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bluejay-writes · 3 years ago

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Infinite Blue - The Scavenger Hunt Prize

You can also read/bookmark this on Ao3!

Rating: E for Everyone! Characters: Full Cast Wordcount: 4695

Notes: Hey fam, here's a cute little story from MC's perspective about the Scavenger Hunt from the Demo.

“Hey, Emma, you good carrying all of that, or do you need a hand?”

Emma looked up at the owner of the voice, and laughed.

“Frank, I’ve got a cart, and I only need to get these things to and from the car. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks for watching the prizes. You’re the only one I can trust with all that stuff.”

“Well, obviously.” Emma struck a fierce pose. “I’m your superhero. I’ll scare away would-be thieves and cheaters.”

“More like your cuteness will make them think twice about doing anything that could make you frown.” Frank said.

“But seriously, thanks for being willing to do this. I know that you wanted the animal shelter spot, but…”

“I’m over it.” Emma said, laughing. “People watching at the mall should be fun too.”

“And if nothing else you can chat with those boys in your phone.”

“Frank, they’re not in my phone.”

“Well, you’ve never brought even one around to meet us even though there are like a dozen of them, so they may as well be.”

“Frank—”

“I know, it’s complicated. I get it. Get going, I want you settled in place before we get started this morning.”

Emma looked at her array of prizes on the table in moderate envy, and sighed. She really wanted to participate in the scavenger hunt, but being on the planning committee for it ruled that right out. She loved things like this. It would be so much fun to do this with a friend. Emma sighed again, like she was built only to sigh. Sure, she wanted to meet the boys, but… ugh. This whole situation was a mess. Too bad they didn’t know anything about her, or she could have told them where she was, you know, for meeting in public safety reasons. I mean, right in the middle of the mall. How much more safe could I get? Or are they worried that I’m the problem and they’re not safe from me? This is still safe for them too!

Her phone chirped, and she saw that Leo was hanging out in chat. Perfect! A distraction! Oh, it looked like Leo had the day off today. You know, the exact opposite of her existence. Though, to be fair, chilling in the middle of the mall getting to read while she waited for people to get to the end of the line wasn’t her normal work, so… it was fine.

Ugh. It would be so perfect if I could be like ‘I’m working but in public, come hang out!!’. I can’t even tell him to do the damn scavenger hunt just to be able to hope he’d appear here. And if he did, it’s not like I could be like “Yeah, I’m that Emma.” Emma thought, and sighed. Alas, that was not how things worked.

Leo: Maybe we could see a movie together or something? When the time’s right?

It looked like Emma wasn’t the only one who wanted to meet up with her chat friends. Leo was being especially forward about that very topic, and Emma blushed, staring at her phone. He wants to see a movie together? Like a date, or just… friends, or…

She was completely distracted by her thoughts when a man walked up to her table.

“Hey, what do I have to do to get one of these prizes?”

“It’s a scavenger hunt, sir! You go from location to location gathering tickets, and then at the end you come here and turn them in for a prize.”

“You could just give me the thing now though.”

“I sure can’t, you have to have collected all the tickets! Just giving prizes to anyone who walks up ruins the fun.”

The man looked, for a moment, like he was going to do something stupid, and Emma tensed. She’d talked big about being able to protect herself when Frank had teased her earlier, but she really wasn’t the strong scary type, no matter how much she jokingly hyped herself up. Luckily, he worked past that impulse and left her table.

Once she was sure he was gone, she looked back down at her phone and realized Leo was waiting for an answer from her. Oops. She hadn’t meant to leave him on read. She grinned, and tapped out a message to tell him that a movie sounded wonderful, you know, once it’s safe or whatever. She wasn’t expecting Leo to be as excited as he was about it, but then he also wasn’t expecting her to say yes, so who knew. Neither of them were expecting Tobias to burst into chat, demanding to be let off the jet he was on. Emma blanched, that was a lot of exclamation points. Which like, wasn’t surprising from Tobias, but… Planes were terrifying. And he was on one. And wanted off it. Immediately she asked him if there was something wrong with the plane. She’d hate for Tobias to get hurt.

Emma looked away from her phone again to greet someone who’d approached her table. This time, it was a little old lady who was excited to see “the things young people were getting involved in these days” and Emma sent her off with the flyer of information on how to get to the starting point at the park. Meanwhile, Leo and Tobias had been chatting up a storm in her pocket. Tobias was, in fact, just being overdramatic because he hated delays. That, then, turned into Tobias testing Leo’s knowledge about his filming schedule. Emma chuckled quietly at her phone - Leo was one of Tobias’ biggest fans, not that he’d ever admit it. He probably knew exactly what Tobias was filming. She looked away to putter about her space and watch the passersby, only occasionally glancing at the chat, which meant it had been a minute since Tobias sent the message that her focus trained on.

Tobias: For the record, I’d like to meet you in person too, Emma.

Meeting Tobias Fox in person would be a dream come true. Emma thought. Like, she wasn’t a die hard fan, but who wouldn’t want to meet the notorious Fox? Honestly, every one of these boys was an entire time on their own, and Emma didn’t know how she fit in to such interesting company. Speaking of interesting company, Emma grinned to see Brooklyn logging into the chat, but she didn’t have a chance to say hello before someone calling out from behind her broke her attention on the chatroom. She turned to see the owner of the voice, smiling at the familiar face.

“Monica.” Emma said, chuckling. “Good morning. I take it everything’s set up at the park?”

“Yes. I made Frank stay there for awhile, he’s running himself ragged.”

“Sounds like Frank.”

“Any problems here so far?”

“One cranky guy who just wanted me to give him prizes, otherwise it’s been pretty quiet.”

“Well, it’s busy at the other end, even though we don’t start for another forty minutes, so it’ll probably get busy around here eventually.”

“If nothing else, I’ve got my phone to keep me company.” Emma said, grinning. The boys were always chatty, so it was unlikely she’d get too bored.

“Oh! We’ll be bringing lunch around noon, is there anything you can’t eat?”

“Nope, I’m easy to please.” Emma said, keeping the smile plastered to her face. Monica really knew how to talk, and it wasn’t that Emma disliked her so much as that she really just wanted to go back to the chat because Brooklyn had joined the chat, and she wanted to say good morning. Thankfully, Monica got the hint and headed out to check on the other stations. Emma sighed and looked back down at the pile of messages that had come in while she was ‘working’.

Brooklyn had of course noticed the bits of conversation that would be the most debatable, he always seemed to do that. Of course, this time around it was about meeting her in person, and how he felt it was best not to involve her in anyone’s life until the whole messenger mess was managed.

Brooklyn: Although, when it’s safe… I would be happy to formally introduce myself to you, Emma. Face to face.

He wasn’t wrong, that’s why she’d told Leo eventually, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t going to be keeping an eye out for them just in case someone happened to wander through the mall today. Besides that, Tobias had immediately latched on to teasing Brooklyn about wanting to be the first one to meet her in person. Which Brooklyn of course denied. Who wouldn’t deny that kind of accusation, really? But Emma really did want to meet Brooklyn, just like everyone else, and didn’t hesitate to mention that in chat. The conversation shifted, then, and Brooklyn mentioned that he was meeting a high-profiled CEO for tea.

Emma decided not to ask him if the CEO in question had a cute white cat. Jumin Han was a fictional character and the fact that she low-key shipped Brooklyn and Jumin wasn’t really fair to Brooklyn, who was real. Also, he was probably really sick of hearing her ask that every time. Tobias was probably really sick of hearing about CEOs, Tea, and Antiquing, because he interrupted Brooklyn’s mention of his day by circling back around to their previous topic. Talking about meeting everyone eventually was fine, but then Tobias started to ask which one of the three of them she liked best, and… Emma didn’t want that kind of conflict, she really only knew these boys as words and the occasional photo on a screen. So she told them that she wanted to meet up all as a group first, for safety reasons, but also because she really wanted to meet everyone so much. It was her first order of business once they figured out what was going on with the messenger.

Well, shit. She’d been hoping to somehow tell the boys about the scavenger hunt without giving away that she was working it, but with Brooklyn super busy today, and her professed and honest interest in meeting them all together, maybe it was better if they didn’t know… Of course, just as she thought that, Leo brought up the scavenger hunt all on his own, and then Brooklyn asked if she’d heard about it. Emma winced. How was she supposed to answer that without lying? Ugh. And so much for them not knowing about the scavenger hunt. Maybe she could be honest without giving too much away.

Leo: Emma, I’ll enter it for you ^^

Emma blinked. She hadn’t intended to… well, it was too late now. Maybe if Leo got really into it she could somehow convince everyone else to also do so. Well, except Brooklyn because of his meeting. And Tobias was waiting for his plane to even take off. And Alexei never left work… and Milo never admitted to doing anything ever. Sneaky whatsit. But maybe Rory… Meeting Leo and Rory wouldn’t be too bad… right? And maybe the others would come by if they wanted… especially if they thought Leo was winning her favor. As much as she hated to admit it, the boys in the messenger app were rather competitive for her attention. And she liked their attention, so maybe she should encourage them, for once. Leo seemed especially determined to win something for her, so she could basically guarantee he’d be coming by her table at some point later today.

Emma looked at the array of prizes, and tried to decide if there was anything she didn’t want. Okay, there were a couple things. She wasn’t interested in the fishing pole, or the martial arts class vouchers. Most of the jewelry was… much more gaudy than her taste. But there were a lot of really nice things and tickets to things. Nothing beat that camera though. It was gorgeous. Sure, her phone had a camera, but there was nothing better than a dedicated machine for any given task, and she loved photography. Leo kept saying he’d do anything for her, and Emma blushed at her phone. Leo was living his best knight in shining armor life today. She couldn’t have asked for a better kick to get the other guys interested than that comment.

“Hey dearie?”

Emma looked up to see a petite grandmotherly woman standing at her table.

“Oh! Hello ma’am!” She said, hastily putting down her phone. “Sorry for being distracted.”

“No, it’s fine. Talking to your boyfriend? Or is it girlfriend? I can never tell with you young people.”

Emma laughed. “Neither, just talking to friends.”

“Oh well, I can set you up with my grandson…”

An approximate eternity of someone’s random grandmother trying to get them a date with her later, Emma looked back down at the chat. Oh. It had only been five minutes? It felt like an age and a half. Leo had left to go to the park for the event start, and Tobias’ plane had taken off, so he too was gone. Brooklyn was still in the chat though, and he’d asked her if she would actually like one of the donated prizes. She of course answered in the positive, but did that sound too much like she knew what the prizes would be? Maybe it sounded more like she was greedy and just wanted anything. Mostly, she wanted to meet the boys. Hopefully Leo would at least make it to the end, and she could invite him out to a movie. He didn’t need to know she was that Emma, right? Her name wasn’t that uncommon.

Brooklyn didn’t seem to be too phased by her response, and started saying his goodbyes, as he had meetings. She wished him luck, like she always did, and was rewarded by his calm yet sweet commentary that she seemed to only get when it was the two of them alone in a chatroom.

Brooklyn: I always appreciate when you wish me luck.

Emma stretched. The scavenger hunt should have started by now. She wondered how Leo was doing, but also how the staff at the starting line were coping. Hopefully they got a lot of interest, it would really be a disappointment if they’d put in this much effort only to have the whole thing fail.

Emma looked down to see her phone ringing.

“Hey Frank!” She answered cheerfully. The sound on the other side of the phone was louder than she expected, it was almost like he was at a concert.

“Hey Emma! Just wanted to let you know that we are off to an amazing start! Lots of people turned out, I’m glad we had so many people here to take fees and pass out clues, it almost turned into a stampede anyway!”

“Wow, crazy! Are you going to send backup to the next couple locations too or…”

“Yeah, yeah, just how you planned it.” Frank said, and Emma grinned. She’d pushed for more staff and volunteers, and everyone had thought she was crazy for it, but here they were, useful and necessary. She’d have given herself a high five if it wouldn't have looked embarrassingly stupid. Through her phone, she would have sworn that she heard

Leo cursing.

“What was that?”

“Oh, some guy was so distracted by his phone he ran into a pole. He seems fine but I’m going to go make sure he’s okay. I’ll be bringing your lunch by later.”

Emma hung up her phone and laughed, pulling up the chat just to see if it really had been Leo she heard. Sure enough, she had messages from Leo which included the poor guy walking into a pole. After telling Leo to “Be swift like the wind”, Emma popped over to the main chatroom, just in case someone came in to keep her company.

Sure enough, Alexei and Rory were in the chat, and after greeting her distractedly AFK self, were talking about research, and spiders, and to be fair, she wasn’t really into spiders, so she ignored the conversation, at least until she realized Milo had joined them. And on top of that, they had somehow gotten back to the discussion about meeting in person from the previous group chat.

Rory: And I know everyone really likes you, but they need to leave you alone.

Emma couldn’t decide if Rory was especially tsundere, or if he just aggressively agreed that it was too soon to meet any of them. He went on to call out Leo about trying to meet her by winning something at the scavenger hunt, and her heart dropped a little bit. With an attitude like that, there was no way she was going to be able to convince Rory to come play. She sighed, contenting herself to just meet Leo and not tell him it was her, until she realized that Milo was teasing Rory. Relentlessly. Pushing him to prove he was good enough. Exactly the kind of thing that would make him want to participate — and win. Emma didn’t have to say anything, and Rory was talking in all caps and then gone, after promising to win her a prize.

Milo: Emma, I have a feeling you’re going to get everyone involved.

Emma just laughed and played dumb. She’d gotten the two that would be able to join. Brooklyn and Alexei were too busy with work, Tobias was on a plane and Milo… Emma sighed, and set her phone aside to focus on the midday crowd that were now milling about. This was no time to be distracted from her prize guarding duties.

Tobias: Third location here I come!

Emma blinked at the chat. Wasn’t Tobias on a plane? Was Leo and Rory being part of the scavenger hunt enough to get the notorious Fox in on it too? And how did get get ahead of Leo and Rory? Emma laughed, but was soon distracted from her chat again.

“Emma!” a voice called, and she looked up.

“Oh, hey, Frank!”

“Time for lunch! I hope you like weird lasagna, because Monica told me to get you the green one?”

Emma laughed. Pesto lasagna from her favorite place, Pizza Lucky. Of course telling Monica she was fine with whatever meant she got pasta.

“Everyone else got pizza since there were lots of them.” Frank said, probably trying to make her feel special. It worked, of course. “Oh! There’s also this garlic cheese toast.”

“Thanks Frank. I’m going to eat this while it’s still warm.”

“You do that, I still have two more locations to deliver pizzas to.” He waved, and Emma wasted no time tucking into her lunch, her free hand pulling up the messenger again to see what her boys were up to. Rory and Tobias had been having an argument about Tobias stealing Rory’s progress, and Leo being… Leo. But then Milo showed up and suddenly the chatter went from boring to entertaining. Perfect, Milo. You surveillance gremlin. Apparently his entertainment while he was working was stalking the boys doing the scavenger hunt through the city.

Emma finished her lunch and cleaned up before settling back into her director’s chair to people watch and chat more, as usual. She thought she’d be busy today, but the majority of the scavenger hunt time was waiting for someone to even get to her. The team at the last stop before hers were supposed to text when they gave out tickets, so as far as she knew she was still off the hook. When she saw the contents of the most recent chatroom, however, she dropped her phone.

Brooklyn and Alexei are playing. Brooklyn had important meetings and canceled them. Alexei made up something and left work early…?! Emma knew that they all had their own reasons for wanting her attention and everything, but this was more than she could ever have anticipated. Also, Alexei getting distracted by the concept of a strip club just about made her laugh out loud. And there was Tobias going back to get his own tickets after Rory reclaimed his.

Emma sighed, and stretched. Too bad Milo was too busy working to also play.

Milo: There’s a surveillance camera on the prizes. I saw something I’d like to get.

Emma’s eyes immediately snapped up, and she looked around for cameras. When she spotted one, she made a face at it. Take that, Milo! But… if Milo’s participating that means I’ll have a chance to meet all of them… Emma covered her face with her hands, and kicked her feet. Was she hiding her excited blush from the cameras? Yeah, probably. Was she still very very excited that her wicked plan worked with almost no input from her? Absolutely Yes. Just then, her phone beeped. First player with a full set of tickets was heading her way. Wow. That was faster than she thought! Probably time to log herself out of chat.

Emma: Hey, work’s picking up. Good luck on the scavenger hunt everyone! I hope you all get the ending you’re hoping for. I know I will!

There. Sufficiently vague. Emma laughed, and logged out of chat.

Emma wasn’t wrong. After that point, things got busy and hectic. Every time someone new walked up to the table, she was excited and then let down that it wasn’t one of her boys. the number of remaining prizes was getting lower and lower, and while she was disappointed to watch the camera go, she wasn’t really surprised. Meeting each other had slowed them all down. Then she heard a laugh that could only be Brooklyn, and looked up to see he and Alexei in the food court. Was that a cinnamon roll? Alexei isn’t a fan of sugar though… If only they looked over here, they’d see her. Of course, they had no way of knowing who she was, though she was pretty sure that Milo had long since figured it out. She looked around for anyone else, and seeing no scavenger hunters needing her attention, pulled up the messenger. She just had to know how many of them were this close.

Tobias: The Fox has entered the building! Leo: I really can’t believe everyone from the chat is here… Brooklyn: Everyone except Emma. Leo: Oh. Right. Emma: I’m in chat though! Leo: I think we all wish you were here. ^^ Emma: Sometimes wishes come true. Maybe one of the prizes is a wish. Milo: Emma…

Emma sighed, and avoided looking at the camera again.

Rory: So who’s getting a prize for Emma then, since we all made it? Brooklyn: Maybe we should all go to the prize area and turn in our tickets, and we can decide together what prize to get Emma. Emma: I like that idea. Milo: Of course you do. Leo: As long as Emma’s happy, that’s all that matters. Alexei: Emma, keep your phone nearby so we can tell you what we got. Emma: Bye for now, boys.

Emma chuckled, and closed the messenger. With perfect timing, a woman and her son walked up trading their tickets for the basketball, both of them shocked to find the courtside game tickets taped to the underside of the ball.

“Enjoy!!” Emma said, waving them off. There was one prize left, a gift card to a local family restaurant. It was a plain envelope, so had largely been overlooked. She picked it up and moved it to the center of the table, busying herself cleaning up the leftover scraps of paper and prize tags. She knew her boys were coming, but she didn’t want to be waiting for them, that would ruin the surprise. In the meantime, she texted Monica and Frank that the prizes were done.

And so, when someone cleared their throat behind her, Emma spun around and was startled to in fact see all six of them hovering a ways back from the table, watching a pair of very nervous teens with interest.

The teens walked up to her table, tickets in hand. “Excuse me miss, are we too late for prizes?”

Emma chuckled. “There’s one left.” she said, and traded their tickets for the gift card.

The boy who took the envelope from her teared up, and looked at the other boy, then back at her. “You’re sure there’s only one left? Those men helped us when we lost our tickets, but now they won’t get anything.”

Emma nodded sadly. “That was the last prize. But don’t worry. Every single one of those men are happier that you have that prize than that they do. Even the cranky looking one.”

The other one nodded and very formally thanked her, and together they walked off, waving to the messenger group before they left.

“Well, that’s over.” Tobias said.

Leo sighed. “I was so sure we’d get her something.”

“Well, how about we all go have dinner together, since we had the fortune of meeting like this. My treat.” Brooklyn offered.

Emma, dropping any pretense, waved at her boys and beckoned them over. They didn’t know who she was. Milo might have had a clue, but… She was wearing a nametag, just like the rest of the scavenger hunt team, so the observant half of the group should figure it out in no time flat.

As they walked over, she started laughing. Rory was mad. Alexei looked like this was the saddest thing he’d ever witnessed. Milo was smirking. Brooklyn seemed unbothered by the situation. Tobias had his public smile on, and Leo looked like a sad puppy.

“You all look like you had a horrible time, when I know full well you had a lovely time.” she said, and Milo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We knew we would.” Brooklyn said, his eyes snapping to her nametag and up to her face. She grinned.

“It wasn’t about having a good time.” Rory grumbled.

“You don’t seem too sad about not getting a prize, Emma.” Milo said, drawing everyone else’s attention back to her.

“But I did! You’re all here!! And I didn’t have to say a word!”

“You said you were sad not to be participating.” Leo said, confused.

“Milo… there never was a prize you wanted to win, was there?” Alexei said, looking between Emma and Milo, curiously.

“Oh, there definitely was. And she’s still here.” Milo smirked.

“If I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have brought flowers.” Rory muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wait a minute.” Tobias said, blinking. “YOU’RE EMMA?!”

Emma facepalmed. “That’s what my nametag says.”

“Well, I suppose I shall have to amend the dinner reservation to be for seven, then.” Brooklyn said, and pulled out his phone.

“Emma, are these men giving you any trouble?” Monica strode up to the group and gave all of them her most appraising eye.

“No, Monica.” Emma said, shaking her head. “These are my friends, they’d been doing the scavenger hunt all day, but hung out until all the prizes were gone so they could talk me into going out to dinner.”

That’s not what actually happened, but…

“That’s just what she wants you to believe.” Tobias said, and winked at Monica, who gasped when she realized just who was standing there, “We wanted prizes but were too busy fighting amongst ourselves to get here in time.”

Emma heard a table clank behind her and realized Frank was also there.

“Frank, I managed to summon the men from my phone. I told you they were real.” She called back to him.

Frank looked up, and then back down at the table. “Those are holograms. You won’t fool me again, Emma.”

“Anyway, Emma. We’ll tear down, you head off to dinner.” Monica said, shooing her away.

Emma laughed, and then squeaked as Rory and Milo pulled her out from behind the table.

“Okay, okay! I can walk by myself, boys!”

As they walked towards the parking garage, Alexei slid in beside Emma. “So, you know how to use holograms? I heard your coworker mention it.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t. I showed Frank a VR game one time…”

#infinite blue #infinite blue scavenger hunt #infinite blue fanfic

23 notes · View notes

captains-simp · 4 years ago

Note

hi can i request a yelena belova x fem!reader for Angst. it’s prompt 8) "Don't you fucking lie to me."

and can it please have a happy ending and maybe a little dash of fluff. thank you!!

You betcha I can

"Don't you fucking lie to me."

Warnings: suggestive themes and relationship insecurities

2k words

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yelena was never someone who was particularly open about her relationships. She wasn't really an open person at all; you were one of the few who was blessed to be allowed access to what she kept hidden from others. You just didn't think you were one of the things she kept hidden.

You had been dating Yelena for a few months and had known her for a lot longer. You were friendly with the people she was close with, just as she was yours, but neither of you had ever properly gotten to know them.

It wasn't deliberate. It was just that you and Yelena treasured the time you got together (as it could sometimes be limited) and got so caught up in each other's company you forgot about everyone else.

But as time went on you started to think more about the kind of relationship you had with each other's friends and even family. You wanted to show her off to the whole world sometimes.

You brought that up with her one night and she surprised you by telling you she had told her friends and Natasha about you dating. You were so overjoyed at the thought that Yelena told people about you you didn't stop to question why you hadn't been interrogated by her sister or some of the Avengers. They were fiercely protective. You concluded one night that they simply trusted you and didn't feel the need to say anything. Oh how you were wrong.

You grinned into Yelena's neck as you heard her gasp from your teeth grazing her skin. Her hands gripped onto your stomach as her head tilted back more, granting you further access to her neck before you ventured lower to make marks along her collarbone. She had always been insistent that you couldn't mark anywhere visible, making up some excuse about her missions.

Both your shirts had been discarded prior when you had straddled your girlfriend's lap to advance your make out session.

Yelena's hands reached around you to unclasp your bra but froze when there was a sudden knock from the door that snapped her out of her gaze. You were a little less quick to catch on, not being that bothered about it as you were still in the safety and privacy of Yelena's appartment.

You were thankful for Yelena stopping when the door swung open and the person on the other side of the door stepped in without invitation.

You were in a slight comfused daze when Yelena pulled you rather roughly from her lap and onto the space beside her on the couch and threw your top at you as she stood up to meet her sister.

"What's the point in knocking if you're going to come in uninvited anyway?" Yelena demanded as she pulled her own top back on, her accent stronger than ever.

But Natasha didn't answer her sister or even look at her. Her eyes were locked on you with a look that could kill. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and looked to your girlfriend for assurance except she wouldn't meet your eye.

"Sorry for interrupting," Nat said in a very unapologetic tone, "but it's an emergency." Was all she said as continued to look at you like you had just punched Yelena.

You looked to your girlfriend again but she simply nodded and got her jacket off the back of the couch and slipped it on.

"Sorry." She said to the spot on the couch she had just been. "You can stay the night still if you want." Natasha audibly scoffed and crossed her arms but Yelena continued. "Or just lock up whenever you go." She shrugged as she turned around to head out the door.

You opened your mouth to say something but instantly stopped when you became acutely aware of Natasha still burning holes into the side of your head.

Yelena started down the corridor outside the appartment leaving you with Nat for a few painful seconds. She gave you the once over with a hurtful look before turning sharply to follow after her sister and slamming the door behind her.

You sat there for a minute staring at the door before you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You tried to analyse what had happened but you couldn't figure out what the hell you had done.

You didn't have to wait long to understand why Natasha acted the way she did. The sane time the next day you heard a knock at your door as you were washing up your plate from dinner.

You expected it to be Yelena. You hadn't heard from her since she had to leave with Natasha.

When you opened the door you almost slammed it shut out of fear but didn't doubt that the readhead would break it down if you did so. She stepped into your appartment as soon as there was space to do so, her eyes never leaving you.

"So you...dealt with that emergency?" You asked timidly as you fiddled with the edge of your shirt.

"That's confidential." She said as her pose became more rigid. "Why were you with Yelena last night?" She demanded without hesitation.

"We were hanging out." You replied after a moment of silence. You didn't understand why Natasha wanted to know that when that was what couples generally did.

You moved over to your kitchen so you could do something and not feel as awkward standing around, the Russian was quick to follow right behind.

"Looked like a little more than that." You drained the water in the sink as you gave Natasha a baffled look but instantly looked away from her challenging eyes.

"Probably would have been." You said honestly. That clearly wasn't the right answer. But it was the truth and surely that was what Nat wanted. You weren't about to lie to the ex-assassin.

"Are you fucking my sister?" Venom dripped from her voice and you found yourself taking a cautious step back.

"Well I...I guess that that's partly..." You stammered. Natasha clearly wasn't liking what she heard and that wasn't helping your confusion at all.

"Partly. So you're fucking other people too?"

"W-what?! God, no! I would never do that." You defied as you got a spark of courage. Unfortunately Natasha didn't seem convinced. "I could never cheat on Yelena." You said as you finally met the redhead's eye.

"Cheat?" Natasha questioned slowly, her brow furrowing in the confusion you had been feeling all day.

"I wouldn't." You said again, still holding her gaze.

"Are you...dating?" She asked as her stance softened ever so slightly.

"She didn't...she didn't tell you?" You almost whispered, already knowing the answer but hoping it wasn't true.

"She did not." Nat confirmed as she let her confusion show and her interrogating stance and tone slip away.

You turned around and pretended to busy yourself with something in the cupboards as you felt tears threatening to form. Your heart stung as you realised why she never let you leave marks or have dinner with the Avengers.

"I thought she did." You said quietly, willing Natasha's presence away so you could be alone. You didn't have the energy to be questioned anymore.

"I need to go." She said after a moments silence and headed towards the door. You didn't say anything else to her as she left. As soon as you heard the door shut considerably gently you rested you head in your hands and gave a shaky breath.

Is she ashamed of me? Is she planning to break up. Maybe she's only staying out of pity. Were some of the things racing around your head as you finally began to cry.

You didn't reply to Yelena's texts the next day. You saw that she was okay and everything was taken care of and that was enough. You were still trying to figure out what you would say to her when you saw her again.

The absence of checking her messages meant you didn't see ones that became frantic. Those were sent after Natasha confronted her sister and gave her a talking to about secrets. Yelena was desperate to explain everything to you and when you didn't pick up her calls or answer her texts she knew she would have to talk to you properly.

You ignored the first knock at the door. You almost rolled your eyes when you thought about how things played out the last couple times you heard that sound. Hearing Yelena's voice made you react differently.

"I know you're in there." Yelena called. "Please let me explain." She continued before knocking again when she got no answer. "Y/n, please." Your stubborness was replaced by your need for answers so you got up and unlocked the door for Yelena.

She smiled at you gratefully when you stepped aside to let her in but faltered when she saw that you only looked to the floor.

"Your sister came round." You said as you closed the door. "But I guess you know that."

"Yeah, we talked." Yelena said as you moved to the couch and she followed.

"I don't think she likes me very much." You half joked as you remembered the way she looked at you two nights prior.

"No she just-"

"Didn't know we're dating?" You finished as you looked at Yelena with hurt eyes.

"She didn't, no." She admitted guiltily.

"Are you ashamed of me?" You asked as a tear formed in your eye. Yelena's eyes widened and she tried to hold your hand in reassurance but you pulled it out of her reach.

"No! Y/n, no I swear I'm not." She said quickly with a look of desperation that you just couldn't believe. Not after a day of questioning as much as you did.

"Don't you fucking lie to me." You snapped as tears streamed down your face.

"I'm not." Yelena continued to reach out for you and when you moved away she kept going until she managed to get your hand and hold it in two or hers. "Please listen to me." She begged, it was a side of her you had never seen. That alone was what made you faulter.

"I'm not ashamed of you. I could never be. I'm proud to be able to say that you're my girlfriend and I don't know how to express that I..." She paused as a flash of anxiety crossed her eyes. You sat listening intently.

"I don't want that to change. It might sound cowardly but you saw how Natasha was. I don't want them to scare you off because they damn well could. They don't realise how they are, I don't want them to be dismissive of you, not when I care so much about you. What if they make you doubt us? I don't want to loose you, I can't...I..." Yelena was breathing heavily as she stared down at your entwined hands.

"I love you." She admitted. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard her words. You searched her face for any signs of a lie and found none.

"You...you do?" You still asked.

"I do, so much." She smiled and you couldn't help but do the same thing.

"I love you too." You admitted making Yelena's whole face light up.

She pulled you towards her and enveloped you in a tight hug that she never wanted to let go. "And I'm not going anywhere." You assured as you clung onto her.

"I'll talk to Nat." She finally said and you smiled into her.

"Okay."

"And we'll do this properly." She assured as she kissed the top of your head making you smile even more.

"Okay."

#yelena belova oneshot #yelena belova imagines #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova #yelena belova angst #yelena belova fluff

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theclockworkmonk · 4 years ago

Text

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Read on FFNet

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

*******

Ginny had disappeared, dragged through the kitchen door, before Harry could come up with an excuse to keep her by his side. He sighed and took a long gulp from his glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation down his throat. Whatever his family was so wound up about, Harry knew he wasn't in danger here, so he hoped the drink would dull his overactive auror instincts so he could enjoy the evening.

"So...how's the shop?" asked Harry, choosing to focus on George, "any accidental new body parts I can't see?"

"Harry, I'll have you know that we ascribe to only the highest of safety standards at Weasley Wizard Wheezes," said George with his nose in the air, "We strictly adhere to a dual-fault system to make sure a trained wizard is on-site to intervene in case of emergency."

"By that he means that he doesn't try any weird shit on himself without me there to rush him to St. Mungo's," said Ron with his mouth full, wincing as his mother smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon for his language.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "So you two are already partners now? Really wasting no time on bailing on me, aren't you?"

"Don't be a prat!" grumbled Ron. "No, like I said, it was just a thought that I had. You know, the kind of thought you would hope you could share with your best mate without him jumping down your throat?"

"Well I think it's a marvelous idea," Mrs. Weasley announced loudly from her place at the stove."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother? You're glad that another one of your sons is considering wasting his life at this silly business, instead of a respectable job at the Ministry?"

"Well, if said Ministry job involves chasing after Death Eaters every day," huffed Mrs. Weasley, "Then I suppose my nerves will take any alternative."

She sent a stern look towards Harry and pointed a threatening spoon at him, making him jump back. "You could do well to learn from Ron in that regard, Harry."

Ron was grinning ear to ear, bouncing in his seat from being the favorite child of the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with Ron doing the responsible thing." she lowered her voice to a grumble so Harry barely heard, "at least someone is."

Harry surveyed the tense atmosphere in the room again.

"Okay, what's got everyone in such a mood?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No one's in a mood!" said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time, and his voice too was less assuring than Harry usually found it. "I'm having trouble with a fascinating new muggle device I've discovered, would you mind giving me a hand out in the shed?"

"Oh. Sure," said Harry easily. Mr. Weasley got up from the table and led Harry outside. They entered the man's infamous tool shed, and Harry noticed new mechanical and electronic devices in various states of disassembly. Mr. Weasley gestured to his work table, where a VCR sat.

"I've heard that muggles use this to see recorded images, like a pensieve, but I've put in those black blocks, and nothing happens."

"Oh, well," said Harry, trying not to laugh, "You need to attach it to a television. It can't just work on its—"

He was interrupted by the door opening again, and Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley entering the shed which he always knew her to avoid, wanting nothing to do with her husband's "nonsense" tinkering.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asked crossly, "We agreed we wouldn't. The boys—"

"I told them I was getting apples from the orchard," his wife said dismissively. She crossed the shed and looked beseechingly at a very surprised Harry.

"Harry, dear, you know how we think of you as a part of this family. We've been wanting to say….we hope that you don't think that has changed because of you and Ginny's relationship. We know young men have trepidation about 'the girlfriend's parents,' but you're not just our daughter's boyfriend to us, you're one of our own."

Harry was as touched as he was confused. "Th-Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"And one reason we had no objection to you and Ginny dating," Mr. Weasley continued, "is that we trust you to always do right by Ginny. To always do what's best for her."

Harry looked back and forth between them, their expressions pointed and expecting.

"Well — ehem — I'll remember that. I promise to never do anything to hurt her." He meant it.

There was another moment of silence before Mrs. Weasley spoke up again.

"Sooooo…." she prompted. "We just want you to be aware that….should you decide to propose…you wouldn't have to worry—"

"What!?" Harry's heart leapt into his throat and he knew his face had turned scarlet. "Oh, no no," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm glad to have your blessing, but we're not ready to think about that yet."

Harry rubbed his neck nervously. It was only a half-lie. In truth, Harry was ready to think about that. He thought about proposing to Ginny damn near every day, in fact. But he was fairly certain that Ginny was still years away from being ready. She was fiercely proud of her independence and she was still dealing with the papers referring to her as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" before "star Harpies Chaser," even without marriage.

Mr. Weasley sighed in what seemed like disappointment and Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned and her expression turned sour.

"Well...the roast should be done, we should all head back inside."

The Weasleys led the way out of the shed and Harry cautiously followed them. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Harry saw Bill shoot his father a stern, questioning look, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Weasley shake his head grimly, and Bill and Charlie gave Harry a glare that would make Mad-Eye Moody quake in his boots.

Harry froze and all the breath left his body. It suddenly all made sense. He was the thing that the Weasleys were so on edge about. Ginny's parents inquiring about him marrying her.

They had somehow found out that he and Ginny were living together.

Harry suddenly felt like a sheep in a cage with several wolves.

"Hey mum," said Charlie, "while you were outside, Aunt Muriel floo-called and said that the gnomes are in her attic again. Apparently she's upset at the way dad tried to take care of it last time."

"Is she sure it's actually the gnomes, or is it the doxies nesting in her hair?" Mr. Weasley grumbled as his wife shooed him into their sitting room and through their fireplace. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest as the few Weasleys he could count on to not murder him due to this secret getting out abandoned him with the curse breaker, dragon tamer, master prankster, and Ministry power-broker.

Several murderous eyes turned towards Harry.

"Look...er…" Harry stammered. "I really thought that, after everything, we had all moved past the whole 'overprotective big brothers' routine."

"Yeah, we thought we had too," said Charlie darkly, "but mum and dad's diplomatic approach clearly didn't work, so the gloves are off. I guess we never figured that the savior of the bloody wizarding world would do this to our sister."

George snorted, still finding this whole thing quite amusing. "Sorry, do this to her? Harry's the real victim here. Ginny's a nightmare already, can you imagine what living with her will be like now?"

"What the hell are you lot talking about?" Ron cut in, looking around the room in confusion.

"I think your brothers have become aware of me and Ginny's...status change," said Harry.

"Oh, that is just so typical!" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and adopting her lecturing pose. "Ginny is perfectly capable of handling her own life and she doesn't need a bunch of chest-beating men to defend an outdated notion of her 'honour!' I still can't believe how sexist magical society can be sometimes."

"Yes, Hermione, our world is sexist, whether we like it or not" said Bill, not backing down. "You can pontificate all you want about how it's not right, or a double standard, but once the public finds out about this — and sooner or later, they will," he shot another glare at Harry, as if he wrote to the papers about it himself, "then it will change how people see her. And since she's a Quidditch star, the way people see her matters."

"Yup, can see the headlines now," George sighed dramatically, "the ambitious social climber Ginevra Weasley, raised in a pauper's home, so she used her feminine wiles to land herself this sweet gig."

"Look, ultimately, it's none of our business — no, I'm serious!" Ron finished in response to his brothers' looks of betrayal. "Look, Bill, Charlie, you two were only around when Ginny was a little girl. You didn't go to school with her. You never saw first-hand what happens when you try to meddle in her life to defend her virtue, trust me." He shivered a bit, as he remembered the traumatic memory.

"I don't even understand why we have to meddle," said Percy, "I just don't understand your logic, Harry. There's no question you would be willing to throw yourself into mortal danger all over again to protect Ginny. What you're hesitating to do is comparatively easy."

"His reasons don't matter, he should have thought of that earlier," said Charlie, pointing a threatening finger at Harry. "I don't care if this makes me a hypocrite, but you're going to do the right thing and—"

Ginny suddenly burst into the room, causing every word to fall silent. Harry knew that Ginny always hated it when people were obviously talking about her, but as he started towards her, he was surprised when he saw that her eyes were watery with tears. Ignoring all of the eyes on her, she ran straight towards Hermione, throwing her arms around her friend.

"Erm, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. She threw a questioning look to Fleur as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, but the young mother looked just as confused as anyone as she took Victoire back from Bill.

Instead of answering Hermione's question, Ginny withdrew from the hug and smacked Ron upside the head.

"Ah! What the shit!" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ronald, language!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, re-entering the kitchen along with her husband, making the room quite crowded.

"That's your main concern?" asked Ron, "Not the unwarranted physical assault?"

"It's not unwarranted, it's for being a stupid, forgetful git!" barked Ginny

She walked up to Harry and took his glass of firewhiskey, still mostly intact.

"I need this more than you," she informed him, and began to raise the glass to her lips.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

Mrs. Weasley's ear-piercing shriek caused everyone in the room to wince, and Ginny momentarily jumped behind Harry for protection. "Merlin's balls, WHAT!?"

"Molly…" Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"DO NOT 'MOLLY' ME, ARTHUR!" his wife shouted back. She had a crazed look in her eye and she was pulling at her hair. She rounded on Harry and Ginny.

"We have tried to be respectful, but you two are clearly not ready for this kind of responsibility! I am so disappointed in you both for not taking this more seriously! You haven't even given a thought to how this will affect your careers!"

"Our careers?" asked Harry, confused. "How would that possibly—"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had gotten it completely wrong about what the Weasleys were talking about. The talk about responsibility, their careers, affects to Ginny's public image.

Somehow, the family had gotten word about the "honour" bestowed upon Harry by the Wizengamot, and all the implications that had for his and Ginny's future together. He supposed it wasn't too surprising that Arthur or Percy had heard about it through their Ministry connections.

He looked sideways at Ginny, and from one look he knew that she had come to the same realization. Both their faces split into wide grins as relief flooded through them that all of this drama was over something so silly. Apparently, the family somehow had the absurd idea that Harry would keep the title and actually take the status, power, and responsibilities being offered to him.

Harry and Ginny cracked up into delirious laughter, leaning on each other for support, which did nothing to help the livid look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

"Oh Merlin's beard, is that what has you all concerned? Don't worry about that," laughed Harry, waving one hand dismissively and wrapping the other around Ginny's shoulder.

"I mean, come on, we're obviously not keeping it!"

There was a moment of silence, then the entire kitchen exploded.

#hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hinny #romione #hinny ficfest #hinny fanfic #hinny fanfiction #ao3 link #harry potter #hp #harry x ginny #ron x hermione #ginny weasley #weasley family #farce #comedy #ron weasley #hermione granger

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tonguetiedraven · 3 years ago

Text

A Prison of My Own Making

Part: One, Two (You're here), Three

Summary: Bon made a mistake when he was eight years old, and the repercussions have haunted him for nearly a decade. Now, with only a few months before his eighteenth birthday, everything is coming to a terrifying head.

— — — — —

Rin walked him back to the dorm without acting like anything at all had changed. His not-boyfriend held his hand and kissed his cheek and gave him a long hug before releasing him to go into his own dorm. Bon slipped inside, smiling a little sillily, and shut the door behind himself. He took a moment to press his head against the door, wishing it would cool his warm cheeks and refusing to think about all the horrible things pressing in on him. Rin loved him and had left him with a kiss and was still around even though he thought Bon wasn’t out and couldn’t be honest about their relationship.

Straightening with a sigh, Bon forced his eyes open and stepped away from the door and properly into his room, and promptly came to an abrupt stop.

“Ryuuji Suguro,” a low voice purred from his bed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She was reclined on his bed, propped up on her right arm with her knees bent slightly and her other arm draped over her waist. It was a pose that was clearly meant to be alluring and succeed only in infuriating him.

“Why are you here?” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring for all he was worth. She was still wearing the same damned mask he’d always seen her in. A strange white thing with a long nose, blood red eyes and blackened teeth. Part of him wondered what she looked like underneath the damned mask, but most of him hoped to never find out.

Her black hair was cascading down her shoulders and spilling across his pillows. He’d have to wash everything. If he had extra money he’d just burn it and buy a new set.

“Can’t a woman visit her chosen?” She pushed up a bit higher on her arm and tilted her face. It was unnerving to be stared at by eyes he couldn’t see. No matter where he moved he could feel her gaze on him. That eyeless gaze turned his stomach and made his shoulder sore. He could feel the burn from the contract, even though he knew there wasn’t a mark there any longer. Just the memory of her brand searing into his skin as his blood stained her contract.

“I’m not your chosen.”

“Perhaps, but you are mine.” She sat up in a fluid motion as she spoke, her kimono slipping off the bed and showing one unnaturally pale leg, slightly blue in color, before it slipped back in place.

Rin should be out of the hallway by now. He’d be safe. She wouldn’t know he’d been there.

“Three months, Ryuuji.” She rose up with a tilt of her head and moved towards him. He wasted no time in crossing the room to his desk and getting the chair between himself and her. His gun was in the top drawer, and he was not opposed to shooting her. He doubted it would do anything much. “Three months and you’re mine.” She glided across the room towards him with a swish of fabric as the temperature in the room lowered.

It was less than three months. He had eighty-seven days before his birthday. Less than three months before the contract came to fruition and he had to bind himself to this demon or die.

She stopped inches away from the chair and slowly tilted her head. “What’s his name?”

The blood in Bon’s body abruptly went icy cold. He kept his scowl thanks to countless hours of practice with Lewin, and his glare fierce. He was not going to give her any information on Rin. She had his future, but Rin had his heart and Bon would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

“Come on, Ryuuji,” the purr in her voice slipped slightly, dipping into a lower hiss before correcting itself as she moved forward. She slid one knee on to the chair, the ancient folds of her kimonos shifting as she moved and climbed up on the chair to shrink the space between them. “Tell me his name. Tell me about the boy that has your attention.”

Say nothing. Don’t confirm or deny it. Keep him safe!

He didn’t owe this demon a damn thing.

“Always so tight lipped, Ryuuji.” She lifted her hands to the back of the chair and started to lean towards him as she spoke.

It was strange how he couldn’t remember ever having given her his name.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” There was barely any space between them now. He could see the places where the paint on her mask had chipped. There was a foul scent of death around her, and a strange overlay of perfume like she had tried to cover the rot. “Three months and I’ll have you as a husband.” Her fingers curled around his shoulder, nails digging into his skin through his uniform right where her seal was located. “This marks you as mine, and will always mark you as mine.”

Batting her hand away with a snarl, he shook his head. “Get out of my room.”

“What’s yours is mine, Ryuuji. I’m going to live here in three months.”

Bon shoved hard at the rolling chair and sent it careening across the room with the demon. He pulled his drawer open, grabbed his gun, and bolted towards the door as the demoness snarled and ripped herself away from the chair.

He managed to escape with seconds to spare and booked it for Konekomaru and Shima’s shared room. The door wasn’t locked because his friends didn’t have to worry about some ancient demon crashing in on them, and he didn’t stop until he had the door shut and locked behind himself. Shima was sprawled out on his bed while Konekomaru was typing at his desk.

“She knows about Rin,” Bon managed after an awkward moment of silence.

They were nice enough to not say I told you so and simply pulled out the futon for him to sleep on.

— — — — —

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Shima muttered, which meant he absolutely had wanted to say something, “but you gotta let him know. I mean, do you even know what she is? Do you know what she wants with you?”

Bon had far too clear of an idea of what she wanted with him. Every time he had seen her since the moment he signed that damned contract, she had made it clear that she wanted him, and it was terrifying to feel stalked like that.

(It did have the advantage of making him quick to call out and stop harassers. No one should ever feel this sort of creeping terror.)

He knew she was a yokai of some sort, and he was fairly positive he knew what sort, but it was difficult to narrow it down with the mask. It seemed like a strange separate feature that only she donned. He suspected no amount of makeup had been able to fix whatever laid beneath that mask. There was no telling how long she had been lying in wait around their temple. Which of his ancestors had scorned her? Who had doomed him to this fate?

(None of them. He’d doomed his own damn self by agreeing to sign the Morinath contract.)

“It’s going to be over in three months.” Bon muttered instead of answering any of Shima’s questions. “None of it’ll matter then.” He had lunch with Rin today, and it was the only positive thing that was going to happen today.

“You’re giving up?”

The glare and burn of anger came quick. “No! But I can’t get out of it right now. I’m stuck. If I do anything she’ll—.” Kill me. He could still remember how shockingly quick it had happened with Misumi. He’d broken the contract and less than a minute later he had been dead and the death-class demon was gone. There hadn’t been time to do anything.

And he couldn’t even say it because that was also in the damn contract. It was only thanks to his father following him that anyone even knew what happened. He’d been too slow to stop Bon from signing the damned contract, but he had been quick enough to hear the deal and spread the information. After all, Bon wasn’t permitted to say anything about it. That was part of the restriction of Morinath contracts.

Shima scowled and rubbed his own neck. Bon eyed the motion and was reminded of his own stress response of rubbing his shoulder. Shima… he wasn’t under one as well, was he? Actually, how could he not be? Would the Illuminati let you in without forcing you to sign a contract?

“Three more months,” he muttered again. “Just let me have that.” He stomped away before Shima could say anything else. He didn’t need them telling him to let Rin go. He already knew he had to.

— — — — —

It came to a head on August fifth. He was leaving the academy tomorrow, and he was spending every last second he could with Rin before leaving. He was planning on breaking things off on the nineteenth via text message. Rin deserved so much more than that, but he was hoping that cold of a break up would make Rin more inclined to hate him and keep his distance. It would hurt, but it would keep Rin safe.

No one should have to suffer but him.

Until he left though, he had Rin in his arms and they were reclined on Rin’s bed. The perpetually dusty dorm was safer than his, and if he was honest, he’d always felt safe here. Even when he thought it looked like a haunted house, it hadn’t felt like one.

Rin hummed happily against Bon’s lips, breaking their endless, teasing kisses to pepper a few across his cheeks and jaw down to his throat. “I love the way your beard feels,” Rin mumbled between kisses. “How’s it so soft?”

“I got an oil,” he slipped his hands down Rin’s back, grinning when he felt Rin’s tail flick happily under his touch to wag through the air with a slow whoosh.

Rin slid a little lower, shifting over Bon as he kissed down his neck, hitting the spots he knew were sensitive and making Bon’s pulse pick up speed. He nosed along the collar of Bon’s tank before shifting to press a few kisses along a scar on his arm from their first fight against Satan. Rin inched, higher, and Bon didn’t think anything of it, too lost in the warm feeling of Rin over him and the swell of love in his chest for this boy. He was happily basking in that wonderful warmth until Rin went very still.

“Ryuuji?”

He hummed and tilted his head to try and catch Rin’s eyes. His boyfriend was staring at his shoulder with a frown, and didn’t seem to notice Bon shifting.

“What—” Rin shifted closer, pressing his nose against the curve of Bon’s shoulder and inhaling as his fingers curled around Bon’s arm.

What?

“Rin?” Concern sparked to life in his gut, cutting through the warm and happy haze like a knife. “What’s—”

Rin sat up and back on his heels as he peered at Ryuuji’s shoulder with a pronounced frown. His eyes were narrowed in consideration, and Bon knew in his heart that Rin was putting something together and he could not let that happen. Whatever Rin was doing it was dangerous and Bon could not let him be dragged into this mess. He couldn’t get his family away from this madness but he could keep Rin out of it. Rin didn’t know about the shame he’d born for nearly a decade. Rin didn’t know that he’d made such an incredible mistake and that he only had a few more days before he was bound to a demon permanently.

(He’d found the books on demon marriages when he was nine. They’d tried to hide them but he was resourceful. He wasn’t sure he’d had a peaceful night of sleep since he’d opened that book and learned just how much of himself was going to be tied to her. It might have been less damaging to sell her his soul.)

“Rin,” and there was a warning in his voice now. Please, he was saying, please don’t push it. Don’t ask. Don’t find out.

Don’t think of me differently.

“What is that?” Rin reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the strap of Bon’s tank, shifting it aside so his shoulder was bare and visible. “There’s… There’s something—” Rin grit his jaw as his eyes shifted shape and color. The flames that always seemed to flicker in them flared forward, overtaking the darker blue until there was nothing but the burning fire and the red of his demon form.

Bon pushed up on his arms and tried to get Rin off his lap, but Rin’s legs clamped around his thighs as his other hand caught hold of Bon’s arm.

“Ryuuji,” he snarled, sounding otherworldly and entirely dangerous, “what happened?”

“Nothing! Get off me.” He pushed pointlessly at Rin’s chest, panic making his throat tight as heat flared up the back of his neck. He couldn’t say. Saying would immediately kill him. He couldn’t even write a note. He’d tried and it had hurt like stabbing himself in the chest. Nothing worked. The words were trapped with him. The only way to be free was to confess like Misumi and die.

He had too much to do before he could die. He had sacrificed so much for the Myōō dharani and he couldn’t die before he’d accomplished at least some of it. Whatever misery awaited him after his birthday, he would fight through it for that goal.

Rin’s entire body lit with flames as he stared. “No, it’s… It’s like Yuki. What—”

Bon, in a fit of terrified panic, shoved at Rin and pulled on his tail. His boyfriend cried out in shocked pain, and Bon scrambled away from him. He slipped on the discarded blanket and barely managed to right himself before he fell as Rin cradled his tail to his chest. Bon kept rushing forward, not looking, refusing to think of how he’d just betrayed Rin, and grabbed his bag where it was by the door. He slung it over his shoulder as Rin sat up, and pulled the door open.

“Ryuuji!”

Rin’s call followed him as he darted into the hall. Kuro meowed at him, and he ignored them both in his panic flight to the stairs. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and he couldn’t tell and he couldn’t let Rin know.

It was over, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have to even send a text now.

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bumblebear30 · 4 years ago

Text

The heights you take me to.

Rita Calhoun x Casey Novak

Established Calvak

Warnings: Discussion of fears around heights, No smut but allusions to. Language. Casey Novak being so fucking adorable she’ll steal your girl and you’d still thank her.

The heights you take me to.

Not that anyone ever did ask, but if anyone had ever been brazen enough to raise the issue, Rita would categorically deny that she was scared of heights.

And she would win that argument. Even a polygraph test on the subject would be passed with flying colours. She was entirely content on those shallow balconies at the opera, mezzanine floors in apartments in Paris posed no hindrance and, thankfully, even the thought of flying in planes didn’t bother her. So truly heights weren’t the issue.

If you were going to get technical about it, maybe, possibly, perhaps, she had a mild concern – an often valid mild-concern – about falling from unstable platforms. Honestly it just seemed common sense to avoid such scenarios. An intrinsic urge of self-protection that had served her well through life so far. So much so, the issue very rarely came up at all.

And yet, somehow Casey, so typically enthusiastic, utterly wonderfully childlike in her glee and adoration of things somehow put Rita in a situation where she had to confront that maybe she should have voiced her concerns much earlier in their relationship.

It had all come about because Casey had won their most recent head-to-head case and they'd long since set up and agreement that after a case where they been up against each other whoever won got to choose whatever date it was that they went on as soon as they could.

Sometimes it was as mundane as choosing which wine and takeaway combo would go with whatever mindless TV or comfort film they'd watch as they settled back into their domestic selves, or something like Casey making Rita join her on a walk around the park when the seasons were changing so she could point out the beauty of the leaves changing colour or the blossom scattering the footpath. She was always such a romantic; as much in love with the natural world around her as with the woman stood next to her holding her hand. Despite her apparent grumbling Rita actually loved those walks, just getting to have a glimpse of how Casey saw things always made her fall for the redhead even more.

Other times, if she'd won, Rita would go all out spoiling Casey with a quick weekend away, or lavish meal out – not to gloat, never to gloat - but to simply spoil her girl as she deserved to be spoilt.

One time Casey had made Rita go camping... Despite the defence attorney trying her best to cope with it all after several tantrums Casey learnt quickly that camp life did not hold the same joyful relaxation for the brunette as she’d hoped, and had hastily found them a glamping resort nearby to save the long weekend.

But, given the nature of some of the cases, and just how passionately Rita would defend her client and Casey would fight for justice for the victim, sometimes there simply had to be a cooling off phase of a couple of days before either one was quite ready to think about indulging the whims of the winning party.

The longest they'd gone through such a détente had been ten days. It had just clocked over to the eleventh when Rita had woken to the sounds of Casey sniffling, trying to muffle her tears on the couch where she'd been sleeping, self-imposed it had to be said. Wordlessly Rita had left the warmth of their bed and padded across the apartment simply to cuddle up with the redhead: wrapping her arms around her and cradling her head into the crook of her neck. The unspoken love and comfort in the gentle touches, the light peppering of kisses against her hair, had initially just made Casey sob even harder. It was exactly what she'd needed ten days ago but her own smarting pride and anger at the world's injustices had meant she denied herself from seeking out from the one person who could truly console her. Rita had continued to just hold her though and rub her back, letting Casey get it all out without judgement.

Exhausted Casey had eventually fallen asleep, utterly spent after finally letting the emotional dam burst. With great care Rita had slowly manoeuvred them (an impressive feat she was quite proud of really) so that she could lie down on the couch properly with Casey draped comatose over her hip, her face pillowed on Rita's chest. She knew she'd inevitably end up with a drool mark on her satin sleep shirt but making sure Casey was comfortable was far more important - and for the first time in weeks, fell asleep holding her love.

Waking up being held so tenderly by Rita, who had spent the night on the couch with her simply because Casey had needed her, almost made Casey cry again. Although this time because her heart was so full. She'd laid there for a little while completely content to just listen to Rita's soft snores (she only ever did when she slept on her back, Casey always thought they were adorable), until she could resist no longer and started to trail her hand across the top of Rita's shoulder and down her arm a little.

So absorbed in the sensation of the satin under her fingertips, and the incomparable softness of Rita's skin where it had slipped more open on her chest, Casey hadn't realised the gentle snores had stopped till she felt an answering hand come up to run across the back of her head gently. Looking up she had been greeted with such a soft sleepy smile from her girlfriend that Casey just wanted to remember it forever.

The woman was just so perfect for her. Rita would of course argue with a smirk across her face that she was perfect, full stop, but Casey always simply pointed out that she loved Rita’s imperfections just as much anyway. It usually earned her a sweet kiss, or three. But that morning it was Casey who poured as much love and gratefulness into the kisses she pressed to Rita’s cheek before offering to cook one of Rita’s beloved egg-white omelettes.

At this precise moment in time though Rita wished with every fibre of her being that she was back in their apartment, safely sat on the couch which was so securely resting on the ground.

Casey had won their most recent professional battle – Rita was secretly relieved, the guy creeped her out too – and the redhead had promptly declared that she wanted to go to Coney Island. Initially Rita thought she was joking, and had laughed in her face. She thought it went without saying that fair ground rides, fried foods and screaming children were not her idea of a fun evening with her girlfriend. But upon seeing the puppy dog worthy pout that was now gracing said girlfriend’s face she had immediately relented, although only once securing a promise that she could wear Casey’s clothes. She’d be damned if her designer wardrobe was going to be sacrificed along with her professional court win-rate. Chanel and cotton candy did not mix.

So, a few days later she’d subsequently found herself dressed in Casey’s jeans and old softball team hoody. When she’d left the bedroom and when Casey had caught sight of how her ass filled out the jeans let alone seeing Rita with ‘NOVAK’ emblazoned across her shoulders? She was reduced to an absolute puddle of adoration and affection.

Rita had recognised the gleam in her redhead’s eyes and it had buoyed her confidence, loving to have the chance to flirt and spoil Casey to her heart’s content. Although really with the small fortune she’d spent on letting Casey try to win at the coconut shy she would’ve expected a higher quality prize than the little plush tiger the redhead eventually chose. But when Casey had then only slightly bashfully presented it to her, saying that it reminded her of her courtroom persona Rita surprised herself with how much she immediately treasured it, able to picture where it would rest 'on-guard' on top of her jewellery box on the dressing table.

She’d tried to counter how the moment got to her by quipping that she’d need to work harder if Casey saw her as soft and cuddly in court, but Casey had simply rolled her eyes and laughed, quickly tugging Rita towards her to press a quick kiss to the side of her head before leading her further down the boardwalk and onto the next distraction.

Rita had been all too happy to follow. With the quite fierce and regal looking little tiger securely tucked under one arm, and her free hand safely and lovingly entangled with Casey’s whenever possible – only releasing her when Casey wanted to play a stall, or to tsk as she had to untangle Casey’s hair as it got caught on whatever food stuff the redhead kept on encouraging her to indulge in, Rita actually found herself not just tolerating the date, but actively enjoying it.

Cotton candy tasted sweeter when stolen off of her girlfriend’s stick of it. The gleam of Casey’s eyes in all the bright lights made the neon flashing bearable. The screams of hyperactive and wayward children were relegated to the background as Casey laughed and joked with her, muttering sweet nothings into her ear as they watched the sunset, and decidedly naughtier comments when they indulged in ice creams and hotdogs. It had all been going just swimmingly. But then Casey had legitimately squealed and bounced like an excitable golden retriever as she bounded towards the one thing Rita had been determinedly ignoring:

That fucking Ferris wheel.

As she covered her unease – all those different treats suddenly bubbling inside her stomach suddenly felt like such a bad idea – with an attempt at an indulgent smile and joined Casey in the queue, Rita couldn’t help but consider how they’d managed to get so far into their relationship without the discussion about Rita’s concerns – definitely not fear, Rita Calhoun was not scared of anything or anyone thank you very much – but unease, about being up on something so rickety and unstable that just went unnecessarily high and when was it last inspected and god did the damn seats have to sway so and oh shit was it just a bar across their laps that was meant to protect them? She was Rita fucking Calhoun, surely there was something more robust and reliable than a single metal 2x4 to stop her from plunging to her imminent dea-

Oh.

Rita glanced down at where Casey had taken her white knuckled grip from the metal safety bar and now held her hand in both of her own in the warmth of her lap,

“Babe, you should’ve just said if you didn’t want to go on the ride.”

Rita was glad that Casey was so close and so beautiful, it meant she could safely focus on her rather than how the ground, nice safe terra firma, was getting smaller and smaller the higher up they went. She made herself focus on the brightness of her eyes – how they seemed to radiate such love and warmth at her, to take in how there were a few more smile lines at the corner of those eyes than there were when she’d first found herself getting lost in them.

She dropped her gaze (oh god, wrong choice of word she chided herself), to the top of Casey’s cupid bow lip, able to instantly conjure the countless memories of how that lip felt pressed against her own, tracing down her throat and across her body drawing out and bringing her such pleasure. Right now though, the corner of those lips were curling up in one of those soft, ever so slightly teasing smiles that still made Rita’s heart beat faster despite how long they’d been together– although she was glad to notice that actually this time it actually slowed her racing pulse, letting her breathe deeply once more,

“I’m not scared,” she finally huffed out, even though she tried to shuffle closer to Casey in the same moment and instantly froze wide-eyed as the seat seemed to swing at her movement. With a roll of her eyes Casey lifted her arm to come round the back of Rita’s shoulders, encouraging the brunette to cuddle into her side,

“Of course not darling. I never said you were.”

Rita’s sigh this time was in apparent exasperation but truly, she felt inexplicably safer with Casey’s arm wrapped comfortingly around her. She finally felt brave enough to look past Casey’s face, being pressed so closely against the crook of her shoulder she could smell the distinctive scent of Casey’s perfume from where she’d applied it to her pulse point. It made her smile. She’d bought the redhead the bespoke scent for their second Christmas together, and it had been her go-to ever since. With the familiar hints of bergamot, blood orange and nutmeg swirling through her senses and Casey’s low voice pointing out the different sights that surrounded them Rita actually felt herself relax and begin to enjoy the experience.

Until the blasted wheel groaned and ground to a stop just as they came round to the top once again,

“Fuck! What’s happening? Is it breaking? Casey!”

With a gentle chuckle Casey ran her thumb over Rita’s knuckles and the back of her hand to calm her,

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you were going to be not scared so I slipped the operator an extra $10 so we could stop at the top for a bit.”

Rita turned to face her aghast,

“And why would you do such a thing!?!”

“Maybe because I wanted to look at all the different sights with my girlfriend,” she reached out to tuck some of the fly-aways of Rita’s classic half-up do back behind her ear, “Or maybe I wanted to make out with the love of my life on the Ferris wheel like a horny teenager…”

The wickedly teasing smile and gleam to her eyes elicited the exact knowing and playful laugh from Rita that Casey knew it would,

“Well, when you put it like that darling,” Casey loved how Rita’s usual confidence seemed to exude from her once the redhead had focussed her attention, already leaning forward as Rita beckoned her with her fingers curling under her chin, “C’mere you.”

So maybe Ferris wheels weren’t so bad after all.

In fact, sharing such sweet kisses that tasted like candy as the fair lights flashed, oblivious in their own world as children screamed and parents yelled all around them, meant Rita thought she could just about say she was a fan of the mechanical monstrosity.

Just.

#Rita Calhoun #Casey Novak #Rita Calhoun X Casey Novak #Calvak #established calvak #fluff #fairground fun #fear of heights #fanfic #my writing #Excuse any inaccuracies to actual Coney Island #I have never been #and live many thousands of miles away #so my bad

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witcherarcanathings · 5 years ago

Text

When You’re Gone - An Asra/ Lucio x Female Reader Angst part 4

Summary: Lucio goes after his run away lover. The apprentice has a choice to make.

Word Count: 5000. Should I have broken it into smaller chunks? No.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Language

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @jayaanderson for reading my drafts, supporting me during the writing process and being a good friend as always.

Credit: to @royallyprincesslilly for the text divider

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five

Lucio woke, golden strands of hair falling gently on his face, his features soft from a good night's rest. He'd forgotten to close the drapes last night, and he could feel the warmth of the sunlight that flooded the room. His eyes were closed, but by the color of the sunlight that shone through his eyelids he knew that it must have been mid-day and he smiled. The two of you had slept well past noon - a testament to your night of passion.

He stretched out, groaning loudly as a sleepy smile spread across his face. He stretched his arm out towards you, reaching to caress the softness of your cheek to gently stir you awake. "Good morning, my love. Did you-"

He felt the emptiness of the space beside him. His heart jumped into his throat as panic filled his chest.

"She's probably just in the bath, I'll pop in and say hello." He murmured, trying to soothe himself. He sat up, throwing the sheets aside, unashamed of his nakedness as he approached the large mahogany doors that led to the Count's personal bath.

With the most charming smile he could muster he opened the doors.

"Doll, don't tell me you started without me?"

Silence. He was talking to an empty room of cold marble and his heart sunk. With empty eyes he looked around him and saw the truth. Your clothes were gone. You were nowhere to be found. It was almost like you hadn't been there at all.

You'd left him without saying a word.

The only proof that you'd been there at all was the warmth that you'd left behind from your side of the bed. He lay there, his cheek pressed against the sheets as your scent filled him.

He didn't know why he started crying - hot, angry, sorrowful tears that seemed to multiply the ache in his chest rather than abate it . He thought you were different, that after all the time and careful planning that last night would have made it clear you were more than just a one night stand. He wanted to be more than that

The count dressed quickly, not caring a nib whether he was a la mode or not. He made his way to your chambers, hoping for an answer as to why you left him. He knocked twice, and without an answer he entered, finding no one home.

The dress you wore to the ball last night was draped neatly on the bed, with a note attached addressed to your maidservant to have it cleaned and pressed.

Just then the girl came in, startled by the count's presence.

"Oh sire! I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, it's just M'lady-" Anya began, backing away slowly as she pulled the door to close it.

"No it's alright. You may resume your duties." Lucio placed the note back on the dress, taking a careful look around. "Tell me, just where is your mistress? Has she given you any indication of her whereabouts this afternoon?" Lucio doubted it, but he thought he'd ask anyway. He was desperate.

Anya shook her head, " No sire. The Lady Magician usually is here about this time - doing her spellwork and what not. If she's not here sir, it's the library. Shall I send someone to fetch her for you, my lord?"

"No. It's perfectly alright. I'm sure I'll run into her. Thank you."

He strode out of your room, proud and regal as to not betray his disappointment. He'd try the shop. He couldn't open the door. It was magic - very strong magic meant to keep him out. But he knew someone with a key.

Questions were running through your mind as you fled the palace.You feel like Cinderella running away from the ball - that is if Cinderella slept with the prince, ran away, and then went to drown her sorrows in a seedy bar in the worst part of South End.

The Rowdy Raven was the place to go if you wanted to get away, or at least not at risk of the palace guard knowing where you were. Dressed in a black, high collar coat, you walked swiftly through the streets. The brisk morning air chilled your cheeks, the crisp breeze a herald of approaching autumn. You focused on the clip-clop sound of your boots against the cobblestone streets, quickly stepping sideways out of the path of an oncoming carriage that splashed mud on the tail ends of your coat.

Vesuvia was partial to early morning rains in the summer, and evidence of the deluge still dripped from the gutters and pooled in puddles in the street and dampened the earth.

You hardly took notice of it, only the lingering scent of rain caught your attention as your mind wrestled with the whirlwind events of last night.

The facts of the matter were that you'd made love with Lucio, and you didn't regret a single moment of it

BUT you were still in a relationship with Asra, although you two had argued, you hadn't told him it was over.

And was it over?

That was a question you'd asked yourself over and over these past few weeks, although you were refusing to speak to him - part of you still hoped you'd be able to work it out. That maybe somehow you'd reconcile. But you weren't sure if that was what you really wanted. Especially now that Lucio had stirred something inside you. He made you feel things you didn't think you would ever feel for someone else; passion, lust, maybe even love.

Julian came into the bar at around two in the afternoon. "Right on time as always, doctor." the barkeep smiled. "What can I get ya?"

"Surprise me." Julian grinned as he hung his coat on the wall. "On second thought don't. I'd like to live a bit longer."

Tilda, the barmaid came up to him on the pretense of clearing a nearby table. "Your friend, the magician's back there. Really putting them down too. Looks like something's worrying them awful fierce."

For a moment he thought Tilda meant Asra, and his heart jumped. He knew Asra had said he'd return within the week but he hadn't expected him so soon. But as Tilda nodded towards the booth in the back, he saw you and he sighed, thanking the gods because Asra and alcohol did not mix.

Hooded and still gloved he watched as you downed what looked to be your fourth Salty Bitter before he took a seat opposite of you.

"Alright, sister. Spill it. What's wrong?" Julian asked.

"You and Portia are too much alike, you know? Very perceptive." You laugh, hiccuping a bit.

"It doesn't take that much to see you're looking for answers in the wrong places. I hope this isn't because of Asra. Portia told me you two were fighting."

"I slept with Lucio." you blurt out, drink giving away your inhibition.

"Shit." Julian slumped back into the booth, steepling his long fingers as he pressed his forehead into them. "Give me the details."

You explain to him everything that happened, your flight, your confusion. your fear. He listened intently, as if you were on the examination table and he was making a diagnosis.

"I think that I know what your problem is, darling," Julian began as Tilda brought another round of drinks for you both. He waited for her to leave before he started again. " Do you know why you're here?" His arm rested gently on your shoulder.

"Because I'm a weak human being and I have no morals?" You reply, downing your 7th salty bitters.

"NO, and that's enough of that." He said, moving the 8th pint out of your reach and down his throat before you could protest.

"It's because for the first time in your life you have the kind of love that you've always dreamed of. You have someone who loves you, and you're scared shitless. You finally have that thing you've been chasing after, and now that you have it you're starting to question yourself."

"Asra loves me." You answer sadly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, or maybe it's the alcohol. You’re not so sure.

"There's no doubt about that," Julian answers pointing a long finger at you. "But is his kind of love the one that you really want.Or just the one you've settled for because you're afraid that there is nothing better?"

The doctor’s words hit you deep, forcing you to think about them.For a moment, you were considering whether or not Julian had an ulterior motive for wanting you to split with Asra. You'd seen that fragment of the past, and wondered if there still wasn't some feeling there. Ultimately though, that didn’t matter. Julian’s word rang true, and you knew he wouldn’t steer you wrong for his own gain. “You’re right, Ilya!” you declared, slamming your empty mug on the table. “I’ve been a damned coward, and a fool!” You grabbed another salty bitter off the tray of a passing waitress and took a big swig. “I’m going to grab true love by the testicles and tell Lucio I’m his if he’ll have me!” You posed confidently, moving to make a bold step out of the bar but failing miserably. You ended up swaying drunkenly back and forth as you tried to catch your balance by holding on to a nearby barstool. Your double vision caused you to misjudge where it was, and your hand caught onto nothing but air,sending you straight to the floor, falling flat on your face. “Shit, you’re drunker than I thought!” Julian hopped up to pull you to your feet. “Ugh...Ilya, my face hurts….” you groaned, wincing as you touched your temple. “It should. That was a hard fall.” Julian chuckled as he checked you for any head injuries. “You gotta help me get to the palash...I gotta see Lucio. Tell him I luv him. I lurv him so mush!” You slurred, as you staggered towards the exit. “Not so fast! You can’t go to the palace like that! You’re going home until you sober up.Doctor’s orders.” Julian said, hooking his arm over your shoulder, keeping you steady. He settled the bill before, the two of you headed out, stopping a few times along the way for you to throw up in nearby alleyways.

As you and Julian were leaving South End, Lucio entered it, trying to remember the way to Julian’s Flat. He hadn’t been there in years. In fact, he couldn’t remember he ventured past center city, save for the occasional trips to the Coliseum when it had been in operation. He knew better to ask any citizen in South End where the doctor hung his hat. The people in this part of vesuvia looked out for each other, and wouldn’t snitch to the count about their favorite son. After a half hour of tracking and the clue of a familiar looking raven perched on top of a building, he found the flat.

“Jules! Jules, open up, pal! I gotta talk to ya!” Lucio’s jersey accent was strong as he knocked on the door. When there was no immediate answer, he started pounding on the door so hard that the wood began to crack under his metal fist. “Jules! Open up Jules! I know you’re in there! I saw your bird outside!” “Ay!” A large, round, red faced man glared at Lucio from down the hall. “The doctor’s not here dipshit! Now go make your noise somewhere else. Some of us have jobs and are trying to get some sleep!”

“Hey watch your mouth! I’m the count.” Lucio said haughtily.

“Do I look like I gives a shit who you are? Clear outta here, or I’ll throw you out myself!” If Lucio was his younger self, he’d have gutted the man for talking to him this way. But he was a different man now, and tried to use diplomacy. “Alright. I’m going. And I won’t throw you in prison if you tell me where I can find Jules.” Lucio said, his patience wearing thin. “Try the rowdy raven. Looked like he was headin’ there. But you didn’t hear that from me.” the man answered before slamming his door.

“Thank you...asshole.” Lucio grumbled under his breath, his black leather boots stomping down the rickety wooden steps. The sky was overcast with somber looking clouds hovering above the city, making Lucio wonder if it would rain again or if the clouds would eventually give way to the sun. It didn’t seem that way. The smell of rain clung to the damp air, and everything felt dull, wet, and dreary. Or maybe Lucio just felt that way because the apprentice had walked out on him.If he could find you, and talk to you, maybe then he could understand why you abandoned him.

At the Rowdy Raven he could hear the ruckus in the street, the sound of laughter and cheerful, drunken singing. It all stopped when the count entered. A cool silence filled the room, and some patrons slipped quietly out the back. Others just glared at him hatefully or didn’t look his direction at all. Many still remembered Lucio as the vain, volatile and selfish ruler he once was and not as the man he was trying to become and he let out an exasperated sigh. He supposed he deserved such a reaction from his own people.

“Afternoon, Count Lucio.” Tilda curtsied, trembling a little. “How may I be of service?” “I’m looking for Dr. Devorak. Have you seen him?” The count questioned.

A pregnant silence followed as Tilda’s eyes shot to the owner behind the bar. He was cleaning glasses as he gave a nod to Tilda to answer. “He was here earlier this mornin’, sir. A lady patron had too much to drink and he walked her home. Dunno where he is now.” Tilda answered.

“A lady patron? What did she look like?” Lucio asked. He smiled when Tilda gave him your description, and Lucio sat a bag of gold on the table, enough to buy everyone in the tavern a round of drinks and then some.

As he came out of the pub, the cloudy skies overhead cleared and gave way to the sun. He knew where you were now, and that was all he needed. He set off towards your shop, confident he’d find you there.

In the shop, Julian had made you his famous, guaranteed hangover fix. You looked at the greenish brown concoction wearily, unsure if it wouldn’t come to life and bite off your nose. Besides it smelled awful.

“Ilya...Ilya I can’t drink this…” You groaned, trying to keep from vomiting from the smell of it alone.

“Aw, come on trust me! It’s my go to sober up remedy!” Julian smiled, pushing the glass towards you.”Now come on, be a good girl and drink up.”

“I don’t want to be a good girl.” you grumbled, your last protest before you took a cautious sip. Strangely, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. There was a strong taste of beets, carrot and ginger, and maybe a few raw eggs. You drank it all down, pinching your nose to ward off the smell.

“Better?” julian asked as you swallowed the last.

“Somewhat. It didn’t taste that bad actually. By why in heaven's name does it smell so bad?” you asked as you felt yourself start to sober up.

“Could’ve been the garlic, or the sardines.” Julian thought, scratching his chin. “In any case, I suggest you give your mouth a good rinse before you smooch Lucio.”

“Definitely.” you agreed, standing up slowly. “Well thank you for helping me Julian, really.” you stood on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, laughing when he scrunched up his face from the smell of your breath. It was just what he got for making you drink that junk.

“You’re welcome” He gagged, trying to wave the stench away. “You should probably get yourself cleaned up and rested before you get back to the palace. I’ll clean up the kitchen before I show myself out.”

“Alrighty then,” You smiled heading upstairs to refresh yourself.

You opened your bedroom window to reach the herbs and spices you had growing just outside on the window sill. Grabbing some cloves and spearmint you grabbed your mortar and pestle from the vanity and ground them slowly into a powder which you dipped your toothbrush in and began to scrub your mouth. You repeated the process again after taking a cold shower, feeling completely rejuvenated. You threw on a robe, and wrapped your wet hair in a towel before heading downstairs for a cup of tea.

You were surprised to hear sounds coming from below. Julian should have finished cleaning the kitchen long ago. “Still here, Julian?” You ask not expecting to hear the voice that you did. “No he left. But he said I could wait for you here. I hope that’s alright?” Lucio said, his voice soft and no trace of his usual brashness.

“L-Lucio? What are you doing here? I thought you were at the palace?” You blanched.

“I can see why you would think that, considering that you left me cold and alone this morning without sayin’ a word.” He replied, his hurt apparent in the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lucio. This morning I woke up next to you and I had all these feelings and I panicked and-”

" And You ran away from me." Lucio finished your answer.

"NO! I mean that's not what I meant to do.... I mean, I guess I did." You sigh, turning away from him. Why were feelings so hard? Particularly these feelings. Everything seemed so straight forward when you were talking this over with Julian.

"Did I do something wrong?" Lucio asked, his tone sad and broken as his voice cracked.

"No! absolutely not.” You answered resolutely. “ I just think I did?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's not easy walking away from someone you've loved for years and then just jumping in with someone else.. I didn't want you to think I was using you as some sort of rebound or a way to get back at Asra to make him jealous. I wanted to be sure of that."

" And are you? sure?"

"No. I mean I don't know. I just know that I want to be. I want more than that with you."

"I see."

You hated those words. It's what Asra said all the time when you were arguing and it made you feel like you were talking to a wall. a wall who only saw and understood things as they wanted them to be.

“Look, what I’ve been trying to say is that I have feelings for you too, Lucio. And it scares the heck out of me, because finally I’m with someone who loves me back the way I want to be loved and I don’t know how to handle it.” You sighed, desperate to get your feelings across to the man in front of you.

"Then you want to be together?" He asked, hope in his voice, as he felt joy rising up from the tips of his toes.

"I sure hope we can be." You smile.

“Yes!” Lucio jumps up, whooping with glee as his fist pumps in the air. He captures you in his rapture, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tightly as if he was afraid you might slip away from you again. The towel on your head slipped off and fell, landing on the kitchen floor with a wet plop.

Neither of you noticed. Lucio was too busy living in this moment, gazing into your eyes as if they were the only ones he wanted to look at. Slowly you went to kiss him, feeling his smile against your lips spread warmth throughout your body.

The kiss was different, a soft silent 'I'm sorry' that neither of you could voice but just wanted to feel as your lips explored each other.

‘I’m sorry’ quickly turned to “I need you.” as Lucio whispered it against your lips, his hands trailing lower to grip your ass through the thinness of your robe.

“Upstairs.” You whisper hurriedly, taking his hand and intending on leading him to the bedroom. However, the jolt of him pulling you back into his arms and crashing his lips onto yours stops you in your tracks. He wanted you here and now, and would not wait any longer. He walks you backwards and you yelp when your back hits the counter and he lifts you up onto it. Your robe falls away with ease, and Lucio thanks the stars that he chose his simple hunter’s outfit. He swiftly pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor, before bringing his chiseled chest against the smooth softness of your breasts.

There’s barely enough room for you to stand between him and the counter, but you make it work, holding his gaze as his eyes darken. Your toes barely touch the kitchen floor with your legs spread wide and open for him.

You anticipate Lucio’s touch before it comes, cold metal fingers sliding up your arched spine until his fingers can wrap around the nape of your neck. His hips press against you, just enough to let you know he’s there, while the fingers of his other hand rids himself of the remainder of his clothes. You’re both soon stark naked against each other, a tangle of mouths and needy hands. You feel his length start to harden against the inside of your thigh. You reached down to touch it, hearing a small whimper leave the count’s throat when your thumb glides against his weeping tip.

Like chains had just been released from his body, Lucio’s mouth attached to yours feverishly. The heat of his body permeated through the parts of skin that touched, your naked flesh felt like he was on fire against his.

The kiss was hot and heavy, saliva mixing together as he kissed you greedily. Your own mouth and tongue roamed his mouth with just as much fervour. His light fingers knotted through your hair, his teeth grazing your lips. Your own hands feeling up and down the sculpted expanse of his back and touched scars, old and new. The smaller ones your doing from last night

You sighed with longing and relief when Lucio slipped his finger inside. Until that moment you hadn't known how much you need lucio. But your body knew it had craved him since the first taste.

You could feel his erection prodding against your soft inner thigh. His right hand slid down your wet body to your cunt. You gasped, gripping his arms in shock as he assaulted your clit with his dexterous fingers.

You cry out against him, Your teeth scraping the skin of his shoulder. "Please Lucio! Don't tease me!" You beg, but the count just smiles and wraps his hands around your breasts and squeezes your nipples hard. The pinching makes you whine out and Lucio leans forward with a shit eating grin, his lips brushing your neck and shoulders before he lavishes the crook of your neck in wet kisses.

“Please!" You whine lowly again and the tone almost makes him lose his self control.

Lucio dips his fingers into your heat and You buck against his hand, fucking yourself on his stilled fingers.Satisfied that you needed him, Lucio pumped his fingers, making you cry but it wasn’t enough for you, you need more and he knows it.

His fingers move faster inside of you, a steady rolling motion that makes your knuckles turn white where they’re gripping the cool granite countertop. He knows exactly how to pleasure you, exactly where to touch you and get your wetness spreading down onto your thighs and down his wrist. It’s like he’s practiced for this moment, dreamed, prepared, and planned to have you like this. The thought makes you want to touch him to, to thank him and apologize for delaying this dream come true.

You wrap your fingers around his cock. It’s rock hard and you feel pulsating veins under your palm as you stroke him and nip at his throat. He leans his head back with a groan and shivers and shudders under your touch until he can’t take it anymore and he captures your wrist in his golden claw, the metal threatening to bite into your skin. He pushes his pants the rest of the way down and steps between your thighs and you lock your ankles around him. You yelp in surprise when he lifts you up and carries you across to the table and lays you on it.

You both make eye contact, panting heavily as his icy blue eyes gaze into yours before traveling down to where your bodies meet. You both watch as he holds himself steady and pushes inside you slowly, Lucio groaning low and deep when he finally fills you.

He leans down like he’s going to kiss you, but he just brushes his nose against yours and whispers, “You gonna stay with me this time?”

You laugh a breathless sort of laugh as you nod. “Honey, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

His smile is so pretty then, genuine and full of love. “That’s my girl.” He whispers, before finally starting to move inside of you. He pulls out with incredible slowness before slamming back inside, making you cry out, your lips twisting up into a relieved smile as pleasure sparks all over your body.

The feeling’s so intense after all his teasing, almost too good as he stretches and fills you just right, and sets a hard, steady pace.

You collapse back onto the table, elbows flat and nails digging into the oak as he thrusts into you with such power. You barely have enough time to figure out whether the four foot square table is strong enough for this because Lucio lifts your legs up to his shoulders and holds them there as he buries his cock into you at a new, deeper angle.

“Damn, you feel so good, darling. I can never get enough of you.” He thrummed against your inner thigh before kissing just behind your knee.

You began to speak, but his lips crushed to yours. In one motion he took hold of your hips, slammed them to his and leaned forward,folding you over so that your knees were just above your ears as he rocked forward. Your words were replaced by soft whimpers of pleasure. The feeling of her clenching around his cock made him smirk as he thrust harshly upwards. His magician did like it a little rough, and he could admit he liked that.

He set up a robust pace; his hips ramming into yours before he pulled all the way out. He repeated his pattern until you were both loudly declaring your pleasure for each other. The sounds of your coupling filling the room, the dining table creaking under his efforts. Your hips began to meet his, and you wailed his name so loudly it could be heard through the open kitchen window. But you didn’t care, and Lucio was so shameless that he didn’t give it a thought.

“Lucio, oh my god, fuck! I’m gonna come!” You grab for anything to steady yourself and end up with one hand on your breast and the other clutching the edge of the table. “You’re gonna, I’m, I’m…”

You scream as the pleasure finally breaks, washing over you and making her forget everything else but the feeling of Lucio inside of you and above you. He keeps fucking you, adding his fingers against your clit and you keep coming like you’re never going to stop.

He starts to move inside of you faster, keeping his eyes locked with yours until he starts to get overwhelmed too. He leans and lets his eyes drop closed, bracing his hands on the table so he can chase his end with the same determination he gives to everything else

You prop your heels up on the table and watch his face, moaning as the slight pain of overstimulation turns back into pleasure. You reach down to play with your clit, rubbing hard and fast and moaning louder as you do.

Lucio’s voice joins yours and he presses deep inside of you, curling over you and coming inside your womb with a cut-off cry that’s too quiet. His face is pinched in pleasure, lips parted, brows drawn together, and he fucks you through it with shallow thrusts that get you to the edge of coming again.

He growled as your inner walls clamped down on him. Your second orgasm pulling you both under a wave of satisfaction, his own following with a few jerky pumps of his hips. As he filled you with his warmth, you pulled him close into a sloppy kiss. Your bodies formed together, and you buried your face into his neck.

He stills finally and gasps, catching his breath before opening his eyes to look down at you. He laughs softly, still breathing hard as he looks around and sees the mess you two have made on the table, and the surrounding floor. A vase of flowers lies spilled over, the water dripping onto the floor where several empty dishes lay, along with a broken tea cup. But you both know that it all can be fixed with a little magic.

“Can we stay like this for a little while?” You questioned as his hands crept up your sides. They slipped down to rest on your hips while he pressed his cheek against your shoulder.

“As long as you like, doll.” Lucio answers with a few soft kisses as a quiet crept into the room.

As always, thanks for reading!!! The finale is posted!

#when you're gone #asra smut #asra x apprentice #lucio lemon #lucio smut #lucio x apprentice #lucio x reader #lucio x mc #the arcana asra #the arcana lucio #the arcana smut #my writing #my posts #asra alnazar #asra the arcana #count lucio #lucio the arcana #the arcana lemon #fanfiction

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purple-possibilities · 4 years ago

Text

Like Father, Like Son

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of prostitution, like slightly dark? Gritty maybe is a better descriptor, Naruto world taken seriously.

Length: 1888 words

Pairing: MinaKushi, Minato’s Canonical Dad x Minato’s Canonical Mom

Genre: romance, drama, slight angst (we know how these two ended up), crack taken seriously

Summary: the story of Minato’s parents, and how that influenced Minato’s decisions, and his courtship of Kushina. Inspired by this post about Minato being extra.

Like many children in ninja villages—and truly, just children in general, since the Warring States Era and the formation of the Ninja Villages—Namikaze Minato is an orphan. His father was a self-taught ninja from a small village on the boarder of Kaze no Kuni, while his mother was a kunoichi from Tsuchi.

Though Minato's parents had died when he was young, he was old enough to remember them. He was old enough to understand why his parents were forced to hide away from their home countries, old enough to know when and why he had to hide and lie.

He was old enough to understand why tousan had to escape in the night while he and kaachan had to flee in the cover of tousan's sacrifice distraction.

He was old enough to understand why he and kaachan had to lie about their ninja training when they immigrated into Konoha with forged papers so realistic that not even Konoha's infamous T&I, or their renowned Yamanaka clan could tell the difference.

He was old enough to understand why kaachan was forced to work in the way she did, why strange people would spend an hour or two, or sometimes even the whole night behind the door to his mother's room, why she made him leave when some specific visitors stopped by, why he eventually came home to find her laying in bed, blooms of red and shocks of shiny white against her cold, still skin.

He was old enough to remember it all—to want to change it all, one day—but his mind would always take him back to one specific memory.

His most precious memory of all.

The love in his parents' eyes.

Minato could recite the story word for word, with how much his kaachan told it—how much more she would cling to the words after tousan was gone.

Kaachan was from Iwagakure, having sworn her life to the Tsuchikage and the Tsuchi no Kuni daimyou as a kunoichi of the Rock. Touchan truly had no allegiance—his skills had come from a talent with chakra and a necessity for self-defense.

So when touchan had seen a group of Suna-nin abducting a woman, he did what any good man would do.

He saved her.

Touchan had followed after the Suna-nin in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Touchan was not sure he could defeat the two Suna-nin on his own, but he knew that with the help of the right environment and a few tricks, he could come out victorious.

With his wind chakra aiding him in both speed and his strikes, touchan caught the first nin completely off guard. As the second nin—the one holding kaachan—noticed his partner listing to the right—before the dead body could hit the ground—touchan had just as swiftly eliminated the other, catching kaachan in his arms.

Unwilling to linger at the scene, touchan carried kaachan away, until it was safe for them to stop. When touchan untied kaachan's binds, she couldn't help herself.

Kaachan pulled touchan into a kiss.

It was in that moment that kaachan fell in love with touchan. Both were alone in this cruel ninja world. The shinobi nations were in the midst of the second Great Ninja War. People were dying left and right, hundreds every day.

Who would miss one kunoichi? Who would recognise one self-taught man from the edges of Kaze no Kuni?

Who would give up on the chance of happiness, love, and family, when the world had taken so much from them?

He remembers asking his parents how they knew they were in love after just one meeting.

His mother always answered, “A selfless act of kindness in a cruel world is a rare thing to be treasured. When you find that, especially when you're alone and hopeless, it's easier to leave behind the entirety of your harsh, unfriendly life for even just a single moment with such a person."

When Minato asked his touchan, his father always answered, "There is not much kindness in this world, not much any single person alone can do to fix that. We work hard, we may try to help others, but that's not going to get any one man very far. Kaachan has a fire in her, a toughness, a resilliance which cannot be crushed. She is fierce in her mind, body, and soul. As a man forced to grow and survive on his own, I know just how valuable, and how rare those traits are. I had desperately craved for companionship, for a family, and your mother has the strength and resilliance to ensure our story will be longer than most."

At the time, Minato didn't truly understand what either of his parents meant. But as an orphan, as a boy all alone, who had witnessed the worst of the world and wanted to make it better, who had his world stripped from him in a place that should have been safe, with the weight of his parents sacrifices on his mind and the desperate urge for a family once more...

Minato fell in love.

All he knew about love was what he'd seen from his parents. With no advice, no one to turn to, Minato did the only thing he could:

He emulated the fond, much told memory of how his parents fell in love with the percotions, strong-willed, resilliant Uzumaki Kushina.

And like a blessing from beyond, like a gift from his absent parents, Uzumaki Kushina—who had only ever glared and grumbled at Minato before then—had fallen in love with him.

It hadn't been hard to use the shadow-clone jutsu and then henge them into Kumo-nin. It wasn't hard to find Kushina all alone, after tricking the ANBU who followed her with a genjutsu laid out by Uchiha Fugaku's sharingan.

It wasn't hard for Minato to gently disable (but not disperse!) his own clones, to catch Kushina in his arms, to take her to "safety" (as if she were in any danger at all).

It wasn't hard to attract her heart and capture it—not with his boyish good looks, his patience, and most damning of all—

Kushina's lonliness and desire for connection.

With her home village destroyed and Mito-sama recently deceased, there wasn't a better time for him to put his ploy in motion. Maybe to a civilian that might seem callous, but to a ninja, that was just smart planning.

What did it matter if he was using her grief and loneliness to his advantage? His company would heal that for her anyways.

(Besides, it was his grief and lonliness which drove him to do it).

Minato would grow up to be a lot of things: a hero and a curse, a soldier and a leader, a husband and—just briefly—a father.

Minato would not go on to share the story of how he got Kushina to love him with his son. Minato would instead go on to emulate his father, sacrificing himself in the hopes of giving his child a shot at a better life.

But that was for later. In this moment, in the shoddy comfort of the bachelor apartment allotted to orphaned ninja-in-training, Minato put the pieces of his plan together.

Minato was old enough to retain memories of his life before Konoha, before his parents were taken from him, but only one memory stood out.

And so he remembered.

And so he took the past and made it his present with dreams of the future on his mind.

Fun Facts!

I imagine Minato's mom to be blonde like he, Naruto, and Deidara are, while his dad has red hair similar to Kushina and Gaara. His mother's hair was smooth and straight while his father's was spikes like Minato and Naruto.

The ninja who killed Minato's father were sent after his mother for desertion. Another Iwa-nin had caught sight of her and reported back to the Tsuchikage. The nin were sent to kill Minato's parents but were instructed to bring Minato back alive in case he was useful. I kind of puts Minato's massacre of those thousand Iwa-nin during the Third War into a new light...

Fugaku only agreed to help Minato because when he initially refused, Minato accused Fugaku of not being able to do it. Fugaku, like a certain other Uchiha we know, was desperate to prove himself. Minato didn't tell Fugaku about his plan, he just dared Fugaku to trick the ANBU.

Minato had to practice with his clones for weeks to be able to fight them without them "popping." He ended up having to use a seal on them to make them more resilliant. It was his first time working with fuinjutsu, and what sparked his love for it. Kushina's interest only heightened his own.

Yes, Minato's dad only went along with kaachan's feelings because he was lonely and she was strong. Relationships have been built on less. He was a very pragmatic man. He did genuinely fall in love with her though.

When Minato and his mom immigrated to Konoha, she had to pretend to be a civilian with no ninja training to avoid suspicion, and be offered asylum as a Hi no Kuni refugee. As a foreigner (even one posing as a Fire Country citizen) and with the growing number of refugees, it was hard for her to find a job, so she became a prostitute. She was killed by a nin who was triggered and experienced a panic attack/flashback. He fled the scene after, and ended up letting himself get killed during his next mission. The case of her murder remains unsolved—not that the police did much investigating. There were more pressing issues to deal with at the time.

The harsh life Minato lived—as a fugitive and then a refugee and orphan—is what led him to want to be Hokage. He wanted to save people from the pain he and his parents suffered.

Kushina's spirit (and declaration to be Hokage) is what attracted Minato to her. His father's words of finding someone strong and stubborn enough to survive in this cruel ninja world is what made him decide she was the one for him.

Kushina is dumb. So dumb. Didn't catch on even once. Fell for the plot hook, line, and sinker. Even when, years later, Minato shared the story of how his parents met with her, Kushina did not piece his plan together.

Due to Minato using "Kumo"-nin to carry out the abduction, he made their already poor reputation in Konoha worse. This was further exasterbated when real Kumo-nin actually tried to kidnap Hinata.

Minato sacrafied himself that night when Kurama was unleashed on the village, because all he could think of in that moment was the way his father sacrificed himself to save Minato and his mom. It clouded his judgement from more logical options, like, I don't know, not casting a suicide jutsu to trap half a tailed beast in his minutes old son and his soon to be dead body.

Kushina was delirious from pain meds, having an tailed beast extracted from her, and her own hotheadedness. It was a bad mix.

In the end, Naruto learnt that rescuing a girl is the way to her heart, following the Namikaze family tradition of courtship.

AN: So, uh... This got darker than I thought. The post that inspired this was so cute too. I wrote this a few weeks ago on a night I was too busy for this bs and yet it would not let me rest until it was released. I wrote this after being challenged prompted by @books-n-guns, as crack is my apparent specialty (we been knew, I know. After the LeeKaguya fic I think I solidified my place in this fandom). I hope you enjoyed it!

#namikaze minato #uzumaki kushina #minakushi #naruto #just a little piece i wrote #sibi writes

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thefreakydeaky · 4 years ago

Text

Call Out My Name

Part Six Title: A Lonely Night

Characters: Negan, Reader, The Saviors,The Wives

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Diet Dr.Angst

Word Count: 2,145

“Can I trust you, Y/n?” He asked as you lay together after.

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t know how to say it...”

Your eyebrows rose.

“You? At a loss for words? I don’t believe it.”

Negan chuckled dryly.

“I don’t know how to say it nicely.”He amended, his tongue poked out to wet his lip as he tried to find the right words.

“Do you remember what I said to you about my position as a leader?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

“It’s precarious.I work damn hard to make sure my people are taken care of and to make sure that everyone knows not to fuck with me.As I’m sure you have realized, I like to be on top.”

“Mhmm..”

“Sometimes that means I have to bash in a few heads. Sometimes it means I have to take a new wife, but I’d say I have everything I could want within reason. Wouldn’t you?”

You nodded in agreement.

“So imagine my surprise, when I go out to do some head bashing and find that despite all i have there is one thing I not only want, but need...You.” His expression softened as he gazed into your eyes. “The moment I saw you, I recognized you as my other self. That’s why I did it. That’s why I called you my wife without asking.We were made for each other. I can’t explain how I know, I just know, Y/n.”

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the unmistakeable ring of truth his confession held. You looked back up to find him watching your face wearily.

“How can I be sure you won’t think how I feel about you is a weakness?”

You laced your fingers with his.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

He winced.

“Hell, that isn’t reassuring in the least.”

You smiled apologetically.

“What I’m getting at is, if you’re open to it, we could try putting each other first and survival second.You know, the way relationships were pre-walker?”

“And what would you know about that, hmm?”

“I was in a relationship back when.”

“What, some high school sweetheart bullshit?” He sighed, incredulity in his voice.

“No.” You turned onto your belly. “I was in a serious relationship with an older man.”

“Were you now?”

“I was.”

“What was he like?” Negan pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Do you really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You smirked at the envy in his eyes.

“He was...fifteen or so years older than me.”

“Mhmm.”

You carded your fingers through Negan’s hair.

“He had pretty blue eyes and a very nice smile.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a policeman.”

“A cop? You were dating a cop?” His brow furrowed.

“Is that surprising?” You grinned.

“It is.” He grumbled. “Did you love ‘um.”

“It was complicated, but I did love him. Then we broke up, the world changed for the worse,and I had bigger things to worry about than him.”

Negan mulled on that for a moment.

"I ever tell you I was married before the world went to shit?"

Try as he might to hide behind a veneer of nonchalance, you sensed some dark emotions beneath the act.

"Not very successfully, but she meant a great deal to me."

You nodded.

"I was shit at showing it, but I'm sure you know a thing or two about that."He grimaced.

Negan looked into your eyes. In the depths of his gaze you could see a sorrow so intense, it made your heart ache with compassion.

“Do you think we could make it if we tried?” He asked too casually.

“Yes, I reckon we could.” You kissed the back of his hand.

You felt so filled with warmth you could burst.

Negan kissed the corner of your mouth lovingly.

“You have my whole heart, Y/n.”

He took you into his arms.

"Until my last breath."

Feeling safer than you had in years, you snuggled into his embrace and reveled in the wonder of being loved.

Staring out of the window did nothing to improve his mood.Lighting flashed in a black as midnight sky at eleven o'clock in the morning.

"What's the plan?"Negan asked the room at large, taking a seat at the head of the table.

His lieutenants sat in a make shift conference room, looking worse for the wear from the battle with Alexandria.

Dwight tapped the back end of a switch blade on the table, seemingly deep in thought.Regina sat arms crossed over her chest glaring at Dwight's hands.The minutes ticked by quietly. Negan's already strained patience was growing thin.Gavin tilted his chair back and sighed.

“There's nothing left for us to do, 'cept kill them all."Simon concluded.

“Dwight?" Negan posed wearily.

"We don't need to kill all them people to get them in line.We just have to kill the right ones."

Negan narrowed his eyes at him.

"The right people, meaning who? Rick Grimes?"

“Grimes, The Widow, and The Ki- “ Dwight grimaced. “Ezekiel.” He amended apologetically.

“Hmm..." Their leader scratched at his chin, in contemplation.

"We'll put 'em on a platform, make it bloody, make sure they all see it happen." Dwight's gruff voice provided.

"I like the way you think, Dwight." Negan responded at last."Si, how long you need to get this set up?"

A blood thirsty grin broke out on Simon's face.

"We'll be ready by morning." He replied.

To the Saviors Simon directed a gung-ho,“Let's go to work."

Mean while, back at the doll house, boredom and gloom drove the wives to the parlor.

"We could play a game?"Tanya suggested.

Amber emitted a petulant huff in response and continued flipping through a beat up issue of Vogue

"We can play a drinking game."Sherri suggested.

“A drinking game?"You repeated uncertainly.

"We are all adults here, we're stuck 'till Negan says otherwise."Tanya pointed out.

"We might as well."Amber intoned, tossing her magazine aside.

You glanced uncertainly at Sherri.For a moment you considered declining, but much to their surprise, you agreed.

"Okay, What are we playing?"

Frankie sat up in her chair, with sudden interest.

“Never have I ever!”Sherri and Tanya said in unison.

You swallowed in an attempt to soothe your suddenly dry throat.This was a disaster waiting to happen.

Amber took it upon herself to serve each person in the room a generous shot of vodka.

“The way it works is, we take turns asking a question.Well sort of a question sort a not.”Sherri hedged.

“If it’s my turn I’d say something like, Never have I ever...smoked a joint.”

“Bullshit.”Frankie laughed.

“If you have smoked a joint you do a shot.If you haven't, you don’t.It’s fun.Trust me.” Sherri’s enthusiastic grin was a little scary.

You had never seen her smile before today.You eyed her skeptically, but didn’t back out.

“Why don’t we go from youngest to oldest?”You suggested.

Amber went around the room handing out the generous glasses she had poured to each of you.

“Go on then.”Sherri encouraged Frankie.

“Alright, never have I ever...given a blowjob.”

“Ha! That’s a cheat! We all know He loves getting head.”Tanya chuckled.

“Is not!”

You all took a shot.

Amber went around the room refilling the glasses.

As the game went on, you slowly began to relax.The questions were invasive at times, but no one had caused any trouble so far.

“Never have I ever”Tanya began, “been tied up during sex.”

“Ugh Tanya!”Amber exclaimed in disgust.

Sherri’s eyes were fixed on you.

She is so damn nosey. You frowned, but you were a good sport and drank just the same. To your surprise, so did Frankie.

You shared a knowing look then burst out laughing.Sherri was not amused.

“Never have I ever been to Texas?”Amber tried.

You shook your head.

“Never have I ever kissed another girl.”You threw out eyeing each of them in turn.

Frankie, Tanya, and You all took another shot.

“Really, Y/n?”Amber’s eyes went wide with curiosity.

“Oh, come on don’t act so shocked.It’s the freakin" apocalypse.”Frankie scoffed.

“Alright alright, never have I ever been eaten out by Negan.” Sherri said smoothly.

You cringed at the obvious ploy.

Tanya,Sherri, and Frankie each took a shot.

You could feel them all scrutinizing you.You and Amber were the odd ones out. You refused to rise to the bait.What happened between you and Negan was none of their business.

“Amber” Sherri prompted when she remained quiet for too long.

“Oh, uh, yes. Never have I ever..” She wracked her brain trying to come up with something, but came up empty. “Never have I ever had a three some??”

“Booooo!” a sloppy drunk Frankie complained.”We already asked that one.”

“Right right...”

“How about never have I eveeer, had a sexual fantasy about a Savior.” Frankie suggested.

Tanya blushed fiercely and took the shot.

The look on Amber’s face was bleak.

“Never have I ever been to Canada.”Sherri said quickly changing the subject.

No one drank.You felt bad for Amber.You had forgotten that some of these girls used to be in relationships with the men that were now Saviors.

Tanya smirked at you.

“Never have I ever, had sex with Negan in the middle of the day.”She said much too chipper for your liking.

“Just Negan?”

“Yes.”

You knew what she meant to find out, but you refused to go there with her. You didn’t take the shot.

Her brown eyes blazed into yours.She and Sherri drank simultaneously.

“Never have I ever lied to my husband.”You deadpanned to remind them that you were in this together.

Every one of them drank.

“Never have I ever had a sex related injury.”

Sherri stared at Tanya when she didn't drink.

“Taanyaa”

“Sherriii” Tanya mocked good naturedly.

“You have.”She insisted.

Tanya winced and took the shot. Embarrassed and hoping no one would ask the million dollar question.

“Okay, but how??”Frankie asked.

Tanya covered her blushing face in her hands.

“Damn it Sherri.”

“She was with Simon on a free pass day.”

Frankie rolled her eyes.”You know how that goes”

Sherri raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us do.”

"He gets a little...gymnastic." Tanya admitted, blushing.

“Never have I ever wanted to fuck Simon.” Amber singsonged.

“It’s not even your turn!” Tanya winced and took the shot.

You were feeling so warm and buzzing hard.You unthinkingly took the shot along with Tanya and Frankie.

“Simon?” Sherri’s voice was filled with judgement.

“Surprised?”

“Not even a little.” She sniffed.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re awful judgmental for a woman in a polygamist marriage?” You snarked.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock the rest of us do.”

“I’m not like you.” She hissed venomously.”I didn’t fucking choose this!”

“And you think I did?”Amber stood, swaying drunkly.

“Not you.” Sherri’s voice lost it’s venom. “But the rest of you did.”

“You’re so wrong for thinkin’ that and even worse for sayin’ it!” Tanya’s eyes filled with tears.

“Sherri, You’ve been talking down to me ever since I got here.” You spoke louder than you intended to.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not the one with the problem.”

“You sure as shit act like it.”

You threw your glass in her general direction. It pelted her in the shoulder and rolled onto the floor.

“Bitch if you’re feelin’ froggy go ahead and fuckin’ jump.”

The double doors burst wide open.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” Negan thundered looking around the room with an irritated scowl.

No one moved.Sherri’s fury was still apparent in her expression.You wondered how long he’d been listening.

“Explain.Now.” He demanded picking on Tanya who hadn’t said a thing.

“W-well...We were drinking and playing some stupid game. About sex.”Her eyes darted between you and Sherri.

“A sex game?” Negan repeated, disbelief in his tone.

“Yupp. Not a one of us’s been to Canada and Y/n kissed a girl, Now Sherri thinks we’re all a buncha sluts.” Amber hiccuped.

Negan took a steadying breath and stared down each of you in turn.

“Well I’ll be damned." He scrutinized Amber's slight swaying figure and shook his head. "Sweetheart, you are trashed!I’m cuttin’ you off.”

Negan took the bottle of vodka from her. From the look on her face, she had forgotten she was holding it.

“I’ll get you some water.” Frankie nodded decisively and tried to shake off her buzz.

She swayed a little on her way to the sink.

“So what I’m gettin’ here is, you all got wasted and started swapping stories about sex with me?”

You didn’t know what to say.You were, despite Sherri being an asshat, feeling pretty good right about now.

“You are around each other all day every freakin’ day and the subject has never come up before?” He asked with feigned interest.”I don’t know if I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

Finally got a taste of his own medicine.

You snickered.

“What’s so funny over there,Y/n?”

Uh-oh no pet names.Daddy is maaad.

The ridiculous thought made you chuckle and soon you were emitting peels of laughter so infectious that Tanya started laughing too.

“You cut that shit out!It is not fucking funny.” He shifted his weight, brought lucille onto his shoulder, then licked his lips. “I don’t like drama.”

Sherri rolled her eyes.

“Coulda fooled me.” Amber jibed under her breath.

You mashed your lips together to hold back your smile.

“What did you just say?”

Amber shook her head.

You batted your lashes at him.

His nostrils flared like he could smell the insubordination.

“Wow I am havin’ a damn hard time rememberin’ why I thought keeping so many women around was a good idea.”

“Cause you expected a nonstop orgy?” You suggested. “Ya reap what ya sew, Babe.”

“What the ever loving fuck?” A pained look crossed his face.

“I mean,” Your languid gaze swept the room. “It isn’t right, but I get it.” You shrugged.

“That’s enough. I don’t have the patience to deal with all of you at once.Every one of you to your bedrooms! I don’t want to hear one peep out of you for the rest of the day.”

“Sure thing, Daddy.” The corners of your lips quirked into an almost grin as you stood and headed for your room.

“Smart ass.” He grumbled following behind you.

#negan x plus sized reader #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #negan x reader #negan #jeffrey dean morgan

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 5 years ago

Text

Tell Me Everything

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: Reader works as a costume designer in Marvel. She's currently working on Endgame, designing the costumes for each superhero (but especially her favorite one), when Chris stops by. Later, he tries it on. Mutal pining goodness and fluff all throughout :) Warnings: None :) A/N: It’s been a while. I’ve written for chris once only, and I already miss it. Here’s some fluff.

Earphones plugged in deep in her ears, blocking every other sound apart from her music. The side of her hand is dirty with pencil lead, leaving occasional smudges on the paper that she forgets to erase. It’s- there’s a lingering fatigue she can’t really shake off. She’s beyond exhausted, working so late in the night, still in her office, but doing this, right here, it feels so damn good. It doesn’t matter that she should be heading home, because all her repressed creativity is bleeding in the paper, flowing as if it’s pouring out of her veins . Finally, finally , doing the thing she’s great at, the thing she loves.

Her music is deep, dark, has a strong but slow beat to it, and she bobs her head along, uncaring of the strands of hair that are furiously escaping her ponytail. She gets lost in the design, vigorously making swooping lines and hard edges, scribbling to her heart’s content, erasing a line and coming back in. The tedious process of adding details makes her settle just a little.

These past few years have been incredible. Working for Marvel was a dream she didn’t even know she’d had, the opportunity of a lifetime, truly. During the time spent working with all these amazing people, she’s learned, she’s grown, she’d developed as an artist and as a person. She can say nothing less than she’s happy, truly happy here. She means, designing and creating costumes for this franchise has been a job she couldn’t have even dreamt of. It may get tiresome, sometimes boring and tedious, but right now, designing… she feels like she’s been born to do this and just this.

It’s been a while since she’d gotten so lost in a design. It may be the fact that this particular one, and the actor that’s supposed to wear it, is her favorite. She may be biased. But she’d had amazing ideas and she was so eager to just make them come to life.

She’s coloring the last of the star in the center of the chest, when fingers tap her shoulder. Having been so lost in her work and music, she feels like someone poured a bucket of water over her without warning, and she jumps, pulling her earbuds out by their wire and swiveling her chair to look at the intruder.

Chris smiles down at her, all teeth and soft eyes. His hands are in the air flamboyantly, It’s me!, dark grey, long sleeved Henley loose on his biceps, and dark wash jeans hugging his thighs tightly. His hair is grown longer, tucked behind his ears, his beard is… new , and very nicely trimmed. Her heart thumps a little louder at the sight of him. If anyone were to ask, she’d blame the jumpscare, but she knows better.

“Chris!” Excitedly getting off her seat and throwing her arms around his shoulders in a friendly hug. His own wrap around her tightly, squeeze her to him, if only for a second, and she exhales.

“Hey!” He tells her, just as excitedly, and she pulls back. “I’m sorry I scared you, I knocked and there was no answer.” She waves a hand to show him it’s okay and plops back on her seat unceremoniously.

“What are you even doing here?! I thought the cast was gonna show up next week, for the fittings?” A strand tucked behind her ear and she’s suddenly kind of self-conscious of her disheveled state. Chris leans his hip on her desk and crosses his arms over his chest casually, looking like one of those bad boys in 2000’s coming-of-age rom-coms. She tries not to stare, but it’s a struggle, and a funny thought crosses her mind. If she were looking at him for the first time, he’d be screaming trouble. He still does, but less because he’s scary and a heartbreaker, and more because she’s hopeless when it comes to being functional around him.

“I had some business up here in New York, and the Russo’s asked me to drop by. Something about paperwork.” He shrugs lightly and she ‘ah’s, accompanied by a nod and a brief eyebrow twitch to show her understanding.

“Well, I’m happy you dropped by. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it,” she smiles at him, and Chris nods, a bit of an apologetic, regretful almost, look in his eye.

“So,” he says and shifts his weight a little, “whatcha working on?”

“You, actually.” Lead-stained fingers pull the sketchbook under the light a little better, closer to him, and he gets off his hip, places his left hand on the back of her chair, leaning all his weight on his right, on the desk. His chest is suddenly so close to her face, her shoulder brushes his torso and she’s holding her breath , because he smells so good –cologne and aftershave?- she might fucking faint . She can feel her face heat up. She wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he knows at all. She watches his expression.

“Waddaya got?” It’s all interest in his voice, and he doesn’t seem to intend to move. Damn.

“Well,” she takes a shaky breath, “I figured, y’know-“ a mindless shrug, and his shirt is exceptionally soft and fairly thin, two layers between their bare skin, and- oh gosh, she's supposed to be explaining things. Focus! “Cap needs a new suit, and he’s a fugitive now, right? He doesn’t really care to get a new one tailored.” Chris exhales a chopped, amused breath and nods sideways, as if saying You have a point there . “So the old one would have to do.

“But it’s different now, because he can’t have the same exact one, completely untouched, and he’s a different man now anyways.” Scooting the chair closer to the desk on instinct- and fucking great , now she’s literally pressing into the bottom of his ribcage lightly with her shoulder. It’s getting harder to breathe. She can feel his exhales on her face, Jesus. “So basically,” a steadying, shaky breath, “I made it dirtier- that’s why the colors are darker. It’s supposed to be aging fabric. But it’s also more comfortable for you.

“The sleeves will end right here-” without giving it much thought, she traces a line under his right elbow, the one on which he’s leaning, and he follows the motion with his gaze intently, “and you’ll wear some fingerless gloves with buckles on them.” He nods, eyes still not off her design, occasionally flicking to glance at her. “But,” she begins.

“The detail I’m most excited for is this,” a tap on the star in the middle of the uniform- or rather lack thereof. The space where the plastic white thing once resided is now dark blue like the rest of the uniform. She grins up at him when his features twitch in interest. “I pitched this to Joe and he really loved it. Basically, my logic is that, as we said, Cap’s a fugitive, yeah?” Chris nods, attentive as ever. “He’s gone against every government official he knows, against a big chunk of his own team. The news have probably said awful things about him and painted him as a superhero gone rogue or something. So what does he do? He rips off the star.

“He no longer fits the Captain America title, in the sense that he doesn’t want to be associated with the government’s lap dog, their dancing monkey. Instead of faithfully following orders as a soldier, he’s his own self, still a Captain, but on his own terms. It’s symbolic! He’s carving his own path, leading like he was always meant to, and he’s dramatic enough to have done this- ripped off the star I mean. The suit should feel more familiar to him now.”

She’s been rambling for a while, her mouth is drier, but she was so excited when the idea manifested in her head. A big sense of pride washed over her, she couldn’t wait to design and implement it in the costume.

And Chris, well… Chris is looking at her with this small little smile that grows the more he considers it. “I…” he shakes his head, a grin stretching his pretty lips, “I fucking love it,” he tells her, with so much genuine warmth in his tone. She’s never heard him this confident and proud , like a parent almost, glowing at her like she’s something brighter than a star. “That’s brilliant , Y/n, holy shit ! The fans will go nuts!” He leans close to inspect the design again with the new parameters in mind, shaking his hand as if disbelieving, smile remaining on his face. “You’re amazing .”

A hot, red blush spreads across her cheeks fiercely, and there’s a lingering urge to sit up straighter, to square her shoulders in pride and happiness, because she’s so happy he liked it¸ but she is now acutely aware of how close he is, still not having moved away from her since she pressed into him accidentally. She resorts to a one shouldered shrug. “Thank you,” her voice is meeker than she’d like it, but Chris doesn’t mention it. Instead, they share a smile.

“Ready?”

“I’m, unf, gimme a sec- I’m coming.” Some shuffling, and then the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and she puts her phone away, swiveling in her chair and- oh Christ.

“Chris… ” she says, eyes racking from the tops of his shoes, up his legs, his thighs, his belt. The way the comfortable material stretches over his fit stomach, up his curved chest, and extends up to the base of his neck- it’s, fuck, he looks so good. His veiny forearms are exposed to the warm lamp light in the room, and he’s not wearing the gloves, seeing as they’re sitting on her desk.

The dark blue of his suit makes his newly dyed hair look golden .

“How do I look?” He says with a grin, striking an exuberant pose just to make her smile, and she grins.

“I’ll give you like,” she pretends to think for a second, “a six out of ten.” A shrug and a bitten back smile, and his hand goes to his chest dramatically, thick eyebrows furrowing and blowing out a breath.

“Damn,” he tells her with a look in his eyes that she can’t really place, something teasing, but like they're sharing an inside joke of some kind. “Harsh critic,” it’s teasing and happy, and she chuckles, because yeah. This is quite perfect. She grabs his gloves off her desk and gets off her chair, going up to him and holding them for him to squeeze his hands in. She tightens some buckles, smooths a hand over the leathery material, making non-existent creases disappear.

A step back, she inspects the way the material hugs his thighs so nicely, but is also still baggy, to give him some freedom of movement. His boots are almost knee high, and- it actually looks like it might be a bit tight in the neck. She steps closer to him, barely tests the two buckles in front of his shoulders, checking that there’s give for him to move in. “It’s good? Comfortable, I mean?” A finger dragged between the collar of his top and his neck, purely professionally she swears, it was a subconscious move to check how much space there is for him to breathe and move his neck. And that’s the moment stupid Chris chooses to hum and she feels it in the exhale hitting her face, the vibration of his throat.

God .

Her lips purse and she squints a little, pulling back her hand. I can make this better , she decides. “Don’t move,” she orders and heads to her desk, grabbing some needle and a thread that matches the color of his suit, along with a small blade. She walks back up to him again and, with a careful hand on his chest and the threaded needle carefully placed between her lips, she makes a few, strategically placed rips near the star with the blade.

“Don’t stab me,” he says, tone low for a reason she can’t understand but makes a shiver run through her.

“Don’t give me ideas,” she counters, and Chris’s stomach shakes a little with a short, contained laugh. Continuing, she distresses the fabric, and patches up the edges so they won’t tear further during filming, allowing a string or two to stick out.

She is absolutely, of course, not ignoring how she can feel every single one of his breaths, and how he’s so good and still, and his hands are only a handful of inches away from her waist, his face hellishly close to hers.

A released exhale and a nod to herself. “Perfect,” she says quietly. She wraps the threaded needle around the handle of the blade so as to not lose it and throws it back on her desk haphazardly, to put away later. Unmoving from her spot near him, she gazes at the rips and decides it was a good addition. For just a second, it seems she forgets exactly how close he is, and now she looks up to him for approval, finding that same intent stare, straight into her soul from only three inches away.

There’s a sudden urge to shrink and disintegrate, confidence gone. Clothes she can handle. Chris she really can’t.

Baby blue eyes are watching her, standing perfectly still for her to do her thing, but there’s a, dare she say , affection of sorts in his gaze, and she’s very much struck with it. “You look great, Cap’n,” breathy and quiet, because she can’t fucking sit in silence when he looks at her like that. Chris smiles.

“All thanks to you.” A grin at the praise, at the lowered tone of his voice, as if he doesn’t want to break the moment with loud words. She should step back, b- but she physically cannot. Her muscles are seriously unwilling to move. This is her being weird, right? She’s crossing a line by taking advantage of his proximity, right? Why- He’s not showing any signs of awkwardness or discomfort though.

She’d like to know how one stretches a moment to eternity, a piece of knowledge she'd most certainly use right now. His cologne is the same as last week, when he visited in her office, comforting and musky, and he’s- he’s just looking at her with his beautiful eyes boring into hers, his warmth just centimeters away.

“You’re very close to me,” what a stupid thing to say , she scolds herself, but she just- she doesn’t know what else to do. Is it normal to feel such heat radiate from his body, or is that her mind playing tricks? She wants to curl into him, into said warmth, bury her nose in his neck and nuzzle there. It’s an urge that hits her like a tidal wave, and it almost makes her stagger on her feet. Her heart beats faster, inflated and full, adrenaline coursing through her veins all of a sudden. Chris swallows a little and nods. “What are you gonna do about it?”

There’s almost no charm in his tone, he looks borderline nervous, but there’s still some confidence in his velvety voice for him to flirt with her, the bastard and- she’s not imagining this, right? She’s not dreaming or anything? Chris actually enjoys this proximity, this closeness, he’s not pulling away. He just- he just sort of gave her consent to do something, anything. The ball is in her court, a challenge, proving she actually can do something about this.

With a shaky hand, she presses her palm flat on his chest.

A mental barrier is broken by that touch and Chris seems to curl closer, if possible. His gloved hand goes to her waist, holding her near him, his head dipping lower, and she’s standing on her tiptoes. Noses brushing together, a challenge, emphasized in the teasing curl of his lips, sharing the same air. Beard tickling her top lip as she inches closer. A small hand on his face, and she licks her lips instinctively, parts them a little- and closes the gap between them.

It’s soft and wet and everything she’s ever dreamt of really, and holy shit , she’s dreamt of this. It’s actually happening, right now. He’s in his dumb Captain America uniform, pulling her close so now their chests are pressed together, moving his lips against hers slowly, and his hands are in leather gloves with buckles on them. The thought makes her smile a little, to the point where now the kiss is all teeth, and he pulls back for a second, as if sensing her amusement.

“What?” he asks. Her forehead leans on his chest, a sad attempt to hide her grin. His arms, one wrapping around her waist, his other hand on her back.

“I’m kissing Captain America,” and Chris lets out a single, incredulous breath, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if to say, you’re unbelievable. She grins up at him, a challenging eyebrow raised. Am I wrong though?

Teeth trap her bottom lip and she worries it for a moment as they quiet again, lost in thought and looking at him absently. She wants to kiss him again. She likes how his hands are warm on her back, how his chest is lean under her. Leaning on her tiptoes again, she smiles softly and brushes her nose on his cheek affectionately, because it’s suddenly okay to do so, the hairs of his beard scratchy against her skin. Chris is not having it though, and he turns his head to capture her lips again.

It feels so good, she thinks, as she instinctively places gentle fingers on his jawline to keep him tilted to her. It’s like the world is blooming. Like her heart is bursting through the seams, chest far too small for it. She kisses him, and he holds her just this much closer.

She’s kissing Captain America. And it’s a damn good fucking kiss.

Tags: @thegetawaywriter

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x fem!reader #chris #chris fanfiction #chris fluff #chris evans fluff #chris evans one shot #mcu #mabel #captain america #steve rogers #ca:tfa #ca:tws #ca:cw #mcu rpf #:)

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gimmesumsuga · 5 years ago

Text

Beneath the Boughs (M)

Fantastical Tales for Curious Souls - Chapter 3

Pairing: Dryad!Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 20K

Warnings: Very mild peril and angst, tooth-rotting fluff, smut - fingering, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, virgin!Namjoon.

For almost as long as you can remember, the tree stood opposite your apartment has been a part of your life. Countless memories have been made under the shade of its supple branches, but when its existence comes under threat, you soon discover that your favourite tree is more special to you than you ever could’ve known.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

“Hey! Stop!”

As fast as your little feet had been able to carry you, you'd run, furious; hurtling across the grass towards the group of young boys congregated around the base of your apple tree, their figures cast in shade under its far-reaching branches.

Of course, you didn’t know it was your tree back then - a tree just like any other, no dissimilar to the many others you'd ever seen - but that hadn’t kept you from watching them from your spot from way over by the swings; narrowed eyes, scowling and suspicious. Huddled together, it was obvious even to you that the curl of their shoulders meant that they must be up to no good.

Their unfamiliar presence in your park had been worrisome enough, but when one of them had drawn out a switchblade from his back pocket, waving it around in front of his friends only to then turn and gouge its sharp blade straight into the bark of the tree, you were left with no choice but to leap into action.

At six tender years old you’d marched over to that group of boys, unafraid. Being several years your senior, they were far less than intimidated by the sight of a young girl in long socks and overalls, copying a pose she’d seen her mother wear before. They hadn’t even really noticed you were there until you’d cleared your throat to demand their attention, small hands fisted on your then non-existent hips, and even then, the ring-leader had refused to acknowledge you. He was far too busy carving out a word your innocent mind did not yet recognise at such an age, tongue poking out of the corner of his lips in concentration.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you’d informed them without a hint of fear, so sure were you of your convictions. The closest boy to you (you’d seen him at school before, you’d thought. The older brother of one of the girls in your class?) had scowled hard at you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Why not?” he’d snorted.

"Because," you'd replied, matter of fact, "You're hurting it."

"It's just a tree," another boy had said with a shrug of his shoulders, his tone as entirely apathetic as his stance had been.

"But they have feelings," you’d said emphatically, your bottom lip jutting out when the boys around you began to laugh at your expense. Their mocking was finally loud enough to pull the attention of the black-haired boy with the knife and he’d turned, blade in hand.

"Oh yeah? Who told you that?" he'd asked, cocking his head, and you were too young at the time to realise his interest was merely feigned. False.

"My mom." You didn't miss the sniggers that followed, nor the unkind looks the boys exchanged, but still, you spoke on, encouraged by the faux-smile of their leader. "She said all of them ha-"

"Your mom, huh?" he interrupted, and as he stepped forward the blade he'd been holding was suddenly pointed toward you. Looking back, you're sure it'd been an empty threat - the boy stood a good few feet away and made no further attempts to come closer - but it was enough to have tears springing into your eyes on the spot, your small body frozen up with fear.

"Why don't you go running back to mommy, then," he'd jeered, his smile turned into a sneer, "And mind your own damn business." You'd never forget the way the boy’s eyes had strayed around his friends, then, looking for their approval. Their laughs and the impressed faces they'd pulled in response to the mild curse word he'd dropped had had him puffing up his skinny little chest; a young boy looking for attention in all the wrong places.

"B-but," you'd stammered out, chin quivering as you'd tried to hold back tears, tugging on your sleeves. "I-I'll tell on you." Some of the boys had looked concerned, then, shuffling their sneaker-clad feet, but not the one in charge.

Most children would have let it go by that point, you're sure - run away ages ago to seek safety and comfort in the arms of a trusted adult - but not you. You always were a stubborn one. The only child of a single mom, she'd taught you to be independent. Brave. Fierce like her.

"You're not s-supposed to have kn-knife." You'd quickly wiped away a stray tear with your sleeve, clenching your fist again once it fell back to your side. "You'll get in big trouble, you know," you'd warned, looking pointedly to the others who'd been starting to waver, casting nervous glances to one another.

"Maybe she's right, Jimin," the bespectacled boy stood closest to you had said, tentatively. He hadn't looked like he'd belonged there from the start, really; quiet whilst all the others had laughed. "Your brother will go mad if he finds out we took it."

The black-haired boy, Jimin, had paused, then, uncertainty showing on his face for the first time as he'd looked to his friend.

"Fine," he'd eventually relented. Glaring at you, he'd flipped the blade away and rammed it back into his pocket. "Stupid park's boring, anyway."

Unfortunately, the happiness that had swelled inside you at your victory had been short-lived - cut short by Jimin smacking his shoulder into yours as he'd stomped past, hard enough to send you sprawling backwards onto the floor.

And it'd been there, with a bruised bottom and grass-stained hands, that you'd finally allowed yourself to cry once all the boys had gone. It'd seemed so unfair that they'd been so mean when you were only trying to do the right thing. They were the ones in the wrong, after all, not you, and yet you'd been the one left crying on your own.

It was your first taste of injustice - unfortunately, the first of many - and had stayed with you for a very long time after that.

But then, so had what happened next.

Through your tears, you'd seen a blossom as it fell; clusters of delicate white petals listing lazily towards the ground. You'd reached out, sniffling away your sadness, and just as your fingertips had met its silken petals, another sweet blossom had fallen to the ground.

Another, and then another, until all around you appeared as though covered in snow. and you were laughing instead of crying, brushing the petals from your hair. It was then that you realised it was a special tree - your tree - and every year thereafter you made sure to visit whenever it was in full bloom and remember the childish, innocent promise you'd made that day: a promise to always keep that special tree safe, just as you'd done all those many years ago.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Nearly twenty years have passed since then, but you never forgot that solemn vow. It's what's led you to be sat in the very seat you are now, across the meticulously tidy desk of a man who's far too cute to be cast as such a pencil pusher.

"There's got to be something you can do." The man - Mr Min, his badge reads - pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose with one long, slender finger. "Can't we get it registered as like, listed, or something?" He sighs wearily at your question, and honestly, you can't say you blame him. This has to be the fourth time - scrap that, it's gotta be the fifth - that you've graced his desk in under the space of a month, and even you can't deny what a nuisance you've been.

"That's not really how it works," he explains in the low, slow drawl you've quickly become accustomed to. "If it were on conservation land, perhaps, or if there was a tree preservation order in place."

"Well then let's just get one of those!" you exclaim, nearly leaping out of your seat with so much enthusiasm that the man opposite you leans back out of harm’s way. "That sounds great!"

"It would be," he agrees, and for just a split second your hopes reach heights the likes they've never seen before. "If you'd have applied for it six months ago, maybe. Or if the tree had any kind of historical or cultural significance to the local area that would warrant it being granted."

And just like that, your heart sinks just as your bottom does back into the leather of your chair, hopes dashed.

More than anything, you wish you were able to argue against his point, because whilst the tree you're so desperately trying to save isn't particularly unusual or special in any conventional way, that doesn't mean it's not significant to somebody.

That somebody, of course, being you.

It'd take more than just two hands if you were to try to count out just how many memories you've made beneath the boughs of that tree over the years. Some are happy, some are sad, but the former outweighs the latter; memories of secrets shared whilst sat astride its branches and picnics in the shade. Your first kiss with a boy who chose to dump you in the very same spot not three weeks later.

There are so many, many memories that you cherish, and whilst deep down you know that nothing can erase them, part of you still feels like maybe they might be lost if that tree is no longer there - no longer just in sight from the windows of the flat you'd rented right opposite the park in which so much of your youth was spent.

The same park that is due to be levelled, repurposed and 'urbanised' in accordance with the plans laid out in the papers neatly stacked atop of Mr Min's desk. Soon enough, your pleasant view will be replaced with that of the same red brick walls from which your building is made; the same roof tiling.

It's enough to make you want to cry, and Mr Min must notice the way your eyes have begun to shine by the way own his gaze softens behind his glasses, his posture relaxing into a conspirative slouch as he leans across the desk towards you.

"Look," he begins softly, "I admire how… tenacious… you've been about this." Oh, he's definitely trying to soften the blow if he's choosing 'tenacity' over 'obstinance'. You've been like a dog with a bone over these last few weeks, nipping at his heels every step of the way.

It's a miracle he hasn't kicked you yet, really.

"But the plans were approved months ago. Unless you can work some kind of miracle between now and tomorrow morning, I don't really see any other way of stopping this."

And, sadly enough, you know that he's right. You'd found out about the local authority's intentions too late to ever really have a chance of challenging them, and when the shortage of affordable housing is the way it is… well… what right do you have to disagree all for the sake of some overblown emotional attachment to a tree? As doggedly determined as you may be, even you know you'd never really stood a chance.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, looking at you over the rims of his glasses in sympathy, and as he very gently hands you back the poor attempt at a petition you'd thrust at him some few days before, you get the feeling he really does mean it. "I wish there was more I could do."

"It's ok," you reply reflexively, though it's anything but. "It's not like the world needs any more of that pesky photosynthesis anyway, right?" The joke is lame, you know that, and yet the little twitch you observe to the corners of Mr Min's mouth just before you take your leave almost manages to lift your spirits for a second or two.

Almost, but not quite.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** Your sleep is restless and fitful that night; full of dreams the events of which you can't quite remember, but leave you with a lingering feeling of anxiety even after you wake, groaning curses into your pillow at the sound of your alarm.

As you begrudgingly ready yourself for work, you try your best not to look outside. It'll only upset you all the more if you do. Your curtains remain resolutely closed as you slump about the place, picking at your breakfast with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, your muesli tasting even drier than it usually does.

You don't finish it; appetite spoiled by the sounds of heavy machinery rumbling above the usual purr of morning traffic. Out of sight does not mean out of mind, apparently, and as you wash out your cereal bowl and swig down the last dregs of your coffee, you still can't help but keep glancing towards your windows, wondering whether or not your precious tree might already be gone.

Perhaps if it wasn't so obvious how glorious a day it is, you might do better at resisting the temptation to take a peek, hoping that the view you've so cherished over the years will still be there. Through the small gap between the fabrics shielding your windows the sunshine sneaks in - a thin slip of light that sparkles across the kitchen tile - and when you finally push them back, the room is flooded with a golden glow so warm and bright you feel it all the way down to your bones.

Blinking rapidly as the light hits your face, an airy sigh of relief fills the air. The tree is still there, for now - just as tall and as beautiful as it always has been - but it’s a bittersweet sight. This might be the last time you’ll ever see its branches full of blossom in the month of May, never again to taste the sweet apples September brings, or feel the crunch of its autumn leaves beneath your feet. It feels so unjust - so unfair - that a tree so giving and consistent should be cut down in its prime.

A group of men in bright yellow construction hats come along after a little while, and watching them stand there congregated around its trunk, laughing and joking with one another, puts a lump in your throat that you can’t displace no matter how much you may try to swallow it away. You turn your back to the window, unable to bear watching them discuss the best way to bring it down, gesturing up to the branches you’d spent so much of your childhood climbing. You’re already late for work, anyway, and it's not as though standing around sulking is going to change anything. All you can hope is that it might still be there by the time you get home - safe for at least one more day.

It’s not, though. Of course it’s not. Aside from the playground equipment, the tree is - was - the biggest obstacle in the developer’s way. Logically, you knew that, and yet the pain that pierces your chest when you see your tree is gone so sharp that for a second, it steals your breath away. You cling to the iron bars of the park fence that you pass every day on your way home, tears gathering in your eyes, frustrated that in the fading daylight you can’t even make out the remaining stump from where you’re standing.

You’re not even sure it’s a conscious decision that you make that leads you to suddenly climb up and over the bars to enter the park, but somehow you end up doing it anyway, throwing your handbag over first so as not to risk getting tangled. The last time you did this was as a teenager with a group of friends, back when the prospect of illegal trespass filled you with a sense of thrill rather than the anxiety it does now, your heart bounding as the grass muffles your somewhat inelegant landing.

“And this is why heels are never a good choice,” you mutter to yourself as they sink into the mud with every step you take across the small field. Even though it’s getting dark you know exactly which direction to take, and in no time at all you start to see the remnants of today’s slaughter scattered across the ground, kicking up blossom with your feet.

You’re glad there’s no one around to hear the small squeak of distress that you make when your eyes finally land on the stubby, splintered stump the construction workers have left behind. You imagine they’ll probably dig that up too, eventually - rip its remains right up out of the soil and dump it in the same place as they did the rest - but for now, it’s still here. A reminder of all the future memories you’ve lost the chance to make. Perhaps it’s all just stupid sentimentality, but you’d always imagined that your children would one day enjoy this tree - this park, this playground - as much as you did growing up.

And now it’s all gone, all lost, and before you know it you’re squatted amongst the blossoms and there’s a tear dripping down your cheek as your fingertips trace the many age rings that run through the wood, round and round.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat tight. You know you’re being ridiculous, sat here in the dark apologising to a tree - to no-one - but you do it anyway. Stupid or not, it feels like the right thing to do. Breath shuddering as you exhale, you close your eyes, palm pressed against what little bark remains, rough to the touch. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you.”

“I’m sure you did all you could.”

It’s amazing, really, how quickly tears can suddenly dry up when someone is caught off their guard. Startled, you lose your balance at the sudden voice that comes from behind you and end up falling straight back onto your butt with an ungraceful ‘oompf’ and much flailing of arms. Luckily, you’re too alarmed to feel much embarrassment, (although you’re sure that’ll come later), and it’s with wide eyes that you look up past all of the hair that’s fallen out of place to stare at whoever it was that just so unexpectedly spoke.

There’s too little daylight left to make them out clearly, though their tall silhouette is decidedly male, just as their voice had been. He - whoever he is - makes no move to help you as you gape up at him, open-mouthed.

He does say your name, though, and that's enough to have you scrambling to your feet in a panic as he continues in a tone that sounds almost as panic-stricken as you feel.

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to startle you."

“Do I know you?” you ask sharply, frantically pushing your hair back into place as your heart races away - though you try not to let it show. There aren’t exactly many men in your life - none as tall as this one, anyway - so you’re sure it can’t be someone you know, even if you’ve yet to see his face.

He seems to falter with his reply, shifting his weight.

“In a manner of speaking.” Suspicious, your eyes narrow, arms folding across your chest as you wait for him to explain further.

He doesn’t.

“Ok…” Uneasy, your hand reaches down to rest on the clasp of your handbag so that you’re ready to fling it open at a moment’s notice. It’s not as though you’ve got anything in the way of protection in there, mind you, but you’re fairly certain that if you lobbed your phone hard enough at his head it’d give you at least a few good seconds to make your getaway. “How do you know me, then? Who are you?”

“My name is Namjoon,” the stranger answers, ignoring your first question. “And this is…” He hesitates, exhaling heavily as he continues, “... was… my tree.” Your head turns to allow your gaze to follow his gesture, your confusion only growing when you realise he means the very same stump to which you were just apologising so sincerely.

“Your tree?” you ask in a deadpan tone as you turn back to him, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.

Sure, some people might have called your attachment to the tree in question a little… overenthusiastic, shall we say… but this guy is just weird.

“Yes,” he states plainly as if his answer should be obvious. “All dryad has a tree to which they are assigned, and this one was mine. For over a hundred years, this was my home.”

“Oh…. Kay,” you repeat slowly, your fingers curling around the edges of your phone having already reached into your bag while he was still speaking. “Well, that’s… good for you.”

This guy is clearly nuts. Either that, or he’s high on something. There have been stories going around on the news lately detailing a spate of attacks on women in public spaces in a neighbourhood not too far from this one, and it’s with that in mind that you slowly start to back away, making sure not to turn your back. As you make your way around him he turns on the spot to watch, eerily silent and still.

“It’s getting late, I better get back,” you explain, taking each step faster and faster until you’re finally a good enough distance away to turn around and half walk/half run the rest of the way across the field, back towards the gate.

It’s only now, as you hurry your way to safety, that your body begins to exhibit the fright that you’ve been feeling inside; panting hard and fast, fingers trembling. You can’t hear him following but that does nothing to slow you down, eager to get back to your flat and firmly lock the door behind you.

“Please wait!” you hear him call out, and now you’re flat out running, stumbling and very nearly twisting your ankle when you glance over your shoulder and see his tall silhouette coming after you. He calls your name again, “Please!” and against all your better judgement you find yourself slowing down, unable to just ignore the desperation you’d heard in his voice. At least you’re nearer the road, now; nearer the houses where surely someone would hear you shout or scream for help, should it come to that.

Lord, you hope it doesn’t come to that. You always thought it was curiosity that was meant to get you killed, not kindness. Maybe you can be the first.

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is-” you begin as you slowly turn around, straightening your shoulders to try and look as confident as possible, “-bu-”

What… the hell?

It’s not often that you find yourself at a total loss for words, but this is most definitely one of those times; rendered speechless by the alien appearance of the man before you. Now that you can see him properly - illuminated in the golden glow of the nearby streetlights - you realise that this ‘Namjoon’ is even stranger than you originally thought. Not only is he almost completely naked, wearing nothing but some sort of loincloth wrapped tightly around his waist, but interwoven amongst his hair is an immeasurable number of flower blossoms - almost more petal than there is hair.

And now you step closer, that isn’t the only oddity you see. The tips of his ears are long and pointed, like the elves in fantasy novels, and his fingers are strange, too. They’re longer than normal; wispy at the ends, almost.

And his skin… his skin is tinged… green?

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, uncaring of the way your mouth remains open and gaping as you finish your long up and down look and then hesitantly look him in the eyes; the deepest of emerald green.

Now that you can finally make out his expression, you're caught off guard by just how sheepish and awkward this creature looks. In fact, he seems to be having almost as much trouble looking you in the eyes as you do his - his long fingers moving restlessly where they hang at his sides.

“I wouldn’t ask for your help, but there’s no one else...” Namjoon explains quietly, almost as though he’s embarrassed. “My kind are so few, now, and so widely spread.” He looks helplessly around himself, glancing up at the sky, and as the light catches on his high cheekbones you suddenly realise just how handsome this man - this dryad - is. Full lips, and a straight nose. A long, limber body… “I… don’t know where I should go… what I should do. Yours is the only voice I’ve known in so long," he admits sadly, your heartstrings tugging in reply.

"So you're… a dryad?" you repeat, the word foreign on your tongue.

He nods, "I am," and all you can do is nod dumbly right back, at a total loss for what to say.

Outwardly, you look surprisingly calm (all things considered), but inwardly, your frazzled brain is working overtime as it desperately tries to make sense of all this new, strange information. The only trouble is, though, is that none of this makes any sense. Not even a little bit; not the words he's said, nor the ways he looks.

But what other explanation could there be for his sudden appearance and his appearance, other than the one you've been given? You've seen some pretty impressive Halloween costumes in your time, but nothing like this. And how else would he know your name unless he really does know you 'in a manner of speaking', just like he said?

It doesn't make any of less unnerving, of course, even if it is the truth, but if it is, then you can't help but feel at least a little bit responsible for this creature stood waiting so anxiously in front of you. If Namjoon really was inhabiting your tree for all this time - god, that sounds so insane even just to think it inside your head - then it's him that you failed tonight, not just some inanimate objects. It's him you let down when his tree had come crashing to the ground, and suddenly filled with even more guilt than you were before for being so powerless to stop it.

Yes, you lost a tree that you loved, but Namjoon lost his home. And now he's all alone and all he doesn't even have -

"Ok," you blurt out before you give yourself a chance to second guess the split-second decision you've just made. "You can stay." Namjoon blinks, his head tilting to the side. "With me," you explain further. "It's the least I can do. At least until you find your feet."

You can feel yourself blushing as you come to the end of your sentence, but the rosiness of your cheeks is nothing compared to the way they flare up when your invitation finally soaks in and Namjoon's face breaks into a smile more breathtaking than any other you've ever seen. It lights up his whole face; screwing up his eyes, lifting his cheeks and dimpling them deeply.

God, those dimples. No one should be blessed with dimples the likes of his when they're already so handsome. They make your heart flutter wildly, your breath catching as he takes a step closer with his hands clasped together in front of his bare chest in a show of gratitude.

"I can?" he asks, eyes wide, "You're sure?"

"Not really," you laugh, not quite believing it even yourself. Namjoon's smile falters and you find yourself rushing to reassure him, eyes widening. "But I can't just leave you out here with nowhere to go."

And then it's back - that happy twinkle that has you bashfully returning his smile, adjusting the strap of your handbag as he whispers his warmest of thanks.

Luckily, there aren’t many people about to witness both you and Namjoon clamber your way back over the park railings; clamber being the appropriate word. For someone which some long, graceful limbs, Namjoon proves himself to be even more of a clutz than you are, very nearly leaving what little clothing he has behind when he almost gets stuck halfway over, and as the two of you quickly make your way back, you make a note that first order of business has to be to find him something more appropriate to wear.

He’ll be far too distracting, otherwise.

“Here we are.” You stand back from your front door and gesture for Namjoon to head on inside the flat ahead of you, which he does so with a small nod. He doesn’t think to turn on the lights, though, so you do it for him, smiling when the sudden brightness brings him to a halt and has him blinking up at the lampshade, a furrow in his brows.

How much understanding does he have of the world in which he now finds himself? Electricity had probably only been recently discovered the last time Namjoon walked freely, but it certainly wouldn’t have been used commonly or in homes - if dryads even have homes aside from the trees in which they dwell. If he was able to hear your voice all this time, then surely Namjoon must’ve had some consciousness with which to observe and learn as the times changed around him?

You watch as he turns on the spot, quietly surveying his surroundings, and have to stifle a laugh when you notice the way his toes are wriggling into the faux fur rug that sits in the centre of your living room. Cute. Bizarre, yes, but cute.

His eyes meet yours as he finishes his 360 and you feel flustered at having been caught staring so unashamedly. Not that Namjoon seems to realise this; smiling innocently as you cough and turn away to lock the door firmly behind you.

“I know it’s not the biggest place, but it’s comfy enough,” you say, hanging up your handbag on the hooks by the door. “And there’s only one bed, but the sofa’s not bad.” You pause, thoughtful. “Do… dryads need to sleep?” you ask, hoping he won’t think you ignorant or rude for asking. Namjoon nods.

“In our natural form, we have all the same needs and bodily functions as you humans do.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I better show you where the bathroom is, then,” you grin, your lame attempt at humour falling flat when all Namjoon does is nod solemnly in response and follow after you down the hall.

You’re very aware of his presence as you lead the way, and just how tall he really is. He doesn’t seem to have much of a concept of personal space - so much so that when you come to a stop outside of the bathroom he almost crashes right into your back, not even thinking to take a step back when you quickly turn and do so yourself, cheeks flushed with heat.

“You’ll find everything you need in there. Shampoo and…” You glance up at the blossoms in his hair. Will that even need washing? “Stuff.” Again he nods, taking in everything you say with the utmost sincerity. “And this one here is my room,” you explain, going just a little further.

You wish you’d left the door to your bedroom closed this morning. It’s messier than you’d usually keep it, last nights clothes crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed thanks to your former foul mood, but Namjoon’s expression shows no hint of judgement as he enters your room uninvited and begins to look around. He doesn’t touch anything - even he seems to realise that’d be a step too far - but that doesn’t stop him from wandering right over to your bedside table and taking a good long look at the photograph that sits there; you and your best friend at her wedding flashing matching thigh garters to the camera.

You hide your embarrassment by busying yourself in your chest of drawers, searching for something might just fit. Everything of yours will be far too short for limbs as long as his, but thankfully memory serves you well and leads you to some old jogging bottoms belonging to your ex-boyfriend that you’d kept stashed away out of sentimentality.

“Here,” you say, straightening up and then almost dropping the joggers you’d held out to show him when you see what Namjoon’s been looking at whilst you were otherwise distracted; the black lace bra hanging from the post of your bed. He tilts his head to see it better and once again you feel your cheeks begin to burn, rushing forward and flapping the clothes you’ve found at him to pull his attention away from your unmentionables. “You can wear these tonight!” Your voice sounds near-hysterical when you speak, and you have to make a considered effort to lower your tone from the screech you just made when you next open your mouth, thrusting the joggers into his hands. “Tomorrow I’ll have to see about buying you some proper clothes but…. these will have to do for now.”

You hope he’s not picky. Your waitressing job doesn’t exactly pay well, so it’ll have to be Primark’s finest or else nothing at all.

“These are perfect, thank you.” Perfect? Hardly. There are bits of frayed thread hanging from the waistband, and you’re pretty sure the crotch was starting to get a bit threadbare the last time you wore them. At least now you know he’s not picky - cheap and cheerful should do just fine. “This isn’t how I imagined your room to be,” he says, his eyes leaving yours to glance at the walls.

“You imagined my room?” you ask, eyes widening. Clearly, Namjoon has no idea of the connotations attached to what he just said and continues as if you hadn’t just spoken at all.

“I remember there were some pictures you wanted to buy…” he murmurs, frowning as he recalls the memory. “A boy named Justin?” Namjoon turns back to you, oblivious to how his reminder of your teenage crush makes you feel as though you want to disappear into a hole in the ground. “But I see no men on your walls.” You laugh self-consciously, rubbing your arm.

“Well, maybe you might’ve done ten years ago.” Namjoon looks vaguely confused for a moment, furrowing his brows. “Mr Timberlake hasn’t shown his face around here in quite some time.”

“That’s good,” Namjoon blurts out, and for a split-second afterwards you swear you see his cheeks redden - his eyes darting away before he quickly adds, “I-I like your room as it is. When I said it was different, I meant… good different.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” You know you’re not imagining how awkward the silence is that follows. Namjoon doesn’t seem to know where to put himself now, hovering silently by the side of your bed.

It’s amazing how human his mannerisms are, really, given how he’s not really human at all. It’s a little endearing, truth be told.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, though you’re not very much yourself. You ate at the restaurant before you left, and it’s getting too late to want to eat a full meal now.

“No, but thank you,” he says, following after you when you leave the room and pausing when you stop to retrieve a spare blanket and pillow from the small cupboard along the hall.

“I guess we’ll just get you set up for bed, then.” Like a puppy, he follows at your heels until you stop again, turning. “You can go get changed in the bathroom while I make up the sofa if you want.” Namjoon looks down at the joggers he’s folded over his arm, seemingly having forgotten they were even there.

“Oh.” He nods. “Yes, I’ll do that.” And then he heads back the way you both came, leaving you on your own, and it’s only when the bathroom door clicks shut that you feel as though you’re able to breathe properly for the first time since coming home.

Closing your eyes for a second, you greedily inhale; eyes opening again when an exhale escapes as an anxious sigh, shaking a little. Are you doing the right thing here? Sure, Namjoon seems harmless enough, some might even say a little nieve, but that doesn’t mean he really is. He could be lying - he could be dangerous - and whilst your gut tells you otherwise, your gut has been known to be wrong before.

It all feels like too much to think about right now, so you focus instead on arranging the sofa cushions and blankets for his makeshift bed as comfortably as you can. Whatever Namjoon may turn out to be, he’s certainly going to be too tall for this sofa to be any kind of permanent solution, that’s for sure.

How long is he even going to end up staying? It’s not as though he can go out into the world looking like-

“Can I be of any help?” You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Namjoon’s voice, mouth popping open as you abruptly straighten up to see him standing by the arm of the sofa, watching you.

“No, no it’s ok. All done,” you say, distracting yourself from the sight of your ex’s joggers hanging so low across Namjoon’s hips by patting a pillow into place.

You really, really should’ve given him one of your t-shirts to wear. Even if it didn’t quite fit, a crop top would still be better than Namjoon completely topless - too innocent to even think of attempting to cover himself up.

Perhaps dryads are asexual? You’ll have to list that to the long list of questions you already have but for now, your head still feels too muzzy from everything that’s happened today for you to want to add to it even more.

Namjoon softly says your name, drawing your attention.

“Thank you. I’ve always known you were kind, even as a child, but I still worried-”

“No, no, don’t be silly,” you interrupt, too flustered by what he’s already said to allow him to continue with such generous praise. “If you change your mind about being hungry, please just help yourself.”

“Thank you,” he nods. You have a sneaking suspicion he’s holding himself back from starting to gush again from the way he licks his lips when they close, smiling when you do.

“Goodnight then,” you say, stepping away from the sofa to allow him to sit. He bounces once or twice to test it out.

“Goodnight. Dream sweetly,” he bids you, calling out as you disappear down the hallway, and, just as he so wished, you do.

You dream of warmth and sunshine dappled through branches; the smell of grass and eyes just as green. You dream of the smell of blossoms and crisp red apples, juice so sweet. The images and sensations are so lovely - so very different from the ones that had plagued you the previous night - that you fight against the light that pours into your room past the curtains you’d forgotten to close, unwilling to wake and leave them behind any sooner than absolutely necessary. Eventually, you stumble from your bedroom and out into the living room, rubbing sleepily at your eyes; nearly screaming when you open them and see an arm dangling over the edge of your sofa.

But then it all comes flooding back; last night, your tree - Namjoon. You’d half expected to wake up and discover that it was all just a dream, but no, here he is, still fast asleep in a position that can’t be anywhere near comfortable: one leg hooked over the back of the sofa and his neck cricked to the side. His full lips are slightly parted with the weight of the breaths he takes, his bare chest rising and falling steadily having long since lost the blanket you’d given him onto the floor.

You feel like a creep for staring, but honestly, you don’t feel like anyone could really blame you. It’d be bad enough if Namjoon’s appearance was just intriguing (and he is, of course, no doubt) but to be so handsome as well? What right-minded person wouldn’t want to look?

Still, you tear yourself away in the end. You have an earlier shift to get to today, and you haven’t forgotten what you said about finding Namjoon some clothes. With a busy day ahead, you move about your flat getting ready as quietly as you can so as not to disturb your unusual guest, only allowing yourself another long look once you’re ready to go and leaving him a note to explain your absence and asking him to please stay put.

You’re not sure what the neighbours would make of a topless man with green skin roaming the halls, given that Mrs Taylor downstairs already tried to call the landlord on you once for daring to venture out to fetch your post in just your dressing gown.

Your shifts tend to drag most days, really, but today’s seems particularly stubborn. You spend most of the time worrying what Namjoon is getting up to; if he’s woken up yet, if he’s eaten or if he’s listened to your advice. You presume he must’ve, seeing as you haven’t heard any breaking news on the radio about aliens or demons or such like. You get through it, though - avoiding all the questions your colleagues throw at you about why you’re so distracted - and before you know it you’re already on your way home with paper bags stuffed full of clothes slung across each of your arms.

You hope he likes the things you’ve chosen. It’s kind of hard guessing the fashion sense of someone that likely doesn’t even have any concept of the word.

It’s strangely quiet on the other side of the door when you come to unlock it - so much so that you find yourself bracing yourself for trouble as you push it open with your hip, lacking the free hands with which to do it.

“Namjoon?” you call out as you push it closed again in the same way, leaning against it till it clicks.

“Welcome home.” You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear his voice, all the tension fading from your shoulders when you see him sat there on the sofa with that sweet, dimpled smile on his face. He rises when he sees all bags you’re carrying; chivalrously taking them and placing them down on the glass top of your coffee table at your instruction. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks, sinking back down into the sofa cushions as you do the same, letting your handbag slip from your shoulder and onto the floor.

It’s a little disconcerting to come home and have someone ask you about your day, and sound so genuine in doing so. It’s sad, too, that it even strikes you as so unusual, and not for the first time you find yourself thinking that you really should get out more and meet some other adults worth talking to.

“Good. Kinda busy, but good,” you reply, reaching for the nearest bag and pulling it onto your lap in eagerness to show him what you’ve bought. “I got you some things.” Namjoon tilts his head in curiosity, the gesture so cute you can’t help but smile as you pull out the first thing your hands land on - a soft brown hoodie that you place into his waiting lap. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you explain as he holds it up to look at it properly, feeling the texture of the material between his fingers.

Wait….

Fingers?

It’s a good job Namjoon is otherwise preoccupied or else he might notice your dumbfounded expression as you stare at his delicate fingers; no longer thin and willow wispy but fully-formed digits just like yours. Surely you hadn’t imagined them as they’d appeared last night? But if you hadn’t, when had this sudden change come about?

Your eyes scan the rest of him, searching for anything else that might be different, but as far as you can tell everything else remains unchanged; the colour of his skin, the point of his ears, the flowers in his hair. You mean to ask him about it but before you can Namjoon is looking eagerly to the bag on your lap, leaning into your personal space to try and peer inside.

How is it that he smells so good? It’s not as though there’s any aftershave lying about that he could’ve used, which must mean this sweet, floral scent is all his own. It’s addictive, even if not the kind of masculine aroma you would expect.

“There’s more?” he prompts, giving you a quizzical look when you startle for apparently no reason.

“Lots more!” you enthuse with a nervous titter, pulling open the bag to better let him see.

One item at a time, you show him everything you purchased, smiling with pleasure at how enthused he seems with each and every piece. “Why don’t you go try some on?” you suggest once both his lap and the coffee table are piled high with clothes, helpfully picking out a few pieces that will go together nicely when you notice how overwhelmed he looks. He takes the clothing you give him with a grateful smile and then heads off into the bathroom to change while you clear up, folding everything else away.

It’s only once you’re finished and have a moment to stop and look around that you suddenly come to realise just how untouched your living room looks. The TV stands silent and your books undisturbed; there’s not even any trace of Namjoon having fed himself throughout the day, even when you head into the kitchen just to doubly make sure. There’s no trace of him - no way of guessing that someone else has been here at all.

You hear him tentatively call your name and find him standing anxiously by the entrance to the hall, rubbing at an arm now covered by the sleeve of a long, grey cardigan that fits him just right.

“Don’t you like it?” you ask, mistaking his self-doubt for dislike of the clothing you’ve chosen. Namjoon is quick to shake his head, his hand dropping back down to his side so you’re able to see just how long the sleeves are - so long that they reach almost to the tips of his fingers. It doesn’t look silly, though. Quite the opposite. It looks… cute to see someone as big as Namjoon look kind of small.

“No, I like it all very much,” he assures you, looking down at his torso as he grabs the hem of the white t-shirt underneath and stretches it out. “It just….” He hesitates, pressing his lips together for a moment. “... Is this your kind of style?”

“Of course it is!” Namjoon smiles when you do, his posture relaxing almost immediately at your words of reassurance. “I wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise. You look really great,” you say, the last bit slipping out without you intending it to.

Not that it seems to do any harm, mind. Despite your embarrassment at having so openly admired him, Namjoon seems to grow both in height and pride at your praise, the appearance of his dimples only adding to how flustered you feel.

You swear you’ve never been this much of a blushing mess around any other man in your life. What you said wasn’t even that bad, for Christ’s sake - just one friend complimenting another - but everything to do with Namjoon just feels…. more somehow.

“What did you do all day, anyway?” Eager to change the subject, you turn around and head back towards the kitchen, patting the heat out of your cheeks as you go. “Have you eaten?”

“I woke up, and then I waited for you to come home,” he explains simply as he enters the room behind you, tugging on the ends of his sleeves. It must feel weird for him to wear clothes, you suppose, after so long of not having any.

Opening your fridge, you expect him to elaborate more but when nothing comes you retract your head from inside and fix him with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.

“That’s all? You didn’t do anything?”

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon is quick to assure, “I’m used to just watching and waiting… listening.”

“So you’ve just been staring at four walls the whole time I was gone?!” you exclaim, shutting the fridge door so hard Namjoon flinches, his eyes widening. “If you’re gonna stay here, Namjoon, you can’t just sit around all day waiting for me.”

Although, you’ll admit the thought of him doing so is more than just a little flattering.

“Here, look. You can watch TV,” you say, leading him back into the living room and making a grab for the remote, turning it on. The familiar characters of a soap opera appear on the screen, arguing loudly with one another, and up until you turn around and see Namjoon’s wide-eyed stare, you’d completely forgotten how absolutely alien all of this is to him. “I mean, there are loads of stations,” you hasten to add, quickly flicking through the channels faster than Namjoon can probably even keep up until you finally land on what looks very much like a nature documentary - David Attenborough’s soothing voice playing through your speakers.

Namjoon still doesn’t look too sure, though, flinching back in alarm as the pride of lions on the screen suddenly roar in tandem.

You turn it off, abandoning that idea for now.

“Or you can read,” you offer, grabbing a hold of the sleeve of his cardigan and using it to pull him over to your well-stocked bookcase. You completely miss the wide-eyed way he looks down to where you’re touching him, and the blush that turns the apple green of his cheeks a sweeter shade of pink. “You can read, right?”

“Y-yes,” Namjoon is quick to answer, head bobbing rapidly up and down,

“Then just help yourself, ok? I don’t want you to be bored.” You smile as Namjoon shuffles closer to the bookcase and begins to inspect the different titles, his neck tilting at a 90-degree angle to read their spines. “I can even show you how to use my laptop tonight, if you want,” you offer, though it seems you’ve lost Namjoon to the literary world already, judging by his lack of response.

Perhaps another night, then - though you imagine he’ll become interested sooner or later. If he’s hoping to find others of his kind then you can’t think of any better way to do that than via the internet. It’s not as though you’ve got any books on dryads lying about the place.

You’re still smiling to yourself, watching with affection as Namjoon gingerly pulls out a book from the shelf to hold it reverently in his hands when the sound of bird song finds your ears. From somewhere outside your window, the bird stretches its lungs, and despite already having his nose deep in the book he chose Namjoon is quick to look up, his head turning swiftly in the direction of the sound.

“Parus major,” he murmurs distractedly, abandoning his book back onto the shelf and then walking past you to the narrow french doors that lead onto the small balcony that lies beyond. His nose nearly presses up against the glass as he peers out through the rectangular panes.

“Say what now?” you ask, joining him there and craning your neck to try and see whatever it is that he’s looking at. A bird, you presume, but who the hell knows with a name like that.

“Great tit,” he clarifies, and for a second you could’ve sworn you seriously misheard what he just said, blinking rapidly in surprise until you see what it is he’s now pointing at past the glass. Just a few feet away a little bird is hopping across your balcony rail, chirping in the afternoon sun, and your heart swells when you look back to Namjoon and see the absolute affection with which he watches its every move, a contented smile on his face.

Would it be safe to allow him just a few moments outside? It might risk him being seen, but then it’s only the communal backyard that your balcony overlooks, and it’s not as though you’ve ever noticed anyone out there whenever you’re ventured out before…

“Here,” you say, gently nudging him aside so you’re able to unlock the doors and swing them open wide. A breeze enters the room, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass, and you inhale deeply as both you and Namjoon step out onto the little balcony. Unfortunately, your arrival frightens off the bird, but your companion doesn’t seem to mind. He just looks happy to be outdoors again - a blissful smile on his face as the wind ruffles the petals amongst his hair that somehow never scatter.

“You have a garden!” he enthuses, having soon spotted the little planting box hooked over the far side of the railing. He leans over to get a better look at it, and you try your best not to feel too embarrassed by the sorry state of what flowers remain inside, half-dead and holey with insect bites. Now that summer is on its way you’ve been meaning to dig them up and re-plant it, but somehow you’ve never quite found the time.

“It’s nothing special,” you dismiss, “But you can come out here more often if you want. Just make sure no one sees you.” Namjoon smiles warmly, pleased by the idea.

“I’d like that,” he says softly, gazing down at you from his far greater height. The colour of his eyes may be somewhat unnatural - too bright and startling a green for any human - but that certainly doesn’t make them unpleasant to look at. You’re certain you feel your stomach lurch with girlish glee as his smile grows all the wider when you bashfully smile back, fiddling with the buttons of your work blouse.

It’s strange, the way Namjoon looks at you. You’ve known him all of a day and yet he regards you with the same easy affection you imagine one would a life-long friend, and you suppose, on some level, you are as far as he’s concerned. It’s both a little unnerving and yet wonderful all at once, and you find yourself hoping, as you gaze back up at the serene expression on his face, that over time you might get to know him in the same way he seems to know you.

“Namjoon,” you begin, meaning to make a start on all your questions until his stomach loudly rumbling derails your train of thought. Frowning, you remember how obvious it was that Namjoon hadn’t eaten whilst you were gone and quickly decide that this needs to be put right. “You have to promise me you’ll still look after yourself when I’m not here,” you tell him in a mildly scolding tone, trying to ignore how utterly adorable he looks whilst so utterly bewildered by the sound his stomach just made. “You’ll make me feel like a bad host, otherwise.” And, just as you’d predicted, Namjoon’s sense of politeness kicks in, his expression turning sheepish as you lead him back inside.

“I’ll make sure I do from now on,” he promises, his whole demeanour brightening when you smile, cocking your head to the side.

“So, what do you fancy?”

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** Turns out, Namjoon’s favourite thing to eat is… apples.

You’re not sure how to feel about that at first, given how close to cannibalism it sounds that a man who was once a tree bearing the very same fruit seems to enjoy devouring them so much, but you figure there’s enough strangeness going on in your life right now for you to fixate on Namjoon’s eating habits as well.

At least he’s made good on his promise to eat regular meals whilst you’re at work. Granted, it’s never much more than a sandwich here or there, but he always eats well when it comes to the dinners you cook, wolfing them down with plenty of thanks.

He’s started to make himself more comfortable in your home, too, over the past week; keeping himself occupied by slowly making his way through the entirety of your bookcase - book by book, cover to cover. Every day it seems as though you come home to more and more of them piled up on your coffee table or your kitchen counter, but you can’t say you mind the mess. It’s nice that the place feels more lived-in now; all the more homely for having Namjoon in it.

And when he’s done with all your books, having devoured every word with record speed, he finally accepts your offer to help him find his way onto the world wide web. He seems intimidated by it, at first; even warier of your little laptop than he had been of the television in the beginning, prodding at the keys so gingerly you can barely even hear them tip-tap as he types. His full lips press together in concentration as you explain to him how it all works, brows furrowed, but he takes to it all with surprising ease - his eyes filling with wonderment when you introduce him to Google and all the information suddenly right there at his fingertips.

Every day when you come home he’ll have something new to tell you - some random factoid that you may or may not already know. Not that you mind either way, of course. Coming home to the sight of Namjoon leaping off the sofa with excitement to come to greet you has become one of your most favourite parts of the day, his whole body positively vibrating from being so full to the brim of things he just has to share. He’ll take your hands in his and drag you over to the sofa to come to look at all he’s found, and you’ll try your best to not let it show how much even that briefest of touches affects you, willing your face to cool as he shows you art, music - anything and everything.

Never does he say anything of home, though. He never gives any kind of indication that he’s been looking into his origins or his kin and… maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but you’re happy to never go pushing the matter either. You tell yourself that it’s because it’s not your place - that you’re just not mentioning it because you wouldn’t want to make him feel at all unwelcome, or under pressure to leave - but deep down you know it’s more than that.

Even in this short space of time, you’ve grown alarmingly fond of Namjoon and the constant companionship he provides. With him in your life, you haven’t felt the need to grieve the loss of your tree and all the memories that went with it, because Namjoon remembers every one of them too. He knows all about your family, your childhood friends and all the mischief you got up to, recalling some memories so old that you’d forgotten yourself until he reminds you of them, his eyes sparkling with glee as yours do the same with happy tears on more than just one occasion as the days go by.

You don’t want him to leave, and though you daren’t ask for his opinion, you only hope that he feels the same.

Besides, it’s not just you that would mourn his loss about the place. You’re sure your plants would, too, given how magnificently they’ve grown during the time he’s been here; foliage so thick and lush that it’s as though the winter never happened. It’s not as if he spends every moment tending to them, mind It’s just a dryad thing, or so he says. His touch and voice invigorate them - breathe new life into stems once wilted - and you can’t help but find yourself drawing comparisons between both your life and that of your flowers. With Namjoon around, you bloom.

That’s not to say he’s without any flaws, though. He’s a little messy, sometimes. A little forgetful. He can’t cook for shit, either, which is a lesson you learn one afternoon when you come home to the smell of burnt pastry and a living room full of smoke. You find him in the kitchen, coughing as he frantically turns knobs on the stove, and once you’ve thrown all the windows open and cleared the air enough for him to be able to speak, he confesses with much embarrassment what it is he’d been trying - and failing - to do.

He’d found a recipe for a rustic apple pie online, he says, and he’d wanted so desperately to surprise you with it when you came home. Namjoon looks so bereft at the charred lump of… something that you pull out of the oven, that you only wish there was a tiny crumb of it that wasn’t burnt to cinders so that you could at least pretend to enjoy it, if only to make him smile. Instead, you end up promising to make another one in his stead just as soon as you’re able to, and that seems to cheer him up plenty, all woes forgotten as he smiles so sweetly that it has your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

Not that that’s something so unusual, these days. It seems like every time you look at him your body has something to say about it, and the more time it goes on the harder that physical reaction becomes to ignore - especially as his appearance has continued to change. First, it was the fingers, but not too long after that, you’d noticed that the points of his ears had started to round, too. It’d taken several days, but they look no dissimilar to yours, now, and not only that but his skin has completely lost the green tinge it once had.

When you ask him about it, he tells you that it’s a natural thing that happens when dryads are away from their trees for too long; a defence mechanism, if you will, to allow them to blend in. And if it weren’t for the flowers in his hair, Namjoon would blend in just fine, just as human-looking as any other person on the street.

“You wanna go out for a bit?” you ask late the one night, turning your attention from the TV to Namjoon sat beside you, absorbed in his latest online purchase - a paperback copy of ‘Me Before You’.

You’d warned him that that particular piece of fiction was very different from the others you’d seen him enjoy before, but Namjoon hadn’t been deterred. It seems like he might have a little bit of a romantic side, it turns out, and that makes it all the harder for you not to swoon as you watch him slowly turn the pages, deep in concentration.

You wonder if he’d hold you as tenderly as he does his books if you were in his arms? Or if he’d treat you with such care as -

You stop that dangerous line of thought right there, giving your head a little shake to clear it away before you burst into flame at the mental images that invade your head.

“Joon,” you call again, realising he hadn’t heard you, and at the sound of his newly found nickname, Namjoon’s head finally rises from the page, blinking owlishly back at you.

“Sorry?” he asks, his voice husky from having not said a word in almost over an hour.

“Do you wanna go out?” you repeat patiently, smiling at the way his jaw slightly drops in response.

“Out?” he echoes, turning to look at the windows despite it already being dark outside. You suppose the notion of leaving the house might be a little daunting after having been stuck inside for all this time, but now that he no longer looks so different you think it’d be good to get him out a little - to introduce him to some more of the modern world through more than just a screen.

“Yeah. It’s a nice night, I thought maybe we could go for a walk.” Without giving him a chance to reply, you turn off the TV and get up to start getting ready, leaving what you hope is very little room for argument on his part.

“But… my hair.” Despite his hesitation, Namjoon still closes his book and rises just the same, though not without first glancing at his page number. He doesn’t need a bookmark; absentminded when it comes to almost everything other than such tiny little details.

“You’ve got a hat, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling on your light jacket where it hangs by the door. Without any further argument, Namjoon makes his way into your tiny spare room (which is more of a cupboard, really) to retrieve his beanie from the spare set of drawers you’d assigned as his own.

He’s pulling it on as he walks back in, and without thinking, you reach up to adjust it as he comes to stand in front of you, within tippytoes reach. He’s never worn it before, but all this time you’ve had a sneaking suspicion it would suit him. Looking up at him now, as you straighten it out, you see it most certainly does. It draws attention to the sculpted lines of his face and accentuates his eyes - the eyes that are held wide at the familiarity with which you’re touching him; something that’s been happening more and more often just lately.

“See? You’d never know,” you say quickly, pulling away as you realise what it is you’re doing, looking away and then down at the floor. Knowing how closely he’s watching, you pull yourself together and smile as you grab your keys, jingling them in your hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

It doesn’t take you long for the two of you to walk to where it was you’d hand in mind when suggesting your outing. Living in an inner-city area, there’s not exactly an abundance of nature to be found (especially now the park has been torn down), but there is a pretty decent river that cuts right through the centre not too far of a distance away. Lined by pavements each side, benches dot along its banks at regular intervals, and you’ve spent many a night before Namjoon’s arrival walking these concrete paths when sleep hasn’t come so easy.

The two of you do the same, now, in companionable silence, but you don’t mind the quiet. You can tell from the look on Namjoon’s face that he’s enjoying himself - taking every little bit of it in - and that’s enough for you, even if he doesn’t particularly say much. You find a nice spot for you to sit, and as you watch the way the water ripples with the reflection of the moon up above, you realise that this is the first time you’ve ever had a relationship like this; one so comfortable and familiar that you needn’t say a word.

All your life you’ve been told you were a chatterbox - too assertive, too loud, too bossy - but… not with Namjoon. With him, there’s no need to be. Most of the time he already seems to know what you’re thinking before you’ve said it out loud anyway, so what need is there to shout?

Dragging away your gaze from his moonlit face, it drifts down to focus on where your hand is resting on the bench, palm pressed flat to the wood. Beside it lays Namjoon’s, his pinky barely an inch away from yours; so close that all it would take would be for you to stretch out your fingers for them to touch, and god, you so, so want to. It’s an urge so strong you barely have the words to describe the way it feels; a physical ache in your chest; a pang of longing that comes in wave upon wave whenever the two of you are alone.

Another glance at Namjoon shows him gazing up at the stars without a care in the world - with no clue of what you’re thinking. It makes you sigh, frustrated with yourself for indulging these feelings and allowing them to grow, and though you’re sure it was only a quiet one Namjoon picks up on it nonetheless. He rounds his attention on you, concerned.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, and of course, your first response is to plaster a smile on your face and deflect rather than address what’s bothering you - what’s been on your mind for every waking moment over the last few days.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” The lie rolls easily off your tongue and Namjoon shows no sign of disbelieving you, smiling back and then lifting his chin to look back up at the sky. Namjoon may be smart but he’s also very trusting - too trusting - and part of you worries that other people may take advantage of that if they get the chance. It’s just another thing that makes you want to cling to him all the more; protect him in a way that might seem absurd considering his stature.

This is no good, feeling this way. Namjoon has never shown anything more toward you than a friendly interest, and you know it’s not right for you to want to covet him or keep him away from his kin. You need to get over this. Push past it. Because above all else, you want Namjoon to be happy. Even if that means that it’s somewhere else, somewhere not with you.

“Have you managed to find out anything about any other dryads?” you ask, taking the plunge. Namjoon seems mildly surprised by your question, his eyebrows rising as he looks at you and then very quickly looks away, focusing on something else across the water.

“Not really,” he answers after a moment of silence. “There’s a lot of stuff online but most of it is pure myth and speculation. Nothing useful.” You feel both guilty and glad on hearing that; glad that it sounds as though he’s not about to leave any time soon, but guilty for even feeling that way at all. “I can’t imagine many others like me would even know how to go about making contact through the internet.” Namjoon smiles ruefully, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs to brace his chin in his hands.

“What about your parents? Don’t you know where they might be… planted?” God, this sounds ridiculous.

Namjoon shakes his head.

“Dryad’s don’t have families, in the traditional sense of the word. We’re born as saplings rather than conceived.” The wind blows and Namjoon adjusts his beanie, pulling it down further over his ears against the cold. “Back when this whole area was all woodland there would’ve been a community here where dryad would’ve been able to walk freely, but…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders as he straightens up and sighs, leaning back against the bench.

“Do you miss them?” It must be so lonely, you think, to exist for so long as Namjoon has with no family or friends to speak of.

“You can’t really miss someone you’ve never met or something you’ve never had,” he answers, and though you expect him to sound sad you’re pleased that he doesn’t. He sounds more thoughtful if anything. Philosophical. It suits him. “Those sort of communes were long before my time.”

“No, I guess you’re right.” Namjoon turns to look at you thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You scoff a laugh and his smile grows as he tugs on the sleeves of his hoodie to pull them further down, waiting for your answer.

“You mean back when I thought you were some crazy, naked homeless guy?” you tease and now it’s Namjoon’s turn to laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t mean then,” he says, “I mean right back at the beginning when you were still just a child.”

“That was a pretty long time ago,” you chuckle awkwardly, rubbing at your arm. It always makes you feel a little strange whenever you get reminded of just how long Namjoon and you have known each other. Technically, Namjoon’s been around for almost a whole century longer than you have, and even though the two of you look more or less the same age, part of you wonders whether Namjoon still sees you as the little girl you once were.

God, you hope not.

“It was, but I still remember it just like it was yesterday,” he smiles, oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts inside your head. “You were so brave, marching over to defend me the way you did.” You feel yourself blush at his praise, looking away as you dismissively shrug your shoulders.

“Those boys should’ve never had a knife in the first place.”

“I never got the chance to thank you, back then.” You nearly jump when you suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand come to rest on top of your own, ever so tentatively, and when you quickly look up you see him gazing down at where his skin is touching yours, swallowing thickly. He looks nervous when he meets your eyes again, but when you make no move to pull away you feel him relax ever so slightly, the weight of his hand increasing. “But I was - am - very thankful.”

His hand feels so warm on top of yours that you can barely think straight, staring dumbly back at him as he continues,

“You looked at my tree and it felt like you saw me, not just a bunch of branches. I knew you were different from all the other humans, then. You were special.” You feel a lump in your throat and try your best to swallow it rather than burst into tears as your body is willing you to do. It’s overwhelming to find out that in that same moment that you had realised that that tree was so special, Namjoon had been deciding the very same thing about you.

You shudder as his thumb passes over the back of your hand, body tingling at the lightest touch. You’re just about to speak - about to confess just how special he is to you too - but unfortunately, Namjoon is all too quick to let go of your hand, assuming your quiver to be down to the cold rather than the anticipation coursing through you.

The moment is lost, the courage you’d gathered up blown away by the next gust of wind.

“We should get home,” he says with a frown of concern, rising from his seat.

“O-ok,” you reply dumbly, still a little lost for words. Even getting to your feet is slow, both your body and brain lagging behind as you try to process what just happened.

You knew you’d been developing feelings for Namjoon but even you were caught off guard just now by how badly you wanted to kiss him.

Oh, this is bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad.

Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t seem to realise how distracted you are as you make your way home through the empty streets. He prattles on happily about a documentary he watched recently, though if anyone asked you afterwards you wouldn’t be able to tell them what on earth it was about, so poorly are you listening. You’re too busy trying to ignore the urge to reach and take back his hand as you walk beside him, your fingers twitching with the want to thread them between his.

You’re reluctant to leave his side even once you get home, though you know that some space to clear your head would probably do you good. It’s getting far too late now for there to be any legitimate reason for you to stay up any longer, yet you linger around the living room searching for an excuse anyway as Namjoon makes himself a cup of Chamomile tea to drink before bed, accepting when he offers you a cup to you, too.

“Aren’t you going to sleep yet?” you ask as he sits down on the sofa with the beverage in hand, already having stripped off his thick hoodie and jeans to lounge in t-shirt and shorts instead.

“I was just going to read a little more first,” he replies, picking up his book from the coffee table and nearly sloshing his tea all over himself in the process, narrowly avoiding disaster.

“Oh, ok.” Holding your mug in both hands, you linger by the side of the sofa, eyeing up the cushion next to him. You take a deep breath. “Is it any good?” He looks up, blinking in befuddlement. “Your book,” you explain further, smiling shyly.

“Oh. Um, yes, very.” Namjoon turns it over in his hand, glancing at the cover. “The main character is quite-”

“Wouldyoureadtome?” you blurt out and once more Namjoon is left rapidly blinking, trying to work out what the hell you just said. Taking another deep breath, you gingerly come to sit beside him. “Would you read to me?” you repeat, and this time you know you’re definitely not imagining the blush that fills Namjoon’s cheeks as you ever so carefully shift closer so that your shoulder is touching his arm.

“O-of course,” he agrees, taking a rather large sip of tea before he re-opens the book and makes a start on the first passage.

His words are a little clumsy at the first - nervous at having you listen so attentively, you think - but before long Namjoon settles into a steady, soothing rhythm. If you’re honest, you’re not really listening to the words he’s saying as you slowly finish your tea. You’re just enjoying the deep timbre of his voice instead, relishing in the way you can feel it reverberate from his body into yours where your shoulders touch and luxuriating in this rare moment of closeness the two of you share.

A few pages in you become vaguely aware of your eyelids beginning to droop, but you’re too drowsy, too warm and too comfortable to give it much care. You allow yourself to be lulled by Namjoon’s voice till you’re breathing starts to slow and your grip on your mug loosens, only to be momentarily awoken by the feel of it being gently taken out of your hands and placed elsewhere. Half-asleep, your body moves of its own accord in seek of comfort, not even really aware that it’s Namjoon’s arm that your head has chosen as its pillow or the fabric of his shirt your hand has chosen to fist.

It’s not until the next morning when you wake that you realise any of it at all, your eyes slowly opening to find yourself curled up against his chest with your legs drawn up onto the sofa, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders despite Namjoon having none at all. It’s a wonderful way to wake up but it still startles you none the less, and your body goes rigid for a second as you try to piece together the fragments of last night’s memory whilst trying your best not to wake him.

The sight of your mugs on the table and Namjoon’s book rested between them brings it all back quickly enough, and your cheeks blaze with embarrassment as you realise what happened must’ve happened. Poor Namjoon. You can only hope he wasn’t too mortified by you lolling yourself all over him, or that it wasn’t just out of politeness that he neglected to wake you up and cart you off to your bed for the night.

You feel his body shift as he takes a deep inhale and then softly sighs, biting your lip as you wonder what on earth to say if he would wake up. But then he fidgets again, hips shifting side to side, and you suddenly become aware that it’s not just a blanket wrapped around you but his arm, too, holding you in his sleep.

The realisation makes you feel giddy - fills you to the brim with girlish glee - and you’re not biting your lip from nervousness anymore but rather to keep yourself from smiling too hard or squealing your excitement into his chest. A chest that’s more solid than you had ever anticipated it to be, and a stomach so firm that the feel of it under your fingertips has your pulse quickening and your chest tightening with need.

It’s been a long time for you, and being this close to Namjoon is doing nothing douse the flames of desire that have been gradually gaining heat as the days have gone by.

Decisive action is what’s needed - right now, before you have the chance to do anything more stupid - so as much as you don’t want to, you pry yourself away from Namjoon’s warmth and comfort. You do so slowly so as not to disturb him, and for the most part, you’re successful, only rousing him slightly when you bang your shin on the edge of the coffee table and have to muffle a squeal of pain as you hop and stumble your way out of the room and into your own.

The clock on your bedside table tells you it’s only 5 am - not a time that any decent human being should be awake on a Saturday, in your opinion - so you gratefully climb back under your own covers to nurse your wound and try to get some more sleep. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come quite so easily as it did when you were snuggled up with Namjoon, and you spend a good amount of time just lying there with your eyes closed, daydreaming what it’d be like to have him right there next to you; to be held tight in his big, strong arms.

You do drift off again, eventually, only to wake a few hours later to the sound of Namjoon humming to himself in the next room. It brings a smile to your face immediately, and it stays with you as you ready yourself for the day; showering, primping and preening. You don’t try to fool yourself into thinking that it’s anything other than last night’s developments between you and Namjoon that have put you in such a good mood, even if you don’t quite know how to proceed from here on out. You’re not even certain his actions were conscious ones - he could just be a cuddly sleeper, that’s all.

As with most things, you figure you’ll just work things out as you go along. Life never seems to go to plan whenever you make one, anyway.

Dressed in one of your favourite outfits, you’re positively beaming by the time you emerge into the living room and announce that today is the day you’ll attempt Namjoon’s long-awaited apple pie. He’s excited, of course - even more so when you invite to come into town with you to fetch all the ingredients you might need. It seems your little outing last night has ignited his curiosity for the outside world, and he showers and dresses in record speed as you help yourself to breakfast, eager for the day ahead.

Having made sure his hair is sufficiently covered by the baseball cap of yours that he borrows, the two of you head out for what ends up being a far longer trip than you’d intended it to be. You just hadn’t been able to help yourself when you’d seen the excitement written all over Namjoon’s face as you’d walked the crowded streets, and before you knew it the two of you had ended up foraging in bookstores and boutique, eating lunch together in the sun and touring around the local art gallery.

It isn’t actually until late in the afternoon that you finally manage to drag him to the supermarket to fetch the supplies you need for the pie, and even then he gets waylaid in the gardening section, somehow talking you into buying a bird box for your balcony and what is surely a vastly overpriced bag of seed.

Still, it makes him happy so you're happy too, your cheeks aching from all the incessant smiling you’ve been doing by the time you get home. You start baking right away despite how exhausted you are from traipsing around the city for hours on end, knowing how much Namjoon has been looking forward to it to want to delay things any further. It’ll be the perfect end to the perfect day - as long as you get the recipe right, of course.

Namjoon is quick to offer his help but you gently turn him down, fearful that this pie will end up just as inedible as the last one should he get his hands on it. He finds things to keep himself busy, though, using the last of the day’s remaining light to tend to his little garden and attach the new bird box onto the red-bricked wall of your building outside.

It’s actually a fairly straightforward recipe, and aside from one near-miss where you’d almost added nutmeg to the mix rather than cinnamon, you don’t encounter any other issues. You can hear the TV playing in the living room as you put the pie in the oven so you assume that Namjoon is watching the crime drama he seems to have developed a little bit of an obsession with just lately. If it weren’t so good you might regret ever introducing him to Netflix, but you’re rather looking forward to settling down and passing the time it takes for the pie to bake watching it with him, even though you know you’ll spend the whole time wishing you were snuggled up against his side.

It turns out, however, that Namjoon isn’t quite so fixated on the television as you’d thought he would be when you enter the room. He’s looking down at something on his lap instead, and when you come to sit down next to him you realise it’s one of your photo albums he’s slowly making his way through, smiling with each page that he turns.

“Where’d you find that?” you ask, your cheeks already flushing with embarrassment thanks to the childhood photographs that lie within, a lot of which you’d rather Namjoon not see.

“Your bookcase,” Namjoon answers without taking his eyes off the page, and you could kick yourself for not thinking to stash it away before he inevitably came across it during his search for fresh material to read. He points at a picture in the bottom left that shows a very sulky very of your childhood self pouting at the camera, arms folded. “I remember you hated that dress,” he grins, “But you still cried your eyes out when it ripped.”

As clear as day the memory comes flooding back; all your frustration at the stupid Sunday dress your mother had dressed you in that morning and the dread that’d filled you when it’d caught on one the branches you’d been climbing and torn beyond repair.

“Only because I knew I’d get in trouble!” you exclaim in indignance, confused as to why Namjoon’s started laughing until you look down and realise you’ve got your arms folded across your chest in the very same way as they are in the picture - the very same pout on your face. You uncross them quickly, narrowing your eyes in a glare that Namjoon pointedly ignores as he turns the page again.

“Who’re these people?” he asks curiously, pointing at a large family photo of your mother’s side. It’s the perfect excuse to shuffle closer so you do just that as you begin to explain, pointing at each face in turn, and even once you’re done you don’t think to move away, enjoying each and every brush of your arms or knock of his thigh against yours.

As Namjoon makes his way through the photo album you helpfully identify each person that he asks about, surprised and ever so slightly in awe of the fact he already knows and can name so many without any hints from you at all. How is it he can seemingly remember every single person that’s ever been important to you, and yet never to remember to put the toilet seat down?

“And that’s one of my ex-boyfriends, Brandon,” you explain, grimacing at the sight of him. You should’ve removed that photo years ago, really, but until now you’d pretty much forgotten you even had this album, let alone thought about rearranging it.

Oh well, no time like the present.

You go to peel back the protective plastic covering to take it out, but much to your surprise Namjoon shifts the album out of reach before you can even touch the cover. Eyes narrowed, he glares down at the page.

“Yes, I remember that boy.” You’ve never heard Namjoon’s voice sound so cold, confused by the venomous look he’s wearing. “I didn’t like him,” he states, “At all. I was glad when he stopped coming to the park, even though it made you cry.”

Namjoon…. didn’t like him? Well, he can join the club. It hadn’t taken you long to realise what a douchebag Brandon was, despite the rest of the school acting as though the sun shone out of his arse.

Namjoon’s about to speak when suddenly the timer goes off in the kitchen and you leap to your feet, telling him to ‘hold that thought’ as you run from the room. Pulling open the oven you’re greeted by the delicious smell of perfectly golden pastry, and you beam with pride as you take out your masterpiece and dish up two equal slices for you and Namjoon. It’ll be far too hot to eat yet, of course, but the pouring cream you fetch from the fridge should help with that, barely able to contain your excitement as you near run back into the living room with dishes in hand.

“It looks so gooooood!” you enthuse as you plonk back down into the sofa and thrust Namjoon’s portion into his now empty hands, photo album discarded atop the coffee table. Mouth already watering in anticipation, you pour a generous helping of cream onto your slice and then offer the same to Namjoon.

“It really does.”

And then suddenly another memory hits you mid-pour - the memory of a time when Brandon had stropped off in a huff because you’d dared laugh when an apple had fallen off the tree and hit him straight between the eyes. It’d just seemed unlucky at the time, but now having heard what Namjoon just said…

“Joon,” you begin, frowning slightly as you put the cream back down, pausing to lick the drip that’d spilt off of the end of your finger. “Did you… were you the one that made that apple hit Brandon right in the face?”

Namjoon’s body freezes, his pie-laden spoon hovering in mid-air as it stops halfway to his mouth, eyes widening.

“U-uh…” he stammers, not quite meeting your gaze. It’s not as though he needs to say anything. His guilty expression already tells you everything you need to know. “M-maybe….” It’s almost as though he’s frightened you’ll be mad, but when you start giggle Namjoon visibly relaxes, flashing a sheepish smile.

“Why would you do that?”

“I told you, I didn’t like him,” he says, elaborating further when your eyebrows rise questioningly. “I saw how rough he was with you. How pushy he was, always trying to make you… do stuff.” Namjoon’s cheeks colour with a blush as he looks away, swallowing, and you’re thankful that he does, given how drastically your cheeks redden too. The thought of Namjoon having been witness to all of the pressure Brandon placed on you to do things you weren’t yet ready for - intimate things - makes your whole body cringe with embarrassment.

In fact, you’re sure that that time Brandon had gotten pelted with apples he’d been trying to put the moves on you, and by ‘the moves’ you mean slobbering all over your neck and trying to worm his hand down the front of your jeans. You remember how upset you’d been back then, but now you look back on it Namjoon did you a favour by getting rid of Brandon sooner rather than later.

“Well, thank you for defending me.” You smile shyly as Namjoon does the same, your slices of pie long forgotten as they cool atop the coffee table. “My hero,” you joke and Namjoon laughs self consciously, rubbing the palms of his hands together.

“It’s the least I could do after everything you did for me.”

The two of you fall silent for a second as you do nothing but look back at one another, sat close enough that you can feel it when Namjoon takes a deep breath and then abruptly looks away, breaking eye contact.

“This really does look good,” he comments, reaching out to pick up his bowl only to fall deathly still the moment your hand touches his arm. Stunned by the unexpected contact he turns to look at you, and as your eyes meet you’re forced to swallow with the swell of emotion that suddenly fills you.

You’ve never felt like this before. Never felt like your heart might burst unless you let all the affection and tenderness and… and love held inside of it pour out. You have to tell him. Just you have to now that you realise just how deep your feelings go - how desperately you’re falling in love with his man.

“You know last night, what you said about realising I was special?” you start, trying to ignore the way your voice is slightly wavering as you speak. Your hand is still on his arm but you can’t seem to make yourself let go. If anything your grip only tightens as you force yourself to look up from the floor, hips twisting on the sofa to better face him.

Namjoon nods, and when his hand comes to rest on top of yours your swear you feel your tummy flip a whole 360 degrees. “Well, I just wanted you to know that it was the same for me. I care a lot about you…”

A bright smile lights up Namjoon’s face, his dimples deeper than ever.

“A-and,” you continue, knowing if you let yourself stop now then you’ll never say it right, “You’re important to me… even more now that I’ve met you. Really important.” Tentatively, you turn your hand over and thread your fingers between Namjoon’s, laughing lightly at the dumbstruck way he looks down at your conjoined hands and then squeezes back, bringing them into his lap then placing his other hand over the top, too.

“I am?” he asks, beaming, and with just as stupidly wide of a smile on your face you gleefully nod. Namjoon lets out a little incredulous laugh, looking down at his lap, and before you know it you’re reaching out and touching his face, lifting his chin and letting your fingers wander up into his hair to gently touch the blossoms within.

Who would’ve known, all those years ago, that sight of the very same blossoms that’d drifted to the floor all around you back then, would inspire such strong feelings in you now? Who would’ve known that for all these years you’ve been searching for love it’s been waiting for you, right outside your window?

Namjoon softly says your name, pulling you back to the present, and it’s only now that you realise he’s reached out and is touching you too, his long fingers running through your hair. He shuffles even closer, your thighs pressing as he leans in, and you feel pulse begin to bound as he looks to your lips, licking his own.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a little breathless and joyfully, you nod.

Yours and Namjoon’s first kiss is nothing like the kind you see in the movies. Neither of you surges forward in some passionate clashing of teeth and tongues, grabbing at each other’s clothes. It’s a much gentler affair than that; a slow slide of Namjoon’s palm to cradle your cheek as he closes the space between you, neither one daring to breathe until after your lips have finally met - a tentative press, testing the waters.

His lips are softer you’d even imagined they would be, light-headed and giddy even after such chasteness.

“Can I kiss you again?” He’s definitely breathless this time and, try as you may, you can’t contain the laugh that escapes you then, disarmed by how sweet he is to keep asking. Overflowing with affection, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders, claiming back what space he’d put between you when you’d laughed and he’d pulled away.

“You don’t have to ask me every time,” you giggle against his lips, thrilled by the feel of Namjoon’s arms curling around your waist to draw you closer.

“Ok,” he grins, his lips still smiling when you kiss him again - a little harder this time, a little more bravely.

He’s a better kisser than you expected he might be, given your assumption that this might be the first time he’s ever done it. He follows your lead, never asking for more; each brush of your lips entirely innocent until you decide to take it further, leaning your body into his as you encourage him to let you in with a teasing swipe of your tongue. And even when he does and your kiss deepens, not one moment of it is rushed. Every touch is gentle - the caress of his hands as they slip under the hem of your shirt nothing short of reverent.

It’s been years since anyone has taken their time with you like this. Usually, it’s all greedy, grabby hands and the bare essentials of foreplay, but with Namjoon it’s all too easy to lose track of time. You kiss for what feels like hours - like teenagers who know don’t know any better - until you can no longer ignore just how greatly his touch has affected you; warm, wet and aching between your legs.

Taking his hands you briefly pull away, smiling as you stand from the sofa only to climb back on but astride his lap this time.

“Is this ok?” you check, placing his hands on your hips as you lower yourself onto his thighs. Your knickers are sodden they press against you but it’s not an unpleasant sensation, your core throbbing in time with your pulse with the need to be touched.

“Y-yes,” Namjoon utters softly just before your mouths meet again, a little more urgently now that you know your desires are reciprocated. Beneath where you sit you can feel Namjoon growing stiff inside his trousers and when you grind yourself down against him, he lets out a guttural groan of pleasure against your mouth. He grips your hips tighter as they circle, digging in his fingertips.

Without breaking your kiss, you remove your blouse, button by button until it slips off your shoulders and onto the floor. Namjoon’s hands don’t move, though, clutching at your denim-clad hips until you reach down and move them yourself, pressing warm palms to skin.

“You can touch me,” you assure, feeling his hesitation in the way his kiss loses rhythm and his thighs tense up. It’s only momentary, though. When your hands find their way back into his hair and you lean your chest against him, arching your back, Namjoon soon gets with the programme. His hands glide up and down the length of your back, one coming to rest on the back of your neck to anchor you in place. It’s only a gentle grip but it makes you shudder none the less, moaning as his tongue rolls wet and hot into your mouth.

Have you ever wanted someone as much as this? You doubt it. Certainly not at this point, when all you’ve done is kiss and grind. If he doesn’t touch you soon you feel as though you might lose your mind, but you don’t want to rush this. It means too much for that - for you to wish even a single second of it away.

You gasp as Namjoon’s mouth changes target and trails scorching hot kisses down the length of your neck, your head tipping to the side. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, muttering curses when your fumbling hands can’t get the god damn thing open. Namjoon too distracting - the gentle pressure of his lips and swipe of his tongue too heavenly for you to even think straight.

Of course, you get it off eventually, throwing it the floor to join your blouse as you sit up straight and detach yourself from Namjoon’s torturous mouth. His eyes immediately fall to your chest, his jaw clenching and then Adam’s apple bobbing when you take the hands that’d be hovering at your waist and place them onto your breasts. With a salacious smile, you hold them there, groping yourself with his hands until Namjoon gets the hint and takes over, wetting his lips as the tips of his fingers find your nipples and he tweaks, sinfully sharp.

“Oh god,” you groan as your eyes fall closed, your hips automatically beginning to roll as his large hands squeeze and knead; pluck and pinch. And for the first time, you feel Namjoon start to push back, his pelvis rising off the sofa as he instinctively seeks your heat. “Do you wanna- hnng fuck-” He’s putting that mouth to good use again, one arm wrapped tight around your waist as he dips his head and slicks up your nipple with a lave of his tongue.

“Joon, let’s go to bed,” you say, running your fingers through his hair to get him to look up, far too doe-eyed for someone that still has his nipple caught between his teeth. “Only if you want to,” you quickly blurt out, sensing the slight hesitation that shows in his face as he pulls away - that nervousness and naivety.

In all your excitement, you’d almost forgotten how new all of this is to Namjoon. His people don’t even procreate, for god’s sake, and here you are trying to grind yourself down onto his dick like he’ll even know what to do with it.

You shift your weight out of self-consciousness and unintentionally brush against the bulge of his crotch as your move, biting your lip as Namjoon’s eyes flutter closed and his breathing becomes laboured.

“I do.” Namjoon’s voice is as tight as his grip on your thighs, and when he opens his eyes the rapid dilation of his pupils stirs your insides in excitement. “I really want to.”

“Ok,” you smile, climbing off his lap onto shaking legs and then taking his hands to pull bring him to his feet.

You love how tall he is; love how large he feels around you when you don’t even make it a step before he’s wrapping you in his arms and kissing you again, impatient. It’s you who finally has to pull away, pushing against his chest and then taking both his hands to lead him silent and smiling into your bedroom. Stood at the foot of the bed, you slowly lift his t-shirt till you can’t reach any further and Namjoon has to take over, laughing as he pulls it off the rest of the way and you grab it back, tossing it aside with a roguish grin.

He looks just as good topless as you remember, and you can’t resist the urge to step forward and show your appreciation for all that gorgeous skin with your mouth. Fingertips running his waist and down to his stomach, you smear wet kisses along his collarbones and then further south, loving the way his solid chest heaves up and down with the weight of his breaths. Down and down you go till you’re dropping to your knees and his belt buckle is in your face - an obstacle you make short work of in your impatience to continue the adoration of his flesh - and Namjoon is more happy to let you do just whatever you like. He runs his fingers through your hair with bated breath as you pull open his trousers and sigh at the sight of him so deliciously thick inside his boxers, pushing against the fabric.

“So big…” you hum happily as you worship, planting lingering kisses through cotton from the base of his shaft to the very tip. It twitches in response, already leaking pre-cum that stains light blue navy and tastes salty on your tongue. You push down his trousers as you work him over, feeling his buttocks clench as you hook the waistband of his boxers and then bring those down too, freeing his cock to bob tantalisingly in front of your face, begging to be touched and licked and sucked.

As you wrap your fist around the girthy base Namjoon’s knees actually buckle - his grip tightening on your hair with the broken moan he lets out, head tipping back. He’s not the biggest you’ve had but he’s sure as hell the thickest, swollen all the way from base to angry red tip, glossy with arousal.

You can’t wait to get a taste.

Pumping him slow, you squeeze out another drop and catch it with the tip your tongue, lapping it up and then dipping right into the slit in search for more - an action that has Namjoon near losing his mind, his eyes wide as he gazes down at you, panting hard. Holding his gaze, your brace your weight on his thighs as you take him into your mouth, focusing all your attention on the sensitive head until Namjoon’s practically whining with pleasure before taking him deeper, letting his hips instinctively buck his cock further down your throat.

You gag and Namjoon slurs out apologies, his knees shaking as he tries to pull back for of fear of hurting you, only to have you lunge forward and take it right back, sucking hard and fast and sloppy, gag reflex be damned.

“S-stop, stop, s-stop,” Namjoon chokes out after no more than what can only have been a few seconds, and when you let him slip from between your lips and look up, concerned, you almost expect him to have changed his mind - to have gotten cold feet at the very last minute.

Lucky, that couldn’t be further from the truth. As he tries to catch his breath, Namjoon pulls you to your feet, wiping away the saliva from your chin before crashing his mouth against yours. He picks you up, squeezing your ass in his palms for the few steps it takes for you to reach the bed that you’re then thrown onto, and you giggle when you realise he’d had his trousers around his ankles the whole way there, only kicking them off when he crawls onto the bed after you.

Sitting back on his heels, his eager eyes never leave you as you shuffle back against the pillows and rid yourself of your jeans and panties along the way too, pulling them down in one fell swoop. You beckon him into your arms, completely exposed yet somehow unshy, and Namjoon comes without any hesitation, mouths finding each other as he lies down by your side in a hurry to feel his skin on yours.

It catches you off guard to suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand on your thigh, lingering for little more than a second before reaching between your legs in search of your heat. His assertiveness isn’t unwelcome - anything but. As the tips of his fingers meet your wetness, slipping and sliding, you gasp and keen into his kiss, pelvis tilting. Wanting. Needing.

“I- I thought this wasn’t something you guys normally do,” you say as Namjoon begins to lavish love into the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin just as he zones in on your clit to make you moan again, grabbing at his bicep. Whether on purpose or by accident, you can’t tell, but either way, you’re not complaining.

“We don’t,” he replies the words blowing hot air across your wet skin to make you shiver, “But it’s amazing what you can learn online.” Your eyes ping open at his words, laughter spilling out of you when you look down and see Namjoon wearing a smile that’s unlike any of the others you’ve seen on him before. It’s devilish. Sinfull. And you love it.

The thought of Namjoon having thought about this before - to have wanted to do it so much that he’s researched how - arouses you more than you thought was possible, so wet now that you can feel it sliding down onto the bedsheets, smeared all over the inside of your thighs.

You’re about to say something more when a finger pressing into you robs you of the ability to speak in anything other than gasps and moans. Gradually gaining in speed, he slips that long digit back and forth, bolder every time, and whilst Namjoon’s technique isn’t exactly precise, what he lacks in finesse he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he confesses as another of his fingers presses inside, stretching you open, “So beautiful,” but you can hardly hear him because the words are swallowed up by your desperate kiss and the moans that you’re making.

“Want you.” Those words are smushed too, barely heard, but Namjoon doesn’t fight you when you start to push on his chest to roll him onto his back and you climb on top. He looks up at you with nothing but adoration instead, his breath hitching when you take the hand that was between your legs and stick those fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean.

“Wow…” he murmurs, mouth gaping open but them firmly snapping shut when you lower yourself onto his stomach and begin to rub yourself up and down his cock where it lays leaking, coating it in your arousal.

“That feel good?” you ask, keeping that hand and linking your fingers where it rests on your hip as you rock back and forth.

“Mm,” he nods, lips pressed together tight and eyes screwed shut, “Warm.”

“Yeah?” You’re getting breathless too, jolts of pleasure shocking through you every time your clit catches against his tip, and god, you want it, but you want him to want it just as badly as you do before you give in. You want his first time to feel so good that he’ll never forget it, and everyone knows that anticipation is half the fun.

He groans your name, his chest rising heavily, and when he next opens his eyes you notice a bead of sweat running down from his brow, chest glistening with perspiration. Slipping his hand out of yours, Namjoon takes a hold of your hips and encourages you to rise, waiting until you’re supporting your weight to let go and grip the base of his cock to stand it up straight. Biting his lip with the effort it takes to hold back, he rubs the head between the lips of your cunt, flexing his pelvis up just enough to make you feel the delicious stretch and burn.

“Can… Can I?” You nod without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward and bracing yourself with palms planted flat on his chest as you take a breath and start to lower your weight, slowly inching him in. Namjoon can’t take his eyes off where you’re joined, not until you’ve taken all of him in - moaning his name - and the pleasure gets so much that he’s forced to close them, breathing hard.

It feels so incredible, being with him like this; so close and so intimate. Even though you’re starting so slow, rocking your hips gently back and forth with your chest pressed to his, lips locked in an ending series of kisses, you can’t believe how good it feels just to have him inside.

His hands come to rest on your hips, encouraging the rolling motion of your body, and when you start to pick up pace Namjoon groans his appreciation into your mouth. The low, rumbling of his chest only spurs you on, and though you loathe leaving his mouth you sit up so you’ve more freedom to move - to ride him just as hard as you desire. Pressing your hands down on his where they lay on your hips, you grind your pelvis down onto his in figures of eight, and Namjoon is transfixed by the motion, his eyes following every circle while he licks and bites at his lips, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Can I… can I go faster?” you ask, already out of breath, and Namjoon nods just as quickly as you did earlier, eagerly tugging at your hips.

You never expected the quiet, thoughtful beneath you to be a vocal lover, and whilst he’s not a dirty talker Namjoon certainly doesn’t hold back in other ways, moaning loudly when you start to bounce up and down on his cock. Breasts bouncing, it feels so good that it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you fight to make sure you do. You don’t want to miss a single expression of pleasure that crosses Namjoon’s face, trying to ingrain every second of this into your memory just in case you never get the chance again.

“A-ah!” you shout when Namjoon’s pelvis unexpectedly bucks up and drives his cock even deeper inside, and for a second he’s worried, body going completely still until gasping, you beg him to do it again. And again and again and again until you can feel yourself getting close and you can keep your eyes open no longer and you’re so close - so close - so cl-

Namjoon cries out your name, fingertips digging painfully into your hips from the force with which he drags you down onto his cock as he cums, incoherent with pleasure until the pulses die down and his body no longer twitches. His eyes open wide as he struggles to catch his breath, looking up at you as though he can’t quite understand what it was that just happened, and though you’re obviously disappointed you didn’t get to finish too you can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss him ever so sweet.

“Feels good, right?” you murmur against his lips, wishing you weren’t still throbbing so badly. Your cunt is begging you to keep moving - to at least grind your clit down onto his pubic bone until you’re able to meet your end - but you know Namjoon won’t be able to take it. Not so soon, at least.

“Amazing,” he sighs softly as you pull away. He looks entirely fucked out, his hair plastered to his forehead until you reach up to pull it back and plant a kiss there, too, overwhelmed with affection. “Can you… do that too?” he asks, so adorably nieve, and smiling you nod, resting your chin on your palm.

“Sometimes.” Namjoon considers you for a moment, a small crease forming between his brows.

“Not then?” For a second, you consider lying to him. It’s not as though Namjoon would know, but he’s not a prideful man that would take offence if you tell him the truth.

“No,” you say, “But that’s ok. No one lasts very long the first time.”

“But I should make you feel good too,” Namjoon frowns, and before you realise quite what’s happening you’re suddenly rolled off of Namjoon and onto your back and he’s hovering above you with purpose in his eyes - determined.

In the process of moving some of his cum has dripped out, coating your cunt, and for a moment Namjoon becomes distracted when he looks between your legs.

“I did this?” he murmurs quietly, running a fingertip through the mess he’s made until it makes you shiver, so sensitive that all the hairs on your arms stand on end. The sight of his cum oozing out of you seems to spark something in Namjoon - clenches his jaw tight - and with a newfound urgency he comes to hover above you, bracing his weight on one forearm whilst the other hand guides his cock inside your cunt.

You grab onto his shoulders as the engorged head breaches you, the rest soon to follow, and whine, holding on tight as Namjoon begins to move, rutting into you hard and fast and deep.

“Like this?” he pants out amongst the sound of skin slapping. “Tell me, show me how.” Blindly, you grab his hand and guide it between your legs, pressing his fingers to your clit in tight, quick circles that make everything feel ten times more intense, accelerating you to the brink of release faster than you ever thought was possible.

“Like this,” you gasp, letting go to let Namjoon take over and threading your fingers into his hair instead. He kisses you, hungrily, groaning when you pick your legs up from the bed and coil them around his waist so that he’s able to get even deeper - fuck you even harder.

“You feel so good.” His mouth travels to your neck, sucking sloppy kisses into your skin. “I never want to stop.”

“Me too - ahh-ah! - oh my god, Joon!” You’re reaching your end, eyes screwed up tight as every cell in your body begins to sing, swelling and throbbing and there’s so much heat, so much pressure that you can barely think straight.

“Show me,” Namjoon grunts, and you’re sure he’s getting close too if the way he’s gritting his teeth is any kind of sign. “Let me feel you.”

With Namjoon whispering praises into your ear, it only takes a few more seconds for you to get there. Crying out, it’s so intense it might feel as though you’re falling if it weren’t for Namjoon holding onto your shaking body so tight, falling with you less than a minute later as he cums again, driven over the edge by the feel of your cunt clenching over and over around him.

Panting, the two of you lie in an embrace as you recover. His body is sweaty and he’s heavy but you wouldn’t have it any other way, smiling in content as you gently trail your fingertips up and down his back.

Breaking the silence, Namjoon looks up with a tentative smile.

“Did I do it?” he asks, sweet and hopeful; smile growing when you laugh and begin to nod, affectionately patting his butt.

“You really did,” you confirm, and Namjoon continues smiling brightly even whilst the two of you set about cleaning up and getting comfortable again, side by side under the covers.

You don’t talk much - too busy smiling and gazing at one another to do anything else - but he sighs happily when you start to run your hands through his hair, knowing it likely won’t be long until he falls asleep. You’re almost getting there yourself when you suddenly feel something other than hair between your fingertips as you pull them away, opening your eyes in confusion.

“Joon, your hair...” you say softly, rousing him. “I mean… not your hair but…” Opening up your hand, you show Namjoon the petals that lie in your palm, small and soft. This is the first time you’ve ever seen them come loose, and you frown with worry as Namjoon combs his hands through his hair only to come away with more, scattering them across the pillow.

He sighs, a nervous look in his eyes when they next meet yours.

“I kind of-”

“Your eyes!” you exclaim, shifting closer and taking his face into our hands to look at each of them closer. “They’re not green anymore!”

And they’re not. Not at all. Not even hazel; no hint of green in sight amongst the deep chocolate brown his irises. They’re warm and soft - different and yet somehow familiar - and whilst you loved the startling green they were before, you love this colour all the more.

“Then it’s done,” he whispers to himself, and your frown deepens even further, confused.

“What’s done?” Namjoon hesitates, taking a deep breath before he speaks.

“When I told you that the changes that were happening to me were to help me… blend in more,” he says, sitting up and drawing his knees up, wrapping his arms long legs, “I wasn’t being completely honest.”

“What do you mean?” You sit up as well, uncaring that you’re exposed when they duvet falls and pools at your waist - too concerned that Namjoon might be about to tell you something awful, something that might break your heart.

“It’s not exactly… a temporary thing. When dryads are away from their trees for too long, or from others of their kind, then, eventually, they lose their powers. They become… human.”

You blink, incredulous, trying to process what has just been said.

“So you’re human now?” Namjoon nods, smiling sheepishly. Can this really be true? In the time you and Namjoon have spent together he’s told most of the dryad basics; that they have an affinity with flowers and fauna, that they’re grown, rather than born. That they’re... immortal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” you near shout, almost hysterical when you realise everything he’s given up by staying here with you - everything he’s lost. “How could you let me keep you here without saying anything?! If I’d have known I would’ve pushed you hard to find the others! If I’d have known I would’ve-”

“Exactly,” he interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking deep in your eyes. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because I never wanted to leave.” Namjoon takes advantage of you being lost for words, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss so full of feeling it not only steals your words but takes your breath away, too.

“But you-” Another kiss silences you, and when he pulls away Namjoon is smiling kindly.

“I don’t care.” His thumb brushes against your cheek and you lean into his touch, so confused by the conflicting emotions raging inside you. Happiness, regret. Love. “I would rather live one mortal life with you than be still stuck inside that tree, watching and wanting you from afar.” Namjoon kisses you again, his breath shaking when it ends and your foreheads remain pressed.

“I love you,” he confesses, and now it’s you that can’t stop kissing him, grabbing onto his face and smooshing your lips together with such force and fervour that it pushes him back down onto the bed.

“I love you too,” you gush between kisses, “So much, Joon. So much.”

And the two of you don’t talk too much again after that, too busy losing yourselves in each other’s bodies over again to want to speak - a perfect way to say I love you. You’re so happy it feels like a dream. Better than that, in fact, and as you start to drift off to sleep in Namjoon’s arms you can only hope what waits for you in your imagination is just as sweet.

#bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #rm x reader #rm smut #kim namjoon fluff #bts fluff #rm fluff #fantastical tales for curious souls #halloween collab #dryad!namjoon #namjoon x you #rm x you #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #namjoon x reader #any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!#I hope you like it <3

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iselsis · 4 years ago

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Off the Streets

Summary: Omega Jason Todd needs to get some food and go to ground quickly, before his heat hits. This plan is destroyed by Batman and his habit of impulse adopting children the way some people impulse buy gum at the cash register.

“Get back here, you thief!” the clerk hollered after him.

Jason, not an idiot, did not go back there, or even stop to pick up one of the bags of food he dropped. The clerk wouldn’t go far from the corner store, or he’d have more than just one kid grabbing some packaged food and sprinting, so all Jason needed to outdistance the beta to get away scot free.

His rush of pride was quickly squashed by reality, and the flickers of pain that had started in his stomach and promised a heat, soon. Without a calendar, he’d been forced to guess when most his heats were, and heats for younger kids like him could be inconsistent anyways. The first signs of heat had only just shown themselves, warning him to get food and hide quickly.

Food, down, he thought to himself, rather smugly. The beta hadn’t even been a challenge to outrun. He’d even snagged two water bottles and shoved them in the pocket of his hoodie, which was more foresight than he’d had the last time he’d gone into heat. It had been one of the nice working girls had found him and taken pity on him that had kept him from crawling out of his nest on day three to track down some water.

Jason ducked into an alley that he knew even the bravest of store clerks wasn’t stupid enough to enter a dark alley at night. You might run into strangers.

And speaking of strangers, Jason slammed directly into a wall of concrete. Jason stumbled back, rubbing his sore nose in confusion. There had not been a brick wall there when he’d been casing the joint that afternoon, but apparently one had conjured itself up.

“You have something that doesn’t belong to you,” the brick wall commented in a deep, gravelly voice.

Jason looked up – and kept looking up – until his eyes saw the yellow and black bat symbol, and the pointy black bat ears above them.

Oh, hell no. Jason spun on his heel and made a break for it, but Batman collared him immediately and yanked him back.

“Let me go! Let go!” Jason dropped his hard won food and desperately clawed at the gauntlet holding his hoodie. He’d go hungry if he had to. It would suck hard, but he couldn’t let Batman arrest him and throw him at the GCPD right before he went into heat. He’d be lucky to come out alive.

It was useless, though. Batman was probably three times his size, and wearing armored gloves. It took Jason a minute to accept that, and that he was just wasting energy he’d need to live through the beating he was in for and stop fighting.

Batman waited a few more moments after he’d stopped struggling, like he was waiting to see if Jason was really done.

Once he was satisfied, he gave Jason a small shake and jerk his head at the mess that Jason had dropped. “Pick those up.”

Jason scowled fiercely at him, but knelt slowly, Batman’s hand following his hood, and started feeling around for the food without breaking eye contact. His stomach made a loud growl at the sight of all the pretty food, all packaged up and ready to eat….it had been a couple days since he’d last found more than a few scraps. He hadn’t been able to find a job, or anything easy to steal until the food, and now he had to get away and bunker down for his heat. Without the food, that meant that it would have been at least a week before he got to eat again.

Batman might have mercy if he behaved, though.

“Here,” he grumbled, standing up and holding out the armful of food to Batman. “Now let me go.”

Batman didn’t move to take it, which was damn rude. Instead, he stared down at him for several seconds, his head tilted in a calculating pose. “Why did you take that food?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jason snapped before he remembered the he needed Batman to like him if he wanted to beat the clock and get back to his cozy little nest of rags and shredded pieces of cardboard. He deflated somewhat and looked to the ground to hide his flushing cheeks. “I’m hungry.”

“And your parents won’t feed you?”

“Does it look like I ha-” Jason started sarcastically, then cut himself off and muttered in a less hostile tone, “No. They’re dead.”

His mom was, at least. She’d wasted away from the drugs until there was so little that even her tricks didn’t want her anymore, until she couldn’t talk or do more than stare vacantly at the ceiling, and until she finally stopped breathing on their couch. It still hurt, thinking about her, even though it had been a whole year. The blanket he’d pulled from her nest and stuffed into his backpack before he ran now smelled of him and of Gotham’s underbelly, instead of the sunshine and honey that she’d smelled like before – before she’d gotten sick. He missed her so much.

His dad was in jail. Probably. Didn’t really matter one way or another, because Jason wasn’t going anywhere near him anyway.

“I see,” Batman said quietly.

Jason dared a quick glance up, then froze. Batman looked…sympathetic. Like he actually understood. It just looked wrong on the Unholy Terror of the Night. He was going to die. He had broken Batman, and the universe, or Batman’s fists, was going to demand vengeance.

“Who takes care of you?” Batman asked him, kneeling down to be closer to Jason’s height, but still keeping a hold on his hoodie.

Jason swallowed hard and tried not to look intimidated. Even down low, the alpha was huge. “I do. Can I go now?”

Batman frowned. “Why aren’t you in foster care?”

Jason fixed him with an incredulous glare. It was a bit more daring that he should have been giving out when he wanted to get on Batman’s good side, but seriously, wasn’t Batman supposed to be some great detective? The foster system was in the hands of the mobs, and even if it wasn’t, and they were in some other city that wasn’t like Gotham, omega pups weren’t safe in foster homes.

“’s not exactly safe for people like me,” Jason muttered. He was normally good about keeping his scent covered, but with his heat approaching, everything was out of whack. There was no way that Batman hadn’t noticed what he was.

Batman nodded and stood up. “Come with me.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he tried to back away, but he couldn’t get far. “Where are you taking me?”

Batman started walking toward the mouth of the alley and gave Jason’s hood a slight tug. “You’re going to return what you stole. I’ll deal with you after that.”

And then he’d give Jason a firm talk on why stealing was bad, and Jason would pretend to be thoroughly repentant and be up and at it again as soon as his heat was done? Batman nodded because he understood that Jason wasn’t safe in foster care, right? So he wouldn’t try to put Jason in there? Or maybe he was just going to beat the hell out of him for stealing, like he did to every other thief he’d met. He’d seen what Batman gave his dad for stealing, and his dad had been an adult alpha with friends. A packless omega pup would be lucky to survive Batman’s wrath. If he did survive, then he was going to be broken, immobile, starving, and in heat a mile from the safety of his nest in the middle of Crime Alley.

Jason’s legs felt like lead as he trailed after Batman. He knew that he needed to hurry, get whatever was coming out of the way so he could get back to his nest, away from any alphas who could smell him, but he didn’t want to fork over the food he had stolen, and he didn’t want to get beaten.

The clerk was scowling when they walked into the store, an expression which quickly changed to shock, and then to smug satisfaction when he realized what was going on. Batman released his hood and gave him a nudge toward the counter. Jason scowled and shuffled up to it.

He tightened his hands around his ill-gotten goods one last time before he opened his hands reluctantly and dumped it all on the counter.

“Here’s your dumb shit,” he grumbled.

The beta growled in smug triumph. “Looks like the little thief met the big bad bat. He beat the shit out of you yet?”

Jason scowled at him and stormed back to Batman, but his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. “There, I gave it back. Can I go now?”

Batman put a hand around Jason’s upper arm and led him out of the store. He said nothing as he pulled Jason in a new direction. Jason focused on deep breaths. Panic might make his heat come quicker, but the clerk’s question rang in his ear: he beat the shit out of you yet? Batman understood why he wouldn’t go to foster care, probably understood that meant the cops too. He still had to be punished, though. Jason shuddered and tried half-heartedly to pull away.

“Please let me go,” Jason begged quietly. “Please, I’ll be good. I won’t steal again, I promise.”

Batman looked down at him, but didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you. Calm down.”

Jason’s heart sank. The no was bad enough, but expected. Was Batman trying to lull him into a false sense of security? He’d thought that only the Rogues were freaks, but now he realized that the guy dressed as a vigilante bat probably should be in Arkham too. Jason struggled a little harder, but he hadn’t eaten in two days, and even if he had, he was no match for the giant alpha.

“Please, please let em go,” he tried. “I learned my lesson, okay? Please!”

Batman stopped and grabbed Jason’s other arm, forcing Jason to face him. Jason flinched hard, but no blow fell.

“I’m not mad at you. I know that you were just trying to survive,” Batman promised, his voice losing a slight edge on the gravel, but he was still scentless, and his face was covered, and with his body so close to Jason’s, he couldn’t tell if the man was telling the truth. Why would he be telling the truth, though, and where was he taking Jason if he was?

“If you’re not mad, then can’t I go?” Jason whimpered helplessly.

Batman sighed and shook his head. “You aren’t safe on the streets. You need to come with me.”

With that, Batman stood up and tugged Jason suddenly into an alley. Jason had to bite his lip hard to hold back the terrified scream – it would only make Batman angrier, and angry people hurt more. He was going to be beaten, no matter what lies Batman was telling him.

What was this place, Batman’s favorite alley for beating up stupid kids? He’d been pretty purposeful about coming to this place, so there must have been something.

Then he saw it – a glint of light on metal. The shell of a car.

He was an idiot. A damn idiot. Batman wasn’t going to beat him up, Jason was a starving, packless omega pup on the brink of heat who no one would miss.

Batman was going to rape him.

Jason suddenly threw all his energy in trying to break free of Batman’s grip, hoping to take him by surprise, but Batman just picked him up and carried him over to the car despite his protests.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Batman repeated, grunting a little as a well placed elbow jabbed into his ribs. “I’m not angry with you for stealing. You’re about to go into heat, and you need to be off the streets now.”

“No, please, let me go!” Jason begged him, clinging to the cape as Batman opened the door and tried to put Jason inside. “Please, I’m fine on my own, you don’t have to do this, please!”

Batman unclipped his cape when he couldn’t get Jason’s fingers off it, and tossed it in on top of Jason, then closed the door behind him. Jason made a half-hearted attempt at the door handle. It was locked, of course. He wasn’t going to be able to escape his punishment so easily. Tears welled in his eyes, and another, vicious cramp sent them spilling onto his cheeks. He felt the first flicker of heat start in his stomach, and knew that he had maybe an hour before that tiny spark had consumed his whole body. If he was lucky, Batman would be done with him by then, or at the very least, drop him off outside the abandoned building he’d taken shelter in when he was. More likely, Batman would keep him for his entire heat under the guise of protecting him.

The driver’s door opened, he could hear Batman climbing inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. His breath hitched and his entire body flinched at another cramp. He buried his face in his knees and groaned.

“Is your heat starting?” Batman asked, his voice losing even more of its gravel. “I can help you with that.”

Jason flinched. Batman’s voice was becoming less and less disguised, and there was no way he was going anywhere once he’d hear the man’s real voice.

What did he tell Batman? When alphas offered to help omegas with their heats, it only ever meant one thing. But that was going to happen anyway, and maybe he could hurry it all up and get it finished so Batman would let him go. Earn some good will by being a compliant little bitch.

Jason nodded miserably.

He didn’t look up, but he could hear Batman opening and rummaging through the center console for something. That protection he kept talking about, probably. The kind that came in foil wrappers.

There was a small rattling noise, painfully familiar, that had Jason looking up in confusion.

Batman was holding a small white bottle and checking the label on it.

“How old are you?” Well, that came out of nowhere.

“Twelve,” he answered without even meaning to. It must have been the randomness of that question shocking him.

Batman grunted. “You’re supposed to take two pills, then.”

Jason watched in stunned silence as Batman uncapped the jar, shook out two white pills, and held them out toward Jason. It was almost in a daze that he reached up and took the pills from Batman’s hand, and the water bottle that he was passed a moment later. That was…not what he’d expected.

Unless Batman was trying to drug him.

“What are these?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“They’re just Tylenol. Would you like to see the bottle?” Batman told him, more patiently than Jason would have expected.

Jason hesitated, not sure if it was a trap, then nodded. Batman calmly handed over the small plastic bottle in his hand, and Jason snatched it and read the ingredients, directions, and warnings three times before he had concluded that yeah, that was…actually probably just a painkiller.

Jason cautiously took the pills with a swig of water and a sideways glance at Batman to watch his reaction, but there was no crow of victory, no smug smirk at Jason for having drugged himself. Just a painkiller, for real, then.

“Buckle up,” Batman instructed, slipping the key into the ignition and bringing the car to a purr.

Panic tightened Jason’s throat, and the scent of it was immediately thick in the car, mixed with a cloyingly sweet omega heat scent. His breaths were fast and shallow, and he found himself clenching his eyes tight shut again.

“Where are we going?” Jason cut a glance to Batman. Scentless, unreadable Batman.

Batman paused, frowning slightly at Jason’s reaction. “I’m taking you to my home.”

Jason couldn’t breathe, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. No wonder Batman was giving him the medicine; he wasn’t being kind to a random orphan he was gonna fuck once and abandon, he was providing for his future mate.

“Can’t we just do it here and get it over with?” Jason pleaded. He’d never be able to escape from Batman’s headquarters, wherever that was, and he was sure by the offering of the medicine that Batman was in for the long haul. If he went with Batman, he was going to die a slave to a hero, probably fairly young.

Batman tilted his head slightly as he fixed Jason with a stare. “Do what here?”

Jason flinched and his cheeks flushed bright red. Batman was going to make him spell it out? His heart hammered, and he turned begging eyes on Batman. “Please, I won’t fight you, but only once. I’ll do just what you want me to do, I won’t struggle at all, but please do it here, and let me go when we’re done. I-” His mother, coming home late at night or not at all, covered in bruises and bitemarks that she hadn’t been before. His mother, not even recognizing him because the drugs her pimp had her on were so strong and kept he more firmly under the beta’s control than shackles ever could. His mother, scared that she might be pregnant with the child of an alpha she didn’t know, only to lose the baby and get even worse than before. “Please, I don’t want to be a whore.”

Batman’s jaw dropped, and he actually, physically recoiled from Jason at the suggestion. “I’m not- I-“

Batman’s grovel was entirely gone, and he couldn’t seem to find the words for how revolting he found whatever it is he was mad about. Was it that Jason had asked him to let him go after a light demonstration of courting? Jason’s eyes stung fiercely.

“I didn’t bring you here to rape you,” Batman said firmly at last, still not in his Batman voice. Jason was definitely never, ever leaving. It wasn’t going to be rape, it was going to be mating while Jason was in heat, and that didn’t even count in courts that weren’t in Gotham.

Jason tucked his face against the window and let the tears fall. There was no one but Batman to see, and Batman had singled him out probably because he could already tell how weak Jason was.

Batman sighed. “What’s your name, son?”

Jason sniffed and muttered thickly, “What’s it matter?”

“I want to know what you like to be called so I can call you that,” Batman told him.

Jason didn’t want to give him his name, but he also realized that he was probably never going to see a single other person ever. He didn’t want to lose the name his mother gave him, or use some sort of fake name for the rest of his life.

“Jason,” he whispered.

Batman sighed again. “Alright, Jason. I’m not going to hurt you. That includes any kind of sexual touching. Adults touching kids that way is very wrong, even when it’s an omega in heat. Not everyone believes the same way, though, so you have to get off the streets before your heat gets any worse. I’m not trying to keep you forever, just until your heat is finished. Then we can figure out where you want to stay. Does that sound good to you?”

It sounded good. It sounded so good. For a moment, hope sprang up, burning with painful, wonderous brilliance, but then it flickered out and died.

“Everyone’s seen what you put Robin in! I’m not an idiot!” Jason snapped at him.

“Robin designed his outfit by himself. I didn’t particularly like the lack of pants either, but the design was sentimental to him and I allowed it. I did not ever touch him sexually, and you’re welcome to ask him about that yourself when you meet him,” Batman said, then started to pull the car out of the alley like the conversation was done. If he was done talking, then it was. Batman held all the power in their relationship.

“I’m meeting Robin, then,” Jason drawled, trying to hide the wobbliness in his voice as they travelled at breakneck speed down the streets. It had never been proven, but a lot of people thought that Robin was an alpha too. “You usually invite friends over for this kind of thing?”

Batman had the nerve to give a long suffering sigh. Asshole. “If Robin comes by the house, then you’ll meet him, but he isn’t going to touch you either. Jason, you’re safe. I promise.”

Safety and promises. Jason snorted bitterly. He’d stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.

#omega jason todd #alpha beta omega #bruce wayne is a good dad #jason todd #bruce wayne #accidental baby acquisition #Alpha Bruce Wayne #Batman

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amandlas · 5 years ago

Text

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

her exile hits the half year.

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles. “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that��s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

#jurdanweek2020 #jurdan #jude duarte #tfotaedit #cardan greenbriar #he's kinda scattered in this fic tbh but i promise there is SOME sort of follow-through to the angst #if you survive getting there #this took me all night and now its 9am HELLO THANK YOU FOR THIS MADNESS HOLLY BLACK #note: this will be my last tfota fic fellas #nicky writes #mine #mine:tfota

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