quietest out of the three of us. Or, I could do my thing and turn into a dog and you can hang onto my fur. The last one wouldn't be comfortable for either of us but nobody would notice you."

Peter pondered about his new options for a second before finally giving into intrigue.

"I... suppose James can carry me and then drop me in the bag, just be careful please!"

"Alrighty. Will do, now hurry up and transform before he wakes up."

Sirius threw a glance over his shoulder at Remus sleeping peacefully and smiled softly.

"I doubt that he'll be waking up anytime soon. That's what he looks like when he's been studying for hours on end and finally falls asleep. It's not deep, but it lasts a while."

"Ey mate, how do you know all that? Sounds like you're being a creeper," James said back to him while winking.

"Doesn't matter," Peter chimed in, "I'm already changing so get ready to drop me in his bag," he said his voice starting to get higher with each word and his body getting shorter with each second that passed.

James scooped him off of the ground and closed his hands around the small rat boy as best as he could while silently approaching the couch that Remus was asleep on, small, quiet snores escaping his scarred mouth. James crouched down a little, then allowed Peter to run down his hand and jump into the bag.

After a few minutes passed, Peter came scampering back quickly changing out of his animagus form.

"What'd you find!" both Sirius and James said simultaneously.

Peter, out of breath, starts talking with a panicked tone.

"Besides his text books for class, I found two other books about lycanthropy and a journal. I couldn't really get a good look at the journal but it had several scratch marks on the cover and several pages seemed to have been bitten off. There was also a calendar in the back, and get this. Every day that Remus disappeared, there was a black dot on the calendar date."

"Was there a pattern to the dots?"

"It didn't seem like it at first but over time they started to span just one week apart. Actually, what's today, Saturday?"

"Yeah, why"

"Well," Peter gathered his thoughts, "the calendar had a black dot almost every Friday. Where do we usually find Remus at on Fridays?"

"He's usually wandering outside most of the day. Although he does tend to look at the sky a lot and around dinner he runs off saying that he doesn't feel good and starts heading towards the bathrooms" Sirius said while scrunching his face.

"Wait a minute," Sirius said, something dawning on him, "He actually never comes back to dinner and he's never in the common room either. I've even waited for him to get back a few times and he never does. Plus, the next day he's always in the hospital wing looking about as pale and tired as he does right now."

"Actually..." James thought it over in his head, "yeah, you're right. He's always either in the hospital wing or just coming back from it and he looks pretty terrible most of the time."

Remus started to roll around on the couch, scratching at his skin in his sleep and whispering things that made no sense.

"Sirius. Go wake him up and walk him to bed. I think he likes you the best so he's more likely to accept your help."

Sirius nodded, then got up and gently shook him awake. He whispered a few things to him and then hoisted him up gently. They both disappeared up the staircase, Remus leaning into Sirius while he was walking.

James sighed both in relief and stress.

"Do you think we should tell Dumbledore? Or at least ask if we're right? He's bound to know whether or not there's a werewolf running around on campus."

Peter adjusted the way he was standing to make it look like he was popping his back and then whispered 'not now' into James' ear.

They both sat on the floor quietly pondering what they had just potentially discovered. If the headmaster didn't know, Remus would be expelled and that was the last thing that any of them wanted. If he did know, what would he do about the Marauders and the fact that they knew as well.

"Hey, Peter."

"Yeah Prongs?"

"How long has Moony and Padfoot been upstairs for? Pads should have come back down by now."

"I mean... it's been a hot minute. Should we check on them?"

"I'll go check on them, if im not down in 5 minutes then you come up yourself."

James stood back up and walked up the staircase. As he got higher up and closer to where all of their beds were, he heard sobbing coming from a corner of the room and the sound of someone hushing them.

"Lumos"

Sirius was laying against the wall with Remus sitting on his lap crying while staring at his hands and pulling at his hair. Sirius kept trying to calm Remus down by pulling his hands out of his hair or by just covering up his hands with his own.

Sirius had just noticed James standing there holding out his wand in the dimly lit corner and gave him a "don't ask questions, I'll explain tommorow" look. James lowered his wand and quickly extinguished the light before walking down the stairwell again to approach Peter, standing there looking as nervous as ever.

"So?! What happened? Are they both alright?"

James had this sense of calmness washing over him after seeing just how much Sirius cared for his friend.

"Everything is fine, they both went to sleep and Remus is starting to get the colour back in his skin."

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

Not one of the three Marauders had mentioned anything about Remus' possible werewolf form except to each other via notes in class or whispering plans in the hallways. They had decided that on Friday, right after dinner, they would ask Dumbledore if he knew or not.

Sirius was the most scared about the plan because he didn't want his best friend to be expelled over something that he couldn't control.

James was confident in the plan to succeed since Peter had been the one to plan it.

Peter spent every possible moment thinking of flaws in his plan, despite the obvious one of 'Dumbledore might not know and expel Remus' he thought about what would happen to the Marauders for figuring it out.

On Wednesday, James and Peter went to the hospital wing to try and get any information about Remus' condition from them. The one nurse who cared for Remus the most said that she was sworn into secrecy about what was going on with him, but then again, all of the medical staff at Hogwarts were sworn to secrecy over all of their patients. It was the patients decision to tell people what happened or not to.

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

Friday night dinner happened and half way through it, Remus got up to leave as expected. The rest of the group waited around ten minutes, then sought out Dumbledore to ask him the topic on everyone's mind. Was Remus actually a werewolf and if so did Dumbledore know or not.

The three of them went up to the professors table and asked to speak with him in private. Dumbledore knew that whatever it was, it was extremely important, or at least to them it was.

He lead them up into his office and that was when each of the Marauders tightened up. Sirius was on the brink of tears and Peter was right behind him on it. James had to ask the questions because neither one of them could do it.

"So. Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Pettigrew. What seems to be the issue? I notice that Mr. Lupin isn't with you. How bizarre."

Nobody could read the professors thoughts and his face was like stone, only cocking an eyebrow with a small welcoming but deceptive looking smile.

James stepped forward, sweat starting to run down the back of his neck.

"Sir, we have some questions about Remus. He seems to constantly be disappearing and when he comes back, he's always drained of energy and looks sick. We also noticed that he was reading books on lycanthropy and it made us all wonder... is Remus a werewolf?"

Dumbledore's face shifted from welcoming into discomfort and looked down at the floor while pacing between his desk and the group of students before him.

After a minute he finally sighed and looked at them.

"I'm afraid that you three are too smart for him to keep his little secret away from you. Yes. Remus Lupin is indeed a werewolf. However, we have made a special place for him to go to during his transformations so that he doesn't hurt another student. Now that the three of you know this, you must keep this a secret. Not only will other students try to attack him if they find out, but parents will be quick to remove students from Hogwarts and demand his expulsion."

Sirius piped up then, barely holding back his tears.

"So you aren't going to expel us or Remus, right?"

"I have no intention of doing so. So long as he doesn't hurt another student things will be fine and he can have safe transformations. I expect that you three would want to know where-" he was suddenly cut off by McGonagall running in.

"He didn't make it in time! A ravenclaw student has been dragged out somewhere and we can't find either of them! Hagrid is already searching the Forbidden Forest but it could be until tommorow until we find the both of them."

McGonagall had just noticed the three boys standing there hearing this before turning back to Dumbledore.

"Do they know?"

"Yes, and I think that it would be wise if they all stayed here. Please wake up the Quidditch seekers and captains and see if they can find either of them from above."

The two of them practically ran down the stairs then split up.

Sirius was the first to speak up.

"He... he got somebody. He told me that he would never attack someone. What happened?"

It was James who spoke next, unfolding a square bit of cloth from his pocket and holding it up.

"Well... I know that we were told to stay here but I need to see what's happening. Sirius. You have to come with me. Peter, you can stay or go but decide now because we're both leaving."

"I- I think I'm going to stay. I don't want to see Moony like this and I'm already freaking out."

"That's fair." James said unfurling the invisibility cloak and then putting him and Sirius underneath.

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

The duo had been outside for a while now but because of how small the cloak was on them they were moving slower than they liked.

"I can't move this slow, it's going to kill me if I don't find out. I can just do my animagus form and no one will know that it's me." Sirius crawled out from underneath the cloak and started to transform into a black dog, then ran off sniffing the ground for anything that smelled at all like Moony would.

James begrudgingly did the same, turning into a deer with baby antlers and clopping off towards the Forbidden Forest.

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

Moony was terrified. He could feel what he was doing but he couldn't stop it. He just kept dragging the student through the forest. The freshly fallen leaves crunched lightly under his paws as he kept dragging the student into an abandoned den. Surprisingly, the student wasn't hurt at all by Moony, the only injuries that he sustained were scratches and cuts from twigs and sticks.

Once Moony let go of the student, the student immediately started to yell. It hurt Moony's ears. They were sensitive in this state. He growled st the student. He stuck his nose up into the air and smelled for people. There was a singular scent that was out of the ordinary. It smelled like... fur. A specific scent though. It was very sweet to the werewolf nose but as the scent got closer, Remus recognized who it was. He could tell that smell apart from a crowd like this. Just a few days ago he had been crying into this scent.

Padfoot.

Sirius kept bounding North into the forest, stopping every few minutes to smell the air for the smell of what he assumed would be old books.

While he didn't find the smell of books, he did manage to find a sharp stick with some blood on the end that had been dragged slightly westward. Sirius changed directions to slightly northwest and kept going, still pausing to smell the air. In the distance he could hear Prongs making deer noises. He wasn't sure if he should keep going or head towards James. Suddenly he heard a yell in the direction that he was going and started to sprint faster than he ever had in his dog form.

He arrived at the entrance to what appeared to be a wolf den that was recently abandoned. He smelled the Earth and picked up on the slightest scent of book pages, only to be heavily covered up with what could only be described as the scent of fear and a twinge of bloodlust. Sirius started down into the den, whimpering slightly only to hear a soft rumble in response. He couldn't see very well but only realized what he was facing when he was snout to snout with what he assumed was Remus.

The small light in the werewolf's eyes let Sirius see into what his friend Moony was feeling. He knew that he didn't want to do this and that he was scared. He knew that Remus was afraid of both the physical and emotional pain he would suffer the next day, but he was also afraid that he would hurt his friend.

One of Remus' paws swiped at Sirius on instinct. It clipped a little bit of his side but the swing wasn't controlled. Sirius could see that Remus was trying to take control of himself but he couldn't do it. His werewolf side was much stronger than he himself was and could only fight to restrain the werewolf side.

Sirius had an idea that might work but if it didn't, it might cost him his life.

He reverted from his animagus form and looked at Remus.

"Moony, I know you can hear me. Keep trying to take control but I want you to think about something while you're doing it."

Remus quickly switched his gaze to where Sirius was at and whimpered in response.

"You know how easy it is for me and Prongs and Wormtail to switch animagus forms, right? Think of your werewolf form as an animagus form instead. You have studied how animagi work before; now take that knowledge and use it. I think that you can transform back just like I can. You just have to relax."

Remus seemed to relax but that wasn't what was happening. He had lost his grip on containing the werewolf by listening to Sirius. He wanted to say "move, I lost control" but knew that he couldn't like this. One of his paws swiveled behind him and then struck Sirius' leg. The werewolf had started to stalk towards Padfoot like a leapord about to pounce on its prey.

"I'm sorry Moony, but I have to do this" Sirius said while pulling out his wand. He used a restrictive spell on Remus so that he couldn't move anymore but keeping the concentration on the spell was difficult. He quickly eyed the Ravenclaw student to get up and whispered to him to shoot sparks and flares up into the air to signal the people searching that Remus was secured.

As the sparks shot up into the night sky, Remus had another chance to try and take over the werewolf form of himself. He listened to Sirius' advice and tried to act like he was switching out of an animagus form but didn't know what that felt like. Instead he remembered what it felt like to revert back into a human from a werewolf. It was painful and draining but he figured that if he were to amplify the pain that it caused, he would be able to gain control and revert back.

Once again, he grabbed ahold of his werewolf form but this time sent so much pain into both of them that they fainted. Sirius had noticed that the werewolf was no longer struggling against his hold and released the "chains" a little bit until he realized that Remus was changing back. Once he realized that he dropped the spell and ran to catch Moony.

----------------‐-------

A few days had passed since the incident and somehow nobody knew that it was Remus that was the werewolf. Apparently using their marauder names instead of their actual names made things harder. The ravenclaw student had been sent to the hospital wing and was patched up in an hour.

Remus however was not so lucky.

He wouldn't wake up.

The doctors had tried a myriad of spells, potions, and poultices to try and get him awake but nothing seemed to work. The only time that he would stir even the slightest bit was whenever his friends would visit him. His heart rate would increase to the heart rate of someone who was awake. His brain activity increased and apparently he could hear everything that was being said, he just couldn't move. Sometimes he might be able to twitch his finger the tiniest amount but it was rare.

James, Sirius, and Peter had all gotten special passes into the hospital wing whenever they wanted to since it seemed like their presence helped him.

One day after the final class, Sirius skipped dinner saying that he needed to study more for Potions and that he had a secret stash of food in his room (he did) but instead he went to the hospital wing to check on Remus.

He was the only one there. As soon as he sat down next to the little hospital bed he started crying. He knew that it was his fault for trying to recommend the idea of animagus transformation to him. He didn't know what to do.

He scooped up Moony's hand in between his own and sat there crying and squeezing his best friends hand. He started mumbling things through his tears until finally he was able to stop crying.

"Hey Moons. I brought a book with me that I wanted to read to you. The doctors said that you can hear me so I figured that I would read you a classic. The story of the Deathly Hallows was always something that you were interested in."

Padfoot started reading, still sniffling sometimes, and kept checking on Moony. Eventually he finished the book and was too tired to go back to the dorm so he laid his head down on the side of the hospital bed and fell asleep with Remus' hand grasped tightly in his.

Sirius kept this up and according to the doctors it was making a large difference. Remus could move his fingers at will and move his toes. Sometimes he was even capable of moving a whole limb but he still couldn't talk or open his eyes.

One day after reading another book to Remus that was a bit longer than the ones he usually read, he was incredibly tired. Whenever he got this tired he would usually sleep in his animagus form so he shifted into the black dog and climbed up onto the bed next to Remus. He got comfortable and went to sleep.

Half way through the night, Sirius felt fingers combing through his fur. He didn't think anything of it and went back to sleep, enjoying the sensation of being petted.

James and Peter had already gotten used to the pattern of going and retrieving Sirius from the side of Remus' bed but this time they stood there in disbelief. Not only was Sirius in dog form but Remus had managed to roll around enough to be able to cuddle up to the dog. Peter asked the doctor what all was happening and apparently when he transformed into his animagus form, it had sort of awoken Remus from his coma. He still wasn't ready to be discharged from the wing yet but he was awake with both eyes open and could kind of talk.

Remus was eventually released and then had to sit through hours and hours of make up lectures and work but after every lecture and after completing every new assignment, he had the best group of friends he could have asked for ready to get into some kind of trouble. For some reason Sirius would always transform in the middle of the night and sleep with Remus but they both loved it and it made Remus feel safer than he had ever felt before.

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inakua · 5 years

Text

Fighting For You

Request: Scorpius and Y/n have a date to hogsmeade, but their plans quickly go south when a fellow slytherin insults y/n in front of Scorpius.

Warnings: Blood, fighting, swearing (I will always try and tag as many warnings as I can think of for each writing, if you read through and find something that I haven’t listed which may be a trigger for someone please send me an ask or message me so that I can add it to this list, thanks!)

Pairing/s: Scorpius Malfoy x female!weasley!reader

OC’s: Sydney Deverill (y/n’s best friend and roommate)

Words: 3,450

A/N: Just a little background your the daughter of Charlie Weasley, a single dad, who took you in when your mother (unknown) left you on his doorstep, you and Scor have been going out for two months and the only people who know are Sydeny and Albus, he wasn’t supportive but has been keeping it a secret. Enjoy, reblogs and replies are appreciated!

@hpnextgensource public event: scorpius malfoy

REQUEST A ONESHOT

“Y/n! Y/n, wake up!” Sydney, your roommate and best friend, screamed. She’d been shouting at you for at least 2 minutes but you just didn’t want to get out of bed. Groaning, you rolled over, pulling the duvet up over your head in an attempt to block out the light flooding in from the window.

“Just 5 more minutes.”

"You can’t sleep any more Y/n, we’re going to Hogsmeade today,” Sydney said excitedly.

“I don’t want to go,” you whined, snuggling closer to the duvet, of course you did really want to go, I mean today was your date with Scorp and there was no way you were missing that.

Sydney decided she’d had enough and grabbed the end of your duvet, beginning to try and pull it off of you.

“Deeee, stoopp” you cried.

“Get your lazy arse out of bed!” Sydney bellowed, giving one massive pull before she toppled over onto the floor, duvet in hand, as you laughed hysterically on top of her.

Sydney got up, dusted herself off and sent a glare in your direction before giving in and laughing herself.

“At least, I got you out of bed,” Sydney chuckled, offering you a hand and pulling you up from the floor, chucking your duvet back on the bed.

Moving quickly the two of you grabbed your clothes, got dressed and began walking down the corridors towards the entrance of Hogwarts.

“We’ve missed breakfast so I’m going to go get us some food from the kitchens,” Sydney said, you simply nodded in her direction.

“I’ll go meet Scor in the entrance hall, he said he’d meet us there,” You replied, giving Sydney a quick hug before going your separate ways.

…

Scorpius heard some footsteps echoing through the halls. He could see Ben coming his way, from the bouncy stride he knew there was a grin plastered on his face. So typical for him to be happy in the morning. He’d be upbeat, joking, looking for banter. Scorpius dived into his bag for a book to hide behind. He could stare at the text, act like he had something better to do than talk.

“Hey, Scor. I just saw Y/n, I might ask her out on a date!” Ben told him loudly. Scorpius let the book sink back into his bag.

“Oh, right,” Scorpius muttered, “You like her? ” Scorpius was worried, Ben had never seemed interested in Y/n before, in fact, he usually insulted her.

“She seems boring as hell but I’ve heard she’s a good kisser. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a good snog.” Ben winked, grinning wider.

Scorpius’ mouth set itself into a thin line, he was trying to control his anger but he was on the verge of insanity.

“Father would kill me if he found out I went on a date with her, let alone kissed her. I mean her mother could be a muggle, or worse a mudblood, and her father’s a Weasley.” Ben said, sneering as he spoke.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Scorpius hissed, his teeth clenched and knuckles turning whiter by the minute.

“What’s wrong? You’ve never stopped me before. You scared the mudblood spawn is going to hear?” Ben mocked.

Scorpius couldn’t stop the bubble of anger burning inside him and before he could control himself his fist collided with Ben’s face.

“Don’t you dare insult Y/n like that! Ever!” Scorpius screamed at the top of his lungs, his fist slamming into Bens’ face.

Blood pooled in Bens’ mouth.

Scorpius dodged his measly attempt at a punch and came up with his own; for a brief instant, Bens chocolate brown eyes widened before he managed to tilt his head back and slam it into Scorpius’ nose. Stars burst into his vision but he shook it off, blindly throwing a sloppy kick. Ben stepped back, easily evading the kick.

“Is that all you got?” he crowed, smirking infuriatingly at Scorpius.

A crowd had begun to gather in a circle around Scorpius and Ben, Scorpius growled and threw himself at Ben, changing direction at the last minute but Ben picked up on this and threw his body weight behind the fist that edged closer to Scorpius’ face, it hit his jaw with such force that blood pooled into his mouth and the pain that erupted from the point of impact was almost unbearable.

With his own two hands Scorpius grasped Bens’ head in his hands and brought his knee cap up to Bens’ nose, there was a blunt crack and Scorpius released his dark haired head. Crimson leaked from both his nostrils and his nose was twisted right.

He drew his fist back again and it ploughed into Scorpius’ stomach, it was like hitting a train head on. Scorpius’ guts smashed together, blood vessels bursting.

He repaid this by punching his jaw, his fist collided with his face.

Scorpius continued this battering until Ben fell to the floor. His chest gently rose and sank with each shallow breath he drew in. Scorpius sunk to the floor in defeat, he was knackered and his whole body was aching. Nobody was going to insult Y/n like that and get away with it, at least not when Scorpius was around.

…

When Scorpius first came into view you didn’t recognise him, he was too far away but you could tell something wasn’t right. He was sat up against a wall and a circle of students were crowded around him, while what looked to be Ben sprawled across the floor seemingly unconscious.

As you neared your heart fell right through your chest, he was purple. His left eye swollen, he couldn’t have been able to see a thing out of that. His face was streaming with bright red blood and his clothes were an utter mess.

You were at his side in an instant. His mouth moving, trying to say your name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable.

“Merlin! Scor? What happened? Are you okay?” You asked, fussing over him and trying not to cry.

“Y/n, just go and get madam Pomfrey,” Scorpius said, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.

“No! I’m not leaving you.” You told him, looked around desperately. You needed someone you could trust.

“Lucy! Go and get madam Pomfrey. Now!” You screamed, terror bubbling up and taking a hold of your body.

You didn’t care about the crowd watching or the fact that Bens unconscious body was at your feet, you just needed Scorpius to be okay.

“Y/n? What’s going on?” Albus asked.

“Nothing, just leave me alone Al,” Y/n answered, you couldn’t deal with Scorpius being in this state and Al being difficult all at the same time.

“What the hell are you playing at y/n?” Albus hollered after seeing your hand entwined in Scorpius’.

“Al, I said go away.” You choked, on the brink of tears as the words slid from your mouth, “This doesn’t concern you, go away!”

“Of course, it does! My cousin is holding the hand of Scorpius-Fucking-Malfoy who’s collapsed against a wall drenched in his own blood.” Albus cried.

“I know who this fucking is! Also, since when did you start caring?” You growled, memories flooding your brain from the past couple of weeks. Al not talking to you and setting half the Gryffindors against you all because you dared to talk to Scorpius and his mates.

“Of course, I care Y/n, you’re my cousin and one of my best friends.” Albus said sincerely, You had to try and stop yourself from laughing at this comment.

“Best friend? You haven’t been my best friend in a while Potter, sure you’re my cousin but that I have to live with! Plus I seem to remember that the last time you even talked to me was 2 weeks ago, and what was you said to me again? Oh yeah, I remember, it was an insult.” You spat at him.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re holding his hand and fussing over him like he is actually worth something.” Albus said, bristled a bit at the use of his second name coming out of your mouth.

“He is worth something! Scorpius Malfoy is one of the most amazing people I have ever met, he’s been there for me when nobody else was. He’s made me happier than any of you can even imagine.” You snarled.

“I can’t believe you, Y/n! I kept your secret over Christmas break but I’m not going to anymore, Uncle Charlie will have a fit when he finds out about this.” Albus said, smiling smugly, thinking that he’d won and that you were going to give in.

“Go on then Albus, go tell him.” You hissed at him, knowing your dad wouldn’t car and that it was his brothers you’d have a harder time convincing.

“Really? You care more about him than about how disappointed the family will be?” Albus asked shocked.

“I’ve been afraid of disappointing people my whole life Albus. I’ve been scared of not being good enough and the one time I want to do something that will make me happy you turn on me. Yes, he may not be family but in some ways, he’s more than that. He chose to talk to me, to listen to me whereas you guys have to put up with me, you don’t get a choice but he does and he chose me.” You told him, not even looking in his direction as you stared down at Scorpius, a hand caressing his face softly.

“This is ridiculous!” Albus screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. turning on his heels back down the corridor.

The halls were eerily quiet after Albus’ retreat and everyone was staring at you in shock. You felt someone squeeze your hand and looked down to see Scorpius staring up at you, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Y/n, I … I’m so sorry. He insulted you in front of me and an I … I just couldn’t let him w-walk away,” Scorpius’ voice was barely a whisper, his throat sore and you could tell he was struggling to stay conscious.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You cooed softly.

“Thank you,” Scorpius whispered before slipping into unconsciousness.

…

Lucy placed her hands on her knees as she stood outside the hospital wing doors, she’d ran there as fast as she can and it was safe to say that she needed to start doing more exercise, she was knackered.

When she entered, Madam Pomfrey was rushing around the ward muttering something about careless students under her breath. Lucy noticed a boy sat on the furthest bed from the door.

“Oh hello dear, what can I do for you?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“There’s been a fight by the entrance hall, one boy seems to be unconscious on the floor and the other can hardly stand,” Lucy explained.

Madam Pomfreys eyes shot out of her head, she rushed over to the boy on the bed and told him to stay here while she went and sorted something out. About a second later she was rushing out of the door with Lucy trailing behind her.

When they reached the entrance hall the crowd seemed to have grown as more and more students tried to see what had happened. Scorpius and Ben were still in the same place, Y/n was sat over Scorpius holding his hand, tears running down her face. Dom had moved forward and was trying to comfort her while the rest of the family were still stood in the crowd, mouth agape and staring at the scene that was unfolding in front of them.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Lucy whispered, you turned around at the sound of Lucy’s voice and flung yourself into her open arms, sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder before lifting your head and looking at Madam Pomfrey as she began levitating Scorpius back to the Hospital Wing.

“Is he going to be okay?” You mumbled, eyes puffy and red from crying so hard and voice raw as you spoke.

“Everything will be fine Y/n, go with him."

"Thank you,” You whispered, “Thank you so much!” You turned around to follow Madam Pomfrey back to the hospital wing and Lucy followed.

You’d face the wrath of you cousins later, at the moment, you needed to make sure everything was alright.

…

“Scorpius?” Astoria whispered into her son’s ear.

She’d been floo’d a couple of hours ago with the news that her son had been in a fist fight with a fellow student and that he was in the hospital wing. She was surprised to find a girl curled up outside the hospital wing with tears running rapidly down her face. She had y/h/c hair and a light sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a cute button nose. Astoria thought her to be quite pretty and wondered why she was in the state she was.

“Mother?” Scorpius asked, covering his eyes with his hand as the burning light began streaming through his eyelids. “What are you doing here?”

“We got a call from the headmistress telling us you’d gotten in a fight and that you were in pretty bad shape.”

“We?”

“Your father and I, he’s not here, though. He had to be at work, he had an important meeting.” She was trying her best to sound comforting, but Scorpius just turned a blind eye not wanting to acknowledge his fathers absence.

“Please, Scorpius tell me what happened.” Astoria pleaded.

“I can’t.” Scorpius mumbled, he ducked his head in shame and tried his hardest to avoid eye contact with his Mother.

“Why not?” She questioned.

“Father would be disappointed in me if he found out, he wouldn’t care. He’d tell me it’s not something to lose a friend over.” He admitted.

Astoria thought back to when she’d seen that girl out in the corridor earlier, maybe she had something to do with this.

“It’s a girl isn’t it.” She said, it wasn’t a question, but a statement. She knew it was about that girl now, she could see it in his eyes.

“Why do you say that?” Scorpius asked wearily.

“There’s been a girl sat outside the doors for several hours, they won’t let her in. Every time someone comes in or out she tries her best to get in but Madam Pomfrey keeps telling her that there are to be no visitors yet.” Astoria watched as her sons eyes lit up.

“Y/n is out there?” He asked, trying his hardest not to smile but failing miserably.

“So that her name is it? Y/n.” Astoria thought it was a pretty name, it sounded familiar.

“Yes mother, Y/n.Y/n Weasley.“ Scorpius knew he had to get it out of the way, his parents hated the Weasleys and it was better if his mother knew straight away instead of trying to hide it from her.

"Weasley? But she’s .. you can’t not a - a Weasley. They’re blood traitors. You can’t.” Astoria gasped at his confession, but she seemed like a perfectly normal girl, how could she be a Weasley?

“This is why I didn’t want you to know. You don’t even know her and you’re already judging her just because of her name. Does it look like I care mother?” Scorpius barked, he was getting frustrated and before his mother could answer him Madam Pomfrey opened the curtains and move towards his bed.

“Scorpius, How are you feeling?” She asked, a kind smile on her face.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache but that’s all Madam Pomfrey! Thank you.” It wasn’t a lie, Scorpius’ head felt like it was on fire, it was throbbing painfully, it was as if a hundred hammers were hitting his head at the same time.

“That’s okay my boy, I just need you to take this potion to ease any pain and you’ll be able to leave the hospital wing by tomorrow.” Scorpius took the potion and guzzled it down, he instantly felt better.

“Madam Pomfrey?” Scorpius stopped her before she could make it out of hearing distance.

“Yes my dear”

“Can Y/n come in now?” Scorpius asked. Astorias eyes popped out of her head and Scorpius just gave her a stern look, reminding her not to say anything to offend her.

“Of course, I’ll just go and get her,” Madam Pomfrey replied, chuckling at the looks Scorpius and his mother were sharing with each other.

Mother and Son didn’t exchange any more words and stood there in silence as they waited for Scorpius’ guest. The sound of rushing footsteps reached Scorpius’ ears and before he knew it a bundle of y/h/c hair was in his face and you’d jumped on his bed enveloping him in a death grip.

“Oh, my gosh Scorpius I was so worried! Are you alright?” You fussed over him as he struggled to catch his breath.

“I’m fine,” he insisted as he moved your hair out of your eyes.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again! Do you have any idea how scared I was, I’ve been out there for hours waiting for you! What were you thinking?” You’d sat up from where you were perched on Scorpius’ lap and began lecturing him about his behaviour.

Scorpius had to grab your face to get her to pay attention, you had tears running down your face and he brushed them off carefully with his thumb. He felt you shiver at his touch and chuckled to himself.

“Y/n, calm down. I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” You answered, giving him a peck on the lips as you snuggled closer.

“hmph hmph” Someone coughed from to the right side of you, making you jump off of Scorpius when you finally realised who it was. Your face burning red as you shuffled over to introduce yourself.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Y/n Weasley.”

“Astoria Malfoy, lovely to meet you.” Scorpius watched as his mother talked to you, she seemed genuine but he couldn’t be 100% sure. You turned to face Scorpius as Astoria finished talking.

“Scor, you didn’t tell me your mother was here.” you hissed under your breath.

“I didn’t have the time to tell you after you came barging in here.” He put his hands up in surrender as he spoke, but you merely sighed, you couldn’t be mad at him when he looked so darn cute.

“I can come back later if you like, I don’t want to disrupt anything,” You said.

“Y/n you don’t have to go.” Scorpius began, he didn’t want you to leave just because his mother was here.

“But you and -” Scorpius cut you off as you began to try and leave.

“Y/n, I want you to stay.” He insisted, causing you to flush red.

“Oh, okay then. I’ll just go and sit over here."

Astoria watched on in amusement as you went to sit in the chair on Scorpius’ left.

"So how long have you and my son been together Miss Weasley?” Astoria asked.

“Oh, um, I - about 2 months now,” You answered. Astoria looked over at her son, the pride and love evident as he looked at you.

“Well, I best give you two some privacy. I’ll be back in a moment Scorpius." Before anyone could protest Astoria had turned on her heels and slipped out of the curtains.

"Scor I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise she was in here! I wouldn’t have come rushing in like that if I’d known.” You began spluttering but Scorpius simply smiled at you.

“Y/n, Look at me. Don’t worry about it. Okay?"

Your eyes locked and Scorpius’ breath faltered as he got lost in your beautiful blue eyes.

"Okay,” you gulped, leaning to give him a proper kiss.

“Were you really out there for several hours?” He asked, holding you close after your kiss, you nodded wondering if he’d think you weird.

“Are you tired?” He asked he seemed generally concerned.

“Just a little but it’s nothing to worry about,” You confirmed. In actual fact, you were knackered but you didn’t want Scorpius to worry about you. He was the one in a hospital bed, not you.

They lay there for a while, both were drifting off to sleep in each others arms.

“I’m glad you’re okay Scor,” You whispered. Before Scorpius could answer you closed your eyes and were fast asleep, Scorpius following your lead closely after.

Astoria walked in about an hour later to find you and Scorpius curled up in the single bed fast asleep. Maybe this Y/n girl wasn’t as bad as she thought.

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jamesbucksiclebarnes · 5 years

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Rating: Mature - Language, Mentions of Violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

SERIES SUMMARY:

“Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn’t make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now.”

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: Battle is the Want of All Man.

Hershel and Andrea’s voices cut in and out, partially obscuring the Governor’s words. But I’d heard enough.

“I don’t want your prison,” he had said. “That doesn’t sound safe at all. I mean, you lost your wife, another man… What good would that do me? Best you stay where I can keep my one good eye on you. I want Michonne. And I want my girl back. Turn them over and this all goes away.”

I clenched my teeth so hard it was a miracle they didn’t shatter into a million pieces. My girl? Since when was I “his” girl? If I hadn’t been sitting on the car bonnet next to Daryl at that moment, I probably would have launched into attack mode right then and there. Thankfully, his body was between me and the door. It gave me enough pause to think logically.

“You’ve obviously got big plans,” Rick remarked. “Like you’re the guy who’s gonna lick this thing. Bring us back from the brink. So why waste your time with a two-bit vendetta? On this one girl who decided to think for herself? Why risk it all? You could have a statue of yourself in the town square, Governor.” Rick’s low chuckle almost set the hairs on my arms upright. “Killing Michonne, obsessing over Jacques, it’s all sort of beneath you, don’t you think?”

“You could save your son,” was the Governor’s reply. “Save your daughter. Everyone you know. It’s your choice.”

The gap between the Governor’s statement and Rick’s response was almost enough to give me a fucking aneurysm.

“If I give you Michonne… If I hand over Jacques… How do I know you’ll keep your word that you’ll stop?”

He wouldn’t.

Something inside me had to believe that Rick already knew that. Even after only a few days around the man, I knew he wasn’t an idiot. You didn’t get as far as their group had with a leader that didn’t have at least an ounce of common sense.

I didn’t hear the response. Martinez said something to Sean right as the Governor’s voice filtered out through the metal door, obscuring my ability to distinguish the words. A curse escaped me, barely loud enough for even Daryl to hear.

When the Governor pulled open the door, everyone was suddenly at full attention. Daryl and I straightened from our slouched positions by the bonnet of the car, watching him as he walked past us with barely a glance in my direction. He was making a point of ignoring me, of pretending he didn’t care I was standing on the other side of this. I knew better and watched him until the very moment he climbed into their car and slammed the door shut.

Rick emerged a moment later, hand on his belt as he walked purposefully toward our own car. His face was all hard lines, eyes focused straight ahead. Not a word was exchanged between any of us as we climbed into our respective vehicles.

I shot Martinez one last, lingering look, hoping he’d see sense before things got out of hand. He gave me a small, sad smile as they pulled away from the edge of the road.

The drive back to the prison was uneventful. Rick didn’t say a word and neither did Hershel. I began to wonder whether this esteemed leader would be truthful about their exchange, if he would inform everyone that the Governor had put their lives upon the heads of Michonne and I. Was he considering it? He couldn’t truly believe the Governor would leave the prison be after all this. I refused to accept he was that stupid.

The people of Woodbury had known Philip, had trusted him. His manipulation of them was understandable. Many of them had yet to see his dark side. Rick knew only the worst of him, and I had to believe he would make his decisions accordingly.

When we arrived back at the prison, Carol and Maggie were there to open the gate. Daryl’s bike drove in first, followed closely by us. Once we had all climbed from the car, Rick called for us all to get inside.

I spotted Merle by one of the cells lining the corridor. He stood beside Michonne and straightened his back when he saw us entering the cellblock.

Rick walked down the corridor a fraction further than the rest of us, reaching into one of the open cells to retrieve a hunting rifle. He turned back to face us, looking between the gathered faces of his people with a pensive expression.

“So, I met this Governor,” he announced, sounding almost amused by the title as it rolled off his tongue. “Sat with him for quite a while.”

Merle cocked his head to the side. “Just the two of you?”

Rick nodded.

The older Dixon glanced toward me, cocking a brow. I shook my head with a deep frown, which made him scoff. He pushed off from the cell door he had been leaning on and walked across the opening before Rick, looking to his brother as he passed. “Should’ve gone when we had the chance, bro.”

He came to a stop beside me. We both looked up to Rick as he stood a step up on the staircase behind him.

“He wants the prison,” he announced.

I nodded, smiling slightly, glad he had seen through the Governor’s bullshit.

“He wants us gone… Dead. He wants us for what we did to Woodbury.”

Everyone seemed unsettled by this, shuffling in their places on the concrete floor.

“We’re going to war,” Rick said with finality, looking at each of us in turn before stepping down from the staircase and walking out of the cellblock.

The silence was almost palpable. Daryl stepped forward and looked to Merle, who looked down at me, as if questioning whether we were going to stay and fight. I gave him a tight nod, which he returned to his brother.

I was in this fight whether I was with them or not. The Governor would not allow me to live either here or there in peace. He’d want me gone, removed from the equation, so he could sleep fitfully at night. But he was fooling himself if he thought it would be that easy.

If it was war he wanted, a war he was going to get.

To say things were tense after that would be an understatement.

Merle, Michonne, and I continued to press Rick about the possibility of attacking first, to which his response had remained the same over the past day and a half. “It’s too risky,” he’d say. “There’s another way.”

Yeah, I’d think to myself. And that “way” involved handing Michonne and I over to a man who wants to shoot us in the face.

I kept that to myself. Hadn’t even told Michonne. It had been a difficult decision, whether to tell or not, but I’d come to the conclusion it was best that only one of us remained on edge. Ignorance enabled Michonne to more genuinely attempt to fit in here, to make friends of the people huddled in the cellblock. I couldn’t. Not when my attempts were spurred by that minuscule sense of doubt in the back of my mind, the thought that Rick couldn’t send me away if his people liked me. When they came up to me, I remained nothing but pleasant, but I was guarded. I didn’t want a tainted beginning to a friendship. These people deserved better than my unintentional manipulations.

Still, it was like I couldn’t help myself. Beth had been first, mostly because of the baby. In case you couldn’t tell quite yet, I had a soft spot for kids. Always have.

Merle had begun to frustrate me quite early in the day. He’d begun ripping into the mattresses throughout the cellblock, no doubt looking for some kind of hidden stash. At first, he’d asked me to literally be his “sniffer dog” and, once I’d refused, he’d given an indignant “who needs ya” before tearing into the damn things like the unrestrained idiot he was. I’d left him there, both unable and not in the mood to try and talk sense into him.

I walked out to the fenced-in section of the courtyard, intent on getting some fresh air, when I spotted Beth, sitting crossed legged on the concrete ground. In front of her was a box, and from the inside of that box, I could hear the senseless cooing sounds of little baby Judith. I hadn’t been game enough to approach her whilst Rick was around, unsure of how he’d react to my proximity to his baby girl, but Rick was nowhere to be seen – at least as far as I could tell – so I began a cautious approach. Carol was nearby, sitting on the steps leading up into another section of the cellblock. She watched me approach Beth with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

“Hey,” I said softly, announcing my presence to Beth, who had been too enraptured by the book in her lap to notice my approach.

Her eyes, wide and blue, lifted from the pages and fixed on me curiously. Thin, blonde eyebrows pulled down slightly. “Hi. You’re Jack, right?”

“Jacques,” I responded with a little chuckle. “Like, the uh, detective in Pink Panther.”

She blinked up at me, tilting her head the slightest bit as her thin lips pulled down at the corners.

How old was she? Did she not know Pink Panther? Was I old? My God. Twenty-four wasn’t old, right? Right?

I gave her a gentle shake of my head, slowly lowering myself down into a crouch beside her. “No? What about the, um… the shrimp guy from the dentist’s tank in Finding Nemo?”

That made her eyes widen in understanding, her mouth partially opening in an “O” shape before she clucked lightly.

“That’s just my last name, though,” I added, glancing down into the box at Judith. “Le Jacques.”

Her little baby cheeks were so round, so pink. Those eyes, light green in colour, were wide and alert, as if she were listening in on every word. She looked at me for a brief moment and I smiled down at her, which made her face break out into one of those pure baby-grins as she threw her arms about in excitement.

Jesus fuck, I would die for this child.

“What’s your first name?” Beth asked me, leaning in slightly to draw my gaze from Judith.

I glanced at her, still grinning. “Synnove.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Sin-oh-vey.” I shrugged haplessly. “It’s a Norse name. My mum, she was heavy into the whole “my ancestors were Vikings” thing.”

Beth chuckled, nodding. “Oh. It’s pretty.”

I snorted, though gave her a thankful smile as I lowered myself down out of my crouch and into a sitting position. The top of the box cut off my view of the baby inside, but I got a decent look at the side of the cardboard, where someone had written “Lil Ass Kicker” in black marker. I felt my brows scrunch as I looked at it in surprise, coughing out a laugh. Adorable.

“A baby doesn’t get to choose their own name,” I remarked, gesturing to the scrawled black letters on Judith’s box. “If I’d had a choice, I might have picked that.”

Beth laughed. It was a light sound, pure and full of heart, kind of like her singing voice. Had this been a hundred years ago, I didn’t doubt she would be the exact kind of girl that one of my kind would attempt to draw into the shadows, to lure into a ring of mushrooms deep in the silent forest. Thankfully, my kind didn’t do that as often these days, too wound up with their own bullshit to worry about the humans of their neighbouring world.

“Daryl gave it to her,” Beth informed me after a moment.

That made my brows rise slightly as a smile pulled at one side of my mouth. Of course, he had. Why was I not even remotely surprised?

Beth’s own smile began to fade after a moment as she lifted herself partially out of her crossed-legged position to look down at the baby. She reached in with a thin arm, rearranging the blankets within the box with a pursed lipped frown. “Her momma died giving birth to her,” she said softly. “Carl had to – you know. That was before we knew ‘bout Woodbury. One of the prisoners that survived here, he opened the gate and let the walkers in. We all got separated. That was when it happened.”

I gave her a sad look, nodding along with her story as she sunk back down beside me. It had been a cruel world even before the dead had begun to rise. Now, it was almost as if the universe or whatever sicko God was watching over us, purposefully put everyone in the worst position possible just to watch them squirm.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Sounds like you guys have had a run of bad luck lately.”

Beth bowed her head slightly, blue eyes focusing on her hands where they fidgeted in her lap. “It’s been rough. But we’ll get through. We always do.”

I smiled slightly at that. “I don’t doubt it.”

She glanced up at me, her sad look slowly fading into a smile. It was small and didn’t entirely reach her tired eyes, but it was nice to see, nonetheless.

Everything settled back into silence after that. Carol, who had been partway through cleaning the rifle now resting across her lap, had watched our entire exchange with a keen eye. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use that rifle on me if I’d made even the slightest of moves indicating I meant Beth or Judith harm. Something about that woman struck me as… I don’t know. Capable? Alert?

No. I knew what it was.

She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So well hidden beneath that wool that even I had stumbled and stuttered before figuring out what she truly was. It was impressive, honestly. Those keen eyes were the only thing that betrayed her. The way they always seemed to be watching, to be turning those little cogs inside her mind, constantly alert. The tell glow of a wolfs eyes in the darkness.

When Carol caught my scrutinising gaze, she straightened her back, her grip on the rifle slipping down slightly as if intent on pulling up and pointing it at me.

I gave her a slow, knowing grin before averting my gaze, pushing myself back up, out of my sitting position. The sound of my booted feet against the concrete was barely noticeable as I made my way back toward the cellblock door. I’d had half a thought to check in on Merle, make sure he hadn’t destroyed every mattress in the cellblock, when I felt my feet come to a sudden halt.

Voices. I could hear them coming from somewhere to my right, down near the end of the cellblock where the brick wall met the beginning of the fence. They were hushed and barely discernible, but I could tell they belonged to Rick, Hershel, and Daryl. With a glance behind me at the two women to make sure neither of them were watching, I began to slink down toward the sounds of conversation. Using the shadows cast by the tall brick building, I remained partially hidden as I approached the yard where Rick, Hershel, and Daryl stood. Silent, tightly pressed against the wall before the corner, I remained out of sight as I listened in to their voices.

“It’s the only way,” Rick was saying, his voice hushed despite the fact no one other than my nosy ass was nearby to listen in. “No one else knows.”

Daryl looked perplexedly back at the man, pursing his lips slightly in thought. His grip on the strap of his crossbow was tight, as if he were using it for a sense of comfort. “You gonna tell ‘em?” he asked.

“Not till after,” Rick responded.

It didn’t take a genius to understand what they were referring to. Rick was planning to hand Michonne and I over after all. I felt a deep sense of anger rise within me, setting my chest alight. My hands curled into fists against the brickwork of the cellblock wall and I had to take a deep breath in order to restrain myself from marching out there. How the hell could he be so stupid? Did he honestly think this was the “only way”? That the Governor wouldn’t kill us and then immediately turn on them? Where was his common sense? His police-y instincts? Why was I the only one thinking rationally here?

“We have to do it today,” Rick continued, glancing between Daryl and Hershel with a steely-eyed resolve. “It has to be quiet.”

Daryl was partially pacing back and forth, looking out to the forest beyond the gate before returning his gaze to Rick. He chewed his bottom lip indecisively for a moment before asking, “You got a plan?”

My upper lip curled up into a snarl. Seriously? Not even Little Dixon was on my side here?

“We tell them both we need to talk,” Rick answered evenly. “Away from the others.”

Daryl shook his head. “Jacques ain’t gonna fall for that. She’s clued in, man.”

Rick’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing at Daryl as his lips pulled tautly down at the corners. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” he answered, sounding a little offended Rick would even ask. “She knows how the douchebag operates. Probably already guessed he’d asked you to hand her over.”

That made Rick pause, a hand lifting up to rub at the scruff along his jaw. He looked to be in deep thought for a moment before meeting Daryl’s gaze with an intensive look. “Would Merle do it? Get her alone? If it were the only way we’d let him stay, would he do it?”

Daryl blinked at him in surprise. It took him a long moment to answer and I wondered exactly what was going through his mind at that moment. The question looked like it disturbed him. “Naw,” he answered plainly. “He ain’t ever been like this with no one. No way he’d give her up to the Governor.”

Rick let out a frustrated sigh, turning on the spot to look out through the fence. “Alright. One at a time, then. Michonne first. Merle will help with her, at least.”

Daryl nodded slightly, though I could see the conflict in his gaze. He didn’t like this. In fact, I was pretty sure he hated it. The idea of giving someone up to save his own life looked as if it made him almost physically ill. He took a series of deep breaths, stepping closer to Rick with a sad look. “This ain’t us, man.”

“No,” Hershel agreed. “It isn’t.”

Rick turned so he could look at the both of them, at such an angle that he was almost directly facing me. I didn’t panic, remaining as still as I could, knowing the distance between us would make it difficult to discern my body through the shadows of the building. It helped that I was wearing all black, of course.

“We do this, we avoid a fight,” he said, sounding as if he actually believed it. “No one else dies.”

That part, he said directly to Daryl. The younger Dixon still looked troubled, as if he wished someone else would say something, give them another option, but he nodded after a moment, realizing that second choice wasn’t going to come.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll talk to Merle.”

“No,” Rick said quickly. “I’ll do it.”

Daryl blinked. “I’ll go with you.”

Rick shook his head. “No. Just me.”

As Rick turned to walk away, back toward the front of the cellblock, I watched Daryl’s face contort into a troubled frown. He and Hershel shared a look, after which the old man shook his head and turned to follow Rick. That left Daryl alone, standing by himself in the empty yard, staring out through the gaps in the wire fence at the forest. Once I was sure Hershel was far enough away that he wouldn’t spot me in his peripherals, I stepped out of the shadows and silently approached the younger Dixon.

One hand lifted to grip the fence, as if he needed it to keep himself steady, the other hand still tightly holding the strap of his crossbow.

He had no idea I was there. Not until I spoke.

“It’s not going to work.”

Daryl almost jumped out of his skin, spinning around so fast one of the arrows on the end of his crossbow caught in the fence. Once he realised it was just me, he let out a huff of air through his nose and looked over his shoulder, prying the arrow free with an irritated yank and stepping away from the fence with a scowl. “Get you a bell or somethin’. Jesus.”

I smirked, amused despite the situation, but it faded quickly as I repeated my initial remark. “It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” he asked, though I could tell by the way he was looking at me through narrowed eyes that he already knew what I was talking about. That I’d been listening.

“Handing Michonne over to the Governor isn’t going to placate him,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Neither of us will.”

Daryl didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the ground by his booted feet as he chewed the inside of his lower lip.

“He won’t even kill her,” I continued. “You know that, right? Not straight away. He doesn’t function like that. Revenge isn’t a bullet to the head with him. It’s more than that – it’s just as psychological as it is physical. He’ll torture her. Probably take out an eye. Maybe both, just to make a point.”

Daryl swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, only to continue staring at the ground.

“Me? Fuck knows what he’ll do. I have an inkling it’ll involve a set of pliers. Don’t know why – just a feeling.” Whether it would be pliers, a hammer, or a knife, I knew he wouldn’t just put me on my knees and execute me. He needed to hurt me. To hurt Michonne. He needed to make us feel the pain we’d inflicted upon him, righteous or not. It was more than just a simple case of clearing the field. He needed to win. Needed to be on top. To have himself placed on a pedestal for the people of Woodbury that believed he had defeated the enemy, despite the fact, somewhere in that rotted skull of his, he knew we were an enemy he had created.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl breathed after a moment, still not meeting my eye.

I smiled softly, despite myself. He looked like a scolded child. It made my heart ache in my chest. “Don’t stress it,” I responded, waving a hand dismissively. “Rick’s just trying to minimize the bloodshed. I don’t blame him. Or you.”

That made him look up. His brow was furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed with his deep, troubled frown. Despite the fact he said nothing, I could tell there was some sense of relief inside him. As if my acknowledgement of the lack of blame I regarded him with had set his mind somewhat at ease.

“If this is what you all think is best,” I said softly, looking out to the forest with a small frown. “I’ll go. I won’t fight it. I’ll tell Merle not to, either, and he won’t. But you and Rick both need to understand that this will not amount to anything. The only thing you’ll accomplish here is the removal of two competent fighters from the board. Two that are standing on your side.”

Daryl breathed heavily through his nose, the skin on his forehead wrinkled as he looked back at me with a sad, helpless frown. He swallowed again before nodding, chewing the inside of his lower lip before turning to make his way up the path Rick had disappeared down.

God. How had it come to this so fast? I needed to find Merle. Convince him not to help. To at least attempt to talk some sense into Rick. Lord knew, he wouldn’t do it on his own inclination. That was the way he was. Obeying the orders, doing the dirty jobs with little question. That was how I used to be, too. How had I become the one looking at things from the outside?

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