#when i can move into my own place n get proper bookshelves...

[lovevalley45]

watchin a video abt a guy finding different ways to organize his books n complaining abt sorting them in alphabetical order... as a bitch u loves to alphabetize Could Not Be Me

[siconetribal]

Beyond the Bookshelves (3)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Obnoxious coworkers, what is the proper ettiquette when emailing princes, teasing Captain

Summary: You're a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You've been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N: Please comment/like/reblog. If you'd like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know!

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

The meeting was as boring as the fallen prince expected it to be, but he hardly showed his disdain for his time being wasted. Cabinet meetings and audiences with nobility and dignitaries were expected and mandatory for royals. In his opinion, a majority of them were hardly worth the time and could be easily sorted out with logic, but politics hardly worked that way. It was fickle, changing at the whim of whomever is more powerful. And though at times it was fun to see how the spoiled nobles would squabble over the most ridiculous things, the majority of it was always dull.

To think I once found such a thing mesmerizing as a young boy, wanting to follow my father everywhere and prove myself useful to him. A moment to shine, to step out of the immense shadow casted by my brother. The corners of his lips tugged downwards at the miasma of memories that began to stir. He knew the ledge was a precarious one and a single thought could have him plummeting to the depths and ensnare him.

“Do you have any questions?” The agent looked at the members of the group one by one, hesitating and nearly jumping over Loki to avoid eye contact.

“Agent Pruyn, was it?” He watched the man who was addressing them flinch at the call of his name. “Would it not be wiser for me to be the one who distracts them? I am able to change my image to look like anyone. I would merely need some footage of the person I am to imitate to better play the role. You will also be able to monitor my movements since I will be in the banquet hall as opposed to behind the scenes searching through the office.” Minimal footage of me in questionable places is best. Who knows what someone might do as an act of vengeance. 

“No, this is the best plan of action. Hawkeye is better suited for that portion of the mission and needs support while Black Widow distracts the target.” Agent Pruyn cleared his throat. The lack of negative reaction from the others seemed to embolden him a little bit. “Also, are you implying that she can't handle it? Black Widow is the best undercover agent we have. She's successfully infiltrated hundreds of places while you've only failed at discretion.” He scoffed. 

There it was. The bias and condescending tone, the twisting of his words, and the lack of support. Such insolence made his blood boil to the point of physically punishing the fool, but he kept his reactions in check with a blank expression. Silently, he changed the way they perceived him to look identical to the infamous fiery haired operative who was sitting with them. Everyone in the room stared at him in wide eyed shock, looking at him and her to see if there was a difference. 

“Well isn't that a neat little trick.” Natasha was the first to break the silence. “Certainly beats needing to put on that holographic skin.” She leaned in closer, trying to find some flaw.

“Stare all you like, you won’t be able to tell the difference unless I let you.” He said in her voice.

“If he’s so good at keeping up an appearance, why not just swap them? Nat and I are equally able to get in and out without issues if there’s a good enough diversion.” Clint shrugged, though he was impressed at how perfectly Loki copied her.

“I don’t have an issue with that change, I’m the one who can break into the computer system they have. It’s better if I’m with Clint.” Natasha agreed, Loki shifting back to himself.

“So, we’re in agreement. I will be the one to keep the group busy and the both of you will gather the necessary information. As I stated, I’ll require footage and data on the individual I’ll be impersonating.” He turned his attention back to Agent Pruyn who seemed rather cross with the change to his plan but said nothing since the other two Avengers were agreeing with Loki.

“We’ll need to adjust the timeline of the operation then. Everything was set up for this plan, we’ll need to adjust and see if there’s another gathering we can infiltrate.” 

“You say this person of interest has possible ties to this Hydra organization, correct? Why don’t we get ourselves invited to his home or wherever you think he is housing the necessary information? Why must we wait for some large gathering outside somewhere else?” Loki questioned. 

“We can’t just waltz into his home unannounced.” Agent Pruyn scoffed. “Do you think he just calls people over for tea time? This isn’t one of your royal games, Loki.” The condescending tone was back once more with a sense of triumph. This was hardly enough to anger the prince, but he was not so lenient to let it slide for a second time.

“Who said anything about tea?” He looked at the agent with raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you had the time for such frivolous plans. I must disappoint you, my plans do not allot time for such.” Agent Pruyn grit his teeth and glared at the insouciant attitude the Asgardian was speaking with to him. A few of the other members of the meeting snickered at the calm retort, looking away to avoid the ire of the presenter. “This target has questionable connections and has a proclivity to feign a charitable appearance through auctions. We need to approach him as someone equally shady who wishes to either wash their hands of some item or trade an item to someone else and obtain the money under the guise of donating to said charity. We simply need to choose someone from his connections or create someone completely new.”

“That,” Natasha was the first to speak, coincidentally cutting Pruyn off, “is an excellent idea. If we came as someone new, trying to make a name for themself, they’ll be more likely to accept us if we come with an item of great value. Loki can play the part of the client and I can easily play the part of his assistant as needed to keep up the facade. Once we’re invited in, I can get Clint inside and we can get the information we need while the auction is going on.”

“Until the auction takes place, we can build a relationship with him and others. We can record all the conversations and pick up on any codes they use to discuss the secret dealings!” A female agent chimed in soon after, realizing an extra benefit to this plan.

“This makes it a much longer plan than anticipated though, we’ll have to resubmit the plan to our lead agent and to Director Fury.” A male agent pointed out.

“Sounds like it’s a necessary delay if it’s going to be more fruitful than the original operation. I guess Thor wasn’t exaggerating when he boasted about how strategic you are.” Clint slightly nodded his head in approval. “Redraft the plan and submit it, we’ll see what Fury says before moving forward.”

“We’ll schedule our next meeting after that.” Natasha nodded, standing from her seat. The others followed her actions and the meeting came to an end with a very irate Pruyn glaring at the back of Loki’s head. A small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the Asgardians lips as he walked down the halls, feeling lighter at proving himself as worthy to be on the team.

Y/N stared at the screen of her computer, willing it to fill the empty body of the email that was addressed to the two Avengers she was allowed to work with. Glancing at the time, she groaned audibly and turned her chair around so her back was to the screen.

Three hours, I’ve been staring at this blasted computer screen for three hours! Why do I need to message them!? Wasn’t Agent Hill supposed to coordinate this? Why is everything suddenly dumped on me from start to finish? This is ridiculous! Next they’ll want me to manage their schedules and make sure they have time to complete their missions and assist in my never ending task! I am not some over glorified secretary, I am the head of the Resource Management department, the director of it! I attend all the ridiculous morning meetings, check-ins, and any other waste of time meeting that could have easily been an email instead while managing all centers that contain our resources, digital and physical! She pushed herself out of the chair and paced in the space she had behind the desk. “When am I supposed to even meet with them when both are due to be deployed this week!” She threw her hands in the air as she shouted into the empty office. Defeated, she slumped back into her seat and turned to face the computer once more. 

She did not want to wait until their return, she needed it done now so that while they were gone she could have the computers and scanners set up and be ready to start as soon as they returned. Straightening up her posture, she pulled the keyboard forward and quickly began to type a brief email stating she was approached by Agent Hill and wanted to set up a short meeting in person to introduce herself and better understand how to properly utilize their assistance and time. She also added that the both of them are available tomorrow after lunch for a brief period of time. Rereading her email over and over again, she made sure there was no error before finally hitting the send. Now she had to wait for a response. Thankfully, the chime signaling the door opening was a great distraction, letting her escape the panic while waiting for a response.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” She happily greeted the person as she stepped out of her office. “Oh, Captain Rogers, how are you?”

“Good afternoon Y/N, I’m doing well. How are you doing?” He smiled, giving her a slight nod.

“Could do with less work, but that’s not going to change anytime soon.” She tiredly chuckled.

“I don’t know how you handle your work at all. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a fourth of what’s here. They’ve got the right gal for the job here.” He patted her on the back. “Which is an expertise I’ll be needing at the moment. I’ll be going out on a mission with Thor and Tony to a fairly remote area with indigenous people. Thor will be a great asset with his AllSpeak, but I’d like to get some insight on the culture.”

“Oh, so no “An American Girl” books this time around? Or  the “Hardy Boys”?” She curled her lips inward to keep from laughing as she watched the famous Captain America clear his throat and turn away to hide the hints of a blush that were creeping up onto his cheeks.

“No, not this time. But maybe when I come back you can suggest something for me to read?”

“I would love to, I’ll think up a small list and let you see which you’d like to start with. So, back to your mission, where are you going and do you know the group you’ll be interacting with?” She clapped and rubbed her hands together, eager to be of assistance. “Let’s head to the front desk while you tell me so I can pull up what we have for you.” Nodding his head, he delved into the details of the mission that were necessary, Y/N never asking for more information than necessary as she pulled up anything relevant and jotted it down on a sheet of paper. “Ok, follow me!” She walked back around just as the chime signaled someone else coming in. “Good afternoon, if you need my assistance I will be with you shortly. Please wait at the desk.” She turned to smile at the newcomer only to see the raven haired prince. Oh, good thing I put the book on the table already. “Follow me, Captain Rogers.”

“Y/N, you can just call me Steve. I think we’ve known each other long enough to drop formalities.”

“Captain Rogers, so bold and scandalous!” She gasped. “What would your fangirls think?!”

“Please don’t remind me of those.” He sighed heavily and gave her a stern look. “And I insist you call me Steve, we’re friends.” He flashed her that famous hero smile.

“Alright, alright, Steve it is.” She turned into an aisle and began to skim the codes, pulling out books which were taken from her by the gentleman super soldier beside her. Once everything was pulled, the two went to the nearest table.

“This is great, thank you, Y/N.”

“Anytime Capt-,” she stopped at the pointed look he gave her. “Steve. If you need anything, just give a holler. I’ll come help you.”

“We’re in the library, I don’t think hollering is a good idea.” He chuckled.

“Who’s going to stop us, the librarian? Oh wait, that’s me!” She grinned, earning an eye roll from him before he turned his attention to the books he had as she made her way back to the front desk.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss@softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl@rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @kats72 @jainaeatsstars @mssjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki

[shotorozu]

hello!! i saw that your requests were open and wanted to ask if you could do single dad! atsumu suna and sakusa falling in love with reader, like it's sort of a meet cute (or not) but the reader falls for them and the kid and happiness lskfjsdfk have a great day!!

single dad! falling for reader

character(s) : miya atsumu, suna rintarou, sakusa kiyoomi (haikyuu!!)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, timeskip au! (because,, single dads.)

headcanon type : fluff, crack and angst if you squint (x reader)

warning(s) : mentions of the character’s ex wives, the ex-wives being jerks for multiple different reasons and ways (so,, be warned. for negligence, not very detailed hitting, and cheating, but not on reader)

note(s) : me, writing for haikyuu?? wow, a surprise! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for haikyuu so if i don’t get the characterization correctly— ESPECIALLY FOR SAKUSA, i’m sorry in advance.

»»————-　♡　————-««

miya atsumu

at first, his marriage was happy. miya atsumu— successful in his 20s, basically set for life, and with a head strong wife that gave him a wonderful daughter

he was elated when his son, genji came into this world. he wouldn’t swap him out for anyone else. and it was all good, really

until he started spotting marks on genji’s delicate skin, and he even found a large bruise on his shoulder when he was changing his shirt! he almost passed away seeing that

genji would also have a sudden fear of being alone in the house— even when his mother would stay behind to take care of him

but why though? genji’s only 4! what could’ve happened to him? he doesn’t recall hiring any babysitters.

he finally found the answer one day, when he found out that his head strong, intense wife— has been physical with him!

basically, all the love for his wife flew out the window, and he filed for a divorce— and of course, he won custody

and he assumed that his love life would stop at that— and it didn’t sound terrible. all that mattered was that his son was safe, and happy again

but this is where you come in

you work at a toy store, a small business toy store really, that sold the highest of quality only

and atsumu took genji to either replace, or fix the toy he broke a few days back. the place was recommended to him by shoyo— who also had a kid of his own

you’re just two years younger than him, eyes full of determination and care, practically the complete opposite of his ex-wife.

you put up a good conversation with him, while you fixed the toy— the two of you talking about the mutual friends, and that ‘this place should be a lot more popular.’

and also, his son did happen to take a liking to you. he seemed joyous in your presence— compared to how he was with his ex-wife

and from that moment on, the two of you would only become closer— especially when a bunch of his son’s toys started breaking magically

before atsumu knew it, he harbored something for you— the absolute angel you were to the both of them

“‘m sorry for the inconvenience,” the faux blond scratches the back of his next “didn’t know genji here was a ‘lil clumsy weasel,”

you laugh, and genji’s just staring at you with amusement, “it’s fine, genji could break his entire toy box— and i’d still fix it anyway.”

so this was the nerve wracking part, “to make up for it, would you like some coffee later? i could treat ‘ya.”

“is this yer way of askin’ Y/N—”

“shut yer mouth for a sec— uhm,” he looks at you, sheepishly

you laugh, “miya, i wouldn’t mind honestly. but i’d assume you’re busy as it is.”

“not at all!” atsumu replies, “i’ll just, drop off genji first. say yer thanks to Y/N,” atsumu looks at genji, encouraging him to say his thanks

“,,thanks for fixing my toys, Y/N.”

“no problem, genji.” you smile at the two of them when they move to leave the store, fixed toys in hand— as they wave at you before parting

“oh, Y/N?” atsumu calls out,

“yeah?”

“call me atsumu— from now on.” his cheeks are tinted pink, and he can feel genji’s eyes on him.

“oh, uhm. yeah! i’ll see you later, atsumu.”

so yeah— the two of you went out for some coffee, and before he even knew it, he was in love.

it might take him a few months to realize it though

suna rintarou

i can’t imagine him having kids for some reason 💀 but if he were to have any, he’d definitely have a daughter

rintarou himself, didn’t think he would have kids at at all, really. but the moment he was able to meet asuka— his lovely little daughter

he was hooked. he seemed a little awkward at first, not very used to caring for a child. but he was actually decent at his job

he’d sneak into his daughter’s room to hold her when she was upset— even when his wife was too knocked out to realize it, and he’d show her picture books

since she liked them a lot, even when she can’t coherently read a straight paragraph yet.

it started to concern him when he realized how little his wife was involved in the development of their daughter.

she started acting different, a little bit after she didn’t have to breastfeed asuka

and then, that’s when it happened.

“i literally can’t believe you,” he speaks when he’s packing his things, “we have a child together.”

his soon to be ex wife is on the floor, begging him to stay— but he doesn’t care. “look, the idea of you cheating wasn’t very surprising. i don’t care anymore, really. but the fact that you’ve been neglecting asuka for your selfish needs is low. i hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

his words are so much different that his lenient, calm self. which only solidifies reality

so he leaves with asuka, not caring about the sobs that left his soon to be ex wife’s mouth.

and even though he was still angry at his wife for not being there, he’d never let it show to asuka

he’d still show her picture books, he’d still sit down and watch miraculous ladybug with her— even when she doesn’t understand it all completely

and speaking of picture books— he decided that he needed to buy more for her

so he took her to the bookstore, and he didn’t really know what he was doing. he bought all those previous books when asuka was still a newborn

now it’s a little fuzzy on what he should be looking for. colors, right? he needs a picture book that has plenty of colors.

and that’s where you come in. you’re youthful, despite looking not that far off his age, you’re humming to yourself as you fix the bookshelves

“uhm,” he calls out for your help, and you look at him in recognition “need any help? what are you looking for?”

there’s a helpful glint in your eyes, and it reminded him of what should’ve been in his ex wife’s eyes. “my daughter, likes picture books. and,, i don’t know what i’m doing.”

she’s basically a replica of him, same eye color, and same hair color. but her eyes are much more rounded, youthful.

“cute kid,” you smile when she coos at you, “the children books are this way, follow me!” you exclaim, moving to navigate your way to the children’s book isle

so it seems to be that you really know what you’re doing. most people would’ve recommended picture books with a lot of words, or just no words at all

but you’ve found the books that made asuka exclaim in happiness.

and although it’s not very obvious that rintarou’s caring to his child— he is, and you could tell. despite looking lost, and sometimes bored when you’re explaining the books.

so every 2 weeks, the father would return with his daughter, after he got back from volleyball— and you’d help them pick out on certain books.

rintarou assumed he’d never take a liking in anyone again, but,, here he is. and he doesn’t know how you’ll react to that.

but it’s worth a try— he’d try and get your number when he’d see you again

the next time you see him, the middle blocker’s alone. and he tells you that he needs more picture books for asuka, since she’s staying over at his volleyball friend’s house for a day

“Y/N,”

“yes?” you turn your head, meeting his stare. he looks well,, himself. like how he first sought out for your help a few weeks back

“,, could i get your number? y’know, just in case asuka wanted worded books in the future. you’ve helped a lot, so,,”

you smile, “is this your way of hitting on me?”

he didn’t think it was that obvious, “what?— i mean,” he fumbles to reason out, feeling a bit more awkward. because yes, he’s asking you out but,, he has the power to make things more laxed, y’know?

truthfully, you don’t know much about him. you know a lot about his daughter, sure! but you don’t know anything about her biological mother, or what happened, or why she’s not taking asuka to the bookstore

but you chose not to ask, out of respect. he’d tell you some other day. “i’m just teasing,” you smile, moving to get a small piece of paper— writing your digits on the paper, and placing it in his pocket

“i’d like to see you again,” you smile, “say hi to asuka for me.”

the middle blocker left the store in content, absolutely sure that asuka would love to see you again even when she can’t form proper sentences.

sakusa kiyoomi

didn’t think he’d be fit to be a father— but here he is

though he seems cold, he does take responsibility, and he does love and care for his child, seina

it’s not like he’ll be posting pictures of his child everywhere— i mean, even if he had a different personality, he still wouldn’t be posting his kid everywhere

but he does cherish seina, like his life depended on it. he’d still silently watch her cross out word puzzles in a messy matter, he’d silently listen to her talk about her favorite pastries

he loves her!

so that’s why it made him mad, when even after 4 years of seina being born, her mother made little to no effort in spending time with her

doesn’t matter if it was a simple gesture like tucking her in, or showing up to a birthday— she just,, never did.

it was almost as if she was ignoring seina, which causes some distraught on the child’s behalf— which passed on the negative feeling to him

like,, seina wasn’t an unbearable kid. sure, she acted up here and there, that’s an issue kiyoomi has been trying to fix on his own

but it was nothing too concerning, and it was containable. but his wife treated her like she was absolutely unbearable

and it was super strange because, she’d act normal around him, but would barely acknowledge her own daughter’s existence

so what did kiyoomi do? he confronted her, of course.

and no— his wife wasn’t cheating, and nothing tragic happened that would’ve caused her to be this way

she was just,, lazy

“so.. you gave birth and stopped caring for her? is that it?” furious was an understatement, considering that his wife forgot to make her daughter breakfast

which caused her to sneak out of the house, and ask for some breakfast from some nice neighbors.

“look, if you want nothing to do with her, just say that. i’m taking seina, and leaving.” so yeah now he’s a single father.

to say he didn’t love her was too quick, a part of him didn’t love the fact that his wife loved him, but didn’t show any sign of affection towards her daughter.

he knew it was going to fade away anyway. his feelings for his unofficial ex wife.

and i don’t think he’d plan on seeing new people, since now these days— people just like the idea of being with him

which meant that most people would’ve been scared away, or turned off if they really sat down in a conversation with him

besides the point, kiyoomi was taking his daughter to the bakery again— as she was craving new pastries, and wanted to go to the new bakery that just opened near by

and kiyoomi was like “why not ig” and took her there— but then, this is where he’d meet you for the first time

you were one of the bakers, and it’s not like he was going to pay attention to you— until you did something even HE couldn’t do

“papa, whyyyy” the whining sounding painful in his ears, as his daughter clung to the display of pastries “can’t we get moreeee??”

“seina,” he sighs, “no, we can’t.”

“but—”

“papa, you’re no fair!” her bottom lip trembles, and he could almost FEEL the judgmental stares of the other customers in the bakery

and this is where you come in, “is something the matter?”

“papa won’t.. get me more!” she stares at the selection of pastries, “i’ve been so nice but.. it’s no fair!” her eyes tear up

“don’t cry,” you bend down to blot her tears away with a tissue, “y’know, he probably has a reason, but you’re in luck— actually!” you maneuver behind the counter

you come out from behind, presenting a fresh batch of pastries— that were just right to his daughter’s liking, to the point that it shut her up entirely

“they’re on the house, today’s our opening day, so it’s the bakery’s treat!”you state in a warming matter, grabbing a paper bag to place the pastries in

kiyoomi stares at you, observing you quietly— you could feel his cold stare, even though he’s wearing a medical face mask, that covers about half of his face

you blink, not knowing what is going through his head, and you gesture to his daughter to take them

you clearly don’t know who he is— and that gives kiyoomi some sort of relief, compared to the other customers that are murmuring to each other “sakusa kiyoomi’s here with his daughter! is this what he does in his free time?”

kiyoomi takes the paper bag, giving some sort of non verbal acknowledgement, before he takes his daughter’s hand and leaves

“bye, kind person!” seina calls out to you, which catches you off guard— this causes your coworkers to coo at the girl’s words

“didn’t know sakusa’s daughter was so cute!”

and you’d assume that your interactions with the quiet stranger and his daughter would end at that, but no! life is full of surprises.

the tall masked father comes in again, a little bit before closing time— you were absolutely beat, your back feeling as if boulders were glued to the back, and your feet burning from all of the rush

“oh, what could i do for you?”

he stays quiet, but a small presence sticks behind him, and peers up to you. the face is familiar to you, so you wave “hi there! it’s nice to see you again.”

“i wanna say thanks.” her rounded eyes practically shimmer when they lay themselves on the pastries again, but she shakes her head “for the pastries! they’re very tasty.”

“i’m glad you like them, what was your favorite part of the pastry?”

“the filling! twas yummy!” she gives a toothy grin, “tell me, where ‘dya learn to bake like that?”

kiyoomi stares at the scene unfolding before him. it was.. new. unfamiliar— he hasn’t seen his daughter act like this with anyone else— besides him and his team mates. so, he simply watched.

seina babbled and babbled, much to the your amusement— and the other staff members. you listened to her with your full attention, your interest never wavering in the slightest

it’s a bit later, kiyoomi holds a tired seina in his arms— you expect him to leave the bakery, his daughter’s wishes been fulfilled, and he wouldn’t have a reason to stick around

but then he presents to you a large stack of cash “for the pastries. my,, daughter really liked them.”

your eyes widen, “sir! i told you, the pastries were on the house!” you shake your head, “either way, i can’t take this! it’s too much for some pastries!”

“no, seina insists. in fact, she’s entirely why i’m here.” his tone stays consistent, but even with the mask— you could tell that he’s smiling. “she’s well,, everything. if she’s set on something, then she’ll do everything to achieve her goal.”

you smile at the statement, “thanks for bringing her here sir..?”

kiyoomi hesitates to tell you his name for a moment, an unfamiliar, yet familiar pound in his chest rises— he chooses to not figure it out right now, considering that it would be too soon to pursue a romantic relationship.

but, if his daughter brought him here, then it must be for a reason. “kiyoomi.”

“right,” you smile, “thanks for coming here, kiyoomi. you can give me a call, if seina wants any more pastries.” you write your number on a piece of paper, and hand it to him

he doesn’t reply, but he does take the piece of paper anyway— keeping it in his pocket

and for once, he thinks that he doesn’t hate having to go to the bakery weekly., because there’ll be a warm presence there to greet him— and of course, seina.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own hq!! and it’s characters. haikyuu!! belongs to furudate haruichi, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

All The Things She Said | Hermione Granger x Reader Part One

Summary: Y/N has had a crush on Hermione for as long as she could remember. She often spent class periods thinking about her or sneaking glances in Potions when Snape wasn’t looking, but that all changed in their sixth year when Slughorn became the new Potions professor. And luckily for her, things changed for the better.

Warnings: No warnings yet!

Word Count: 3,096

A/N: I’m on a Harry Potter binge right now so here is some wlw Hermione for y’all, enjoy!

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Being in Slughorn’s potions class held several positives. Firstly, he wasn’t Snape, secondly, each class session was filled with far more interesting potions than they had been in the preceding years, and thirdly, Y/N shared the class with Hermione. 

Slytherins and Gryffindors had always shared Potions together, and the two had occasionally been paired together, but now that Potions was no longer a required subject and the class size had diminished significantly, it gave Y/N the opportunity to sneak longer glances at Hermione than she had been able to before. 

She couldn’t believe her luck when Slughorn announced that they were to have assigned seats and partners for the remainder of the term and that she had been paired with Hermione in the front of the class. 

Hermione hadn’t spoken to her very much during that first class period, which wasn’t wholly unexpected since Y/N was a Slytherin and the rivalry between the two houses was more intense than any other in the school. 

Y/N had also managed to get herself invited into the Slugclub, which could sometimes get a little pretentious, but it was bearable enough. She got to see Hermione on those evenings.

Hermione was sitting on the lawn near the banks of the Black Lake under a willow tree when Y/N found her. She was in the middle of a book and was chewing mindlessly on an apple, not even noticing when Y/N approached her. It took clearing her throat to finally get Hermione’s attention. 

“Um, hey Hermione,” Y/N said nervously. Her hands were cold and sweaty now.

“Hi Y/N. Uh, is there anything I can help you with?” Hermione looked a little confused but still had a polite smile on her face. 

Y/N took a deep breath and shoved her hands into her pockets, scrunching them into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could help me with some of the Potions assignments? I’m having trouble understanding the theories and Slughorn said that you had the best marks in the class.” That was a lie, Y/N hadn’t spoken to Slughorn at all. It didn’t take a conversation with a professor to know that Hermione Granger was the smartest witch in their year, if not the entire school.

Hermione blinked at Y/N, her cheeks flushing pink. Y/N was trying to decipher whether it was because of the idea of Slughorn complimenting her or perhaps the idea of tutoring another student.

“Oh! Um, I guess I could help you with some stuff. We’re partners now, aren’t we? She gave a friendly smile. Y/N was surprised by how quickly she agreed.

“Great!” Y/N paused awkwardly. “Do you want to meet tomorrow afternoon in the library? Maybe around 1:00?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll see you then, make sure to bring your Potions textbook.”

Y/N gave a stiff bowing nod, an embarrassed smile upon her face.

“Thanks! See you then!” Y/N quickly turned and began marching back up the path to Hogwarts. She finally took a deep breath and the shaking of her hands began to subside. She looked up from the ground and saw Harry and Ron carefully running down the path, trying not to stumble over loose rocks. They acknowledged her by nodding their heads when they passed her and continued down to Hermione who was still sitting underneath the tree reading.

At least now they had something to talk about in Potions. The only problem was that Y/N wasn’t having trouble with Potions theories, in fact, she was doing very well and had received full marks on almost every assignment Slughorn had given them. All she had to do now was find something to pretend to struggle with. Easy enough. 

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

Harry and Ron bustled past Y/N on the path leading from Hogwarts and stopped at the foot of the willow tree, panting lightly and looking slightly disheveled. Hermione looked up at them, an eyebrow raised, and a confused smile on her face.

“What’s the rush with you two?” she asked, placing a bookmark in between the pages of her book and closing it. 

“What were you talking to Y/N for?” Harry asked, loosening his tie as he moved to sit down next to Hermione. 

“She was asking for some help with Potions, I’m going to start tutoring her tomorrow.”

Ron balked at Hermione’s answer.

“Are you mad?! She’s a Slytherin who’s probably all buddy-buddy with Draco! How do you know she isn’t just trying to get you alone to hex you?”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh please, I’ll be fine. If you’re really that worried, you can come to the library at 1:00. You can hide behind the bookshelves looking out for hexes or whatever else it is that you’re worried about.” 

Ron grunted. He didn’t seem very happy. Harry looked slightly less disgruntled but still had a slight concerned expression on his face. 

“Well alright then, but I still don’t trust her.”

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

Y/N woke up the next morning slightly disoriented after the dream she had just had. She had been awakened by the banging of the dormitory door as Pansy Parkinson rushed in. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and tried to burn the dream into her mind before she forgot. But all she could remember from the dream was the warm, smiling face of Hermione. 

“I cannot believe Draco!” Pansy shouted as she stormed around the dormitory. She had a toothbrush in hand and some foaming toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. She was dressed in some silver silk pajamas and her short hair was pulled into small pigtails. 

Y/N sighed, accepting the fact that her dream would not come back to her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face, squinting in exhaustion. 

“What has he done now?” She asked, her eyes following Pansy as she bustled around the room. 

“He threw all of my clothing down the laundry chute and I had to go to breakfast in my pajamas, I looked ridiculous.” Pansy huffed. She paused for a moment, looking at Y/N.

“You should probably hurry and get ready, didn’t you say that you were meeting up with someone at 1:00?”

Y/N rubber her eyes and pushed herself up into a proper sitting position.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s almost 12:45.”

Y/N suddenly felt very awake. She ripped the covers off her bed and darted to her trunk.

“Oh my god, I’m not going to have time to eat! What do I wear?!” She started rifling through her trunk, trying to find something that would be suitable.

“Don’t worry about the food, I brought you a cranberry muffin from the Great Hall. Who are you meeting with anyway?” Pansy said casually, throwing herself onto her bed. 

“It doesn’t matter! But I really like this person so I want to impress them but I don’t want to look overdressed.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. She was quiet for a moment before she pushed herself off her bed and pushed Y/N away from her trunk. She started digging until she pulled out an emerald green sweater and a pair of light wash jeans. 

“Here, wear this. The green brings out your eyes. You should also wear that headband you got in Hogsmead.”

Y/N gave Pansy a look of stressed gratitude and hurried to get dressed, almost tripping over her own feet as she pulled the jeans on. If there was one thing Pansy was especially good at, it was keeping herself calm and collected in moments of panic. This was most definitely a moment of panic.

Just before Y/N pulled the sweater over her head, Pansy shoved half of the muffin into her mouth. She chewed as fast as she could, grabbing a random pair of rolled socks from her trunk and pulling them on. 

Once Y/N had started pulling on a pair of heavy black boots, Pansy shoved the remaining half into Y/N’s awaiting open mouth and grabbed a hairbrush from their shared vanity while Y/N finished chewing. The moment she began brushing her teeth, Pansy started brushing her hair and pulling it back into a headband. Pansy’s hands worked quickly and efficiently, ensuring that Y/N’s hair looked glossy and full of volume. The two worked together like a well-oiled machine, forging their way through the chaos that had become their dormitory. 

“Okay, I say only use a little bit of mascara and some lipgloss, you don’t want to look too done up.” Pansy shoved a tube of lipgloss into Y/N’s back pocket after she had rinsed her mouth and handed her leather satchel to her as Y/N quickly swiped the mascara onto her eyelashes.

“Go, you have 5 minutes! Good luck!” Pansy shouted, pushing Y/N out of the door, running after her down the staircase into the Slytherin common room. 

“Coming through!” Pansy roared as they barreled through the common room, “She’s late for a date!” 

Y/N didn’t have time to scold Pansy as some first years scattered out of the way. She burst through the entrance to the common room and sprinted up the staircases to the library.

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

Once she had reached the entrance to the library, she was panting loudly and sweating a little. The clock over the archway signaled that she had just about a minute to spare. Taking deep breaths to regulate her breathing and try to cool herself down, she began to fix her hair and quickly applied to lipgloss to the center of her lips. She turned to the portraits on the wall and stretched her arms out.

“Well? How do I look?”

Some of the portraits shouted their comments at her.

“Where are your robes, girl? You look ridiculous!”

“You look wonderful!”

“Straighten up! You’re slouching like a troll!”

She took one final deep breath and entered the library. She spotted Hermione setting her things down at a table in the center of the room and her heart started pounding. With every step Y/N took towards the table, the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears intensified until it had swelled to a loud roaring. As she approached the table, Hermione looked up from the books she had been taking out of her bag and smiled.

“Hey! You ready to get started? I thought we might begin with Potions theories.”

Y/N swallowed and put a smile on her face. 

“Yeah, that sounds good!”

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

Ron and Harry were both hiding behind a bookshelf within earshot of the table where Hermione and Y/N were sitting, looking through the gaps between books to keep an eye on them. Ron had taken Hermione’s offer very seriously, he didn’t trust anyone who was a Slytherin. 

“Ow! Stop shoving your elbow into me, I can’t see if you’re pushing me,” Harry complained, rubbing his side where Ron’s sharp elbow had found its mark. 

“Oops, sorry,” Ron muttered, distracted. 

“What are we doing here? I’m sure it will be fine, Hermione can take care of herself. Besides, we could be in Hogsmeade by now.” Harry complained. 

“Give it a few minutes, will you?” Ron hissed.

“Oh please, it’s not like she’s going to hex Hermione in the middle of the library.”

“Who is going to hex Hermione?” A voice said from behind them. The voice belonged to Ginny Weasley, who was holding a stack of books at the other end of the bookshelf.

“Blimey Ginny! Don’t you ever make noise when you move?” Ron said, clutching his chest in surprise. Ginny rolled her eyes. 

“Like I said, who is hexing Hermione?”

“Um, no one is hexing Hermione. He thinks Y/N is up to something though.” Harry responded. 

“Y/N, the girl from Slytherin? But she’s so nice!” Ginny had a surprised look on her face. 

Ron rolled his eyes at Ginny’s comment.

“That’s exactly what she wants everyone to think!”

“Oh Ron, now you’re being ridiculous! Leave the poor girl alone, it’s not fair of you to target her just because she’s a Slytherin.” Ginny huffed. She now seemed frustrated with Ron. Harry silently agreed with Ginny, Ron was being a bit ridiculous. 

Ron groaned, seeming equally as frustrated as Ginny. 

“Fine, we’ll leave it alone for now.” He grumbled, turning away and starting to walk towards the exit of the library.

“Wait does that mean that we can go down to Hogsmeade now?” Harry called after him.

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

“So you can use a bezoar as an antidote to poisons?” Y/N questioned. She already knew the answer, but she just wanted to hear Hermione’s voice again.

“Well, it works for most poisons, one that it doesn’t help with is basilisk venom, only phoenix tears will heal that.” 

Hermione looked up from the table and to the clock that was hanging towards the front of the library. The sky had turned a dark blue since they had first started reviewing together and it was almost time for dinner in the Great Hall.

“Blimey! Is that the time? We better head down to the Great Hall now if we want to make dinner.” Hermione began packing her books into her bag and Y/N did the same. 

“Thank you, by the way, for helping me with all of this. Hopefully I can keep up with you now!” Y/N joked as she placed her last notebook into her bag. 

Now it was Hermione who gave a shy and nervous smile. A blush had formed across her cheeks.

“Um, y-yeah! Of course, no worries.” She paused for a moment, like she was debating on whether or not she should say something else. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Um, would you like to do this again sometime? Studying, I mean.”

Y/N had to force herself not to smile as much as she wanted. 

“I would love to, do you want to meet up on Wednesday? We can study in the courtyard after lunch, if that’s alright?”

“Sounds good! Do you, uh, want to walk down to the Great Hall together then?

Y/N smiled and nodded in response and the two set off for dinner. They had been up in the library for so long that even the librarian, Madam Pince, had fallen asleep waiting for them to leave. It was nearing 6:00 and as they descended the staircases, the smell of food grew more distinct and the hum of voices grew louder. 

Once they had reached the entrance to the Great Hall, the two girls turned to face each other. 

“Well, I guess this is where we leave each other,” Hermione said, rocking on the balls of her feet. 

“I suppose so.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Hermione broke the tension. 

“Well! I’ll see you on Wednesday then!” She said in an overly-enthusiastic tone.

“Yup! See you then!” 

The two girls parted ways and headed towards their respective tables. As Y/N began sitting down, Pansy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down quickly.

“The person you were meeting was Hermione Granger?!” Pansy hissed quietly so that Draco or his friends wouldn’t hear.

Y/N blushed furiously and glanced at Hermione who was currently in the middle of a conversation with Ginny Weasley.

“We were having a study session together, we’re partners in Potions you know.”

“But you said-!” Pansy had started raising her voice before she caught herself, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “You said that you were meeting up with someone who you really liked and wanted to impress!” 

“Well, I do like her, and I did want to impress her.” Maybe if she pretended that there was nothing wrong with what she just said, everything would return back to normal. She began loading her plate with some of the roast duck that had appeared on the platter in front of her. However, this did nothing of the sort. In fact, it only succeeded in making Pansy look like she was having a heart attack. She looked scandalized, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Of all the people you could have chosen to fancy, you chose Granger?!”

Draco was looking curiously at the two girls now. Apparently, Pansy’s reaction had gotten his attention.

“You alright Pansy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” He said, leaning forward to talk to her.

She shook her head and turned to respond to Draco.

“I’m fine, no worries here!” She gave a forced laugh before she turned back to Y/N. 

“Fine, I can get over you liking Granger, but you can’t tell Draco about this, he would never let you live it down.”

“Trust me, I know. I’m not exactly keen on him finding out either.”

The two girls ate their dinner, distracting themselves by talking about their next trip to Hogsmeade and the upcoming Winter recess. Pansy and her family were going to go on holiday to France to visit some family. Y/N hadn’t decided yet if she was going to go home or stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. They continued talking until the plates had been cleared and Dumbledore stood to give a few, final words before dismissing everyone back to their respective dormitories. 

As everyone began filing out of the Great Hall, Y/N passed by Hermione and the two girls made eye contact. They smiled subtly at one another before parting ways, Hermione going back up to Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Harry, and Y/N descending down to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room with Pansy, who had looped her arm around Y/N’s.

All in all, it had been a good day. She hadn’t really learned anything new today, but she had gotten to spend some more time talking to Hermione, which was something that they didn’t often do in Potions. 

When Y/N and Pansy had finally reached their dormitories, Y/N was smiling. She and Pansy began getting ready for bed, changing into comfortable pajamas, Y/N opting to use a silk green set that she had been gifted from Pansy’s family the Christmas before. Once the girls had settled into their beds under the comfortable sheets and covers and silence fell over the room, Y/N closed her eyes. And as she began drifting off, she fell asleep thinking about Hermione’s smile and just how wonderful it was.

[lokigayforhela]

Can u do a Hela x fem!reader where Hela come backs and sees reader about to be killed by one of the asgardians because of her trying to help Hela. Hela saves her and they rule all of Asgard!

WC: 2793

TW: TW for mention of and description of wounds from torture, brief depictions of gore and violence, and technically character death, though there is no real attention drawn to it

A/N: Consider this an au in which Hela breaks out of her imprisonment much sooner than anyone expected, and naturally… it isn’t so pretty. Please enjoy~

The crash back down to Asgard jarred Hela far more than shecared to admit, her rather rough connection with the ground beneath knockingthe wind out of her as she pushed herself to her hands, trying to gain herbearings as quickly as possible.

Breaking herself out of her imprisonment had been no simpletask. Odin had placed a number of binding spells over not only her, but on Hel,as well. It had taken much of her strength and magic to break free of them, andshe’d been weakened a fair deal, as it was, from being away from Asgard as longas she had. It had taken every ounce of energy she’d been saving to find eachloophole in every spell in order so that she could successfully break through,and the task of physical getting toAsgard itself had used the last little bit of it.

But the good thing about being back on Asgard meant that herpower was replenishing, and she knew that the longer she was able to staythere, the more her power would grow, and soon she would be unstoppable again,even more so than before Odin had imprisoned her. After all, she’d had morethan her fair share of idle time to hone and train her skills. She could dothings not even Odin himself could do, and she had every intention of provingit.

But the foremost thought at the front of her mind was you.

She remembered how you had looked, the night she had beensent spiraling to Hel through the portal Odin had made. Remembered the guardsholding you back, remembered the wounds you had sported, no doubt given to youonce they had figured out that you were aiding Hela in her attempts to massacrethe guards and the Valkyrie, and seize the throne for herself.

She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

Long before she had even thought of taking the throne forherself, before it had even become an idea in her mind, before things had goneso sour, Hela had reveled in stolen moments with you, enjoying your company inhidden trysts in the garden, or secret little meetings between bookshelves inthe libraries late at night. Any time she could have with you, she wanted,everyone else be damned.

It had been during one of those nights together that Helahad used a spell to bind you together. A lovingly murmured incantation, and youhad been connected in a way that not many were. You could feel each other’spresence when apart, could tell where the other was without having to search,like a map you didn’t have to read. The feeling had gone away, once Hela hadbeen banned to Hel, and she assumed the same would have been said for you, butnow that she was back, she could feel it again, though it had grown weak, amere shadow of the strong sensation she had always felt from you.

She knew she had to move quickly.

She navigated her way through the streets of Asgard easily,as though nothing had changed in her presence, and to be truthful, little had.She wasn’t sure just how long she had been away, the days had always meldedinto the next, like an endless time loop she had been stuck in with nothing buther own thoughts for company, and so she knew it could have been weeks ormonths or even years since she had been on Asgard.

And those were weeks or months or years that the guardswould have had you in captivity, no doubt torturing you to try and get anydetails out of you. She doubted they would have had any use out of anythingthey might have gotten from you, as she had been imprisoned, and that had beenthat on the matter, but she knew how the guards had been trained.

She knew how shehad trained them.

She didn’t have much time.

With little care for stealthiness, she marched straight downthe path that led right to the palace, aware of all the eyes on her and thewhispers surrounding her. She wouldn’t have much time before Odin was alertedto her presence, and to be honest, she didn’t care. She would burn the cityover tenfold, if that was what it took to get you back in her arms.

By the time she’d reached the palace gates, there were anumber of guards at the ready. She recognized some, trainees that had madetheir way up the ranks in her absence, but most of them were entirely newblood.

She couldn’t help the smirk that spread across her face.

This would be almost tooeasy.

With minimal effort, and only a few waves of her hands, she’dsent a shower of swords across the palace courtyard, each razor-sharp bladelodging itself in the hearts of their mark, until the cobblestone of thewalkway had turned crimson beneath her feet, and she was left to continue towalk in an eerie silence.

Once she entered the palace, she found herself faced with adecision.

On one hand, if she went straight to you, she could ensureyour safety much more easily, but would have to have you along with her as shemurdered her way to the throne. But if she hunted Odin down first, she riskedhim commanding the guards to kill you, if you were still alive.

Unwilling to take that risk, she closed her eyes, reachingout with her magic to feel where exactly you were located in the nearbyprisons. The closer she got, the stronger she could feel you, but she was stillunnerved that the connection had grown so weak, and so with haste, she made herway to the dungeons, cutting down any and all who crossed her path, be theyguards or maids, caring little for how much blood she shed in her attempts tofind you, until finally, she was outside the cell they had you in.

Necrosword clasped tightly in hand, she took in the sight ofyou, dressed in tattered and worn clothing, far too large for your small frame.You’d been shackled from wrist to wrist, with just enough slack for you to bechained with your hands above you on the wall. Your face was pale, and shecould see bruises scattered like macabre freckles across your face, trailingbelow the collar of your shirt, and who knew where else on your body. You haddark circles under your eyes, and you looked like it had been days since you’dseen a proper meal. You hardly had the strength to keep yourself upright, allof your weight sagging against the cuffs around your wrists, which surely hadbeen rubbed raw already from the friction.

That alone would have been enough to have Hela’s bloodboiling. And then she noticed the guard in the cell with you, in the process ofwiping a blade clean on his tunic, and it was then that she noticed the trailof blood coming from somewhere under the hem of your shirt, staining the fabricof your pants as it dripped down from wherever you’d been stabbed.

“The other guards are cowards. Too uneasy at the thought ofkilling a woman. But there’s nothing of use that we could get out of youanymore, anyway, and we’ve had our fun with you, anyway.” The guard spoke in aslow, easy tone, clearly relaxed and assuming he had nothing to worry about. Helawatched in hard silence, as he took a step forward, raising your chin with afinger as he inspected you.

“Any last words, traitor?”

He was watching you closely, waiting for your response, butyou were not looking at him. You were looking past him, as Hela stepped out of the shadows and toward the barrierof the cell, a look of fury across her features, the likes of which you’d neverknown a person could be capable of.

“…Hela…”

The guard only laughed at your weakly-murmured response. “Yes,yes, we’ve been over this, all you want is Hela. Anything else?”

“You have something that belongs to me.”

Hela’s voice echoed harshly in the silence of the dungeons,and you watched the guard tense up. You assumed it was out of fear, but when hestumbled backwards a bit, it was then that you noticed the sword Hela had sent straightthrough the barrier and through his chest.

All you could do was blink as he fell, and by the time youtore your stunned gaze away from him, Hela had used magic to disintegrate thebarrier entirely, and was rushing into the cell, already working at the chainsbinding you.

“You’re okay, Y/N. You’re okay. I’ve got you now.”

Hela worked quickly, and in less than a minute, she’d gottenyou unchained and had pulled you into your arms, sinking to the ground as shetook on the full weight of you with ease, cradling you in her lap. You weren’tsure if you wanted to laugh or to cry, so instead you did both, still notentirely sure that what you were seeing was real.

“…is it really you…?” you murmured, voice rough and raw asyou looked up at her, praying to the Norns that she wasn’t a figment of yourimagination or only there to escort you to the afterlife.

“It’s me, my love. I’m here. I’m so sorry it took me so longto get back to you.” She kissed you gently, then, like she needed to prove toyou that she was real, or perhaps prove to herself that she was really therewith you, and you melted into the kiss immediately, bringing a tired hand up tocup her face when you drew back.

“…I thought I’d never see you again…”

“I know, my love. I know. But listen, we have to get you outof here. I’ll get you all fixed up, I promise, but there’s… there’s something Ihave to do first.”

You had a feeling you knew what she meant to do, and youwere in no position to try to argue with her or change her mind, so you onlynodded, and let Hela help you to your feet, hooking your arm over her shoulderas she wrapped an arm around your waist and led you back out of the cell and upthe staircase that would lead right into the palace.

You could hear shouts and panicked talking all around you,and you worried that Hela was going to get caught or ambushed, and that all ofthis would have been for naught, but anyone that dared to come your way was metwith a quick and brutal death by Hela’s hand, and you did your best not tothink about it.

It wasn’t until you’d reached the throne room that Helaslowed to a stop, tucking you in a hidden little alcove just outside the doors,where you knew you’d be unseen by anyone around.

“…this next part isn’t going to be pretty,” Hela admitted,and you could see the bloodlust in her eyes already.

“I know.” You winced as Hela leaned you against a marblecolumn, making sure you were as comfortable as you could be, and you fought theoverwhelming urge to close your eyes and drift off to sleep. “…do what you haveto do.”

Hela nodded, and kissed your forehead gently, taking yourhand in hers. “I won’t be long.”

You watched as Hela disappeared around the corner,exhaustion washing over you in waves too strong for you to keep ignoring. Yourvision faded to black just as the screaming started.

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

You came to in a dim room, blinking the sleep from your eyesas you tried to clear your mind a little more. Before you even had the chanceto sit up, you felt a gentle hand on your chest, stopping you from moving.

“Don’t strain yourself, my darling, you’re still healing.”

Hela’s soft voice soothed you in a way you didn’t know youneeded to be soothed, and you reached a hand for her blindly, smiling softlywhen she leaned over you so you could see her face.

“…how long was I out?” you murmured through a yawn, slowlybecoming aware of the dull pain in your side.

“Only a few days. Your bruises are almost gone, but that wasa rather nasty stab you earned yourself on your side. It’ll take a little whilelonger for that to heal, even if I keep using magic.”

You nodded a bit, and brushed your fingertips along her jaw,like a small little reminder to yourself that Hela was actually there with you.

Hela smiled softly, but it faltered a bit as she looked atyou, like she was uncertain about how to word what she needed to say next. “Y/N,are there any other wounds I need to know about? The guards, did they… theydidn’t try anything, did they?”

“Oh, they tried. But I had a good teacher, you know?Eventually they got smart enough to stop trying.”

Hela grinned, and kissed your forehead gently. “That’s mygirl.”

You hummed softly, and for a long while, the two of yousettled into a comfortable silence. You were almost loathe to break it, but youhad your own questions that you needed answered, and you looked up at Hela whenyou finally spoke.

“…Odin?”

“It’s just us now.” Hela answered definitively, leaving youwith no doubt what had transpired after you had passed out. “I am Queen, andyou will be Queen beside me, just as we always talked about.”

You nodded, and smiled a little weakly, glad that you couldget away with it, given your current state of injury. It wasn’t that you didn’tlook forward to ruling with Hela. You’d always wanted nothing but her. You justweren’t sure you agreed with her path of action, despite how much you hadalways been willing to help her to get what she needed.

If Hela suspected any hesitation from you, she didn’t showit, and only leaned down to kiss your forehead gently. “The coronation will bein two days’ time. You’ll be well enough to stand with me by then, I’ll be sureof it. And the wedding will come whenever you’re ready.”

A wedding, you had to admit, did sound much more likesomething you could look forward to without guilt, and you smiled gently,nodding as you looked up at her.

“I was always ready. Back then. Now. Sometimes I feel asthough we’ve been married for our entire lives together already.”

“Well, now we’ll be able to be married in title, too. And allof Asgard and the Nine Realms will see our bond and know that it is true.”

The very idea was enough to soothe over the doubts you feltabout Hela’s actions, at least enough for you to push them to the back of yourmind for now, and you smiled, pulling Hela down so you could kiss her sweetly.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered once you had parted,leaning your forehead against hers and closing your eyes, just reveling in thefeeling of being with her again, after so long without.

“I thought about you every second of every day.” Hela spokesoftly, in a tone that was strictly reserved for you, and she shifted to laydown next to you, turning over on her side and loosely draping an arm over yourwaist, pulling you closer while being mindful of your wound. “I asked the Nornsfor strength every day, so that I might find a way to break free and get backto you. I’m so glad I wasn’t too late.”

You hummed softly, nuzzling your nose against her cheek asyou turned your head to look at her better, and you couldn’t help the flutterin your very soul when you saw the way Hela was looking at you, like you werethe very reason that the sun rose every morning.

“…I love you.”

Hela kissed you again, cupping your face and brushing herthumb along the curve of your cheek, lingering once she drew back so that shecould keep looking at you. “I love you, too. I’ll never leave your side again.We’ll be together for the rest of eternity. Just the two of us, I swear to you.”

She kissed you again, and you settled more comfortably, allowingyourself to doze off as Hela continued to cuddle you close, gentle voicelulling you back to sleep.

“I swear it.”

[jimlingss]

Game of Temptation

➜ Words: 16k

➜ Genres: 60% Smut, 35% Angst, 5% Fluff, Succubus!AU

➜ Summary: As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it's still hard to resist Taehyung, and there's little you can do once you've been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don't know your intentions are far from being angelic.

➜ Warning: seduction, sex, homewrecking, infidelity, daddy kink, creampie, etc. There were no morals in the making of this fic. I do not subscribe to my characters’ beliefs, y'all. It's just some crazy fiction. Reader discretion advised.

It’s your chance to have a little fun, peach.   The four wheels of the luggage roll against the smooth pavement, over the cracks and up the massive driveway. The sweltering sun isn’t a bother when the feeling of flames licking against your cheeks is such a familiarity. Yet, you still feel disgruntled as Taehyung’s words ring inside your head.   I know you want to try your hand at it. And you’ve been telling me how much you want a little subordinate of your own. You could do whatever you want with them. There are no rules.   He’s a bastard. If it wasn’t for you being so wrapped around his finger and dancing in the palm of his hand, you would never do something this ridiculous. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. Taehyung’s words of persuasion act like you do have a choice when in reality, he mocks.   Yet, in spite of what you might really think, you continue on your way, lugging your heavy baggage up the stairs and steadying your breath. Feeling a sense of calmness, the pad of your index finger presses the doorbell. You listen to how the sound echoes inside the enormous manor.   There’s shouting, footsteps, and a second later, the door swings open.   There’s a plump woman with an apron tied over her body, her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She’s out of breath as she is fatigued even though it’s only eight in the morning. But she still greets you with a smile that spreads into her chubby cheeks. “Hello! You must be the new live-in nanny and housemaid! Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out here! It’s so cold!”   She helps drag in your luggage.    The large foyer opens up to a grand staircase, two archways on both sides that allow you to peek into the chandeliered and golden curtain rooms. There’s antique china in a display case and vases on tables — more to paint a picture of wealth than for any actual purpose. But while one would expect a quiet and proper home, there’s chaos instead. Feet rumbling from upstairs. Sharp laughter and exhausted sighs. Noises of shouting and screaming.    “You’re younger than I expected. What’s your name?”   “Y/N, madam.”   “Oh, I’m not the madam,” the woman giggles at the thought and bats the air with her hand. “The madam isn’t as old as I am. I’m the Kim’s housekeeper, Ms. Yoo. We’ll be working close together. Have you eaten yet? The trip must’ve been long and tiring. Would you like to rest?”   The corner of your lips quirk. “I’m alright, thank you.”   “I’ll give you a tour around then. The faster you can become accustomed to this home, the faster you can help out.”   You nod, but before she can get in another word, there’s thundering stomps down the stairs.    A boy’s face pokes through the banisters and he gives a toothless grin. Not more than five years old, he wears a blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, one foot with a sock and the other without — he’s no doubt a spoiled, little brat.   The kid makes a ruckus while running down the rest of the steps, jumping from the last three and he comes up to you, eyes wide and sparkling as he looks up. “Who’re you?”   You lower yourself and offer a soft smile. “I’m going to be your daddy and mommy’s new little helper. We’re going to have lots of fun from now on.”   “Jaesun! Jaesun, get back here! What did I say about slamming your bedroom door?!”   A frail woman with grating vocal cords comes down the stairs as well. Her chest is rising and falling, evidently winded from her son but her eyes visibly light up when she sees you.    “You must be Y/N, aren’t you?” She’s a pretty woman with few wrinkles even in her forties, dressed cleanly in a rosy blouse and white skirt. But her dark circles ruin the pristine image.    “Yes, I am, madam.”   She shakes your hand vigorously. She looks at you like you’re her guardian angel. An irony that tickles your senses. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re finally here. I’m Kim Yijin, my husband is Kim Namjoon, but we should head to the kitchen to talk. There’s not much time left.”   The housekeeper smiles. “Yes, I was about to show her the way.”   “Let’s go, Jaesun.” You offer your hand to the boy and he happily takes it, something that Yijin doesn’t miss and even grins at.    The kitchen is twice the size of the foyer, two stove sets and two refrigerators side by side. The counter space is enough to stretch your entire body across and you can only marvel at the surroundings.    “I hope you don’t get too overwhelmed,” Yijin says as she turns to get her coffee started and Ms. Yoo sets out breakfast for Jaesun at the table. “But I should tell you now before I forget to. My family eats a gluten-free diet. Our Jaesun is lactose and tolerant, so he’s only to have soy milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. My daughter has poor digestion, so try to avoid whole-grains when you’re preparing the meals.” She stops for a second, lamenting, “and she has such bad skin these days, so avoid milk and anything bad, like instant noodles, even if she begs for it. The girl doesn’t know what’s good and bad for her.”   With her steaming coffee cup in hand, Yijin waltzes around the kitchen, forcing you to follow her whims.   “Make sure the kids have at least three servings of fruits and vegetables. My husband doesn’t like eggs and Jaesun isn’t supposed to have candy. Also, this is less important, but I really like fried foods that aren’t too oily, so if you have anything you can make…”   The corners of your lips lift. “I have a fried chicken recipe.”   “I like you already.” She snaps her fingers, smile brightening. She looks over to the older lady, calling out to her, “Ms. Yoo, I can get breakfast ready for today. Would you like to continue showing Y/N around?”   “Yes, I will.”    Even when you could tell from the outside, the house is grand. It’s a closed concept, full of mahogany wood panels, twisting halls, oak doors and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a place Taehyung would enjoy.    “Every day, we meal prep breakfast, lunch and dinner. Typically only the master of the house is here for lunch, so we have to watch our portions. He works a lot from home. Oh, his younger brother is also living here for some time. He’s an editor, so he’s quite busy. I tend to deliver his meal to his room if he doesn’t come down for dinner.”   You nod, entering the living room.    There’s a giant family photo above the mantel that looks all too artificial — stiff smiles and pressed clothes with a white background. But the space is warmed with cedar bookshelves, a coffee table to match and perfectly positions cushion chairs. In one of them is a sleepy man with dark hair, sipping on a mug as he reads the newspaper.   He looks up at you, features more tender than expected.   “Hello.” You dip your head to the so-called younger brother, keeping your voice soft-spoken.   “Mr. Kim, this is our new helper,” the housekeeper introduces.   “Yes.” His voice is also surprisingly husky. “I’m Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you.”   The two of you stare at one another until you dip your head as Mrs. Yoo keeps going and you leave the room, walking upstairs.   “We dust every day and clean the kitchen each night. Every other day, we do laundry and vacuum the rooms. The living space and foyer get especially dirty, so we have to stay vigilant. If your back ever aches from hunching over so much, tell me and I’ll give you some cream and heated pads.”   A door down the hall shuts and there’s an audible sigh. What follows are footsteps and a teenage girl in an ironed school uniform, backpack on her back. Her black hair is sleek, ending at her waist and in spite of puffy cheeks, her eyes are cat-like.    “Good morning, Sohee. Sleep well?”   “I guess.” As her pupils dart from the housekeeper to you, her steps slow and she halts altogether.   You lock your gaze with her and smile. “Hello. I’m the new housemaid, Y/N.”   You extend your arm, but she dwells — staring like a deer in headlights.   It takes a moment for Sohee to come to her senses and she shakes your hand while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She timidly murmurs, “O-oh. Nice to meet you.”   “Sohee!” There’s a sudden screech of her name from downstairs, grating to the ears. Immediately, the young girl deflates.   “Coming!” she shouts back to her mom with a groan, rolling her eyes before running down the stairs.   The housekeeper smiles sympathetically. “Sohee’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, so she’s been a bit sensitive lately.” You nod and she continues, “We clean the bathrooms once a week and once a month, we wash the carpets. Your room is just this way.”   Down the corridor is a small mahogany door. But there’s grandiose double doors with golden handles right where the hall begins from the open area. And your strides reduce. You linger from curiosity and peer through the crack with an eye. Vaguely, you’re able to make out bookshelves and an imposing desk. More importantly, there’s someone seated in the leather seat behind it.   Mrs. Yoo notices. “Oh, that’s master Kim’s office, but there’s no need to bother him right now.”   Your body moves a little too late. While you’re still peeping through, the man behind the desk raises his head. Your eyes meet, but you leave before either of you can get a good look at each other.   The room you’re given is a meager space — more like a closet compared to the rest of the house. You hold in your scoff, looking around at the single bed. The empty desk. The tiny window with dead bugs on the sill. The wooden chair with splinters sticking out of it. It looks like antiques shoved in a shed. Not even Taehyung treats you this poorly.   “The bathroom is across from your room, so it’s rather convenient!”   You set your luggage down.   “Also, you’ll be watching Jaesun when he comes home from kindergarten. You’ll wash him and put him to bed as well. I’ll help you out until you get the hang of things, so don’t worry too much.”   You wonder if the old lady ever shuts up, but you keep your voice soft-spoken and your demeanour timid. “Thank you.”   “It’s not an issue.” Ms. Yoo pats your shoulder. “Oh, you can get settled a little later on. We should help the madam with breakfast. She doesn’t cook very well.”   It’s possible to get lost in this abyss of a house. There are endless halls and pompous rooms. You don’t understand the purpose of having a large music room next to a drawing room, but you suppose with this much money, it’s fun to throw it into a blazing fire.   The housekeeper continues yapping away as you make it back downstairs. But on your way, you catch a different individual standing in the foyer. Someone in a black suit with doe eyes, boyish features that draw you in.    He seems surprised to see you too.   “Ah, Jungkook! Have you eaten yet? Would you like a coffee?”   “I’m fine, Ms. Yoo.” He has a cute smile full of teeth and his eyes flicker to you. “This is...?”   “Oh, it’s the new helper I was telling you about. Y/N, this is Jungkook, Mr. Kim’s personal chauffeur. He’s been working with this family for almost as long as I’ve been here.”   “Not that long,” Jungkook retorts mischievously. “I only started here a few years ago after I finished school.”   “Only? Oh my. Feels like you started here thirty years ago like I did! Time goes by so fast!”   “Only when you’re having fun.” Jungkook grins and then redirects his attention towards you, clearing his throat. “I-It’s nice to meet you.”   “Likewise.” You shake his hand and dip your head with a tiny smile. He averts his vision too, becoming shy. Yet, when you lift your head, your eyes meet each other’s. You can feel the way his hand is getting sweaty, but you let it linger for a longer amount of time than necessary. Until you’re the one to let go.   He’s too cute.   You catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.   The tension between the pair of you is only broken when a voice coughs from the top of the staircase and Jungkook breaks apart from you, taking a step back. You look up at the master, Kim Namjoon. A man in his forties, tall with a commanding aura. His hair is styled neatly, thick glasses sitting on his face, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. Everything about him screams of new money.   “Good morning, Mr. Kim.”   He hums at the housekeeper. “Good morning, Ms. Yoo. This must be the new helper. It’s nice to meet you.” The man comes down and visibly inspects you, as if trying to figure you out and only looks away when he’s satisfied. “I hope you’ll do a good job.”   “Yes, sir.”   “Are you going already, daddy?” Sohee comes from the kitchen, crestfallen. The volume of her voice is quiet and tapers off, “You’re not going to have breakfast with us...?”   “I don’t have time today.” The words tumble out and he looks at his phone. Ms. Yoo opens the door as he answers a call outside.    You look over at Sohee who’s become dejected. Her shoulders have slumped and her hair falls in front of her face. She pouts and tries to hide it. But Jungkook smiles softly and ruffles her hair.   “Don’t be so sad. I’ll have breakfast with you tomorrow, okay?”   “Really?” Sohee looks up at him, eyes gradually brightening and her cheeks becoming rosy.   He nods. “I’ll make sure to come early.”   “I’ll have to cook more eggs then,” the housekeeper chortles and Jungkook grins until his eyes travel to you. The glance turns into a gaze and neither of you speak until Ms. Yoo turns. “Come on, Y/N! We can’t dawdle all day now.”   “Yes,” you murmur and follow after her, all too aware of Jungkook’s stare on your backside as Sohee still talks without him really listening. Once you turn the corner, the older woman pauses and your brow cocks. “Is….there something the matter?”   She smiles endearingly at you and shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. You’re just very beautiful, that’s all.”

The house is chaotic.   Before going to bed, Ms. Yoo gave you one piece of furniture to add to the sad collection — an alarm clock. And it blares with red digits reading that it’s five in the morning. Lugging yourself up, you’re bombarded with chores. From laundry to wiping down windows and making the bed.   “Excuse me.” You knock against the door and there’s a muffled ‘come in’.   Yoongi sits at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and a red pen in his hand. His room is similar to yours, cramped and modest, but with a larger window and mattress, and a proper wardrobe and closet.   The man in his pajamas doesn’t look at you. “You can leave it there,” he mumbles and you set his tray of breakfast food on his nightstand.    Your eyes linger on his slouching form. But he never turns around, so you leave.   The noise and bickering from the kitchen can already be heard from the stair landing. The stove top fan is blasted while Ms. Yoo fries eggs, Jaesun sitting at the table with his legs swinging and spitting his cereal all over the place as he plays make-belief with his robot, but most of all—   “Why won’t you let me go?” Sohee is standing by her mother, exasperation and the furrow of her brows ruining her otherwise innocent exterior. “It’s only Yeeun’s house! And you already know her mom!”   “I already said that she isn’t a good influence on you!”   “We’re only studying! I don’t get why you don’t like her!”   “Her family is lower than ours.” Yijin forces herself to become calmer and feeds Jaesun a spoonful of yogurt as he plays. She glances at her daughter after a moment. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d become friends with Lee Sunmi. At least they have something to offer us. And are you going to eat that bagel? It’s filled with cream cheese. We have to watch your weight, remember?”   “Why are you always picking on me?” The girl drops her choice of breakfast and cries, “What about Jaesun?!”   “Are you going to compare yourself to your brother?” She gives her an astonished look full of disbelief, tinged with disappointment. “He’s only five.”   Sohee is frustrated to no end. “I hate you all!” She screams and stomps away as you resume slicing the strawberries, eyes lifting every so often. You watch as Jungkook enters the kitchen at the same time Sohee’s leaving. She pauses for a second but then pushes past him.   Her mother screams after her. “Sohee! Are you not going to eat at all?! That girl! So rude.”   In the meanwhile, Ms. Yoo reads the expression on your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. They never argue for too long.”   “Shouldn’t we at least say something?”   She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to get involved a few times, but it never helped much. Better to keep quiet. Every family argues.”   The housekeeper finishes up in the kitchen while Yijin settles down and sips on her coffee as she scrolls through her phone. She asks for a plate of fruits from Ms. Yoo and at the same time, you notice Jaesun scooping his cereal and purposely spilling it on the ground. No one notices.   It sloshes into a pile.   You hold in your cusses and grab a rag.   The five year old realizes he’s been caught in the act and grins like a little shit. You get on the floor, scrubbing the mess. But the moment the floorboards are back to brown again, there’s another splatter of milk by your hand and a spoonful of cereal flakes that follow. It splashes on your hair and apron and you raise your head to find the little shit plastered with a ginormous smile.   “Done eatin’!” He announces, scooting back his chair before running off in giggles.   May Satan have mercy on the child before you tear his limbs apart.   The minute you’re finished scrubbing the floor and clearing the table, you go off to find the brat. Because god forbid there’s a scratch on him.    You find him in the hallway between the laundry room and garage. “What do you think you’re doing?!”   There’s a bright red crayon in his tight fist. And he’s scribbling all across the wall while laughing at a piercing volume. At the sight of you, Jaesun draws a line as hard as he can until his knuckles are white, bits of wax are sprinkling and the crayon is a half the size it used to be.   The kid runs away before you can snatch him.   Much to your dismay, Ms. Yoo merely smiles in endearment when you tell her. “Kids like to have so much fun, don’t they? I remember when my son was at that age, he was such a troublemaker too. But it’s nothing a little baking soda can’t fix!”   You end up on your knees, scrubbing the wall with a damp rag dipped in the white powder.   You’re humiliating and exhausted.    Taehyung was wrong — there’s nothing fun about this whatsoever. You swear to God you’re going to murder someone.   “How are you doing?”   You look up, discovering doe eyes and pink lips quirked at you. Jungkook is dressed in his suit that’s a bit too big for him, hands dug into the pants pockets as he glances at the wall. You smile at him, brushing away the strand of your hair that came loose from your bun.   It’s not too bad of a time to be sweating. To allow the beads to roll down the nape of your neck.   “It’s tiresome, but nothing I can’t do.”   “I’m assuming this is Jaesun’s little artwork project.”   “Who else could it be?”   Jungkook grins boyishly. “Once he decided to paint the inside the car using the leather seats as his canvas.”   “Why don’t they ever discipline him?” you ask genuinely, tilting your head up at him and he matches the playful glint in your eyes before shrugging.   “Probably because he’s the youngest and the only son, so it’s natural they spoil him.”   “But this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You shake your head, voice pitching upwards into a whine. The irritation was leaking through the facade you’ve created, but all it does is make Jungkook’s grin widen.   “It is. You know—”   “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name in a screeching voice. “Can you come here for a second?”   “Yes!” For the most part, the crayon is taken off and you breathe a sigh of relief. You look over to Jungkook as a tiny smile appears on your features. “See you.”   “Y-Yeah.”   His eyes linger on you as you leave.   “I’m about to be late for work, so can you please bring this up to my husband?” Yijin hands you a wooden tray with a tall glass of some sort of sludgy green liquid filled to the rim. The drink stinks of kale and lettuce. You wonder if she’s trying to poison him. “He hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet and I’m worried. That man never takes care of himself properly. Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you could Jaesun dressed. Don’t know where he’s run off to.”   You nod and balance the drink up the stairs before coming to the familiar grandiose doors.   You knock timidly.   There’s a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment, one that signifies he’s inside but preoccupied. Still, you push the parted doors open and come forward with the tray. Namjoon never looks up at you, busy studying the files of documents.   The room is warmer than expected, oaks and mahogany, paintings and bookshelves, a large desk that reminds you of a judge’s bench — imposing, commanding. Not unlike him. There’s a fireplace, two leather sofas facing each other and a coffee table in between, and above the mantle is another family portrait that exudes a kind of stiff perfection.   You place the glass down on his disorganized desk, eyes peering up at the man. As you retract your arm, your skin brushes against a stack of papers and they’re knocked to the ground. He whips his head over, brow cocked.   “I’m so sorry, sir,” you whimper. As you frantically pick them up, you bend over in front of him.   “It’s fine.” You feel his eyes linger on your rounded behind before he looks at his document again. You mask a smirk. Namjoon mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Where are you from?”    You purposely pause so he directs his attention to you again.   “I grew up in the countryside not far from here, sir.” You hold the tray to your stomach, presenting a timid disposition as if his gaze weighs heavily on you.   “And what did you do before you took this job?”   “I was in university, sir, but I’m taking a break to save some money.”   The man gives a pleasant nod. “What was your major?”   “Education, sir.” You divert your vision elsewhere, but a sweet smile pulls on your lips. “I would love to become a teacher someday.”   He hums in approval, “I could see you doing that.”   “Daddy?” The conversation is interrupted by Sohee at the door. She’s dressed in her school uniform, but is nowhere near ready to step into a classroom with the way she’s teary-eyed and her voice croaks with a lump in her throat. “Mom’s not letting me study with Yeeun!”   Namjoon exhales exhaustingly. He sits back in his leather chair, looking at the ceiling. Sohee’s eyes stings at how she’s evidently annoying her father. But you don’t dwell, bowing your head and dismissing yourself.   //   You would’ve never picked up this job unless you had to. Not even for the useless money.   You detest education. Never did well, never had fun, never got along with anyone. Be a teacher? You could scoff ten times over. You hate children. You hate kids. They’re absolute brats. Noisy at their best and tormentors at their worst. There’s only a few perks to this job.   Like right now.   “I’m glad to be of service,” Jungkook breathlessly laughs.    His hot breath ghosts along your cheek while your legs wrap and lock around his waist.   A comfortable darkness surrounds you. The moonlight cascades through the small window, enough that you can see his handsome profile. And the slick, obscene sounds are covered by the dryer machine still rumbling underneath you. It has the last load of towels the housekeeper wanted to get done tonight — and it’s also helping Jungkook release his load into you.   The vibrations of the dryer flow through your body, adding to his raw strokes and the moans choking out of you. It didn’t take much to convince him to sneak away. The one-dimensional family is completely oblivious too, sleeping upstairs in their warm beds. You’re tempted to whine Jungkook’s name louder and make one of them investigate. You wonder what the look on their face would be if they found their little maid and chauffeur fucking in the laundry room.   Jungkook tugs down your dress further and gently noses your hardened nipple before his mouth travels upwards to the juncture of your neck. You feel his lips suck into your soft skin, but the fingers sunk into his dark hair tightens and you pull his head back.   He gives a throaty groan, half-lidded eyes pinned on your face.   You writhe against his hard chest every time his thick cock drags out of your walls. He’s bigger than you expected. Eager too. Jungkook is a healthy and young one, hips and strokes fluid albeit a bit fast and excited.    You can tell he likes you a lot.   “I-I would’ve never guessed you hated kids.” The boy watches how his cock enters you and disappears. Your pussy clenches around him and he sweats at his hairline, trying to hold back from cumming so soon.   “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you sing-song cutely and roughly pull him in by his shoulders, batting your lashes. “Can you kiss me, please, Jungkookie?”   He nods enthusiastically and leans in to nose your cheek. Then, he tilts his head and your mouth meets his. Your lips immediately part to welcome him deeper and his hands force your thighs farther apart, fingers digging into your flesh. Jungkook’s tongue licks into your hot mouth, making you moan.    Yet, the kiss is somehow sweet. Much too pure for someone like you.   The two of you break apart, lips wet with his spit. “I-I’m close.”   Jungkook’s strokes start to lose their rhythm. They become frantic. Frenzied. He can feel the shaking of the dryer jumping beneath you, how tight and wet you are around him.   You watch him through hooded eyes, tempted to coo at him and tell him that he can do it — encourage him that he can release his load right into your womb. But not wanting to ruin his fun moment, you instead squeeze as tight as you can.    Jungkook groans, hips jerking and he plunges deep inside your cunt to cum.    He gives two more thrusts. His entire body trembles and he realizes you’re still unfinished. Even with half a mind, he has the courtesy to lick his thumb and rub at your clit. You writhe with moans of his name, holding him close and a few seconds later, you get to where you want to be.   As you come down from your high, you pet him. “Good boy. Thanks for that.”   “Y-You’re so pretty.”   “Am I?” you hum and he nods madly.   Jungkook’s sticky breath heaves, chest rising and falling and you wrap your arms possessively around his shoulders. Whining incoherently, he understands that you’re pleading for another kiss. He happily obliges and you angle your head to deepen it. The kiss is lazier. Languid. Giving you a chance to taste him properly.   Jungkook starts to groan when you don’t pull away after thirty seconds.   He tries to part, losing oxygen. But you keep him in your tight grip. And you inhale.   It’s delicious. It fills you with a sense of euphoria, making goosebumps raise all over the back of your arms. It’s been a while since you’ve had a soul for yourself. And as it leaves his body, you feel him go limp around you.   Jungkook falls to the tiled floor, leaving a sopping mess at your center.   “Would you look at that?” A deep timbre sounds. He appears, manifesting himself across from you with the corpse in between. The corner of his thin lip is curled as if he’s impressed. His blonde hair looks white in the milky moonlight and the darkness causes his piercing brown eyes to glow. “Not too bad, peach.”   “It’s so easy, it’s not even fun.” You hop down from the dryer machine.   Taehyung’s devilish smirk grows. “That’s because you’re so naturally enticing.”   You roll your eyes.   He comes close, large hands lifting to cradle your cheeks. Taehyung kisses you without much warning — not that you need it — and he licks into your mouth, inhaling deep. He retrieves the soul you took, taking it right from your parted lips.   The two of you part and the thin strand of saliva breaks. Taehyung boops your nose. “I always knew my succubus was a talented one.”   You scoff. “Don’t act like you came here to praise me. You just wanted to collect the soul.”   “Can’t I come here for both?” He lolls his head, another smirk gracing his perfect visage that’s been sculpted by porcelain angel tears. “But it looks like you don’t need my help, so I’ll be on my way.”   Taehyung winks and takes the discarded body on the ground, disappearing with it. He vanishes as quickly as he came.   After he’s gone, you dip your hand between your messy legs.    It’s the last remnants of Jungkook and it’s salty on your palette when you lick your fingers.   //   The mattress is soft against your knees. It cushions and molds against you each time you push down. But still, your wrists strain against the hardened muscles and knots.   Yijin hums, a pleased smile on her face. “A little harder please. And oh, up there. Yes, yes. That’s the spot.”    You continue to massage her, making sure to knead your thumbs into the sweet spots. The madam of the house moans in satisfaction. If she wasn’t so annoying and if her soul wasn’t so bland to you — you would’ve taken it long ago. But well, she might be fun to have around a little longer when you start messing with her family more.    “You’re good,” she hums. “Where did you learn?”   “Here and there. My grandma had a lot of sore muscles, so naturally, I kind of picked it up.”   In reality, Taehyung makes you rub his shoulders all the time.   She looks like she’s enjoying herself, head placed to the side, eyes closed and the corners of her mouth raises. She’s melting under your touch. But even when she’s this relaxed, she still manages to yap.    “It’s been so long since I’ve been treated like this at home. I used to go to the spa often but there’s nothing like a home massage,” Yijin mumbles, “Namjoon used to do it for me all the time before we had kids and then he got busy with work, and well, it’s the reason we have this big house.”   She flips her head to the other side and you rub between her shoulder blades. “I used to be as pretty as you are.”   You keep your voice quiet and meek. “Pardon? You’re still pretty, madam.”   “You don’t need to flatter me.”   “But it’s true…?” Your voice pitches upwards as if you’re incredulous as to how she could think otherwise. “You have a maternal aura about you that I don’t have and you’re an established professional. Women can only dream of having that.”   Peering at her, you catch the way her smile sweetens.   At the same time, her husband enters the bedroom. Sighing and pulling off his tie, he places his briefcase down and moves to the minibar. Namjoon pours himself a glass of whisky and collapses into the white armchair beside the modern standing lamp, thighs spread wide and rather inviting. You look up at him, lashes fluttering in curiosity.   “What’s wrong?” Yijin opens one eye, clearly catching how stressed Namjoon is.   “I found that damn punk’s resignation letter on my desk. He’s gone.” He lifts his glass, taking a long sip of the amber liquid and letting the glass rest between his fingertips.   “Who?”   “Jungkook.”   “What?” Both of Yijin’s eyes peel back, pupils widening in shock. “How could that brat leave without warning?”   “I don’t know.” Namjoon looks to the whiskey, exhaling yet again. “After years of working for us, he upped and disappeared. I guess workers are always like that. Sohee’s been crying and throwing a tantrum. But anyway, I need to hire someone new. I don’t know who’s going to work this far from the city though.”   You continue rubbing Yijin’s back and you feel Namjoon’s gaze traveling to you from his place on the armchair. From the profile of your face, the nape of your neck, to the skin of your thighs that’s exposed from your dress being hiked up so you’re able to kneel on his mattress.   Yijin makes a noise. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Do you want a massage too? Y/N’s really amazing.”   Namjoon looks away, tearing his eyes from you. “No. I’m fine. I only need to rest a bit before I have to go back to work.”   His wife opens her eyes again and this time, she gets up. You lean back, allowing her to do so.   “Oh my goodness! Your associate is coming for dinner tonight, isn’t he? I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers and looks at you. “Can you please draw me a bath, Y/N? I have to look presentable.”   //   The business associate is Taehyung.   You couldn’t roll your eyes any harder when you see the blonde seated on the leather sofa as if he owns the place, suit and tie crisp, shoes polished. You don’t know what he’s doing or how he even set himself in their lives, but you suppose you had planted yourself in this household in dubious ways too — with his help, of course. So you don’t question it too much.   “I must say, this house is much more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.”   “That’s all thanks to my wife,” Namjoon chuckles, hands clasped together. “She has a better sense of aesthetics than I do.”   Yijin smiles. She’s dressed in another one of her rosy blouses and white skirts, polished without a hair out of place — to both play the role of the perfect wife and appeal to the handsome stranger. “Thank you. I wanted to be an interior designer a long time ago, so it was really fun to try my hand at it even if it’s not much.”   “Nonsense. It’s wonderful. Do you still want to be an interior designer now? You certainly have the skills for it.”   “Oh, no.” She bats the air with her hand. “I lost the dream when I got married and had kids. Plus, I don’t think I could ever work for anyone. It doesn’t really suit me.”   “Ah.” Taehyung leans back, all too comfortable as he is playful. “You prefer reaping the benefits of your husband and enjoying yourself? Can’t say I blame you.”   The corner of Namjoon’s mouth tilts while you approach with a bottle of wine, setting the crystal glasses down for them. “You know how women are.”   “On the contrary, they’re the more intelligent ones for letting us do all the work while they take pleasure,” Taehyung says, causing the other man to laugh and agree. You round the table to pour him a glass of wine and Taehyung looks at you with that infamous smirk, but you try to not make eye contact for long. “Thank you.”   You dip your head wordlessly.   “Oh yes.” Yijin perks up. “Thank you for recommending the company that you did. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to hire Y/N.”   “It’s not a problem at all. I’m always happy to help.” He smiles, taking the stem of the wine glass and rotating it to slosh the ruby liquid inside. “I take it she’s a good addition to the house?”   “Yes, she is.”   Taehyung exhales through his nostrils, lips adorned with a devilish smile. “I’m glad.”   You return to the kitchen unscathed, but damning Taehyung in your head for messing with your game. Though your irritation can’t last for long when Ms. Yoo hands you a wooden tray heavy with bowls and dishes. “Can you bring this up to the master’s younger brother? He’ll be having dinner in his room today.”   “Okay.”   You knock on the door. There’s a pause and after a moment, you open it.   Yoongi is in the same spot he was this morning, crouched over his desk with a red pen in hand, papers in front of him and round reading glasses perched on his nose. The curtains are drawn but the glow of the lamp gives him enough luminescence to work.   “You can leave it over there,” he mumbles and you place it on the usual spot.   The man never raises his head or pays any attention to you.   Your brow cocks and you take the tall glass, deciding to bring it to him. “Here’s some water, sir.”   And you purposely waver. The liquid sloshing on the sides and unceremoniously spills onto his lap. Yoongi jolts, arms lifting to save his papers while you sharply gasp. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!”   You fall onto your knees and begin dabbing all over his lap and crotch with your apron. Yet your antics doesn’t last for a few seconds before he’s brushing your hand away. “It’s fine. It’s just water.”   You peer up at him through your lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim.”   “I told you to leave it over there,” he grunts, casting a measly glance at you. “But it’s fine. If you have nothing else to do, please leave. I have a lot of work to get done.”   You rise to your feet and exit. He’s a harder one to crack. Those little tactics might not be enough, but you’ll get there soon enough. You’re certain of it.   “Y/N?” There’s a strangled whimper and you turn around in the dark corridor to see Sohee emerge from her room. The area underneath her eyes are reddened, nose raw. Her whole body trembles as she sniffles. The girl looks small and vulnerable, almost like a puppy.   “Is there something wrong?” you ask gently, akin to a mother cooing at her child.   Sohee’s eyes flicker up to you. “Did...Jungkook ever tell you anything before he left?”   You shake your head. “No. We were never that close. I’ve only spoken to him a few times.”   She nods. There’s a beat of silence and you lift your hand to caress her hair. The girl is startled but then eases, even leaning into your tender touch. You draw your fingers through her long, straight strands, petting her gently. “I’m sure he left for good reason. Maybe something happened or it was a family emergency. He was always close to you, right?”   Sohee nods again while choked cries come from her. “W-We were family.”   You embrace her, patting her back and she leans on your chest. “You’re not alone, Sohee. You have me now and I won’t ever leave like Jungkook did.”   She squeezes you back.   But the moment is shattered by a grating voice of her mother. “Sohee! Where are you?! Get down here and greet your dad’s friend!”    Her jaw clamps. She parts from you, rubbing her eyes.    You watch her go and she turns around to look at you. You smile at her.   //    “Your maid outfit’s cute.” He appears. A creeping shadow casted against the wall first, then flesh that stitches into the room. You’re resting on your bed, leaning against the headboard and filing your nails one at a time — the yellow glow of the desk lamp giving you barely enough light. “I didn’t get a good look last time.”   “What are you doing, Taehyung?” You blow against your index finger and finally ascend your gaze.   “Just having a little fun,” he chimes and muses that— “You’re taking a lot longer than usual.”   “Well, I’m just having some fun.”   Taehyung scoffs. “Don’t take too long.”   “You shouldn’t act like you’re busy when you’re not,” you bite back without missing a beat.   His brow cocks, smirk playing on his lips. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve disciplined you.”   Before you can react, he ambushes and pins you flat onto the bed. Taehyung hovers over you with a glint in his eyes, heavy body on top of yours, hips pressed together. He holds your wrists above your head, preventing you from squirming. But you make no attempts to do so, simply glaring at him like a petulant child. You’re neither surprised nor caught off guard. Taehyung always likes to be the one on top, in a literal and figurative sense. And truth be told, you don’t particularly mind.   His pink lips are curled and he leans down to your neck. He starts to suck into your skin, rough enough to break through and your pathetic cries only spur him on. Making him smirk against you. But your fingers find their way into his hair and you yank his head back.   Flesh coated in his saliva, a giant purple bruise is left blooming on your supple skin as the redness fades. “I told you no marks.”   “You’re going to need it, peach,” he says with a mischievous grin and then vanishes.   You’re left rolling your eyes.   //   The grandiose double doors have never been intimidating. Even when Ms. Yoo has warned you on your first day to not disturb the master working and to not approach unless necessary. As much of a brat as the five year old is, even he doesn’t come close to his father’s office.   But to you, those doors have always signified that a very fun game is waiting behind them.    Your knuckles rap against the wooden surface and you pull the golden handles without waiting for confirmation. Kim Namjoon’s seated in his leather chair behind the imposing desk, eyes flickering upwards and you smile, holding your tray higher. “It’s fruit, sir.”   “That isn’t necessary,” he says and you feign dejection, downcast eyes, shoulder slumping. He swallows hard and then beckons you over. “You can bring it here.”   You come forward and place the plate on a single empty spot on the desk not coated in file folders. You’re close enough that he catches a whiff of your scent and the hickey on your neck.   A scoff spills from Namjoon’s chest.   “You’re doing a lot of unnecessary things in my home,” he comments offhandedly, perhaps not for your ears to hear. It’s passive aggressive and you mask your smile. Namjoon looks at you. “I would prefer if you would work properly and complete your duties without doing much else.”   You feign confusion. Wide-eyed blinking. Lashes batting.   As if giving you the reason for his mention, his eyes linger at the hickey.   In a delayed manner, your hand raises to the juncture of your neck, covering the spot Taehyung made like that alone could remove it. And then, you immediately drop to the ground on your knees.   “I-I’m so sorry, sir. It...it wasn’t my fault,” you cry out, searching the floor as the volume of your voice becomes timid and shy. It isn’t hard to come up with an excuse. “J-Jungkook did it. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he cornered me in the laundry room and I..told him to stop...but…”   He slams his desk.   Hand curled into a tight fist. Making the pens on the surface jump. It’s startling and you look up at him, viewing just how upset he is. “He left the next morning and hasn’t been back…”   “So that’s why he left. Why didn’t you tell me?” Namjoon stares at you in distress. “This is very serious.”   You shake your head. “I was afraid of saying anything. I know Jungkook’s been here longer than I have, so I didn’t think anyone would believe me and I can’t lose this job, sir.” Your head tilts to look up at him, eyes gleaming through your lashes, lips pouted, still on your knees. “I’m sorry.”   The man sighs. “There’s no reason to apologize. If he ever comes back, I’ll call the police immediately. No one in this household should ever feel unsafe. I’ll promise you that.”   You nod and he helps pull you up by your arm. You stagger upwards and on weakened knees, you stumble. With agile skills Taehyung would be proud of, you land on the man’s lap. Perched on his spread thighs, your legs placed along one side, and hands securely on his shoulders. Namjoon’s steadied you as well with his own palms sprawled on the small of your waist. And your parted lips are gasping mere millimeters away from his.   It’s an intimate moment. One where your gazes lock. One where you make sure lasts three seconds to imprint into his mind.   And then true to the character you’ve created, you pull yourself away. You grab your chair and dip your head. “I’m so sorry, sir.”   Before the master of the house can get another word out, you run out the room.   The minute you’re outside, you run into Yoongi. Passing by, he cocks a brow at the way you frantically shut the doors and your breathing is laboured as if you ran a marathon.   “Something wrong?”   Your head shakes and you devilishly smile at him. “It’s nothing at all.”   //   It’s a game with these mortal men.   You know they want you — that they helplessly dream about you at night. Your words, your lips, you crawling over to them and doing whatever they ask. Showing what reality could be. But the more you let them peek without giving it to them, the deeper they fall into your trap of honey.   “What do you think?”   You place the papers down, a tender smile placed on your features. “Shouldn’t you ask your uncle who’s an editor to look over your essay instead of me?”   Sohee playfully sulks. “Yeah, but he’s always busy. I don’t want to bother him.”   “You made a few errors here and the conclusion isn’t as strong as the introduction. I think you should expand on this point into one or two more sentences. But overall it’s very well written, Sohee. You might even have a knack for writing.”   The girl nods with a grin and when you stroke her hair while telling her how proud you are, she looks up at you and leans into your touch.   Ms. Yoo enters the dining room, endeared at the sight of you and Sohee sitting together at the table and working on her homework. She’s reluctant to interrupt but does so anyways. “Y/N, the master is calling for you.”   The housekeeper never tells you for what purpose, but you have an inkling sprouted from your intuition. Swiftly, you leave and Ms. Yoo takes your place as Sohee continues on other assignments she’s able to do on her own. The pair of them are equally unsuspecting.   It’s evening and long after dinner. The sun is dipping over the horizon, crimson shades fuzzy in the sky. Everyone is preoccupied and there’s no real reason why he should be calling you.   But you don’t hesitate.   Your knuckles rap against the grandiose doors. There’s a pause and you push it open.   Inside, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace — above the mantle is the family portrait — and the man is standing and staring at the flickering flames. His face casted by the warm glow and he’s nursing a glass of whiskey. Namjoon raises his head as you push the door back to where it was, leaving it slightly parted.    “Good evening.”   “Is there something wrong, sir?”   He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking and I...realized I haven’t been as kind to you as I should’ve been. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t a safe place for you and I want to change that. I don’t want anyone in this house to be afraid.”   You know he’s referring to what you’ve accused Jungkook of doing and promptly you close the distance. Your steps are slow as your hips sway and you look at him through lidded eyes.   “Sir.” You keep your voice low. “This has always been a safe place to me, because I know you’re here.”   Your eyes locked into one another and a tense silence lingers.   Finally, Namjoon swallows hard and diverts his vision. “Would you like a drink?”   “I-Is that allowed, sir?”    “I’ll allow it.” The suited man smiles and moves to sit on his dark leather couch.    There are two couches facing one another by the fireplace with a coffee table in between, opposite of his desk and the bookshelves. A once private sanctuary meant for no one but him, yet you have an exclusive invitation.   His thighs spread as he gets comfortable and he reaches for the fancy bottle of whiskey. Namjoon pours a glass of the amber liquid. It sloshes on the side and he extends his arm.   You take it nervously as if you’ve never drank much before.   “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to.”   “It’s not that.” You smile at him through your lashes. “I’m just wondering how expensive it is.”   Namjoon scoffs lightly, but not out of malice or annoyance. It’s from endearment. “You don’t need to worry about that.”   The rim of the glass is placed between your plush lips and you take a sip. It’s bitter, but slides smoothly down.   He watches you and in the meanwhile, your eyes flicker away from him. Something catches your attention on a mahogany bookshelf, so you cross the room. You allow your knees to brush against his, the loose strands of your hair nearly skimming along his nose.   Namjoon clears his throat, holding the crystal glass casually between his fingertips. “Can I ask what kind of perfume you use?”   You twist around with another easy smile. “I don’t really use any, sir.”   Bending over in his line of vision, you look at his stacks of books and other knick-knacks on his shelf. “You have chess?”   “I do.” He places his glass down. “Do you want to play?”   You turn around with another coy smile. “Can we really?”   The darkness of the room thickens, fire crackling and sputtering in the background. The glow is dim against your profiles and casts your shadows along the wall. The game of chess has been set on the small table. You tell him you barely know how to play to which he replied he’d go easy on you. A few minutes have passed and you’ve moved a few pawns around. Yet, it’s intimate and quiet as if the room is hidden away from the rest of the house. Something you’re sure isn’t too far off.   “Are you alright, sir?” you ask in a husky murmur, pupils flickering up to him as he’s mid-way from taking another sip of his whisky. “You seemed pretty stressed a few days ago.”   Namjoon leans back into the seat. It sinks underneath his weight. His thighs are spread as you hold your knight, still debating on where to place it on the board. “I still am, but it's just the usual business stress.”   “Your wife worries a lot.”    You place the chess piece down and he leans forward again, capturing your pawn with one smooth move of his rook.   “You don’t need to try to make me feel better. I know she doesn’t care.”   “That’s not true,” you refute half-heartedly. “Why do you feel that way?”   “It’s obvious,” he mumbles and takes another pawn of yours when you move it. “My wife is more preoccupied with using my credit card and all she does all day is nag which makes it worse.”   You move your bishop across the board.   “Because of her, we have to have two live-in maids in the house at all times,” Namjoon continues. The liquor makes it easy for him to relax and let the truth spill. He’s defenseless. “Sohee doesn’t get along with her at all and Jaesun isn’t disciplined whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder why my family is like this and where it went wrong.”   The older man exhales and slides his king forward.    He waits for your next move, but you don’t go.    Your gaze is pinned on him and his eyes travel upwards to connect with yours.   “It doesn’t need to be that way, sir,” you whisper.   It’s your moment. You can feel it. And you disregard the game in favour of crawling towards him. The chess pieces knock over, some to the table and the others collide to the ground.    He has no idea you were two moves away from checkmate.   In seconds, you straddle his thighs. Namjoon’s at a loss, arms not yet touching you, but hands never pushing you off of him. His eyes have gone hazy. He’s completely entranced by you, bewitched under your spell. Vulnerable to your seduction and the wicked temptation you offer.   “What are you doing?” His breath laboured and he tries to muster sternness to no avail, as if you shouldn’t entice him with such a dangerous game.   The corner of your lip pulls into a devilish smile. “I’m doing to fulfill every single one of your fantasies, daddy.” And you kiss him. Slotting your soft lips against his chapped ones, letting them move gently. It’s a brief moment before Namjoon surges forward like a man possessed.   Namjoon’s hands grab your ass and he pushes you forward until you’re sitting directly sitting above his crotch. You whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His brows furrow, mouth parting from the pain and you steal the chance to deepen the kiss.    He struggles for control but you ultimately give it to him, feigning submission.   It’s too easy.   You roll your hips over his hardened crotch, feeling how your panties stick to your slick folds, and he grabs hold of your waist. The pair of you break away from the kiss with your arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders.   “God, you knew what you were doing this entire time, weren’t you?” Namjoon’s chest heaves against yours. “Every time you fucking bent over. Every time you tried to play coy. Such a goddamn tease.”   His fingers rub over your wet lips then down to your neck and collarbones. His hands travel to the low collar of your dress and then he tears it. The fabric rips against the threads and you whine in shock. But Namjoon never halts, undoing your bra and tossing it aside. He grabs a handful of your soft breast and pinches your nipples roughly until the bud hardens against the pad of his fingers. You sob out as he watches you through lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way your expression contorts into pleasure.   “I can see why Jeon liked you so much.”   “But I didn’t want him to touch me, daddy.” You pout at him. The thin layer of your panties and his slacks prevents you from feeling it completely, but it’s still dry fucking. “I-I only wanted you.”   “And you’re going to have me,” the man grunts and pulls aside the skirt of your uniform. His hand dips past your thin, white underwear and his fingers feel against your folds.   “Fuck,” he hotly exhales, “you’re soaked. Do you really want me that badly?”   “Yes, daddy.” Without warning, Namjoon’s index and middle finger plunges into your cunt until he’s knuckle deep. You cry out, hugging him tighter to you and he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.   “Your cunt is so tight.”   You squeeze around his prodding fingers. “Tighter than your wife’s?”   Before he can answer, you kiss him again. Your sticky tongues interlace, sloppy and obscene. You taste his spit at the back of your throat — and it’s just the way you like it.    The kiss lasts long enough that you can swallow his groan and you pull off his suit jacket. The rest of your dress pools around your hips. It becomes frantic after that, breaking apart just to rid of your clothes. He tosses your ruined underwear aside, but keeps the rest of his own attire on.   It’s some kind of power play as if you should be the only one naked and vulnerable.   Yet he’s oblivious to how you have him wrapped around your finger.   “Tell daddy.” The older man’s hand wraps around your throat gently. “Have you ever been fucked properly before?”   His slacks have been tugged down enough that his cock has sprung free and his other hand grips the base of it. The reddened tip leaks with a bead of precum and you eye how big he really is. It’s more than Jungkook’s but less than Taehyung’s.   You shake your head and lie. “No.”   Namjoon cusses.   “Is that okay?” you timidly whimper and he smirks.   “More than okay, baby. It won’t hurt too bad.”   He guides his shaft to your pulsing cunt and runs the head of his cock along the collected wetness that has stained his pants and dripped to his leather couch. Both of you lower your heads, watching as he starts pushing through your folds. Immediately, your fingers tighten on his shoulders, wrinkling his expensive white shirt that was ironed by his wife.   Namjoon shushes you. “Relax. It’s okay.”   “I-It’s too much, daddy,” you complain in a pitched voice. “It’s too big.”   His jaw ticks, fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your parted thighs. “You can take it.”   You nod and sink down on him slowly, making sure to draw it out as long as you can. And Namjoon’s head falls back. He groans and makes it balls deep inside of you.   You make sure to tremble and squeeze around him, keeping his cock at a vice grip. “Is this okay?”   “Uh-huh, sweetheart. It’s great.”   With his eyes closed, he misses your smirk.   You begin to fuck yourself onto him, feeling the pull and thrust of his big shaft dragging along your wet walls. The way your cunt stretches deliciously. Namjoon meets you half-way, hips thrusting upwards while you rock yourself against him. Your nipples are hardened and your breasts bounce in front of him. Tying the sight all together, you reach behind and pull the pins from your hair, letting it cascade down.   You know it must be a sight for sore eyes.    While you’ve never flaunted your appearance, you know you’ve been subtly altered to lure mortal men in. Your face and body are the accumulation of their fantasies. And it’s effortless to tempt them. To captivate their attention with a simple smile. You’ve looked at yourself enough times in the mirror to know that you aren't shabby too.   “Daddy, it f-feels...so good,” the words are choked out of you, sobbed as you bat your lashes.   Jungkook, the poor boy, was much more eager and sweeter. But with Namjoon, his experience is evident in his strokes. He’s rougher with the way he squeezes your ass until a handprint is left. There’s less regard with how he treats you, as if you’re just a pretty placeholder merely giving pleasure.   His hard thrusts against your cervix would hurt if not for how the pleasure overtakes you.   “You have to pull out, daddy,” you stutter. “I-I can’t get pregnant.”   Your kind can’t carry children from mortals but he doesn’t need to know that.   “I’ll do whatever I want,” Namjoon grunts, jaw clamped and brows furrowed. He sweats at his hairline. “I’ll cum where I want.”   You give a loud and exasperated moan that you hope he enjoys. “B-But it’s not right.”   “Shush. I’ll take care of you.”   You squeeze around him again, hands tight on his shoulders. Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he revels in the feeling of you rocking against him and you smirk, looking down at him. At how pathetic he’s gotten.   Just sitting on his lap and giving a simple kiss was enough to reduce him to this mess. From an established mogul in his forties into a helpless, hormonal teenage boy. In a few minutes, he’s thrown away years of marriage and loyalty for his wife for some maid’s cunt. A measly housemaid who’s supposed to be only a few years older than his own daughter.   Taehyung was right — this is fun.   At the same time, Sohee walks up the stairs while humming, hugging her textbooks to her body. She beelines straight to your room at the end of the other hall, wanting to show off how she’s finished everything and secretly hoping that you’ll gently stroke her hair like you always do.   But as she passes by her father’s office, her ears catch a high-pitched whine. She stops. On sheer instincts, her head swivels over. And through the crack, she finds her dad’s backside. She sees the way you’re on top of him, naked, riding her father. Your eyes flicker to her through the gap. She gasps.   Sohee backs away into the darkness. She turns around, a thick lump forming in her throat, her brows knitted together. But she doesn’t watch where she’s going and her mother meets her in the corridor.   “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed, Sohee.” Yijin’s voice is grating to the ears and she frowns at her daughter’s disposition. The way her downcast head and eyes search the ground. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you?”   She doesn’t mean to — but Sohee’s eyes incidentally travel back to the grandiose double doors.   And Yijin follows her line of sight.   //   “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Her screeches fill the manor. It’s always been noisy, but never solely because of an individual and certainly never at this ear screeching pitch. “How could you do this to me?!”   Yijin’s absolutely deranged. She’s throwing a fuss early morning after what she saw last night and retreated to her bedroom. She waited for him to return. Yet Namjoon never came to join her.   Now she stands at the foyer with a suitcase that Ms. Yoo packed, but she has no plans of leaving. Instead, she’s tossing porcelain vases on the ground and tugging the tablecloth off of the table. The display case is open and fragments of antiquities litter the marble floor.   Jaesun is crying hysterically at the staircase while rubbing his eyes with two tight fists. Sohee remains silent, standing at the top and looking down at her mother.   “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The woman shrieks at Namjoon who stands there motionlessly, expression blank and impassive. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be satisfied until she gets a remorseful reaction from him or tears this entire house apart. Either of which you’d be amused to see. “You selfish bastard!”   Although this was entertaining in itself. You’ve never seen her like this before. The once polished and poised woman has been diminished to this vengeful bitch that’s about to pop a vein — a version of herself that you always knew was hidden deep inside.   Ms. Yoo is the only one who comes forward and tries to put a stop to it. “Please, madam. Don’t do this,” she pleads softly, tears streaking down her own face.   Jaesun weeps. “Mommy!”   “Madam, please,” Ms. Yoo begs as if she’s trying to placate a child throwing a temper tantrum. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”   “You can’t do this to me, Namjoon!” Yijin’s hair is all in front of her face in a tangled mess. Her dress is wrinkled and she’s bare feet. Crazed — just like her husband was last night….except in different contexts.   Ms. Yoo starts to guide her away from the foyer to the front door, dragging the suitcase with her.    “Even if you divorce me, I could still get the house! Get our kids! Namjoon! Fuckin— Namjoon!”   Ms. Yoo pulls her out the door while crying and Yijin collapses at the steps as violent sobs wrack through her. The housekeeper sets the suitcase outside and looks down, hesitating.    Namjoon deadpans, “Close the door, Ms. Yoo.”   She shuts it. Fists bang against the surface for a moment before it stops, being replaced by the noise of wails. Instantly, Sohee runs upstairs, disappearing from sight. Namjoon turns away. Ms. Yoo sighs, taking Jaesun’s hand and comforting him.   The only other person is Yoongi. His gaze is darkened and he leans against the wall with arms crossed. You turn and his eyes pierce into yours. But wordlessly, you bow your head to him and go on about your day.   //   The house is finally quiet. Just the way you like it.   But it brews with a sort of intensity, a tension that doesn’t let you breathe easy. It was the calm before the final storm and your guard wasn’t going to be put down just yet.   You knock against Sohee’s bedroom door and after hearing no protests, you open it. She’s laying on her bed, covers over her head, having skipped school today which no one blamed her for. You clear your throat, speaking gently as if you were cooing a puppy, “You didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you hot chocolate, Sohee. I’ll leave it on your nightstand.”   The mug is placed down and as you turn away, the sound of rustling slows your steps. She’s come up for air, hair in a disarray and covering her face, and she calls for you, “Y/N.”   “Hmm?”   “Are…..” She hesitates and you take the invitation to sit at the edge of her bed. The girl looks up at you after a moment. “Are you going to become my new mom?”   The pause is purposeful. It makes it seem as if you’re considering it. Makes it seem as if you’re staring at her because you’re wholeheartedly endeared by her. And that nothing else matters.   To top it off, your arms reach out and you hug her. Sohee is vulnerable, small against you and she eases in your secure embrace, allowing you to hold her. You even run your fingers through her hair, caressing her gently and she softly sighs, relishing in the comfort she never received from her own mother.   In a lot of ways, you share many similarities with her.   “I’m sorry, Sohee,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean you to see that. For all this to happen. I adore you and if you want me to be your new mom, I will, but it’ll be a decision made with you.”   She nods against your shoulder and the corner of your mouth pulls into a subtle smirk.   To think she would ask such a question merely hours after her biological mother was booted out the house is both astounding and unsurprising. It’s partly from her poor relationship with the woman and how she was charmed by you moments after your first encounter. A kind of love at first sight.    Not unlike how most men succumb to your allure — yet differing from lust. Instead, Sohee has developed a familial affection towards you.   But not everyone is as welcome as she is to the new change.   “Did you have anything to do with this?” Yoongi asks you. A surprise that he’s stepped out of his bedroom for some sunlight. Or perhaps to find answers.   You hum, continuing to place the stack of books back onto the shelf in the living room. “Maybe.”   His cat-like eyes are focused, pierced into you with a kind of intensity that would make anyone sweat. But you aren’t anyone. “What are your plans? Is it the inheritance? The status? Namjoon’s money—”   “Neither.”    Finished with your task, you move to the kitchen. But Yoongi blocks the doorway, leaning against it and never moving away. You stop, allowing your bodies to press together, testing as to who will give in first. Yet, he never once yields. Wavers. You’re close enough that he can feel your hot breath against his skin and as his jaw clamps, your pupils flicker down to his pouty mouth.   Against his own will, his eyes mimic yours. They follow to your own lips. And you smirk.   It’s a heated moment and then you brush away from the sharp-witted man.   //   For a short while, there’s a mirage that the game has several winners. But the instant gratification comes with consequences and there is only one ultimate victor.   “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t work in these conditions. With the madam gone, it’s just too hard for me. I…” Ms. Yoo shakes her head tearfully, a wrinkled hand placed over her chest where her heart is. “I’ve spent decades working in this house, master Kim, and I think it’s time I retire and spend some time with my grandchildren.”   Namjoon stares out the window, unable to work, unable to move.   His frustration overwhelms him.   “I won’t force you to stay, Ms. Yoo. Sohee and Jaesun will miss you, but you’ve done a lot for my family and I. We couldn’t thank you enough for your dedication and hard work over the years.”   He is calm and she bows her head before retreating.   You catch her in the corridor and she takes your hands, squeezing them and wishing you the best of luck with a sweet smile. After Ms. Yoo leaves, you wipe your hands against your collared dress.   You knock on the grandiose doors.    “Get out.”   Disregarding his command, you enter anyway. Namjoon is disgruntled, seated behind his desk in his leather chair, a finished glass of whiskey discarded on the side. His hands are clasped together, elbows propped on the surface and he leans his head on his fingers.   “What don’t you understand? Leave!”    But you approach him until you can press your hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward.   The once powerful man established in his wealth looks up at you, dark circles deepening, the wrinkle between his brows made permanent. He stares at you as if you’re a fearsome curse, a bothersome pest, a fiend. And you have to resist the delicious smirk that tickles your lips.    “You did this to me,” he mutters, simmering in animosity. “You destroyed me.”   You round the oak furniture and plop down onto his lap. Before he can shove you off, you grab his hair from the back of his head, letting the strands thread through your fingers, and you pull.   He groans, chin lifting up.   “You were the one who made the decision,” you tell him. “It’s you who became weak. You thought about me and even now, you still want me.” The edge of your mouth tilts and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before you lean in, whispering in his ear, “You can’t stop thinking about me, can you, Namjoon?”   “You’re a vixen.”   “Oh, I’m much more than that.”   You end up sinking to your knees and taking him to the back of your throat. He cums there, the taste salty and consistency thick — a kind of bitterness that you’ve learnt to find savoury. And Namjoon cums again in your tight cunt when you’re bent over his desk and he’s pounding into you, fucking you hard enough to feel his anger and for your ass to bruise against his pelvis.   “N-Namjoon, it feels so good.”   “Shut the fuck up, slut.” He sweats at his hairline, holding your hips and jostling you around as he chases his own release. You look across the room to the family portrait above the mantle and smirk to yourself. “I-I’ll spank your cunt again.”   He couldn’t even scold you. He couldn’t blame you for ruining his marriage.   You have him wrapped around your finger.   //   The photograph captured a moment of Namjoon holding newborn Jaesun, Yijin smiling with her arm looped around Sohee who was only eleven at the time. They’re in front of the house with Ms. Yoo beside them wearing a grin. She remembers that day, the family barbecue outside, the laughter and joyous atmosphere. Yet now, Ms. Yoo only sighs to herself and packs the framed picture into her duffle bag.   “You’re still here?”    Your voice nearly startles the old woman to death. She jumps and turns around, finding you at the doorway. “Yes, I was just finishing up. I didn’t realize I had so many belongings. I guess this is what thirty years gives you.”   Ms. Yoo takes a gander around the room, what was her home, then to you. She never once notices Namjoon’s cum dripping down your thigh from your messy and puffed center that still delightfully aches.   “I’m going to miss this place.”   “Or you could always stay.” Not wanting to waste any more time, you take three strides and your mouth presses against hers. The older woman is shocked, eyes widened at your kiss, but you inhale.   She goes limp against you. Her soul taken right from her. And Ms. Yoo collapses to the ground.   You shudder at the taste, at how your guts coil inwards. It’s terribly bland.    Her soul isn’t half of what it takes to satisfy you.    Not like you’re surprised. As a succubus who’s meant to entice mortal men, male souls are the desirable ones.   You wait for Taehyung to come pick up the corpse, but he never shows up and you curse him. He always finds a way to show his face and steal the good souls away from you, satisfying his own appetite and leaving the scraps left for you. But when it comes to souls that are bland to you and therefore bland to him, suddenly he has no business manifesting himself.   You kick Ms. Yoo’s lifeless body and having no other options, you roll her heavy body with the rectangular carpet. You start sweating as you heave her up. But with enough effort, you manage to stuff her in the closet and shut the doors.   Someone will deal with that later.   //   It’s amusing. Namjoon does everything within his power to act like nothing’s changed. That nothing’s happened and he isn’t missing his wife or housekeeper in his home. He grabs onto any semblance of normalcy, perhaps to cope with the changes of the past twenty four hours.   He calls for dinner to be set at the usual time and you’re thankful Ms. Yoo made sure the fridge was stocked up before she was to leave. All you do is slap the container food into bowls and heat them in the microwave before setting the table as you usually do.   The entire family gathers around the table — Sohee, Jaesun, Namjoon and even Yoongi.   “Y/N will be joining us for dinner,” Namjoon suddenly announces as you set down the last bowl. Your brow raises and Yoongi’s eyes round but no one questions it.    Not even Jaesun who often throws tantrums. The kid merely pouts. Never once lifting his spoon of rice into his mouth, putting on a defiant act, but you don’t care. If the brat wants to starve, he can starve.   You sit down beside Namjoon, across from Yoongi and diagonal to Sohee.   It’s tense at the table, the silence suffocating those around it. But you settle in comfortably and even pass some side dishes directly into Sohee’s bowl that you know she likes. Her eyes flicker up to you and a tiny smile tugs on her face. “Thank you.”   Namjoon clears his throat and looks to his brother. “You were working on editing a science textbook, right?”   “Biology,” Yoongi answers shortly. “For grade eight students.”   “And how is that coming along?”   They continue their conversation, making some small talk and you chew in your cheek while your foot lifts underneath the table. Your leg stretches and it grazes along the leg of the man across from you.    Yoongi immediately freezes. His brown eyes pool close to black and he glares. But you don’t let up, stroking the inside of his leg as you eat and look away from him. Yoongi pushes away. You scoot yourself forward. He tries not to draw attention to himself. Asked another question, he gives half a mind to responding.    Your toes slowly travel up to his thighs and then they tickle and twitch against his crotch.   Yoongi’s breath staccatos.    No one knows that you’re playing footsies with Yoongi underneath the table. That you can feel the way he hardens against his sweatpants.    “What game do you think you’re playing?!” he harshly whispers after dinner when the two of you are away from the others. Yoongi corners you, his good looks sadly marred by his twisted expression.   You blink, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”   But the little act doesn’t faze him. You knew it wouldn’t work the second you met the man.   “I know you have something to do with Yijin leaving.”   “I didn’t do anything, Yoongi.” You grab his shoulders, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours and you grin, breath skimming along his neck. “The dominoes were already in place long before I came here. You know that too. I just needed to give it a little push,” you exhale the word and he can’t stop himself from swallowing hard. From staring at you.   He eventually musters enough self-control to push you away and leave.   You turn the corner, the darkness enveloping the corridor and bringing a sort of eeriness. But it might just be from Taehyung who you find leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s smirking. “Aren’t you having a little too much fun, peach?”   “This is the best part.” You loll your head to one side. “Sometimes playing with your food before you eat it makes it much more appetizing.”   He laughs, chuckling from his chest and the sound tinkles. “I taught you well.”   Taehyung pushes himself off the surface and as he passes by you, he taps your butt.    He disappears seconds later, leaving you on your lonesome to keep playing.   //   Everything is falling into place.   It’s like you’re playing chess without an opponent, simply arranging your pawns as you’d like on the board. But because of how effortless and simple it is, it’s easy to get bored.   One day you’re waking up to a blaring alarm clock and slaving after the whims of humans as their servant and the next, you wake beside Namjoon in the master bedroom, having taken the madam’s place. You slept on her sheets, on her pillow, beside her husband.    There’s nothing fun about it anymore once you’ve won.   You roll over to straddle Namjoon’s hips, placing his morning wood right under your center. He’s shaken awake by the movement and groans, rough hands instinctively coming to grab your ass.    “W-What time is it?” his voice is still thick with sleep and you smile devilishly, rubbing your clit through your silk slip that barely covers your nipples. Your pink cunt is still swollen from last night’s endeavours, but you think one last one ought to be enough.    You won’t miss his cock after this.   “You were dreaming about me, weren’t you, Namjoon?” you whisper and before he can respond, your hands reach out, wrapping around his neck.   He’s completely at your mercy.   The man slowly blinks awake, coming to consciousness and a staggering exhale leaves his mouth as you position the bulborous head of his shaft to your folds. He mumbles something about how insatiable you are and lightly chuckles. But Namjoon should consider himself lucky. It’s not often you let the same human fuck you three times.   He pounds into you, hips lifting off the mattress. The stretch of your pussy is rather pleasing, but with the repetitiveness, your mind wanders and your hands around his neck tighten. You cut off Namjoon’s airway and his eyes slam shut with a loud groan. You can practically feel his cock twitch inside of you.   Unfortunately, the man loses it all too soon. It’s a bit amateurish for someone as experienced and punishing as he is, but you don’t blame him. Well...only a little as you lean down and capture your mouth with Namjoon’s before inhaling sharply.   Out of the three times you spread your legs for him and the numerous times you let his cum leak out of your pussy and drip down your thighs, he only made you cum once.   It’s kind of sad. Selfish.   Once you’re done with him, he falls back.    You hum to yourself as you climb off the man’s used dick and move to the vanity across the luxurious bedroom. You freshen up and pin up your hair, allowing a few strands to frame your face. After you’re satisfied, you grab Yijin’s shawl to cover your top half and you stride down the hall to Yoongi’s door.   He’s at his desk as usual, red pen in hand, crouched over a stack of papers.   But the curtains aren’t drawn, allowing the bright sunlight through his modest room.   “Mornin’.”   He turns around, brow raised, eyeing how you’re leaning against the door frame, casually greeting him in spite of being dressed in a measly scrap of fabric. “What are you doing?”   You quirk your head. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago.”   “And what is that?”   “Hmmm, I think you know, Yoongi.” You flick a piece of dirt from underneath your fingernail. “Let’s not drag this on for any longer than we have to.”   You stay ambiguous and he maintains an impassive expression. But his stoicness has no effect to deter you when you smile and approach him slowly. “You know, I was once like you. Complacent. Quiet. A little like Sohee too, maybe even more naive than she is right now.”   “Once?”   “A long time ago,” you hum. “I was going to get married to a bad, bad man until I became liberated.”   You come close enough to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. His head tilts upwards when you tug, powerless to your enchantment. “It’s okay to give in, Yoongi,” you whisper against his skin. “It’s okay to be selfish and indulgent. You’ve done so well up to now.”   “What makes you think I’ll sleep with my brother’s mistress?” he asks in a harsher tone. “The whore that ruined his entire family.”   You laugh. “That’s not very nice.”   “But isn’t it the truth?”   “It is. But I’m supposed to be irresistible to men. Your restraint is impressive, Yoongi, but it’s only natural that you give into your primitive needs or at least be honest with yourself. You dream about me, don’t you?” The ongoing silence makes your grin widen and your eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight. “You’ve fantasized about me a lot. You want me.”   You lower yourself, hooded eyes connected with his. Your hair is messy, yet not in a disoriented way from sleeping. Yoongi smell it on you too — the sweat and musty scent. “You fucked my brother.”   “And I can fuck you too.”   You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own.    It’s different. Languid with the soft caresses of tongue, his lips not chapped but puffy. The kiss is slow and lazy. Not eager like Jungkook but not as rough as Namjoon. Yoongi sighs, savouring and truly enjoying it, and it’s something you lean into.   You match his speed and rhythm and once you pull away, his eyes are hazy.   Yoongi pants, swallowing hard. “Who...are you?”   “Secret,” you sing-song and pull him towards you. The two of you nearly fall to the floor, though his bed is close enough in his small room that you collide against the mattress. The man hovers over you and you hold his arms in a vice grip. Cocking your head to the side, you giggle. “This is fun, isn’t it?”   “You’re a heathen.”   “Not quite, but close enough.” You grin and kiss him again. It feels good to.   Not long after that, you’re beneath him and he’s bare, quiet without a single moan. His cock draws deep into you leisurely, languid rolls that’s not necessarily chasing for an end but relishing in the pleasure.   “I was never going to fuck you,” Yoongi murmurs. “Even if I wanted to.”   You pout. “Why not?”   “Because I have dignity and respect for myself.”   You scoff. “Guess you lost all that.”   “No. I still do.” His voice is husky around the edges. “But if I give you what you want, maybe I’ll understand your intentions better.”   The corner of your mouth curls and your hips lift to meet Yoongi’s. You squeeze around him just to tease. “And what do you think my intentions are?”   “I-I still don’t know yet.” He sweats, hips sped up and then keeps a constant rhythm. “Why do you do the things that you do? Why did you try to tear this house apart? Gain Sohee’s favour.” Yoongi’s brown eyes pierce into you. He’s a perceptive man. “You don’t love Namjoon. I don’t think you loved Jungkook either.”   “Jungkook?”   “He would’ve never left like that out of his own free will.”   “You’re smart,” you coo affectionately and run your hands through his fluffy hair. It’s such a shame he’s just a mortal. “I promise you’ll know by the end of this, Yoongi.”   Another minute passes and Yoongi pulls out. You watch as he pumps himself thrice and finishes on your stomach with a quiet grunt, cum painting all over your flesh. You’re about to grab his shoulder to kiss him, but he parts your thighs and lowers himself. His mouth attaches to your cunt, forcing his wet tongue inside your used hole and he eats you out, licking at the juices that leak out of you.   But he remains meticulous and careful, drawing unrestrained moans from your lungs.   “S-So good…”   Yoongi works you up until you feel hot all over your body and your hands have sunk into his head of hair, threading through the strands. As if that wasn’t enough, he sucks on your clit and inserts his index into your walls. He sinks deep and curls the finger against the perfect spot.   Your back arches and you cum all over his tongue.   He lets you ride it out against the stiff muscle and his plush lips before he’s lifting himself up, revealing all of your slick that’s coated his mouth and chin.    “Thank you,” you pant, chest heaving. You gaze at Yoongi with heavy lids and you sit up. “I’ll give you the answer to your questions. Who I am. Why I’m here.” You cradle his cheeks in your palms and you lean forward.   Yoongi’s eyes droop and he kisses you back, softly and deeply. You keep it slow too, savouring the taste of yourself on his palette and then, when the moment is right, you inhale.   His lids open slightly, feeling himself weaken. Yoongi’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, but as your kiss continues, his surroundings blurs more. He groans at the back of his throat, wanting to pull away, but without having the strength to.   The world around him darkens. His consciousness lasts three seconds afterwards. Enough to realize you’re a monster.   Yoongi’s body falls back onto the mattress.   His soul has been consumed by you and as tasty as it was, you’re a bit regretful. You pull the plush blanket up to give him some modesty and you ruffle your fingers through his bangs. “Truthfully, I liked you the best in this house.”   The sadness lasts another second before you’re humming and climbing off the bed.   The job is finally done and you roll your shoulders, walking out the room. As you do so, your exterior finally sheds of your human disguise into your true form. While your face remains the same, your lips redden and your hair becomes luscious and longer, draping your backside. The white, silk slip morphs to a dress in the blinding shade of crimson. It hugs your body, from the dip of your waist to the swell of your breasts. And at the crown of your head, two small horns manifest.   Downstairs, Taehyung is standing on the porch. He turns as you join his side and smirks. “About time you finished, peach.”   He’s been watching Jaesun. The five year old is running around the backyard underneath the sun and flinging around the toys his wealthy parents got for him. He’s completely oblivious to the situation and unquestioning to Taehyung’s presence.   Taehyung is the tamer of all brats after all.   “Didn’t you say I could take my time to have fun?”   “I think you’ve been having too much fun.”   The corner of your reddened lips pull. “I don’t think so.”   “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself though.” He lolls his head over and grabs a hold of your chin. Taehyung leans himself down to your height and comes forward for an invasive kiss.   Without warning, he licks into your mouth and you moan helplessly, completely at his mercy. Taehyung’s tongue is sticky as he tastes you, calm yet impatient. It’s a pleasant kind of intimacy as he steals your breath. But when he starts to inhale deep, you bite him.   Taehyung pulls back with a grin, the bottom of his lip split slightly.   You pout. “You should at least give me some. I worked hard for those souls, you know.”   He gives you a look. “Did you really?”   “More work than usual,” you bite back.   A black cat mewls at Jaesun. The kid swivels his head over, fascination growing as the feline hops from the fence to the grass gracefully as if inviting him to play. The cat has a short but luscious coat and its tail curls, green eyes wide. Jaesun instantly drops the ball he’s holding.   His greedy hands extend and he follows the cat behind some bushes.   There’s a flash of bright light and Jimin stretches himself out from his feline form. He cracks his bones and leans over, interrupting your conversation. “Thanks for the kid, Tae.”   Taehyung waves. “No problem, Chim.”

Sohee wakes up to a silent house.   There’s a strangeness in the air, a certain uneasy feeling in her body, but she dresses herself and continues her morning. It’s when the peace is ongoing that she searches for people, for her father first.   She screams when she discovers Namjoon on the bed lifeless. No matter how much she shakes him or calls out his name, he never moves or twitches. He doesn’t breathe.   The girl cries and runs to her uncle for help. But he, too, isn’t sleeping and isn’t resting like he appears to be. The man’s skin has gone cold, eyes shut tight, his lips pale.   She cups a hand over her mouth, silencing a sob in the eerie house and she stumbles down the steps. There’s only one person left. One person to help her. And she sees you through the back door on the porch. Standing next to a tall man.   Sohee’s confusion stops her tears while hiccups continue to wrack through her body.   “W-Who are you?”   The two of you turn at the sound of her voice.   Taehyung grins. “Oh. Nice to see you again, little girl. Remember me?”   Sohee’s eyes are swollen, cheeks stained with saltwater. Her body trembles as she grips the door frame. You coo at her, stepping forward with your arms open but she flinches. “W-What did you do to them?”   You sigh, arms dropping to your side, yet your voice remains tender. “They got what they deserved, Sohee.”   “W-W...h..at?”   “They succumbed to their primitive desires and suffered the punishment for it.”   “This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s brow cocks and he smiles at her. “You were the one who summoned me here in the first place.”   Confusion is marked across her visage — brows furrowed, mouth lopsided.    But it was Sohee that called out to you and Taehyung. She was the one who began your assignment. She was the one who invited the pair of you into her home. Practically opened the door and ushered you in desperately.   “All those nights of prayer, did you really think God would grant you such evil wishes to get rid of your family? You were praying to the devil, little girl.”   Incubi and succubi like you and Taehyung need invitations to enter an abode. Yet Sohee handed the both of you that on a silver platter. Taehyung might’ve assigned the task to you, but it was a win-win. Not only could you grant her wish, but you could reap all the benefits by stealing the souls of her family members and indulging in their lust.   “All those nights of wishing your mother would get hit by a car. That your brother would cease to exist. That your father would fail his business….”   It was a victory from the start.   You give Sohee a moment since it looks like she needs it. It’s understandably shocking. You were once in her position after all and just as surprised. But the realization seems to sink into her with the way her eyes widen. “I-I didn’t know this is what would happen!”   “You wanted an escape from your life,” you say to her in excitement. There was one more benefit to this ordeal too — just as Taehyung has you, Sohee will become yours. “This is it, sweetheart.”   If you didn’t know you would get such an endearing subordinate from all this, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of it all. But ‘subordinate’ and ‘underling’ are such unpleasant words Taehyung uses. Sohee’s more like a little puppy for you to love, mentor and show around.   “Come with us.” You extend your hand, palm open to the sky. “We came all the way here for you.”   Sohee looks at both you and him, brows furrowed, hesitation evident. “What will happen to me?”   “You want to be like me, don’t you?” You smile at her along with Taehyung who remains patient. “I’ll take care of you and so will Taehyung. What else does this place have to offer you?”   This is the true game of temptation.   No one is ever forced into making a deal with the devil. It’s a choice. And one she takes.   The girl lifts her arm, taking your hand. A bigger smile pulls on your features.    And just like that, the three of you vanish together.

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

afterhours

request: Spencer x reader where the reader is apart of the bau and has a huge crush on Spencer. The first time she invites him to her apartment he notices she has a guitar. He asks her to play something and she plays “after hours” by the velvet underground. She finishes singing/playing and they kiss?

for: @thatsonezesty13

word count: 1,847                                                                                     reading time: 7 mins

masterlist

Within the last month, the BAU has received nothing less of unpalatable and bestial cases that comprised of multiple homicides, kidnappings, and dead children. It was safe to say that the entire team was mentally and physically drained from all the tragedies we’ve encountered. So with the approval of Hotch, the rest of the team gathered together for their monthly bar get together, leaving only me and Spencer to our own. 

Alcohol was never my vice when it came to downtime; music was. No matter how gruesome a case would be, it was always the calming sensation of the strings hitting my fingers that solaced my mind. 

Since the team had already left, I was left to drive Spencer home considering his license had gotten suspended from him speeding to get to a physics and engineering convention, also known to me as the nerd convention. 

We were walking to my car in the parking lot when the sky began to weep, completely drenching the both of us in cold water. The crisp air of the night didn’t ease the incommodious feeling in the slightest as the material of my blouse glued onto the surface of my skin.  

“Shit” I cursed, looking over to Spencer as he reciprocated the same harsh and fatigued expression I wore on my face. He nodded in agreement lifting his satchel above his head while the both of us practically bolted to sides of my car. 

We chuckled as we stared at one another, our hair slicked back and tousled at different angles. “Hey, do you mind if I stay at yours tonight?” Spencer asked, narrowing his eyes at me in reluctance. “I wouldn’t want to intrude, it’s just that the drive is farther away and I wouldn’t want to be a burden a-” He rambled. 

“That’s- you’re okay Spence, of course you can” I reassured, reaching over my shoulder to attach my seat belt. But truth be told, anxiety ran through my veins like cold blood. It would be the first time Spencer would be stepping into my apartment despite him being one of my closest friends. 

I sucked in a breath as I turned the engine on, hoping that I remembered to clean up before I left. 

-

The drive home was comprised of listening to Broadway musicals while belting our voices until our esophagus’ burned like a shot of liquor. Any time I spent with Spencer felt like an all time high, even when working burdensome cases, if Spencer was beside me, everything felt like things were in place. 

As we climbed up the few flights of stairs to my apartment, I fumbled around in my bag searching for the keys to the front door. Although that was quite a difficult task to complete, thanks to the sweat that had accumulated on my palms. 

“You alright Y/L/N?” 

“I’m okay Spence, I just-” I picked through the pockets of my jacket, desperately wanting to feel metal. “Just- can’t seem to find- there we go”. Fortunately the keys were located in the back pocket of my pants and I was able to let the both of us in. “I’m sorry about that” I apologized, brushing the hair out of my face in embarrassment.

Spencer nodded in assurance, swinging me a soft smile as he ventured throughout my apartment. “Great place you got here Y/N” He complimented, running his hands through the books I had stocked on my bookshelves. 

“Thank you” I chuckled, a blush forming on my cheeks as I felt him judge the selection of genres I had displayed. “I know it’s not your usual science fiction, but-” I explained. 

“No, it’s fine Y/N. I find it kinda cute actually” He laughed, picking up my copy Pride and Prejudice. “It’s actually better than Morgans, but to be fair he doesn’t even remotely have anything indicating a book” He teased, sifting through more of my collection. 

I chuckled at his comment while hiding the blush that resurfaced on my cheeks as he complimented my taste. “You can make yourself at home, I’ll go see if there’s anything that fits you” I gestured to the whole of my apartment, making my way to my bedroom in a hurry to catch my composure. 

As I arrived, I practically jumped out of my damp clothes and changed into my pjs. I then combed through my drawers to find anything large enough for Spencer until landing on a large over sized shirt I used to wear when I was in college. Fixing myself up, I walked back into the living room. “Hey Spence, it may be a little small but-” I was cut off by the sight of Spencer holding my guitar between his hands. 

“I’m sorry, I-i just didn’t know you played” Spencer explained, keeping the guitar close to his chest. Despite his apprehension, it was quite an unforgettable sight seeing Spencer’s long fingers stretched out along the neck of the guitar as his fingertips strummed the strings lightly. Warmth radiated in my chest as I thought of unspeakable things; things that an individual shouldn’t think about their best friend. “I-it’s fine, I j-just. I don’t know, I play here and there” I confessed, rubbing my elbow as I stepped closer to him. 

“You should play me something?” He suggested, pushing the guitar in my directions. Although I immediately declined, feeling nausea run up my throat at the idea of embarrassing myself in front of Spencer. 

“I-i don’t know Spence, I’m not even that good” I shook my head in disagreement, hoping he’d drop the subject. 

“Come on Y/N, I’m sure you’re amazing” He consoled, gently wrapping his hand around my wrist, pulling me towards him and the instrument. I shook my head once again, pulling against his grip in deviance. 

“Pleaseee Y/N?” He begged, looking at me with soft eyes. I finally gave in as he peered into me. The softness of his skin and the warmth of his eyes pushing me to admit defeat. 

With a groan, I settled next to Spencer, witnessing him cross his legs in a childlike matter as he faced me with excitement. I giggled at his antics, smiling at him as I laid the guitar between my hands. 

With a calming breath, I steadied myself in my seat and began to strum the chords to one of my favorite songs. The melody of ‘Afterhours’ by the Velvet Ground permeated both mine and Spencer’s ears. I carefully observed the changes in Spencer’s macro-expressions, hoping to not identify any signals of disgust, considering that the first verse was up ahead. 

I got a hold of my composure and let the lyrics flow out of my lips as if it was natural. The entire time as I sang, I felt the intensity of Spencer’s scrutiny, afraid that he was going to run away and never talk to me again. But he did the opposite, he sat beside me as if he was invested in my performance wearing a cheeky grin. 

With every phrase that transpired out of my mouth that pertained to affection, I knew that a small part of myself sang it soulfully to Spencer. Although another part told myself of the reality of the situation; that Spencer might not even acknowledge my exponentially growing attraction towards him.  

After feigning some confidence, I looked straight into his eyes as I sang, watching the hazel hue shift from light to dark as the moonlight reflected off of them. Throughout the entire event, he wore the same giddy expression, smiling at me as if I were the love of his life. 

Or so I wished I was

With the song coming to an end, I strummed the last few chords prolonging the whole thing to provide myself time to prepare for Spencer’s judgement. Finally, I halted, placing the guitar next to me awaiting Spencer’s reaction. 

To my surprise, nothing was said or done from his part. I sighed, running my hand through my hair, “You hated it, I told you” I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. I refused to look at him now, knowing the shame I’ve brought onto myself. 

Suddenly, I felt two warm hands plant themselves on my wrists, wrapping around them tenderly. Spencer placed himself between my legs as he pulled me close to him. I could feel his breath fanning over my cheeks as he kneeled in front of me. 

My heart began to race at the speed of a NASCAR race, my hands began to twitch and shake while my throat became as dry as a desert. I licked my lips as a habit, taking notice of the supple skin that covered Spencer’s lips. 

Oh how I would love to know how those would feel against mine

“Y/N that- that was amazing” He professed, staring into my eyes. 

I shook my head in denial, not believing a single word that came out of his mouth regardless of the lack of distance between us. “You’re only saying that because you’re my friend” I countered, feeling my throat tighten up. “I’m probably as bad as my choice in genres” I joked in attempt to lighten up the air and escape from the event that was taking place. 

“No Y/N, I’m serious” Spencer retorted, his tone filled with nothing but encouragement and praise. “You have a real talent there Y/L/N” He whispered, glancing down at my lips in the process. 

I reciprocated his actions, feeling the butterflies erupt in my stomach with how his eyes gazed into my own. Slowly we moved closer towards each other, his hand reaching up to comb my hair to the side. 

“Spence-” I interrupted shyly, my words faltering as the distance between us began to diminish. The objects in the room also became nonexistent to me, feeling the weight of the presence of only me and Spencer in the room. 

“Ca-can I?” Spencer asked, flashing me a loving look. I nodded in affirmation, not being able to form proper words.  

With that Spencer caressed the side of my cheek as he pulled me into him. Our lips collided, moving in careful unison as we studied each other’s movements. We both pulled away, our cheeks tinted red, but our eyes were still interlocked with one another. With a boost of confidence, I grabbed his face and pulled him in for another kiss, this time, lingering slightly longer than the kiss we previously shared. 

Pulling away, I giggled in disbelief. My mind had a difficult time processing what had occurred. Smiles crept up on both of our lips as Spencer wrapped an affectionate arm around my waist. “I-i, um” I staggered over my words. “I don’t know what to do now” I laughed nervously, causing Spencer to lean over and place a chaste kiss on my nose. 

“How about you let me take you out on date?” Spencer suggested, pressing another kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes feeling his skin touch mine as ardor coursed through my entire body. 

“I think that’s a great idea” I agreed, pulling him close to me. 

-

A/N:

and writing It ‘Should’ve Been You Pt. 2′ commences ;)

[yootaesowlwrites]

I’ll Be There - [10]

Series Masterlist.

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As they approached the mansion, the first thing (Y/n) noticed was the large golden gates with two large lion statues seeming to guard it, as they neared the main entrance (Y/n) also noticed the large fountain surrounded by a small garden, obviously for decorative purposes, (Y/n) also heard the sound of small rocks being crunched by the wheels of his sports car, those tiny decorative rocks which for some reason people found pleasing, but (Y/n) absolutely hated them, why would anyone want that, especially in front of the house, you couldn’t even take a peaceful walk without needing to put on a pair of proper shoes, if she wasn’t aware of the situation she was in, she would have commented on it, but instead she kept quiet.

Max parks his car near the main entrance, cutting the engine and pulling the key from the ignition, he glances at (Y/n) and saw her staring at her hands that were on her lap, he climbs out the car and made his way around to the passenger’s side and opens the door for her, she could hear the crunching sound from the rocks underneath his shoes as he moved, she stares up at him before slowly stepping out the car, the place was large with cream coloured walls, it wasn’t anything that she expected it to be, surprisingly, it was pleasing to look at, apart from the rocks scattered on the ground.

“Welcome to my house,” Max says while closing the door to the sports car, he couldn’t exactly call it home, so instead, he called it a house, although it was anything but the size of a house, a home should have a warm feeling, something the mansion didn’t have, a home should feel welcoming, which most of the time, the mansion didn’t feel very welcoming, he guides her to the front door and allows her to enter first, she lets out a relieved sigh after hearing and feeling unpleasantness from the rocks outside, Max looks at her for a moment as he closed the front door. “This way.” He guides her down a long hallway, the walls were once again a light colour instead of a dark colour she had been expecting, as they neared his office, she could hear chatter coming from a room, she didn’t understand the language, but she was certain that it was French, Max pushes the door open, revealing the three men from the restaurant, Albon, Galsy and Kvyat, talking or more discussing something, corner clear on their faces.

“I’m here,” Max states as he stared at them. “I’ll be in my office, don’t disturb us unless it’s important.” Gasly wanted to say something, only for Albon to stop him, muttering something to him, Max closed the door and continued leading (Y/n) to his office, dark wood, black leather couches, a large wooden desk as well as bookshelves decorated his office, (Y/n) had no doubt that the bookshelves were just there for show, to hide weapons or even a secret room, she was certain about it when she had spotted the scraped on the floor near them.

Fear, that was the only thing (Y/n) could feel as she sits on one of the black leathered couches in the spacious office, Max sat on the opposite couch across from her, he had just finished explaining what he was and what he does for a living, even giving her the names of each business and building he owned, everything slowly sinks in, but she refused to show it, she didn’t want him to see how scared she was, but she was sure he could see it, possibly even sense it.

“Do you have any questions?” Max asks in a soft sincere tone, (Y/n) shakes her head, unsure what she could ask and which questions could get into a lot more trouble or worse, her gaze falls onto the floor, finding it more interesting than the shelf behind Max. “(Y/n), I would never hurt you.” He sounded so convincing, but how could she believe him? “If I wanted to bring any harm to you, I would have done so a long time ago.” He stood from his seat causing (Y/n) to shiver with fear in her seat, Max quickly picked up on it. “(Y/n)…” Hurt evident in his voice, but before he could continue, somebody knocked on the large wooden doors, interrupting him, (Y/n)’s eyes wide as she looks up from the ground, her eyes displaying the fear she felt. “I told them not to disturb us.” Max strides towards the door and pulls it open, glaring at whoever stood on the other side of it. “If I remember correctly, I said don’t disturb us.”

“And I am deeply sorry to disturb, Sir, but we thought this could be important,” Pierre says before hosing something to Max on a tablet, causing him to snatch the device from Pierre’s hand as anger bubbles inside him, a picture of (Y/n) was attached in an email. “She is in danger, and so are we.” Pierre tried to say it as quietly as possible, but failed, (Y/n) had heard him. “Butler’s hang knows about her, and they are threatening her if you do not meet the demands they ask for.”

“How did they find out?” Max questions, how had he not noticed? How did nobody notice that butler had been following them?

“We're not sure yet, but we believe he had seen her with you at some point, we just don’t know where,” Pierre explains, (Y/n) licks her lips, her heart pounding in her ears, but she needed to ask.

“Wh—Who’s Butler?” (Y/n) asks, her voice faltering for a second, Max turns to face her and saw her standing from the couch, nervously fiddling with her fingers, he quickly learned that she did that when she was nervous.

“A nobody.” Max states. “Nothing but a piece of scum.” His voice hard and cold, causing her to take a small step back, afraid. “You shouldn’t worry yourself over this lowlife, he’s a nobody.” His gentler this time around, he looks back at Pierre. “Thank you, Pierre, we will have a meeting later, let everyone know.” Pierre nods his head and glanced at (Y/n) before leaving the office, Max closes his door as he turns the tablets off, how was he going to explain to (Y/n) that her life was in danger, and he couldn’t, no he wouldn’t let her eave tonight.

“He said, she’s in danger.” (Y/n)’s soft voice says from behind Max, she already knew what was coming. “Am I in danger?” Max turns around to face her a takes a step towards her but quickly halts when he saw her tense.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, (Y/n),” Max says. “I won’t let that piece of scum come near you.” (Y/n) slowly nods her head, her eyes looking everywhere but at him, her eyes finally fall back to the floor, a sigh leaving her lips.

“I can’t go home tonight, am I right?” (Y/n) asks, already knowing the answer to her question, but she had to ask.

“I would rather you don’t,” Max says. “Not with somebody from my world knowing about your existence.” But what he said next surprised her, she was sure that he wasn’t going to let her go home. “But I am a man of my word if you wish to go…” He trails off, he didn’t want her to leave. “I won’t stop you.” He would rather have her stay there, where he knew she would be safe, (Y/n)’s mind swirled with thoughts, what could be waiting for her at her apartment? Would she even make it back to her apartment? As much as she wanted to leave, she didn’t want to die, she preferred living.

“I uh…” (Y/n) begins, only to stop and clear her throat, Max was right, he’s never hurt her before, why would he now? She needed to think about her safety for a second, so when the words left her mouth, Max couldn’t believe it. “Can I uh, stay here?” Her voice barely above a whisper, she was still scared of the man standing a few feet away from her, but he might just be her safest option, the safest option. “Just until you’ve caught this Butler person.”

“Yes, of course,” Max says. “I’d rather have you stay here, knowing that you’re safe rather than let you stay on your own.” A glint of hope in his eyes, perhaps if they could spend some more time together she might see that he is still the same person before she knew the truth. “I’ll have Russell prepare the guest bedroom for you.”

[mommymooze]

Death By Association

Hubert approaches the woman who is bent down at the table, silently pouring through various tomes and books in the library. He coughs into his fist. “You have requested my presence?”

You look up suddenly and stand erect, making a respectful bow. “General Von Vestra, thank you so much for gracing me with a few moments of your valuable time.”

“Yes, my time is quite valuable. Proceed.” Hubert eyes the woman cautiously. He has seen her around for several months but does not recall working with her directly.

“I am a cleric, in General Von Hevring’s battalion. I also work in the medical tents treating the wounded. Sometimes Linhardt will discuss his research with me. This particular subject is one that he has lost interest in, however I believe this is something I must share with you.”

You advise that you have been studying plagues following wars throughout history. Making notes of transmission methods, symptoms, etcetera. You have been studying this subject for several years.  Thus far there have been no unknown illnesses or diseases that have affected the masses, however there is something unique you must discuss with him.

You look about the library seeing no others.

“I have seen six victims.” You begin, “the first a few years ago. The other five within the last year. It was quite gruesome. I have recorded the symptoms that I have been able to identify. Most concerning is as the illness comes to its end, the subjects begin to bleed profusely, their blood is hot, appearing to be boiling out of them. It is so hot that their clothing catches fire. Anything that was used to clean their blood begins smoke and catch fire as well. Needless to say it is a horrible death.”

“What interest would I have in this?” Hubert stares intently.

“The two most recent deaths were from your own battalion. The dark magic corps, correct?”

“Yes.” He mutters, still eyeing you suspiciously.

“The last battle at Gronder was horrific.” Your voice trembles, “Only those two were affected. Bleeding from their eyes and hands. Bloody noses that would not stop. We quarantined them. Their symptoms worsened quickly until their blood boiled out and they died. We pursued multiple ways to fight this affliction. Healing merely slows the process. We placed one subject in a deep bath filled with ice water. His temperature continued rising higher and higher. He burst into flames while submerged in the water.” You shudder, crying as you recall the gruesome deaths.

“Could it be…” Hubert abruptly stops.

Within the hour you are in a meeting room with Emperor Edelgard, Hubert, and Linhardt. Hubert provides a succinct summary of your findings.

Linhardt speaks. “It is obvious that it has something to do with the Agarthans.”

“There are quite a few in Hubert’s battalion.” You comment.

“How do you know about them.” Hubert stands, leaning over toward you and glaring.

“I am one of their failed experiments, courtesy of our beloved friend, Cornelia.” You subconsciously hug yourself, looking away.  

“How do you recognize them?” Hubert’s eyes still piercing you.

“I can smell them.” You snarl.

 The Emperor excuses herself after placing a high priority on obtaining a solution. The remaining three brainstorm on what is known, what is suspected, and what can be done. Tomes and books are brought in from Claude and Lin’s room as well as Abyss. Hubert assigns several of his spies to multiple battalions, other Generals battalions to monitor what occurs in his own unit.

Reviewing the data gathered thus far, it is obvious advanced magic is needed. The green haired cleric suggests Rhea and Seteth’s rooms. You split up, he takes Rheas quarters, while you take the other, agreeing to bring any items of interest back here.

You scour the books on the shelves of his office. There are a few tomes but none contain the desired spells. You search Seteth’s bedroom, moving every object you can.  You check the two bookshelves. One is easily pushed to the side, the other will not budge. You resort to removing all books from the shelves until you find a lever behind a book. Once pulled, the bookshelf swings into the room. On the back of the shelf is a recessed area shelving several unique and very old tomes. Snatching them up, you return to the meeting room.

Two books are historical, probably interesting to Hubert. One is written in a language that you cannot understand.  Two are filled with clerical procedures and spells. Some you’ve seen in practice as part of church services, some you have never heard referenced before.

Lin returns several hours later. Not that he had found anything particularly interesting, but he did take a nap in Rhea’s bed.

The green haired healer peers at the spell book you wave in front of his face. His eyes widen as he reads through the runes and incantations that are recorded. The spell you have the greatest interest in is “Purifying Light.” The two of you begin to make notes, dissecting the spell into its component parts.

Early the next morning Hubert enters the room bringing coffee, which you graciously accept. You have been so absorbed in the research you had not noticed the sun is just starting to rise over the horizon. You and Linhardt have nearly completed the mapping and logic stream of the spell. Hubert, having very little experience with this type of magic, does not completely follow your cryptic writings, that does not stop him from asking many questions about the effects, the intent.

You explanation the dissection of the spell. “Its purpose is to banish the darkness from a person. A spiritual exorcism. If they are too far gone, it may simply end them, in a peaceful manner hopefully. The texts do not discuss unexpected effects or results. Primarily the intended target is a victim of a high level dark magic spell. If you are banishing the darkness, what will happen to those that have cast nothing but dark magic all of their lives? We still have much more to investigate. The Agarthans live in near total darkness. Surely a spell creating a pure light would have a pronounced effect on them as well as those that they have contaminated.”

The sun traverses the sky and begins to descend in the west when you finally decide your productivity level is too low and you need sleep. Heading to your room you think of Hubert. He has been helpful throughout the research, frequently checking on you, bringing food and coffee and insisting you take breaks, walking with you around the monastery getting exercise.

Several weeks pass, you are prepared to test the spell. Hubert is away on a mission, his battalion with him. You and Lin agree the timing is perfect, keeping the Agarthans unaware of this spell. The pair move to the magical training area, specifically the fireproof area. You cast the spell, the sigils glowing before you as you concentrate on the proper movement and sequence while reciting the verbal components of the spell, at the final words a bright radiance fills a glass sphere that is floating in a basin of holy water, the two physical spell components. The orb rises into the air and glows with a bright whiteness, the intensity of the light increases to the point of needing to shade your eyes. Suddenly the room is in complete darkness as the spell concludes.  

Blinking your eyes to readjust to the normal light in the room, both of you inspect the walls and floors of the stone structure to see if anything has changed. Besides feeling physically warm there is no affect to your person. The room smells…clean. You cannot see any traces of mold or mildew on the walls.

The components are reset. Linhardt casts the spell, it does not seem to be as bright as yours, his movements are not as crisp, nor did he care to be as precise as you. Still, you both feel warm. The room is unchanged. You casually wonder if it can remove that permanent funky smell in the laundry room.

Two nights later, Hubert warps into the monastery. He is accompanied by one of his spies hiding within his battalion.

“This man was standing next to an Agarthan when they were killed. As we have seen in the past, many of those that slither crumble to dust when killed, especially in the daylight. We had to wait until my man was separated from the rest of the battalion. I believe he is showing signs of the illness.”

The spy, now patient, is holding a cloth to his nose. Blood runs down his face and hand, pooling under his fingernails. The clerics don thick aprons and gloves, a table is moved to the spellcasting training area. The fireproof area is chosen again. Losing the infirmary to an explosion or fire would be devastating.

The patient is calmed and lying prone on the table. You remove the patient’s shirt, exposing more of his skin to the light that will be created by the spell. Fresh holy water is poured into the basin next to the patient, the glass orb is now floating.

Reviewing the spell a final time, you raise your hands to cast, warning everyone to shade their eyes.The patient uses one hand to hold the cloth under his bleeding nose, the other covering his eyes.

Casting the Purifying Light spell, you manipulate the sigils, then recite the verbal incantation, your voice more powerful than the last time as you have gained confidence having cast the spell before. The orb floats high into the air, the water pulled up into it to fuel the light, then a bright flash occurs, the spell ending with a distinct ‘pop’ and the room goes dark.

Uncovering your eyes, you run over to the patient, fingers to his throat. He still has a pulse! He removes his hand from his eyes, suddenly turning away from you, coughing and hacking viciously, then vomits. Linhardt takes a cloth to wipe the disgusting mess from the table.

Studying the expelled liquid on the cloth, Linhardt comments. “This is very black and fine. Much finer than blood in his system. It resembles a powder.” The green haired scholar surmises. “Like dead Agarthan dust.”

Linhardt checks the patient further. “He is breathing well, no longer bleeding. His fingers now look clear, no blood pooling.“ He asks the man on the table, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel warm. There are other things, but mostly warm.” He says with a smile, happy that he can breathe again.

You  turn to Hubert, bolting to where he was standing. He is now lying on the ground. You realize nobody had warned him it would be in his best interest not to remain within the room during the spell casting as you had no idea how it would affect him. You hastily sit him up, sitting on the floor next to him, anxiously checking him out. His pulse is fine. You put your ear on his chest to listen and see if anything is wrong.

“Mmmmm.” Hubert hums. “It is incredibly warm.”

“I’m so sorry, Hubert. Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?” Your hands brushing any dirt from his clothes. He looks to be a bit dazed. You pull his eyelids open checking his pupils, grasping his face to turn his head this way and that.

“No, I recall a bright light and then found myself on the floor. I am not experiencing pain.” Hubert says slowly, as if he has to think twice before speaking any word.

“When you are ready, I will help you to stand. We should take you to your room, as well as inform the Emperor of the current events.”

Hubert takes a moment to situate himself then takes your hand, with your assistance is able to stand.

Hubert looks down at your hand in his. “Your hand is incredibly warm. Not hot, not burning. Just…warm.” He at you. “You also appear to be glowing.” His brows furrow.

Linhardt interrupts without looking up from the patient, “Yes, she was last time she cast this spell too.”

You look at Hubert unsure if he is well. “Let’s get you to your quarters, General.” You turn him around to make certain any dirt from his fall is brushed away.

As you lead him to the door he takes your hand in his again. “Still warm.” He smiles walking toward his quarters holding your hand,

He arrives, opens his door, then waves causing several candles flicker to life. He ushers you inside and closes the door behind you.

“How are you feeling now? Any dizziness?” You cautiously ask, heaven forbid if you did anything to one of Adrestia’s greatest generals. You lead him to sit on the chair next to his desk.

Hubert thinks for a moment, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. “I do not recall striking my head or falling. I recall the spell, the bright light and the popping noise. Then you were assisting me to stand. My hands feel oddly sensitive.”

You frown, quite concerned. “Hubert, please remove your gloves?”

“This has nothing to do with me or my hands.” Hubert responds curtly.

Well, that sounds more like him. “Humor me. I’ve seen them before.” Your voice stern, sounding more like the cleric you are.

The dark mage reluctantly pulls his gloves off his hands, you grasp his fingers in yours and pull them closer to the light. You notice the fingers are not as dark black as they had been, the purple streaks only going into his palms, no longer covering his wrist. You take your fingernail and scrape it under his pinky finger.

“Why did you do that?” he snaps at you hastily pulling his hand from your grasp.

“Because I could. Look.” You take his hand, showing him his palm.

Hubert stares, first at one hand, then the other. Touching his fingertips together. There is a look upon his face that you have never seen before, a look of awe.

“How…?” The man is mystified, staring as he clenches his fingers into a fist, then uncurls them.

“My apologies, Hubert. Linhardt and I had discussed that prior to performing the spell that we should ask you to remove yourself from range. We were not certain how the spell would affect you. Our error is serendipitous for you. It appears to have reversed some of the scarring.”

Hubert shakes his head. “I have not had this much sensation of feeling in my fingers for years.” His voice softens as he stares at his fingers again.

“We must report to Her Majesty.” You remind him. Definitely distracted.

“Absolutely.” Hubert stands, brushing himself off and then taking your hand in his as quickly guides you to the Emperor’s room and knocks. “Apologies, my Emperor, there is a matter we must discuss.”

He pulls you by the hand into her room, keeping it clasped in his. He explains his rushed return, the performing of the spell and that everything thus far is considered a complete success.

Emperor Edelgard peers at the two of you slightly squinting, spying that he is holding your hand tightly. “Thank you, Hubert. Anything else?”

“No, my lady, you will have your report in the morning.” The general bows and so do you. He shows you to the door, returning to his room’s interior, refusing to release your hand.  

He proceeds to sit on the edge of his bed, you stand next to him.

“Hubert, you should rest.” You whisper softly placing the back of your free hand to his forehead to see if he is warm. He’s not.

“I will take your recommendation under consideration.” He says, less curtly than usual.

“I have had a busy day as well.” You say softly, looking down. “If you do not mind…” you look to your hand in his.

“What if I do mind?” Hubert says, looking into your eyes. “I find your presence comfortable.”

You think to yourself, others have said many times of how Hubert’s presence is so frightening, how he gives off a scary aura, however you have never seen him to be that way, never felt cold chills at his approach or terrified should he look at you.

“As I do yours.” You sit on the bed, a bit of space between you.

“I wish to thank you for restoring some sensation to my hands. We have tried many different spells and cures. How can I thank you?” Hubert looks a little overwhelmed.

“I charge you one hug.” You shyly slide your hands between his arms and body, pulling him into a hug, putting your nose into his neck so he cannot see the bright red flush of your cheeks.

Hubert, not the most practiced at hugs, wraps his long arms around you one hand above the other at the center of your back resting his cheek on top of your head.

You hear the most beautiful sigh as you give him a little squeeze.

[sankt-brekker-the-demjin]

You Know, For Research Purposes - Tom Holland x Reader College!AU

Summary: Working on their research project, group mates Miles, Ned, Haz, Betty, Tom and Y/N grew closer together over the course of a few months. Also, how does Cheetos and ice cream taste together? ;)))

Word Count: 2,433

A/N: (gif not mine.) lolz hi! Look what boredom did to me.. I made a fanfic... [first time doing this idk what to do so there's that moving on. Hope u like it! Geronimo.]

Tom ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands with force. He banged his head lightly on the table. He looked back at his Lit folder and saw he still had half of it to finish. He closed it and decided he would do it later. Managing the research project and studying for exams were taking a toll on his body and his sanity. He got up and went to the get some water.

It was halfway through midnight. His parents and brothers were asleep on their rooms. Miles, Haz, Y/N, Betty and Ned - his Qualitative Research applied subject classmates were sprawled all over the living room, laptops shoved to their faces, bond papers in hand. It was a typical students' night. The group had gotten together at Tom's house, and planned to stay overnight.

Miles and Y/N have History 1 together, while Betty and Haz had Calculus. But other than that, this was the only classes they all had together. Being in college is no easy feat, proper time management was necessary. 

Ned had assigned each member to a specific part of the paper, and they've been at it since 8 pm. They all have to multitask and manage their time. Tom had almost finished his part of the paper, so he tried to do his Lit homework now.

Tom heard footsteps stomping on the floors. He turned and saw Y/N marching up to him with an annoyed look on her face and was about to speak but he cut her off.

"If you complain about the heat one more time, I'm give you a real reason to sweat," Tom set the cup of water with a smug look on his face.

She halted on her tracks and smacked the paper she brought on his arms. Tom chuckled, but didn't move.

"No, you idiot," Y/N rolled her eyes. "You might wanna fix that paper before you go off scaring people to death with that annoying face of yours."

His mouth twitched in amusement and took the stapled papers from her hands. "So you admit you've been looking at my face."

"You're so full of it," Y/N stepped around him and grabbed another glass, getting water from the tap.

Tom looked at the incorrect charts and tables he had made on the paper. He cursed under his breath. He had been working on it in the wee hours of last night. Spontaneous typing, no pit stops on spelling errors and everything else, just got it done.

"The original file is on my computer upstairs," he groaned. "I'll have to re-do this again."

"You do that," she clicked her tongue. "And I'll just chill here by your fridge for a moment."

Y/N opened the fridge and took the remaining slice of cake laid on a plate.

"That's mine -" Tom protested.

"Not anymore." Y/N ate the cake.

He scowled and moved to close the door of the fridge. Y/N leaned her back on the door. There they were, a few inches away from each other. Tom stood seething; Y/N chewed the cake with an amused expression. She wiped the frosting on her lower lip with her tongue reflexively. Before he realized it his eyes wandered to her lips.

Tom inched his face closer, eyes darting over to her eyes and lips. "If you don't stop biting your lips ..."

"What are you gonna do?"

Tom remained quiet but clenched his jaw.

Y/N chuckled, "You're all talk and no action."

Heavy footsteps echoed on the hallway to the kitchen, gaining both their attention away from each other. Tom whipped his head to the of the voice and shot him a look.

"I told you 7000 times, a chicken is a bird -" Haz bursted into the room with a phone clutched to his ears, pausing when he caught sight of Tom and Y/N. "D'you have a charger I could borrow?" Haz covered his phone with his hands.

"I have one in my backpack." Y/N said.

Haz nodded, talking again to his sister on the phone about chickens. He walked back to the living room, waiting for Y/N to follow him.

Y/N stopped by the table where Tom had been working on, and pointed at his paper. "I can't finish my part if you can't finish yours." Seeing as his paper's original file was on his computer upstairs, she grabbed his laptop without waiting for him to reply. "Imma borrow this ... Thanks."

She went back to the living room, laptop on hand.

"And don't look at my browser history!" She heard Tom call back from the kitchen.

"Wouldn't dare," she countered in a mocking tone.

As the weeks passed, they started collecting data on the field. They went through one institution to another, gathering reports and statistics, and validating it with professionals. Then after that it was all a blur. They submitted the paper to Mrs. Luxley and was graded, only given back to them for minor revisions.

The gang decided to spend that same night they passed the assignment on Tom's house again, just like they did when they were still making the paper. Tom's parents had gotten used to them staying over, and Sam always tried to flirt with Betty when he was around. 

Ned and Haz raced to Tom's bedroom. Ned threw himself on the bed first. "God, I've never felt the bed being this good," he sighed and melted with pleasure. All those sleepless nights they've had finally paid off.

Haz hit him with a pillow. "Move over!"

Y/N laid on the couch, feet perched on top of Tom's lap, getting comfortable. Betty and Miles slept on the carpets of Tom's living room. They just sort of crawled to the floor in delight and just stayed there, too tired to move anywhere else. Haz came back to the living room, holding a bottle of champagne on his hands from the Hollands' cupboards.

He cheered. "Let's celebrate!"

But they celebrated the victory by sleeping out for an entire day spread all over the Hollands' house.

Even though their project was finished, the lot still remained close with each other. They spent times at Miles' favourite diner by the corner of the campus during their collective free time.

And last week, Haz's sister gave birth to a pretty baby girl. Haz invited them over and they all came to join the little house party his sister threw. The group counted on this as the official celebration of their hard work.

It was a Thursday afternoon. Family and friends chatted and caught up with each other in the Osterfield's backyard. Dream by Fleetwood Mac could be heard playing on the living room speakers.

Tom was talking with his dad. Betty and Ned sat at the garden chairs talking to one of Haz's brothers. Those two really were people persons. Miles and Y/N laughed at a hilarious history joke their professor rambled about. Tom tried to pay them no mind, though his glance drifted to them every now and then. His dad eventually noticed the shift in his mood, but decided to ignore it because his mum came to them, carrying Haz's niece. Tom accepted the baby to his arms while his mum and dad went to the kitchen.

Lily, the smol bean's eyes crinkled with joy and giggled. Her chubby little hands reached out to him. Tom stuck his tongue out affectionately her. He turned his head to the low whistle he heard.

"Wow... Daddy," Y/N smirked.

That day was all fun and games, but by the end it they still had school stuff to catch up on. A few weeks later, they decided to cram in the library.

Nothing feels better than suffering with acads together friends.

The group sat in a table by the corner, immersed in their own world. Tom went to the bookshelves to look for an autobiography book his proffesor suggested. Ned was compiling essays on his laptop. Miles was reading a book by Neil Gaiman. Haz and Betty were doing their Calculus homework.

Y/N's chin rested on her hands, staring blankly at her laptop screen. A straight line blinked repeatedly on the ends of the only sentence she typed.

What the fuck |

She just needed a head start on this critique paper. Nothing too heavy, just one paragraph to kick it all into place. That's where it's always hard. The first line. So now she's stuck with cursing. Before Y/N realize it, she's slumped her face down to the wooden table with a light bang. The group lifted their eyes to her, asking if she was alright. She shoved her thumbs up above her head, and they went back to what they what they were doing.

Haz who sat on her right, patted her back. "Same here, sis," he fought back a yawn.

Her eyes felt heavy. Then she groggily looked up to the little 'thunk' dropped on the table.

"Oh, great you're alive," she muttered before setting her face back on the table again.

Tom pulled his chair beside her. "Miss me already? I was barely gone for a few minutes."

"I'm so blessed to be with your presence," she stated in a monotonous voice.

Tom snorted. "Your professor is really gonna give you an A+ with those colorful words. 'What the fuck,' short but sweet."

She looked up and stuck her tongue out. Seeing his face has started to get old ... she tried convincing herself that, though.

They did their business. Ever so often, Y/N and Tom's elbows would brush against each other. Y/N had her earphones on, listening to her shuffled playlist on Spotify. Tom heard muffled tunes, and turned his head closer.

"What are you listening to?" He whispered; his breath fanned the side of her neck that sent chills up her spine.

She didn't look at him and instead continued to write key points to make on her essay. She spoke, her voice low. "This one's called Uncomfortable by Wallows."

He grinned and leaned even closer. "Can I listen?"

From across the table, Ned took 10 bucks from his wallet and shoved it on Betty’s hand. She pumped her fist in a silent triumph.

Y/N shifted her head to look at him, only to find his cute, devilishly handsome face inches away from hers. If she would tilt her head a little... their lips would touch. They locked eyes for a second, before she plucked one earphone and gave it to him.

He cocked his head, liking the song. Minutes passed. The only noises were from turning book pages, soft patter of keys on the laptops, and bits of hushed voices encompassed the area.

An hour later, Y/N felt herself getting hungry and went out to buy food, Betty tagging along. They ate outside since the library was strict on the 'NO eating policy.' Not even other drinks are allowed, only water. The others stayed behind. Then Betty came back to her seat.

"Where's Y/N?"

Betty sat on her chair, "She's outside, still eating."

Tom nodded and felt himself getting hungry, too. He opened his backpack and took a bag of Cheetos he stashed. He stood and said to them he was gonna eat outside. He went out, and spotted her leaning on a pillar, scooping ice cream out of a cup.

"I'm starving," he stood beside her.

"We've been there for ages," she scooped another spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream she got from the shop across the street.

Tom munched on his Cheetos. He turned to look at her happily savoring her ice cream. He moved for Y/N's ice cream cup but she swerved it out of his reach.

"Get your own," she swatted his arms away.

A thought crossed his mind. It reminded him of the last time they did this at his kitchen, over a slice of cake. And how they've been so close...

For the past few months, he's gotten a strange feeling whenever Y/N was around. Like there's an electric buzz in him, his heart would warm up at the sight of her. He couldn't stay away from her, and he wants to know her better, and feel her and just be there right beside her. He couldn't explain it.

Tom grinned at the memory, chucking a piece of Cheetos on his mouth. He stepped forward. "D'you wanna know how Cheetos and mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like together?" he leaned closer to her face; his breath hot against her skin. His gaze shifted down to her parted lips. "You know, for research purposes..."

"Hmm?" She held her eyes up on his own gleaming brown ones. "Probably good. Anything's good with mint chocolate ice cream."

"Yeah?" His hands reached out to move the strands of her hair away from her face. "Wanna test it out?"

She shrugged.

Tom found his hand on the back of her neck and slammed his lips to hers. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut. He tasted full of that cheesy goodness. And her, a heavenly taste of vanilla and the aroma of mint. Her arm stretched out to keep the ice cream cup away. She parted from his lips to set the cup down onto the pillar. He wrapped his arms to her waist, pulling her flush against him. With her now empty hands, she ran her fingers on his soft brown curls. She tugged at the strands, eliciting a low guttural sound from him muffled by her mouth on his.

He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers, breathless. "We should get back inside to do ... stuff."

"No no. Don't care." She pulled the back of his neck and closed their distance again. He chuckled.

Y/N loved the way their mouths danced to a rhythm, flavors mixing together from the forgotten taste-testing session, now a different kind of session.

A hand still on her waist, the other cupped her cheeks and tilted her chin to give him more access. She wrapped both her arms around his neck, welcoming warm the feelings burning inside her.

They parted, but still inches away from each other. Y/N bit his lower lip. Tom hissed in surprise but she kissed it better.

"So ... what do you think?" He murmured in a low voice.

"Mmm, I like it." Cheetos and ice cream forgotten.

"Yeah?" He grinned at her. "Me too."

Seconds lapsed. Neither of them moved, still stuck in a more romantic version of a staring contest.

"I like you." Tom's heartbeat raced.

She grinned back at him. "I like you, too. Like 3000. I like you that much."

-

Roll the end credits.

[thenightgazer]

The Finding of Almagest

The elder son of Sparda wants to seek solitude inside a small local library. He finds himself trapped in an insightful conversation with the librarian as they share the stories of the stars.

(A/N) : My first DMC fanfiction! Took me long enough to finally made it. English isn’t my native language, so feel free to send me private message if you find grammatical errors! Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the journey of our favourite brooding devil and his friendship with a local librarian! xD

Special tags : @queenmuzz for encouraging me to finish this fic❤ @voldemortimaginarynose96 for her nonstop support 🍫 and @drusoona for bombing me with Vergil screenshots! 💜

You can read this fic on my AO3

 –

“The meeting of two personalties is like the contact of two chemical substances, if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

-Carl Gustav Jung

For a second in eternity, Vergil could finally rest his head between the familiar smell of stack of old books.

He just finished his latest mission; a pack of Empusas attacked a local church and brutally murdered the reverend and most of the nuns. 

When Dante received the call, he casually laughed and said, ‘That sounds like a wicked slasher horror movie!’. Nonetheless, the owner of Devil May Cry still sent Vergil to do the mundane mission, much to his annoyance. The church paid him and that’s good enough. Vergil never really agreed about demon hunting business since the brothers came back from Underworld, mainly because his brother’s incapability of running the business neatly but that’s the only best thing they could do to make a living— a normal one.

Normal life, huh?

The words already lost its meaning since he was attacked in the graveyard when he was eight years old.

But now he has a second chance— a family to reunite. For that reason, Vergil decided to throw away his pride and stubbornness to make things right. In order to do that, first, no more raising or opening something leading to Hell for the sake of power.

Second, catching up his long-lost time to bond with his son, Nero. 

For the love of Sparda, the hybrid demon tries his best to be a proper, competent father of a twenty-something grown man with anger and abandonment issues, which is challenging as much as it’s…. unbelievably exhausting. Not that he hated their bonding moments. It just sometimes confuses Vergil, this humanity contexts. He still has a lot to learn and catch up.

Third, try his best to make a normal life.

Which is one of the reasons why he ended up in this small, rustic local library in the town.

If anything about living as a human that could make Vergil at least enjoy his humanity, that would be a book to read. He is still and always an avid reader, even though there are not much books in the Underworld or Mundus curse was powerful enough to made him senseless about anything but The Prince of Darkness orders.

Before the memories of his time as Nelo Angelo stings his head again, he chooses to focus on his reading.

There is one larger library in the town, but this library suits him best. It doesn’t have too many visitors, much to Vergil’s benefit because he appreciates seclusion. He likes this place particularly because the library has rare collections. Perhaps this place is like a heaven on Earth for Vergil, now as he reads a rare edition of Paradise Lost. 

His mother was the one who introduced him to literature, but Vergil’s love for reading bloomed since he meet the Redgrave City librarian— the same man who gave him William Blake’s anthology, which is now Nero’s possession. 

A subtle smirk curves in Vergil lips, remembering how angry and nervous his son when Vergil came back from Hell and Nero wanted to return the book. But Vergil declined, said that it belongs to Nero now and to take care of it with honour. Instead of thanking his father, the boy challenged him for another duel. 

You said you won’t lose next time, old man, Nero had said to him. 

And of course, that time, Vergil won. Which lead to another demand of challenges from his wayward son.

“Cuppa?”

The sound of a woman distracted Vergil.

Another best feature from this library; they serve free-refill coffee. The best coffee Vergil ever tasted since his return from Hell. The fact that the library doesn’t often have visitors might be the reason why they willingly serve free drinks to attract more visitors.

“Thank you,” Vergil said as the woman refills Vergil’s cup.

“You’re welcome,” the woman replies in polite smile.

She always has that kind of smile. Vergil noticed it since his first visit. Always speaks in a-matter-of-fact tone with pleasant but business-only smile. She almost never speak unless necessary. 

Dante had brought him fake ID and licenses from Morrison. Vergil isn’t obnoxious enough to not aware about human ways of bureucracy. His time as V taught him a little too much about it. It just hard for him to believe that Dante made him an obviously fake driving license while he possessed the Yamato, which is more convenient than any vehicles.

“At least,” Dante mocked. “It’s way better than your previous not-so-clever alias.”

Which resulted in another jabbing and broken properties.

What a way to show brotherly love.

Luckily, the younger twin was considerate enough to keep Vergil’s original name at those ID cards, even though it irritates Vergil because the main trouble of having an ID is that your identity would easily revealed. Vergil doesn’t need anyone knows that he’s son of Sparda. That legacy always left him more troubles.

So when the librarian lady asked his name to register his library member three months ago, Vergil, much to his dismay, showed her his fake citizen ID.

“Vergil?” she repeated his name.

“Correct.”

She looked at him suspiciously, “Just Vergil?”

“Yes.” He sensed that the librarian didn’t believe him. He would’ve just go and never return if she declined him, but she just shrugged and wrote his name in her notebook.

“Please wait for a moment,” she smiled while walking to back office.

Three minutes later she brought him his library ID card.

“Two weeks for returning the books. No more than three books to borrow for a week. Rare collections are for read here only. We sell secondhand books too— right there before the reading corners,” she pointed to the bookshelves which has ‘FOR SALE’ sign. “Please contact me if you need some help for searching books or recommendation.”

She handed him his ID card which Vergil accepted.

“Happy reading, Mr Publius Vergilius Maro.”

Not that old joke again, he lamented his parent’s choice of name. How dare this woman-!

“Pardon my rudeness,” she apologized in furtive manner. “The name was just the first thing popped into my head when I heard your name. I mean no offense at all, sir.”

Vergil thought probably she was just one of those people who wants to make some meaningless conversation. Or she was just always like that to new customer to break the ice. But in truth, he was intrigued by her audacity to tell him a joke. He, Vergil, whose entire demeanour screams stay back or die. Moreover, she still able to stayed calm and gave him apologizing smile. But her nervous fingers spoke different meaning, like it begged him to end her misery of being intimidated by his infamous deadly glare.

“None had taken,” he finally said, remembered to show some politeness. A devil he might be, but he’s a man with courtesy. “Thank you for your assistance, Librarian.”

She nodded politely and gave him final apologizing smile before she returned to her work and Vergil walked to his reading corner.

The two has never really spoken since then. Just her offer of a cup of coffee and him thanking her. He sometimes observes her talking with another customers, giving some book recommendations to them, and he think her choices of book are quite impressive. It took him almost three months to realized that this woman is unbelievably brilliant. Her love of books is tangible, as shown when she cleans the bookshelves, organizing books, the way she hands a book to a customer and her anger when her co-worker unintentionally scratched the book.

Somehow it reminded him with the Redgrave librarian. The man who taught him to cherish the splendor of the books.

He turns his attention to a passage from Paradise Lost :

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…

Such a truth spoken by Satan.

The deeper Vergil digs inside his head, the more he doesn’t want to know what happened in the depth of his memories. His familiars might had gone, but it doesn’t mean he is unbothered with his own dark side of his mind. Ever since his first slumber in Devil May Cry after his arrival from the Underworld, he only slept for no more than a half an hour. His sleep was dreamless, followed with the instinct to stay awake like he used to be in the Underworld. He ended up restless for the rest of the night. Sometimes he would read Dante’s little collection of books, anything which doesn’t include inappropriate contents. He just want to distract his unsettling memories, mostly about his regrets and unanswered questions from the past.

He didn’t know where was that librarian after demons attacked Sparda Manor. Had he survived? He wouldn’t know for sure. He didn’t have time to think about it that time. He needed to save his mother and brother, but instead he was left—

Stop, he urges himself. Mother tried to save me too.

Vergil doesn’t even realized he gripped his book a bit too hard.

Maybe I need something lighter to read.

He close the book and stand up to return the book to its shelf. He never moved too far from his favourite reading corner for an introverted man like him; the farthest corner between rare collection bookshelves. Here he could read in peace, musing without any interferences except the librarian’s offer of coffee, which he eventually get used to.

“Hello again, Mr Vergil,”

There she is, standing on the ladder and organizing books. She barely sees Vergil’s figure, but it’s easy for her to recognize the presence of the only rare collection’s visitor, who is none other than Vergil himself. She knows other visitors would leave this corner immediately because of Vergil’s intimidating demeanor. None of them would stay to read or just searching for book.

Vergil returns the book to its place. His icy eyes sneakily lingers to the figure of the librarian. She looks busy storing the books, humming a song which Vergil doesn’t recognize.

“Done with Milton already?” she asks.

How did she know?

“You looked rather enjoy it before I offered you to refill your cup,” she continues. “It makes me feel guilty, as if my presence ruined your mood.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Vergil turns his sight to another row of bookshelf. And more importantly, why doesn’t she just shut her mouth?

She finishes her organizing and starts to climb down from the stair. Vergil could not help but admiring the way she seems pleased with her job. She cleans her hand with a napkin, folding it and put it back inside the pocket of her brown midi skirt. She suddenly turns her attention to Vergil, who is quickly pulling away his gaze, pretending to be busy searching for book.

“May I give you some recommendations?” she offers with careful and awkward gesture, like she’s afraid she would disturb the menacing man in front of her.

Despite his annoyance of her presence, he remembers her passion of books. He noted her excellent choices of book. She seems reliable enough. Maybe she really could help.

“At the current given moment, I prefer to read something lighter, but enough to give me an insight.” Vergil answers dismissively. “Not necessarily fiction, actually.”

A little challenge to show your competency.

The librarian goes silent for a moment. Her eyes wander to the bookshelves. There, Vergil silently notice, that the librarian always has that kind of eyes; a pair of beautiful brown eyes, but a blank, void stare.

The truth? Her eyes slightly bothers him. Every humans, even demons, always has something to tell from their eyes. But the ones that librarian possess doesn’t tell him even a thing.

“Right!” she exclaims, pointing at a book in the row next to Vergil. “How much do you know about astronomy?”

“Beg your pardon?” The hybrid couldn’t believe what he just heard as he turns around to face the librarian.

“Astronomy. A branch of science that studies celestial—“

“I am fully aware of what astronomy is,” Vergil declares. “All of those books, why do you choose astronomy?”

“Because,” she takes the book she pointed before. “You seem to enjoy ancient texts. Your top borrowed books were all classics. You see, we don’t have many visitors and it’s noticeable that you’re the only person who consistently lingers at this section. It’s not hard to tell that you fancy this section the most. I thought classics and ancient knowledges would suit you the best. Therefore…” she shows him the book she recommended. “You might like Almagest.”

Almagest. Vergil remembers the copy of that book in Sparda’s private room in the Manor. He didn’t really paid attention to that book, although he did actually pick up that book and observe it delinquently rather than taking it seriously. He was still a child after all. He didn’t even think about reading it until now.

He receives the hardcover book from the librarian’s hands and observes the book. His fingers flip the pages carefully.

“Almagest is one of the most influential text all the time. The very source of ancient Greek astronomy that was accepted for more than 1000 years and becomes one of the basis of modern astronomy. Unfortunately, we don’t have the original version of Almagest… but the one you read now contains both the original and translated texts. You won’t find any difficulty to read it, just in case you’re not familiar with ancient Greek. The book also contains star catalog. Ptolemy’s catalog contains about 1022 stars, including the stars positions arranged into 48 constellations. The Ptolemaic constellation… as we know it in the present. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Sagittarius…” the librarian explains while observing Vergil’s behaviour cautiously, looking for some approving signal from the hybrid. “A rather quite insightful reading, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Vergil sternly states. His eyes still fixates to the book, studying the graphs and tables, admiring the beauty of ancient Greek text and the planetary model. “Although, indeed, quite like a page-turner for stargazer.“

“I believe that astronomy is more than mere stargazing,” the librarian continues. Her tone is almost enthusiastic. “It is concerned with the formation and development of the universe itself. The universe always expanding, getting further from us while we are still standing here, wondering what happened outside the Earth…”

Vergil glances at her. The librarian’s eyes scanning through the books, but she seems out of the place. Caught in her own muse. The fusion of the magnificence of bookshelves and the librarian’s state of wonder somehow makes her look ethereal.

She looked pale, mysterious—like a lily, drowned, under water.

“There is Demon World,” Vergil sighs, closing the book in satisfied gesture. “The one human still trying to figure out in which system this world could be.”

“Oh, I wonder that too!” she quickly agrees. “They published a lot of researches about that. None of them actually make sense, more like a pseudo-science—Oh, pardon my twaddles! Are you going to borrow that book or should I recommend another one?”

Vergil shake his head, “This will do. Thank you for your recommendation.”

The librarian sighs in relief, “Anytime, Mr Vergil. I shall continue my work then.”

There it is again. The blank stare. The unsettling mix of pretty smile and void eyes. Something is off, but what? What does it means? She is nothing but a mere human. Why am I troubled for something nonsensical like the voidness of her eyes?

Yet he knows that if she turns her back and leaving him, he would never get his answer.

“On second thought, Librarian.”

The librarian tilts her head, “You changed your mind already?”

“On the contrary. I need some enlightment about Almagest and your knowledges regarding astronomy,” Such a buffoon, Vergil Sparda. “I believe your help will suffice.”

The librarian seems pleased with Vergil’s request. She nods in excitement, happy that someone needs her help and ideas, “Certainly.”

She excuses herself to get more coffee for both of them whilst Vergil returns to his usual desk and rest his head, processing to clear his brain from any irrelevant informations when suddenly a glimpse of his experience as V comes up.

This life’s dim windows of the soul

Distorts the heavens from pole to pole

And leads you to believe a lie

When you see with, not through, the eye.

There was a time when he, as V, memorized that poem at the center of Redgrave City. He was exterminating demons along with his familiars. He did his best to save any last survivors as much as he can. Between his own survival agenda and his unnatural obsession to defeat Dante, he truly realized the tremendous gravity of crime he did all this time for his pursuit of power. All he wanted that time was just a chance of redemption. He saved the humans compulsively, again and again. Like he would never get atonement at all.

That was the time he learnt that every humans and demons has stories in their eyes. Whether it’s hunger, glutton, joy, fear, sadness, painful memories. It was all reflected in the eyes. Their desires were always transparent like an open book. Even his mother once said that eyes are the window of the soul. Vergil used this wisdom to analyze his enemies. To find out their true intention. But at that time, as V, he used the knowledge to understand humanity and self-introspection. To accept his own emotions and weaknesses.

It all make sense now why the librarian’s existence intrigues Vergil.

It’s her eyes, Vergil contemplates. Ones that didn't tell me its stories.

He quickly lifts his head when he hears the little steps of the librarian approaching him.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologizes while placing a tray of pot of coffee and a book on the desk, careful not to place it too close to the Almagest. She fills their cups calmly, enjoying the coffee’s delightful smell. Though Vergil noticed her awkwardness for being around him.

It’s clear that the librarian feels a degree of burden from accepting the challenge from this mysterious, brooding tall man who visits the library almost every week. She’s aware of how intelligent this man could be. How he would challenge her intellect and make her arguments invalid. Even his name is enough to convince her that the man in front of her will be her most peculiar customer to handle.

However, their discussion regarding Almagest is running smoothly. Though not an expert of astronomy herself, she’s capable of explaining Vergil’s questions regarding the Almagest and astronomical trivias. Her eyes might not tell him anything, but he can sense her true passion in astronomy. She doesn’t speak unless Vergil ask her something he’s not quite understand. He notices the librarian silently reads The Fall of the House of Usher. She shows no difficulty switching her reading and tag along with their discussion. 

“I am sure not an expert of Almagest, but I hope I can still give you some enlightment,” says the librarian before she sips her coffee.

“You already are,” Vergil admits. He scans Ptolemy’s equant model and memorizing the librarian’s explanation. From all chapters of the book, he found the star catalogue to be the most interesting part.

Young Vergil was astonished with the stars. Back to his childhood at Sparda Manor, when the night falls, the twins used to sneak out from their bedroom and climb the roof to stargazing. They were too young to truly acknowledged the beauty of the night sky, but Vergil enjoyed that moment. It was hard to find the right time to get along with Dante and made him sit still without bugging him any further. Dante would occasionally pointed on something in the sky, pretending he saw a meteor. Vergil would replied with sarcastic remarks as always, saying that he acts foolish or something. Then it would lead to another brotherly fight.

“The star catalogue is certainly the most enticing part of the book,” Vergil mutters, sipping his coffee as he inspects Ptolemy’s star chart.

“Indeed. The star map is ancestral to the modern system of constellations. Now there is another 40 officially recorgnized constellations and two trillions galaxies.”

The librarian adds new informations for Vergil, including the brightest stars of the constellations and best months to find it. He returns the favour by telling her more details about Greek mythology, which is inseparable with Ptolemy’s star mapping.

“It seems to me that ancient Greek gods has a fancy preference to placed their fallen heroes in the sky, if not, curse them into something ridiculous,” the librarian contemplates.

“Not all heroes,” Vergil refutes. “Cassiopeia mocked the Gods by boasting her daughter being more beautiful than all the Nereids. She was chained in her own throne as her punishment. Then Poseidon condemned her to circle the celestial pole forever.”

“More like a good example of what being a narcissistic could do rather than a tribute for her.” She mumbles. “It’s interesting to note that both Cassiopeia constellation and narcissistics have a similar trait.”

“Which is?”

“They are all easily spotted and visible all around the year.”

Vergil tries so hard not to burst in laugh. “Are there any constellations visible all the year aside from Cassiopeia?”

“There are Draco, Cepheus, Ursa Major and… Ursa Minor. There,” She points the picture of four constellations. “Together with Cassiopeia, they are circumpolar constellations of northern sky. These constellations circling Polaris, the brightest star of Ursa Minor. Commonly known as The North Pole Star. The big bear Ursa Major is the largest northern constellation. It also contains the most prominent asterism in the night sky, oftenly confused for the constellation itself. Cassiopeia is always easily recognized for its clear W shape, like she was being chained on her throne as you mentioned it earlier. While her husband and worst father ever to sacrificed his daughter to sea monster, Cepheus, is not widely known in spite of its size. Cepheus and Draco are two of the largest constellations in the sky but their stars are not as prominent as Ursa Major.”

“And these constellations remain invisible from southern locations?”

“Sadly, yes. But the south has its circumpolar constellations too. There are Centaurus, Carina, and Crux. You won’t find Carina and Crux in the Almagest. It was Argo Navis before French astronomer de Lacaille divided it into the three smaller constellations; Carina, Puppis, and Vela. As for the Crux, it was originally considered to be a part of the Centaurus before 1679, and the smallest of 88 constellations, if I’m not mistaken…”

“If you are not mistaken.” Vergil emphasises sarcastically.

“Which means I am certain that I mentioned it right.” she evades.

The librarian tries her best to not let her laughter comes out when she notices Vergil’s permanent frown gets more crumpled.

The librarian seems to enjoy driving the half-devil to the edge with her dry wit. She finds it funny to see Vergil grunts in annoyance, or his slightly amused grin whenever she said something peculiar. Maybe because the man in front of her right now is always covered by mysterious cloud. That his face is always solemn, imperceptible. He looks sullen, like he never laughed for his entire life. He really needs a bloody lot of kips, she thinks, taking note to Vergil’s darkened eyebags as she compares with her own eyebags, which she thought were quite dark already.

She was going to continue her explanation regarding the southern circumpolar constellations before an unexpected thought spills out from her mouth, “You are haunted, Mr Vergil.”

The atmospheres shifts abruptly. The hybrid’s shoulders stiffens as he glares to the librarian as a warning to not cross the line. His frightening stare sent chills down to the librarian’s spine that she almost choked on her own coffee.

“What’s with the sudden impudent commentary of yours, Librarian?” Vergil doesn’t try to hide his vexation.

“Uh… well…” the librarian chuckled nervously as she hides her face behind her novel, shielding herself from Vergil’s intimidating glare. “You always look like you are either staring to nothing or focus on your book. There is no in-between.”

“You’d be disappointed to know the fact that a lot of people do that. Every time.”

“True,” she agrees. “But you are different. You have the eyes of a man who still try to adjust the new world. Most of people are haunted by the past… but you are haunted by the present.”

She shut her mouth almost immediately, realizing Vergil does nothing but giving her threatening look to stop analyzing him. It was her only detriment; to be innocently curious about everything, silently observing and analyzing things. Most of her ideas are boxed inside her head. She never said it out loud. But this time she couldn’t help but spilling her thoughts. That she finds Vergil interesting.

“I will forgive your impertinence,” the blue demon closes the book and shifts his position to relax his previously tensed shoulders. “Only if you explain why do you think I’m haunted by the present.”

“Well,” she grins and bluntly explains, “There are two kinds of people who willingly to spend the rest of the day staying here; a keen of literature or a misanthrope. I dare say you are both, but I think you are here because you are overwhelmed with the outside world. You are adjusting something you had never experienced before. That adjustment, whatever it is, haunts you. It confuses you, what happens now and how you would react about it. Like the moment when you were unfamiliar with our registrative custom, which was odd because you looked like it was your first time registering something. Honestly? I thought you were making up your name. You looked terribly confused back then, as if you didn’t recognize your own name. You seems… detached from reality.”

I must not let my guard down anymore, Vergil makes a mental note as he feels defeated, even though he won’t admit that everything she said was the truth.

“Pause,” The librarian let out a gasp as she notices Vergil’s inconvenience, “Is it really okay if I continue? I don’t like being psychoanalyzed and I’m completely understand if you want me to stop.”

“You are too late for that. You already talk a little too much.”

“But you said you will forgive me only if I keep talking!”

“If you explain your impertinence.. not chattering like a mockingbird.”

“That’s harsh! Besides, how could I explain if I am not allowed to keep talking?”

I’m done playing words with this woman, Vergil slowly growls in frustration. He never thought that having conversation with a human could be this infuriating. “Then let’s settle the matter. Tell me your thoughts and be done with it.”

“Fair enough,” she seems satisfied, enjoying Vergil’s defeat and curiousity. “For the record, you are the one who asked me to talk. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  Where was I…? Oh, yes, detached from reality. You speak about humans differently. You treated your surroundings like a bystander. Like you distinguish yourself from reality. It make sense, actually. To understand something, we must separate ourselves from it.”

“I get your point.”

The librarian looks puzzled, “Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Was that mean I was right about you?”

“Even if you are right, I won’t bother to tell you.”

“No… it just…” she taps her fingers slowly. “It’s hard for me to express my point of view, particularly to strangers. Moreover, to make them understand.”

“You’ve done well to the customers.”

“That was different. It’s for business.” She waves her hand nonchalantly. “My point is, maybe this library is the right place for you to adjust yourself. I don’t have any slightest ideas of what you’ve been through, but you deserve to find your peace. Other customers will find you too scary that they will leave this section as fast as they can—I mean, look at yourself! But what I see is just… a man who wants a little solitude from this noisy world. And I believe everyone deserves their own place in the sky… like the stars. No matter how insignificant they feel about themselves.”

The elder son of Sparda found himself stunned by her words. He never thought a human could possess the ability to see people in such illuminating way. She doesn’t flatter nor mock him, just simply stated her intuitive opinions about him. She but a stranger, seeing right through his psyche. The same odd woman who is now obliviously reading her novel like she had already forgotten of what she said earlier.

“You saw a lot, Librarian. That’s an exceptional gift.”

“Compulsive observation isn’t counted as exceptional gift. More like a curse, but thank you. Of course I could be wrong. Maybe you are just another introvert bloke who’s happened to passed by and read something here. Who knows?” 

They now surrounded by a soothing silence. Both of them are preoccupied with their own thoughts. Vergil contemplates the librarian’s words about his adjustment with the present. He never really paid attention about that, but it turns out to be the very reason why he still fear any kind of human contacts. He lost so many years that he almost forgot how it is to be alive.

When he saw Dante and Nero for the first after he re-emerged, he couldn’t believe that everything around him was real. That everything was not a mere illusion anymore. He spent mindless and controlled under Mundus’s cruel illusion for years that the line between the real and the fake were blurring. He was blind and chained. Far too long that his soul was decayed.

And to think he still has a chance to make things right… to be truly alive in the present…

Yet there is still one thing that holds him back. There is a part of him which screaming in agony, searching for validity of his confusing emotions. A part which he hides it deep in his mind palace. The one he refuses to share. For he is afraid that he won’t get any enlightment. That he could be the old Vergil who was obsessed with power. The part that granted him moral codes and compassion.

His doubt on his humanity.

“I used to hate humans,” Vergil finally confesses. “I used to think that they are all weak and useless, and I loathed myself for being a part of human.”

The librarian gives him a curious look, her lips curves into a playful smile, “You stop hating them now? Why, you are right about them anyway.”

The hybrid cannot hold his surprise. The lady in front of him… a mortal human, confirmed Vergil’s confession with ease. As if she herself isn’t human. But that can’t be true, you are a human, right? Vergil tries so hard to not bluntly asking something obvious which could make him look like an imbecile. She doesn’t seem surprised at all by Vergil’s unusual confession.

“It might sounds strange, for I myself a human. But you are right about humans. I could understand why you hated them. Easily corrupted and manipulated, they destroy themselves for something meaningless. But humans are truly fascinating being.”

“Fascinating being…” Vergil murmurs dismissively.

“I think you know it as well as me,” she peeks over her book to meet Vergil’s intimidating, yet calming gaze. “They stand on the grey zone. They are unpredictable, complex being. While most demons only want power and human flesh to consume, humans only desire self-actualization. To be a better version of themselves. That could lead them in many ways. To do things differently. Isn’t that interesting, to think that all the humans in this world are never really the exact same individual? Humans are unique, Mr Vergil. Each of them. Their ability to endure is transcendent.”

“Humans are selfish being.” Vergil objects. “Their desire of self-actualization is misleading. Some humans want to be demon so much that they become something worse than the demon itself.” Including my former self. “They crave for something more. Their greed is boundless.”

“Indeed,” she admits. “I won’t defend that fact. Humans are biologically and inherently selfish. The same goes with human emotions. Though oftenly fallacious, it’s important for human survival…”

“Sounds like a creature of flaw.”

“No one’s perfect, Mr Vergil. Everyone’s flawed. “ the librarian took notice of skepticism in Vergil’s statement. “Yet you stop hating humanity.”

“I try to embrace the fact that I’m part of humanity.”

“Why?”

“… because I have a family to protect.”

“There,” she gives him understanding wink. “Unlike demons, humans have connection to each other called compassion. Their instinct to protect their beloved ones. Their need of security and sense of belonging. Without all of it, humans would ended up just like beasts. That’s what distiguished us from demons. But not all demons. They said Dark Knight Sparda fought for humanity and became a human as well. It seems to me that every humans and demons have choice to be the better or the worst version of theirselves… to be a demon, to be a human… to conquer or to protect.”

“Without strength, you cannot protect anything,” Vergil adds, more like talking to himself.

“Fine word, Mr Vergil.”

“That’s what happens when you’re responsible for lives other than your own.”

“Which means you are not fighting alone. You have someone to protect you.”

You’re gonna need some help… and someone to keep an eye on you, Dante’s voice echoed inside Vergil's head. Had Vergil dismissed him, he would ended up alone again in the Underworld. The fact that Dante was willingly throw himself to join Vergil made him feel secure. That he’s protected.

Why did it take him so long to realise that he was always saved by humanity?

“Ah… that remind me of something…” The librarian seems out of place again. Her unusual pale face is suddenly turns deadpan. But that statement just left hanging in the air as the librarian went back from her reverie. Leaving a trace of voidness in her eyes.

“Your eyes, librarian,” Vergil addresses after he saw the voidness again. “Those eyes spoke nothing.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve seen thousands stories behind every eyes.” The hybrid knocks his fingers on the Almagest as he feels the urge to tell her the truth. That he was enchanted (or bothered?) by her unsettling eyes. “But yours telling me nothing.”

“Oh… well, what am I supposed to do with that information?” she closes her book abruptly, startled by the statement. “They said eyes are the window of the soul, am I right? Was that mean I have no soul?”

“On the contrary,” Vergil disproves. “You have a wanderer soul. A mind of philosopher.”

She flustered as she breaks her eye contact with Vergil. “Well… thank you?”

“You are welcome.” he says softly. “It just… nevermind. Forget everything I said about your eyes. I must have mistook it for something else.”

He lied, of course. His intuition never betrayed him. There’ll be another time, Vergil thought, realizing it’s futile to contend with the librarian. This was their first real conversation since their encounter three months ago and both of them need some time to open up. He won’t rush it. Not that now he really wanted to at least make an acquaintance with a normal human. Moreover, the one who could keep up with his mind and antics,

The librarian seems uncomfortable with Vergil’s appraisal. It was odd, since she thought Vergil isn’t the kind of person who would’ve easily praise someone. Little does she know that Vergil would only compliments people who’s worth his time and energy. She avoids Vergil’s inquisitive eyes, tapping her wristwatch, ”I hate to end our discussion, but apparently we’re closed.”

Vergil surveys at the winter sky that soon will turn into dark, velvet blue from the window beside his desk, “Very well then.”

“You may borrow it as long as you want,” the librarian points at the Almagest as she cleans the empty cups.

“Would that be okay for you?” Vergil doubtly glances at the book.

“Just please don’t report me to Mr Steiner,” she chuckles when she mentioned the library’s owner. Vergil remembers an old man and his occasional visits to the library and checking notes at receptionist table. “A kind one, that man, but his wrath was horrendous.”

“Won’t your colleague complain about this?”

“Nate? He’s off duty today. Worry not, he rarely checks Rare Section.” She stands up, about to lift her tray. “Oh, and please take a great care of it. I’d lose all of my wages if you somehow decided to broke it.”

“I won’t,” he reassures. “Although it is not wise to trust a stranger, Librarian.”

“Righty-ho,” she winks mischievously. “Yet I believe this stranger will keep his words.”

“And how would this stranger keep his words if he doesn’t even know the name of the very person who made him promised?”

“Ah… Mr Vergil… I did mentioned my name in our earlier discussion!” she giggles as she grips her tray in excitement. “But yes, I didn’t precisely tell you that it was my name.”

“I don’t like riddles.”

“Ha! Then let’s play a riddle, shall we? It should be easy if you listened carefully to my explanations regarding constellations!”

It is surely futile to contend with this peculiar woman. As much as he dislikes to accept the challenge, he ultimately agreed to prove his competency. He won’t lose to everyone, let alone this scallywag librarian. He folds his hands on the chest as she prepares to give him clues :

“I am visible in the Northern and Southern hemispheres

I am prominent in the summer night sky

I belong to the Hercules family of constellations 

My closest neighbour constellation is Cygnus

The meteor shower appears annually in April

I have one of the brightest star in the sky.”

The hybrid goes silent, recalling his recent discussion with the librarian. He remembers the librarian briefly mentioned this constellation— a small constellation, but its brightest star is the fifth brightest star in the sky…

The process of recall also brings him to the second passage of Georgics, which originally was a Greek tale of tragic story between a musician who attempted to retrieving his dead lover from the Underworld. He managed to get through all of the obstacles only by the play of his music instrument and softened the heart of Hades, the ruler of the Underworld.

This pattern of memories immediately leads him to his answer.

“You are heavily associated with the musician Orpheus, who took his own life after his failure to ressurect Eurydice, his beloved wife. Then Zeus placed you, Orpheus’s most cherished instrument, amongst the stars,” Vergil smiles in victory. “The lyre… Lyra.”

Lyra smiles slyly, “Touché, Mr Vergil.”

“Just Vergil is fine.”

“Very well then, Vergil.”

Lyra excuses herself to wash the cups, but Vergil insists to follow her to receptionist table. He waits her to finish the washing and packing her belongings while reading the motions of Venus and Mars from the Almagest. He occasionally asks her something concerning the part he read on and she’ll answer his questions from her office.

“Your choice of word was interesting, Vergil.” Lyra shouts while drying the cups.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said Orpheus took his own life,” she recites. “But let say God doesn’t exist, then it’s absurd to say that he took his own life. Taking it from who? If his life was truly his…”

The hybrid demon sighs frustratedly, “It’s a figure of speech. Do you always take things too literally?”

“Blimey, Vergil. I was just joking!” the librarian appears in the office doorway as she wears her gloves. Her blue oversized sweater is now covered with black babydoll coat. Vergil makes a mental note of her elegant, classy appearance as the two of them heading out of the library. Clearly she is a type of person who prioritize comfort in clothing rather than fashion, but she is nonetheless still an attractive woman. 

“Your whimsical sense of humour could drive one to insanity,” he remarks, but there is no offensive tone in his voice. He does enjoy her quirky humour, though he won’t admit it.

“Oh, Vergil…” Lyra smiles mysteriously while locking the entrance door. “You have no idea what insanity is.”

Or maybe I do have the idea.

They continue their conversation until they walk pass the crowd of the street. As the conversation goes on, Vergil mentally noted Lyra’s favourites and her quirks; she has too many favourite books, but she will always re-read The Hound of Baskerville and The Silence of the Lambs. Vergil was never stand too close from her to notice her slight limp on her right leg— too subtle that normal human eyes couldn’t spot it. He wonders how she got that, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he tells her his favourites and that he prefers classics, but he’s open for something new.

“Wait a second.”

Lyra jogs to a patch of blooming snowdrops as they’re passing a playground. She picks the flower, making a small bouquet from it, and quickly returns to Vergil, who’s waiting for her in confusion.

“Galanthus nivalis,” she hands him the bouquet. “They say snowdrop represents a friend in adversity.”

“Also consolation and hope,” Vergil adds. He touches the petals with one of his gloveless finger delicately, as he recalls the language of flowers his mother taught him once. The twins were regularly helped their mother gardening as she told them the story behind every flowers.

Lyra lifts her eyebrows, “Never thought you’d familiar with floriography.”

“As a librarian, I think you know it better than me to not judge a book by its cover.”

“You got a point there," she scans through the snowdrops on Vergil’s firm hand. “My mother once told me, if I find myself lost, pick flowers.” 

“That was an exquisite wisdom.”

“It is,” she grins. “That’s why I picked you these snowdrops. You seem lost. You should start picking more flowers.”

“Only if I lose myself,” Vergil pledges. “At the moment, I think I already have my answers. You’ve been very helpful.”

“No worries,“ Lyra continues her walk before she turns her back to Vergil again. “I’ll take my leave here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Vergil.”

The hybrid doesn’t respond. He doesn’t like the idea of her walking all alone in dark alleys. There is a part of him which urging him to escort her until she’s safely arrived at her house. The world is full of danger. It could be anything; demons, thieves, serial killers, even natural disasters. “I could… you know… escort you home.” Vergil almost bite his lips, curse himself for his reckless offer. 

Lyra shake her head, although she noticed the visible concern from the man who stand still in front of her. “It’s very kind of you to offer me escortion, but I still have to stop by my friend’s house.”

Her face determines her reluctance to be escorted that Vergil couldn’t find better excuse, “If you say so.”

"Well… normally I would say ‘goodbye’ to strangers because I don’t plan to meet them again. But this time I’ll say ‘auf Wiedersehen’, means ‘until we see each other again’”.

“Bold of you to assume that we will see each other again.” 

“As a librarian, I have a duty to remind you that you still have a book to return.”

Vergil couldn’t help but chuckles as he’s amused with her perfect comeback. Her laughter is strong enough to make Vergil reciting a poem that revolved around his head regarding her presence :

“The sun descending in the west

The evening star does shine

The birds are silent in their nest

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower,

In heaven’s high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.”

The librarian stands speechless. The pupil of her eyes dilates in awestruck, not aware of the hybrid’s delicacy of making those void eyes now full in adoration.

“That was… splendid.” she blurts. “I’ve heard that somewhere… Shakespeare? Wordsworth? Oh, no no no… hmm… Blake?”

She smiles in victory as Vergil gives her a confirmation nod. She remembered Vergil’s book list, “Your favourite, of course.”

“Do me a favour,” Vergil says seriously. “Be very careful on your way back home. Our world is a savage world.”

“Of course.“ She nods in beam. “Though I assure you, I’m penniless and too troublesome to be kidnapped.”

“I can see that.“

Lyra waves her hand playfully as she takes her leave, “Auf Wiedersehen, Publius Vergilius Maro.”

The blue demon couldn’t help but rolls his eyes.

“Word of advice, Vergil,” she shouts before she disappears into the crowd of the boulevard. “Ad astra per aspera.”

To the stars through difficulties. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vergil waits until he can’t see Lyra’s figure anymore. He somewhat feel guilty for leaving her defenseless, alone in the street. Yet he trusts his intuition, that she is capable of taking care of herself. It doesn’t stop him to think that he will escort her if she allows him, though. Being around her is just… different. It’s different from what Vergil feels when he’s with Dante and Nero. Definitely not the same way when he’s around Devil May Cry crews. Even this is the different kind of feeling he once had for Nero’s mother, a long time ago.

The blue hybrid looks up to the cloudy night sky.

According to Lyra’s explanation, winter is the best season for stargazing. There are so much observable astronomical events in this season, not to mention the appearance of Winter Triangle and Winter Hexagon, the two major asterism that dominates the winter night sky. 

“The Winter Triangle formed by Betelgeuse in Orion, Sirius in Canis Major, and Procyon in Canis Minor,” Vergil recalled Lyra’s voice when they discussed asterism. “While the Winter Hexagon are much more complicated. There are Rigel in Orion, Aldebaran in Taurus, Castor and Pollux in Gemini, Capella in Auriga, and the two from the Winter Triangle: Sirius and Procyon. Sometimes both asterisms appear simultaneously.”

One of the perks of being a half-human and half-demon is enhanced senses, including advanced vision. The sky isn’t clear, for the clouds are too dense, but Vergil can easily spot the Winter Triangle without difficulty. The stars are shining brightly that it reflects back in Vergil’s blue eyes. There is Sirius, he spots the second brightest star as viewed from Earth. He remembers Lyra mentioned that Sirius will continue to be the brightest star in the Earth’s night sky for the next 210.000 years.

He’s not sure that he would live to witness that phenomenon. Even Sparda didn’t live that long. Yet the fact that he would someday die doesn’t bother him. He is no longer interested in searching for power anymore, now that he realized that his true power lies within his humanity. He becomes more convinced after his conversation with Lyra. That humanity is flawed, but worth to defend. It makes him the man he is now.

The thought of the librarian gave him a moment of serenity in the darkness of the street. Gently, he slips the snowdrop bouquet Lyra made for him between the pages of Almagest. The token of their friendship. Her offer for his adversity. That remind him of a poem his mother once recited for him, when he was helping her at the garden of Sparda Manor :

“Now— now, as I stooped, thought I

I will see what this snowdrop is

So shall I put much argument by

And solve a lifetime’s mysteries.”

“Interesting.” He mutters to himself as he summons the Yamato, cut the space to open a portal and walks towards Devil May Cry office.

–

Here's the source of recited and mentioned poems and lines :

Paradise Lost by John Milton

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

Georgics by Virgil

Night by William Blake

The Snowdrop by Walter de la Mere

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 9

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Filing systems are discussed.

Someone has been poking around.

“These locks haven’t been replaced in years,” Sasha mumbled. She was on her knees, gently poking and prodding the old padlock that secured the storage house’s back door. “Should be easy work, but it may take some time to avoid breaking it.” Unrolling a bag, Martin could see thin, metal tools with different heads and lengths.

Jon and Martin kept themselves pressed low against the wall. Every once in a while, Jon would check his phone for any warnings from Tim, careful to keep the light covered with his hand. Martin kept his eyes and ears trained on the woods nearby.

It was largely useless, as Martin couldn’t see shit. There was security to that, in a ‘he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him’ sort of way. The others hadn’t been concerned about things like night vision goggles or cameras. Something about wealthy families being tightfisted and how Martin’s salary was a miracle. In the dark they would be secure, unless a bear chose to join the party.

With every second that ticked by, tension grew in Martin’s stomach. The tiny clicks of Sasha’s instruments were an alarm in his ears with nothing to cover them. His eyes wouldn’t adjust in the thick dark surrounding them, and eventually he screwed his eyes shut to stop his vision from shifting and swirling.

“Ha!” Sasha said, setting the lock beside her and stowing away her tools. “Okay, careful now.” With a gentle pressure, she turned the handle and pushed open the door. The three waited, listening for any disturbances in the darkness of the storage house. When nothing happened, Sasha motioned for the others to follow inside.

“All right,” Jon said, his voice low. “Based on the outside, we should head to that side area. The far door should go into that room connecting to the front entrance.”

“Should? Didn’t you check this place out before?” Martin asked, his voice jumping up a register.

“Of course we did! But as mentioned previously, getting inside was-”

Sasha said with gritted teeth, “We can go over our planning abilities later. We need to get moving!”

Martin continued forward but added quietly, “Wow, very reassuring.”

From both of his companions, he earned a resounding “Shut up” that would’ve hurt if it weren’t for their perfectly matching inflections.

Keeping their torches off, they let the wall lead them to the entryway. Through it, a few windows to their left were just visible by the small amount of light that periodically entered with the turning of the lighthouse beam. With this small illumination, Martin could make out the edges of large shelving units.

Sasha and Jon set themselves to work, taking thick blankets out of their packs and hanging them over the window frames. “Don’t worry, we tested these with our phone lights.” Sasha said, covering the last window. She hesitated, then added, “Well, probably best not to point your torch directly at them, but otherwise they should be fine.”

With their torches (mostly) safe to use, Martin could now see the room in full. Tall bookshelves sat in several rows facing the entryway. In the nearby corner was a small set of drawers. The wall was lined with filing cabinets, and all the way in the back right corner sat a small number of wooden crates.

Martin pointed in the direction of the crates. “I’ll check those out, unless either of you want crowbar duty?” In response, Jon slipped between the bookshelves. Sasha smiled and waved her tools toward the cabinets. He sighed. “Right. My fault for volunteering.”

Before heading over, Martin went to the drawers up front and found some nails of different sizes, perfect for covering his tracks. Pushing them into the wood with a crowbar would be slow going, but it was better than risking the pounding of a hammer in the middle of the night.

Sasha swore as he walked by. “Some of these are locked. It’ll take some time if I try to open them all.”

“Do what you can with the unlocked ones for now. I’ll look for some sort of catalogue,” Jon said, and Martin heard what he judged to be the most academic sniffle. “If these people bother with a proper filing system.”

Sasha snickered. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the Lukases have thrown everything around willy-nilly just to vex you.”

“And yet it would still be better than our own archive. If you ask me, Elias prefers the mess of it, as if it helps us any for him to know where everything is.”

“God, you’re bringing this up now.”

On his way to the crates, Martin peeked at Jon who was scowling at the shelves. “So, what, you just have to ask him where anything is? What happens if you can’t reach him?”

Jon grimaced. “You spend several hours getting stabbed with the edges of old, misfiled reports on haunted petunias.”

Sasha laughed, and Martin continued to the back corner, accepting that he must’ve missed some inside joke. Bending over the first crate, Martin braced himself on the side of its lid and checked for labels. All he found was a small series of letters and numbers.

“Fuck.” He straightened and went for the bookshelves, walking back and forth along them to scan for anything obvious. What would a file directory look like? A bound book? A file folder?

After a couple of frustrating minutes, he heard from the other side, “Try looking for a binder. Easy to remove and change organizational data. I haven’t found anything on my end yet.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Martin replied, his face burning. “Not exactly familiar with this sort of thing.”

With new direction, he located a low shelf with several binders, and tucked between two dusty tomes was his target: page after page of a coded file system with labels and descriptions, split into different storage types. He let the others know, and Sasha looked through them until she found something of interest in the cabinets.

Flipping through the pages, Martin located the proper entry and walked back over to the crates.

It was some personal belongings of an N. Lukas, some long dead relative. Nothing jumped out as important, so he dismissed it and went to the other crates. He had to climb on one to get a proper look at the one sitting on top of it. Checking the entry, he huffed out a small sound of curiosity and slid the crowbar out of his bag.

“Found something?” Jon said, peeking from behind the shelf.

“Yeah, I think so. Time to learn about my predecessor.”

With as little sound as he could muster, Martin slid the crowbar under the wood and used his weight as leverage. It was difficult from where he stood on the other crate, but eventually there was a sharp crack. Everyone froze, but after a moment of nothing they returned to work. Carefully pushing the top, Martin peered inside.

The contents were sparse considering the size of the crate. A sturdy leather jacket was neatly folded in a corner. A stack of documents in a file folder were held together with a red rubber band. Finally, in a small plastic bag, he could see a worn wallet and a mobile phone.

“There we go.” Opening the bag, he took the phone to examine. Dead, of course. He turned it over to check the charging port. “Does anyone have a charger for this? It uses one of the older universal ones.”

“Check in my bag. I’ve almost got this,” Sasha said, hands still busy with their lockpicking.

Digging through the pack, Martin found the charger and plugged it into a nearby outlet. It would be a few minutes before Martin could learn its usability, so he started flipping through the banded-together papers. There were some school transcripts, job and school applications, and other documents that felt strange for a family to be holding onto, but Martin couldn’t judge sentimentality.

Tucked in the back of the file was a newspaper clipping from the date of Evan’s death. It was as Martin had heard before: cause of death was an “unspecified congenital heart problem”; died on his way home from work; found by his mother on the day of; vague mention of a nameless fiancée.

He checked the phone again, which seemed to be charging at a slow but steady rate. Another crate would have to do in the meantime. With its lightweight cargo, Martin managed to move it to the floor and check the one underneath. Nothing of interest, same with the one stacked on top in the corner. He enlisted Jon in lifting it up off the one below, then checked for the latter’s entry in the book.

“Oh thank goodness,” Martin breathed, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders. “It has to be in here.” Removing the lid, he found himself staring at a treasure trove of what the entry had referred to as Peter’s “personal collection”, a vague term for a disorganized mess.

The items varied wildly, thrown across each other with no care or preservation. Some of them were, to Martin’s untrained eye, seemingly precious artifacts belonging on display in a museum, not rotting away in an old crate in the middle of nowhere. Many were books bound in different styles. He tried to be gentle with the older ones as he looked across the covers and set them aside one-by-one. If any of these items were lost in a bet like Simon’s, the person involved must still be kicking themselves.

He almost missed it. In the corner of a book, Simon’s neat, tiny signature was etched into the leather. The urge to open it made Martin’s hands tingle. He took off his scarf and wrapped it around the sketchbook, placing it carefully inside his bag. Curiosity had pushed him far enough that night. Whatever might’ve been going on with that book, Simon was threatening enough for Martin to use extra caution.

Using his crowbar, he lightly tapped a nail into the already-made hole. It wouldn’t be strong under scrutiny with the splintered wood, but from the outside, it looked good as new.

A small hum came from between the shelves. “Anything interesting?” Martin asked.

Jon coughed. “Possibly. Information on some of the industries the Lukas family are involved in. The list is… extensive. I think they might’ve also destroyed the local fishing economy, but that’s just conjecture on my part.”

Sasha sighed from the cabinets. “I’ve found a little on the lighthouse, but nothing on its origins. I can’t even find where the Lukas family would’ve purchased it from. However-” She waved a sheet of paper. “Turns out, Simon Fairchild made an attempt at a joint ownership of the place years ago. Rejected, of course, but I wonder what he wanted from it, besides another nice view.” She took a quick photo of it and replaced it in its file.

Martin enlisted in Jon’s help once more to re-cover the crate of Peter’s collection with the other crate. As they finished, the phone beeped from the floor, and the two swung around at the noise. “Okay, okay,” Martin jogged over and swiped at the screen. “Shit, of course.”

While it hadn’t been wiped completely, all email, phone, and text messages had been erased, along with any photos or videos. No record of Evan’s days at the lighthouse, or why he had come back in the first place. Shaking off the disappointment, Martin looked through Evan’s contacts.

His many, many contacts.

Sure, he had been a popular guy in school, but he’d spread himself out in the years away from the little town. It took all of Martin’s will not to scroll quickly through the myriad of names. With the sheer number, it seemed Evan had resorted to leaving notes on them. To avoid mixing people up? Most likely, considering he had at least four Daves listed.

Evan had kept track of a lot of people. Many had clearly been his friends from his little notes about them. Where he met them, or who he knew them through, or little things that Martin could only assume were inscrutable inside jokes.

The mere thought of talking to Evan had sent a younger Martin running. The intimidation factor had been so strong in the moment. It felt stupid now, and Martin sat for a moment to take in the volume of people who hadn’t let something like fear stop them from talking to a genuinely nice person.

It was no time to regret dumb social decisions from his teen years. He continued scrolling until a contact jumped out at him. Cheesy little hearts trailed after the name.

Naomi Herne.

He looked up at Sasha, who was thumbing through the binder. “Sasha, could you check something for me? A name, Naomi Herne. I think it might be Evan’s mystery fiancée.” He noted down her number along with Evan’s just in case.

“Sure thing,” Sasha said.

Martin finished scrolling and failed to find any other pertinent names. The fact they hadn’t been erased felt odd, but when no explanation came to him, he turned the phone off and placed it back inside the plastic bag. Along with the stack of documents, he dropped the bag back into the crate, sealed it shut and climbed back down to the floor.

From behind him, he could hear Jon back between the shelves, mumbling to himself. His phone camera’s flash reflected off the finished wood of the bookshelves. Martin was about to ask Jon about his findings, but Sasha made a noise of recognition.

She focused on an entry, then walked over to one of the cabinets. “Huh. Guess not everything is locked.” She sifted through the folders and slid one out to browse its contents. It was heftier than Martin had expected.

Sasha’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Ms. Herne was very busy.”

“What?” Martin walked across the room to read over her shoulder. Sasha’s current focus was… a restraining order?

“What the hell?” Sasha said. She flipped through some more papers. “There’s… there’s location info. Looks like they’ve been keeping tabs on her. And here, some kind of documentation of her movements in town months back.”

The wheels turned in Martin’s head. “They didn’t want her in town. Maybe she-”

There was a small thump from the bookshelves, and Jon ran toward the windows. “We need to go. Now!” Jon hissed, pulling down a hanging blanket.

“Shit.” Sasha looked at Naomi’s file and placed it in the drawer, shutting it tight. The three of them grabbed the blankets and stuffed them into their bags, and through the window, Martin could see the smallest hint of light near the street. Sasha slipped toward the exit. “Quick, out the back door!”

Doing their best without light, the three snuck down the hall and out from where they had come. Martin heard the door across the hall being opened just as they slipped outside. Jon was quick to slap on the padlock, and the three bolted into the dark wood.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Martin gasped, refusing to look behind him. He heard footsteps close by, and from near his shoulder he could hear Jon’s hoarse, quiet breath. “If we go this way, I-I think I can keep us off the road.”

“As long as they didn’t see the blankets get torn down, there won’t be any other signs we were there,” Jon said, managing to get a bit ahead of Martin despite his shorter stature.

“You’d better be right. Sasha, was there another meeting point?” Martin asked.

No one answered, and Martin’s blood went cold. The only steps around him were Jon’s. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Should we go back?”

Jon hesitated, then said through his own panting, “If something happened, w-we can’t stop now. It’s possible she ran in another direction. Going back wouldn’t be of any help. We need- we need somewhere to wait and hide. Once we have that, I-I’ll text Tim something innocuous in case something happened outside.”

Martin felt sweat running down his neck under his many layers of clothing. From where they were, he charted a course in his head. “Okay. I think I know a way to avoid town altogether.”

Using the distant beacon of the lighthouse as a reference point, the two ran through the forest. Every once in a while Martin would make a sharp turn, causing Jon to stumble after him. Trees jumped into their path, slowing the pace considerably, and after a few minutes the ground began to dip downward.

There was no running on the slope without risk, and Martin slowed them both down to stop and listen for the sound of pursuers. As they waited in silence, holding back gasps for air, Martin could feel tiny scratches on his cheeks from branches that had caught him unawares. The only sounds were the screeching of insects and the beating of his own heart.

“Okay. No more running, but keep moving down,” Martin said, willing the blood in his ears to be still.

--

The sun still had some time before properly rising, but exhaustion slapped Martin in the face as he stood on his front porch, fiddling with his keys.

“...You really think this is a good idea?” Jon said, straining to keep his voice low while still maintaining an appropriate level of incredulity. A yawn crept in at the end, lessening the effect.

Martin shushed him, unlocking the front door. “They have no reason to look down here. The woods are thick, and the path I took us through is weird enough that we could’ve gone in any direction. If anyone ever was following us.”

Jon grumbled and checked his phone again. He had texted Tim once they touched the stone-covered beach with no response, and grew visibly more worried with each passing minute.

“You all have plans for this sort of thing, right?” Martin asked, one hand on the door. “Covered your bases?”

Swallowing hard, Jon said, “Y-yes. I’m sure Tim and Sasha are fine. They’re resourceful people.” He checked his phone one more time, then stuffed the phone in his pocket. “I have full confidence in them.”

Tim had been right. Jon was a terrible actor, avoiding eye contact and letting his voice falter when he should’ve kept strong. Of course Jon was worried about his friends.

Martin cleared his throat. “Good. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon. If we managed to escape, there’s no way Sasha got caught.”

It took a moment, but Jon took in a deep breath and nodded. “Right. We’ll hear from them soon.”

Martin ushered him inside and toward the stairs. “Mum is a heavy sleeper, but still, be quiet please. We’re heading to the attic. She can't get up the stairs on her own, so there's no risk of her finding you.”

They walked up the steps and kept a slow pace across the upstairs hall. Martin pulled a rope at the end, releasing a ladder he just barely caught and set against the ground. Jon crawled up and into the small space.

“I’ll be right back,” Martin whispered. “Gonna stuff some things back where they’re supposed to be.” He left to replace his supplies into their proper drawers and boxes.

After most of his things were put away, he took the sketchbook, still wrapped in a scarf, and slid it into the drawer of his nightstand, underneath his small notebook of poetry. He would have to figure out a good delivery method another time, when he wasn’t exhausted and filled with dread.

Before returning to the attic, he checked his own phone. He had also received Tim’s warning text, a simple “Time to go!”. It didn’t look like a message sent under duress. If Sasha had gotten into trouble, Tiim would’ve been around to help, and vice versa. Chances were they had all made it out okay, and the other two were being careful on their way back to their hotel.

Martin climbed up the ladder to the attic. “Any news?” he asked, pulling the ladder up behind him.

From the other side of the room, Jon faced away from him and knelt in the corner. “They’re fine. She took a different route and met up with Tim. They’re at the hotel now.” There was a tremor in his voice.

Martin’s heart squeezed in his chest, and he shut the small trap door. “That’s good. Are you doing okay? I know it got bad at the end there, and-”

Jon stood and turned. His face was contorted with confusion and fury, and clasped in his grip was the limp, dusty skin of a seal.

Every muscle tensed in Martin’s body as all but the thing in Jon’s hands faded from sight. Martin barely choked out, “Why-”

“You’re going to explain what this is doing here. Now.”

[joeycupcakerichter]

Zach Dempsey v Cyrus - Crying Lightning

A/N: So I’m going to put this out there, first off. I don’t know exactly how I want this to end. I’m just kinda letting this one flow through my fingers and into existence so this is very much so freeform. That being said, I am very open to input and feedback if anyone would be so interested. 

Pairing: Zach x Reader, Cyrus x Reader

Warnings: Lots of depressed mind imagery, might be kinda heavy as I based actual events from when I was in school for this one. 

Word Count: 1652

Masterlist

Another weekend, another night stuck at home while everyone else frolicked and partied. You missed the long nights at Bryce’s, though admittedly you didn’t miss the painful hangovers that came with it. You’d fallen asleep with Zach Dempsey more times than you could count, after long nights of talking about nothing in particular and lugged Justin Foley back to a bed with a waste basket and a bottle of water after many a heated battle of beer pong, usually becoming more and more extreme with every reset.

But those days were over now. When Hannah’s trial began, it alerted your parents to goings on at the Walker Mansion and sent them into a frenzy, declaring you were relegated to your bedroom every weekend until graduation. They tried to convince you they weren’t mad, that they did the same thing when they were teenagers but the firm foot down approach they regarded the weekend with made it feel more like a punishment than genuine concern for your safety.

Every weekend, you were left to watch your friends party it up, only the less and less detailed play-by-plays to keep you in the loop every Monday as Jessica fixed her makeup in the bathroom before school.

“We really missed you this weekend, (Y/N),” she’d lament the first couple regalings. Justin’s Beer Pong elbow was getting rusty without a proper opponent, apparently and Zach was often found moping around when it died down, with no one to unload the myriad of drunken thoughts that would weigh him down as the night wore on.

As people normally do, they moved on without you. The parties died down without Bryce’s luxurious manor to use as host and you stopped finding Jessica in the bathroom. If you were honest, it broke your heart. You considered these people your friends but it seemed life could just move on as though you’d never been there. Anger welled in your gut at your parents, unfairly blaming them for putting you on lockdown when you hadn’t done anything wrong. Isolated and alone, you found yourself trying to fight off the feelings of hopelessness as life continued to press on.

“Hey, (Y/N), you finished with that?” a voice asked from behind you. You turned to step out of the way of Cyrus, who looked down at the printer expectantly. You nodded distantly, moving away from it and returning to your desk to straighten out the printed off sheets of the essay you had all too much time to work on. Cyrus’s eyes followed you back to your seat, turning to watch as the printer shot out his own work.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he said again, appearing at your side, reading over the paper in his hand, “I think you left these on the printer. Gotta have those sources and citations.” He held out your missing pages, watching you carefully as you took them silently. “You okay?” he asked hesitantly, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed your face.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, unable to meet his gaze as you cleared your throat, embarrassed.

“Where are your friends? Usually don’t see you sitting all alone,” he remarked, his eyes finding Jessica Davis and Zach talking against the wall in hushed tones as their eyes darted around the room.

“They’re not my friends anymore, I guess,” you shrugged, letting your eyes wander over to the two in time to see Zach stand sharply and stalk back over to his desk.

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked, breaking your gaze as Zach caught your eye.

“I mean, we don’t hang out anymore. I guess they’re still technically my friends, but I don’t see them much anymore since the trial,” you explained, trying to keep the irritation out of your tone.

“So you mean to tell me you’re an outcast now?” Cyrus asked, sitting down at the desk in front of you and turning to face you.

“I guess so.”

“Well then, I have excellent news for you, (Y/N),” he grinned, ”My friends and I would love to have you join us,” he announced proudly. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “We specialize in outcasts, I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“N-No, don’t you take pity on me,” you grumble, returning your eyes to the words you’d written and then reread a thousand times.

“I don’t take pity, (Y/N),” he assured you. “Look, offer stands, find me at lunch. I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Without another word, he stood sharply, heading back to his own desk, leaving you to stare at the back of his head in confusion.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” a deep voice asked behind you, making you jump. Turning around you find Zach watching you intently. You groan at the sight of him, turning back to face the front of the classroom.

“I’m fine Dempsey, you really don’t have to worry about me,” you murmur, flipping through your agenda and finding the first page to start doodling on, focusing your anxiety anywhere other than the six foot two walking emotional crutch sitting behind you.

“I-I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Chloe-”

“Are you guys finally together? It’s about time,” you chuckle a little too enthusiastically to mask the pain rocketing through your stomach.

“T-Together? What? We’re just friends,” he explains indignantly, almost as if he’s confused by the implication. 

“Bryce is gone, I figured you’d finally go after her after moping about her last summer,” you remarked, rolling your eyes as your pen dug into the paper just a little harder.

“I-I wasn’t moping about her?” he shot back, “Bryce ra- Bryce hurt her and I was worried about her,” he hissed, coming mere inches from your ear. The bell ringing was music to your ears and gave you the out you were desperate for.

“Whatever you say Dempsey,” you smiled sweetly at him, “I won’t lie though, I miss talking to you. Too bad you just never had enough time if you weren’t drunk.” Grabbing your bag, you stormed out of the room almost plowing right into Tyler, who looked terrified as you apologized and breezed past him to the library.

The tall shelves offered you the best privacy you’d find in the entire school. Zach had gotten under your skin and every time you thought you were done shedding tears for him, more still surfaced. As you slid down against the back wall, you did your best to be as silent as possible as you sobbed for the heartache that never seemed to dissipate.

“H-Hey, (Y/N), right?” a hesitant voice asked gently. A girl you recognized as Cyrus’s sister Mack stood in front of you, holding her arm awkwardly as she shifted in place. “W-We could hear you- I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why is everyone so worried about me?” you cried out, frustrated despite yourself. Sniffling as you wiped your tears away, you pulled your knees to your chest. The knowledge that people had heard your emotional breakdown left you feeling exposed and vulnerable and this girl, this absolute stranger checking in on you made you feel like a freak show in the worst way.

“H-Hey, just come out here and sit with us,” she offered gently, holding out her hand to help you up. ”We’ll keep you company and if you want to, you can talk to us. No judgement,”

“I-I’ll be alright, I promise,” you tell her dismissively, shaking your head.

“Look, he’s gonna be mad I told you this, but Cyrus is worried about you,” she confessed as she watched the bookshelves warily. 

“Why in the hell is he worried about me?” you laughed incredulously, “Cyrus doesn’t even know me. Since when does he care about has been popular girls?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Mack prodded gently, holding her hand out again. “Come on, I promise we don’t bite.”

Sighing deeply, you wipe the remaining tears away and push yourself up off the floor. Mack led you back out into the main seating area and you’re grateful to find mostly empty, save for Mack’s friends and Clay Jensen studying with his headphones in.

“(Y/N)! So good of you to join us,” Cyrus welcomed you dramatically. Your entire body tensed as Cyrus’s friends looked you over, “You’ve met Mack, this is Chad, Toby and Eric.” He pointed out his friends as he listed their names off, leaving you to nod politely at each one.

“Come on, sit down,” Chad said, pushing a chair out for you as he continued surveying you.

“Don’t worry about Chad,” Mack assured you, taking her own seat, “He’s as gay as they come, he’s just trying to figure you out.”

“Let me guess. You were abandoned by your friends because you weren’t down with the shit they were into,” he guessed as you finally sat down.

“Chad, seriously, leave her alone,” Cyrus reprimanded him as you squirmed under the intense line of questioning. Chad raised his hands in surrender but the urge to flee back into your corner began overwhelming you.

“It’s okay, Cyrus,” you assure him, turning to Chad, “After Hannah’s trial and the tapes my parents decided it would be best if I didn’t go out on the weekend. I kinda just got left behind.”

“That’s shitty,” Eric interjected leaning over the table, “Friends don’t just abandon friends.”

“Apparently when there’s secrets to be shared and you can’t be involved anymore they do,” you sigh, pulling your phone out of your pocket slowly as a distraction only to find a text from Zach.

“Can we talk later?”

You stare at the phone, ignoring the debate at the table as you tried to steady yourself. Why was it today of all days that everyone had become so interested in your presence? You could feel Cyrus’s eyes on you as you typed out your response.

“Bleachers, after school.”

𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓸

[curiosity-killed]

second look

part 1 | part 2

fun fact: Sirion’s name means protector/guardian bc it’s my made-up language in my made-up country in my made-up story and I can make it mean what I want

Word count: 1936

A week later, Sirion is assigned to the prince’s personal guard. Some of his surprise must show on his face, because Jemma’s lips quirk up in amusement. “He must have liked you,” she says. Two guards go with him under his command, and he stations them outside the door, to take the place of the watch before them. Sirion himself takes a deep, bracing breath before pushing open the study door. He’s never been in royal chambers before, and he can scarcely guess at the opulence of the imperator princep’s private chambers. Gold everywhere? A hundred generations’ worth of artwork and souvenirs from war? Of all the imperator princeps, only Anharad never slept here, and it was she who oversaw the rooms’ design, back when Ancelm was only a dream and the throne still sat in Aerisilia, that long-dead city remembered now only in legend. He passes through the narrow entry hall, tight and dark, and into the sunlit study. He met with the lieutenant he’s to replace – Brandolin – outside, and the room is silent and empty save for the prince sitting at his desk.

The room is sparser than he expected: bookshelves stretch nearly to the ceiling on two of the walls, and three narrow windows cut through the third, letting in long shafts of afternoon sun. Twin archways, curtained, stand on either side of an unlit hearth on the fourth wall. A grille closes off that opening, though if he’s honest, he can’t imagine how someone would find a way through that chimney anyway. “Good afternoon, S-I-R-I-O-N,” the prince signs in greeting.

Sirion bows low, arm folded over his chest, before replying. “Thank you, Your Eminence.” Wrinkling his nose, the prince slides his quill back into the inkwell and turns his attention fully to Sirion. He has dark eyes, nearly black, and they’re surprisingly intense when they’re focused on him alone. “Please, ‘Callebero’ will suffice,” he signs, using a shorthand gesture for his name. Sirion has seen the sign used around the captains and some of the senior guards, but it feels presumptuous to address the imperator princep with only a quick backward flick of his hand. His proper title requires both hands and three composite signs, and it somehow seems more fitting than this quick tilt of one hand. “You do not mind the informality?” he asks cautiously. The prince shrugs. He’s dressed all in black today with only silver trim on his sides and collar. Only his crown and the thin, drop-like earrings swaying from his ears glitter gold. It gives him a severe appearance that belies his youth. Dressed like this, he looks like the imperator princep. “The captains have been chasing after me since infancy,” he says, “and you lieutenants will one day be my captains. How can I trust you to give me your honest judgment if I insist on absurd titles and honorifics? It seems calling me by my name is at least a step toward being willing to tell me when a plan is foolhardy – or worse.” The corner of his lips quirk up towards the end, as if at the thought of anyone being so bold. Sirion can hardly imagine it. Young as he is, he is still the imperator princep – the bloodsworn commander of the empire. A word from him could sever anyone’s head from their body. “Then, I thank you for this trust, Callebero,” Sirion signs. It feels wrong, but he will have to get used to it. The last thing he wants to do is hobble his own advancement by insulting the prince over such a silly thing. For his part, the prince seems to relax at the loss of the honorifics. “And thank you for yours, S-I-R-I-O-N,” he says. Sirion hesitates before: “If it pleases you, most everyone uses ‘Sirion,’” he signs, signing the nickname twice for clarity. It’s a play on the meaning of his name, of sorts: the sign for ‘shield’ unfurling into the first letter of his name. The prince – Callebero – watches closely before nodding with a little smile. “Then, it is a pleasure to meet you, Sirion,” he signs. It seems silly, and Sirion has to fight to hide a smile. Of all things, he hadn’t expected to be amused by the prince. He settles into parade rest to keep an eye on the doors and windows. A grown adult couldn’t fit through the windows in one piece, but an arrow could make it through with enough skill and luck. The archways to the prince’s quarters are another concern, of course. According to the plans they all memorize of the palace, there is a door leading from there to the hallway and another leading to the prince’s bath, which, of course, connects to the public baths. Even with guards and servants along the route, a determined assassin could find their way to the prince through the warren beneath the palace. Curtains hang down to the floor in the archways, swaying in the afternoon breeze. A rogue gust catches the curtains and flicks open a glimpse of dark wood, a stack of books – Sirion averts his gaze. “I don’t suppose you have much practice reading proposals, do you?” The question jars Sirion, bringing his attention swinging from the entry hall to where the prince has his head braced in one hand. He glances up for Sirion’s reply. All Sirion can manage, though, is confusion. “I’m joking,” the prince says. He sighs. “Well, more like wishful thinking. I still have – oh, seventy more petitions to read, and my eyes are starting to cross.” Sirion frowns. “Beg pardon, but you are reading petitions?” he asks. It seems an innate contradiction. For centuries, petitions have been an immutable facet of the government, the rare chance for the citizens to speak with their emperor. He’s never heard of them being written down. “Oh, right.” There’s a pause, where Sirion nearly regrets asking, before the prince goes on, “When I was crowned, it was – easier to bring the petitions back to discuss with advisors than trying to recall two hundred verbal petitions every single week. Now, I guess I’m just accustomed to the routine, and it seems a nuisance to change it. After all, not every petitioner can afford to stand in line for three hours, and it seems unjust to refuse them the opportunity because of age or injury or obligations.” Oh. Despite how juvenile he’d initially thought the prince, it’s easy to forget that he was a child when he took the throne. Sirion can’t imagine sitting in that stone hall for hours on end as a nine-year-old, much less having to remember and pass judgment on all those petitions hours later. Even as an adult, he doesn’t know how he would approach such a task. More than that, it’s surprisingly nice to hear the imperator princep think of his own people, even in a small way. For the first time, Sirion feels a genuine sense of regret for what he’d thought of the prince from their first meeting. 

“How do you go about picking the petitions to fulfill?” he asks. Perhaps it’s overstepping the boundaries of propriety, but if the prince insists on Sirion using his first name, he can’t imagine this will cause much of a rebuke. And despite himself, Sirion is intrigued. If he’d thought about the petitions at all, he would have assumed that the prince passed the task off to some committee of advisors or just picked whichever he remembered from last hearing them. The prince laughs, a bright grin flashing white over his face and scrunching up the skin by his eyes. “With great reluctance,” he says. Despite himself, Sirion can’t quite help a smile at the joke. The prince goes on, a little more serious but still far from solemn. “I try to read through all of them by at least two days before the next hearings,” he says. “That way I can think over them a bit and have my mind clear in time to listen to the next round. Each week, I try to pick which I would select if these were the only ones I heard all month. And then, at the end of the month, I make the final decision.” “That is quite a process,” Sirion remarks. The prince laughs and nods. “Yes, it’s a wonder I get anything else done,” he says before pausing. The corners of his lips are still pulled up, but he bites briefly at his bottom lip before shrugging slightly and looking up. “To be honest, though, I think it’s the part I like best about being the prince. It feels…more direct somehow, than the rest of it.” Canting his head, Sirion gives a slight nod as he processes that. As little as he knows about ruling, he does imagine it to be a distant thing. After all, with the Council of Regents in place, it seems the prince could delegate all his work and run off free. He’d always imagined that to be the prince’s will: from his first impression, the prince had seemed wholly disinclined to work at the labors of ruling. Sirion’s beginning to understand that there’s more to the young ruler than he’d initially thought — but he’s surprised now by wondering how much, by wanting to know. “Not war?” he asks. He’s not sure why he does except that he can’t help thinking of that sparring match. The prince had moved with a focus, an intensity, that didn’t come from idle study, and there was little in the world more direct than battle. Now, though, the prince stills and his expression slides into something curiously blank. There’s no anger or disdain, but the easy smile that had curled on his lips and in the creases by his eyes has dissipated. He cants his head, lifts his eyebrows in something like a shrug, and the moment’s broken. “Well, it is more direct,” he admits. “My apologies, imperator,” Sirion signs. “I overstepped.” The prince snorts, a huff of laughter that startles Sirion more than the sudden blankness, and he shakes his head as he turns back to the petitions. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “There’s a reason our title is imperator. War is the domain of the prince — I just…I guess I don’t think of it as ruling, much.” He glances up, that smile returning in amusement in his gaze. “And I told you, it’s just Callebero.” This time, Sirion breathes out a laugh and nods. “Very well, Callebero.” Satisfied, the prince’s grin grows a little and he turns back to his work. Sirion can’t quite stifle his own smile as he returns to parade rest. Despite his earlier confusion and trepidation, he feels almost relaxed now. His eyes still scan over the room’s entrances for any hint of a disturbance — even the ridiculous fireplace – and he listens closely for any call from the corridor — but it seems a more pleasant task now. The occasional rustling of papers as the prince turns over a petition and adds it to one stack or another, the quiet hum he gives of consideration, are a strange comfort. It’s evening by the time his shift ends, and he passes the duty on to the Royal Protector with a bow and full debrief. The prince has moved on from petitions to some scroll that’s longer than the desk is wide, and he looks up only briefly to bid Sirion goodnight with a smile and flick of his free hand. Walking down the torchlit hallways back to the barracks, Sirion finds himself hoping that he’s put on guard duty again.  

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Beautiful & Damned (4/7)

Female Reader x Young!Remus Lupin | Female Reader x Young!Sirius Black

Chapter 4: Bravado Falls

A/N: Wow you guys. Just wow. I can never thank you enough for the support and for all the love you show so kindly for my ramblings. I hope that the last three parts won’t be a disappointment for you. If you feel like it, do let me know what you think, your opinions really matter to me. 

I just want to add that story kind of started to live a life of its own. It was supposed to be very Sirius-centric in the beginning, but I keep coming back to this cinnamon roll wrapped in softest cashmere that is Remus Lupin. I swear I love this guy - or his collective image, thanks to all the talented writers on Tumblr - more than chocolate. I still want to recognise all that hotness, devotion and true beauty that is Sirius Black, so I’m not done talking about him in this story either... Stay tuned! :) 

Things are getting a tad angsty in this one. I hope you enjoy! 

New to the series? - Accio Chapter 1: The Golden Couple - Accio Chapter 2: No, Definitely - Accio Chapter 3: Misread

Ever since that kiss in the Great Hall approximately a week ago, Remus’ communication skills seemed to have become a little rusty, to say the least. After what he could only describe as a colossal disaster that fateful Saturday morning, Remus had closed himself off to the outside world, barely talking to anyone at all. At first, James, Peter, Marlene, Lily and especially you tried time and again to break through to him on numerous occasions, but Remus always had something to do or somewhere to be. In order to keep his head above water, he chased your image, the feeling of your eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones and your taste - bloody hippogriff, that taste! - away with Advanced Transfiguration, Advanced Potions, Advanced Charms - pretty much Advanced anything he could lay his hands on. He spent his entire days, sometimes even entire nights in the library, hidden behind dusty bookshelves, choosing corners so secluded, nobody would ever think of looking for him there. 

Dull ache made a home deeper in his chest each time he saw your hopeful, beautiful face, and turned away, getting lost in a crowd of students. This same ache was replaced by emptiness once he realised you no longer sought to talk to him. He couldn’t entirely avoid you, of course, even though he really tried his best. Sirius was a best friend you two shared, after all, even if these past few days it might have appeared too loud of a word to define whatever was going on between Padfoot and him. 

It seemed that the more Remus distanced himself from you, the closer you were becoming with Sirius. He tried not to think about it. Really tried not to think about the fact that the kiss you shared - easily the happiest memory he was sure going to hold on to - was what pushed you in Sirius’ arms. To see you two one without the other around the castle had already been a rare occurrence before the kiss; as of now, legendary Padfoot and Siren were truly inseparable. The Golden Couple was thriving, the stories about Hogwarts’ King and Queen were told and retold, and each narrator considered it his or her duty to add a new detail, stretching the truth to a blatant lie. 

The word had it both of you had been seen eating lunch in the Astronomy Tower together on a daily basis, savouring dessert in between heated kisses; someone declared they saw Sirius walk out of the dorm you shared with fellow Gryffindors Alice and Margaret in the early morning wearing no shirt, after a steamy night, no doubt, added the confidential resource. 

Remus paid no mind to all the speculations, because this was none of his bloody business.

Okay, scratch that. 

Remus pretended to do so, continuing to dodge all the questions, all the curious looks, and, surprisingly, a great number of young witches and wizards, wanting to take him to Hogsmeade or to bed - sometimes he was even offered a choice - rather successfully. His grandiose bravado cracked on Friday evening, when he came back to the Gryffindor Common Room after thirty something hours spent in the library. 

He tried his best to slip unnoticed to the dorms, but was stunned speechless and motionless by a loud outburst of  dulcet laughter, that sent bolts of real happiness shooting throughout his body. 

He hadn’t heard your voice or your laughter for what felt like ages. You were no longer friends - wasn’t it funny how the person you used to know so well could turn into a total stranger in a matter of days? The thought made his heart clench, degrading him to his usual state: that of a hollow husk of a man, going through the motions of the day-to-day because that was what was expected from him. 

Wanting nothing more than to get to his dorm room, undress and fall asleep, Remus headed towards the stairs. Lady Luck was clearly not on his side - two steps in, he heard Peter call after him in high-pitched, yet soft voice. Having had no choice but to turn around and approach the people to whom he had failed to show his immense love this last week, he spotted you on the couch next to Sirius; the world around you three froze. 

Moony couldn’t see your face, for you buried it in Padfoot’s chest as soon as you heard his name. Sirius stared at Remus, unblinking, throwing a protective arm across your back, bringing you closer. 

Even now, Lupin couldn’t deny the power of the beauty the two of you emanated, cuddled together on the couch. With the low-cut, V-shaped collar of his black T-shirt, his hair pulled back in a bun, and his thunderous grey eyes fixed on Remus like on some kind of  an indulgent sinner, Sirius looked nothing short of a god, holding you, his goddess, in his arms. All at once, you raised your head ever so slightly, whispering something to Sirius - Remus saw your red lips move. Padfoot didn’t answer, but planted a soft kiss on your forehead instead. 

This was just about as much as Remus could take. 

“Come talk to us, Remus,” Lily patted the seat on the couch next to her, her vivid green eyes hopeful. “We barely see you these days”, she pouted. 

“Thanks, Evans, but I’ll pass,” never taking his eyes off Sirius and you, Remus brushed her invitation off. “No need to commiserate with the beast - no one’s watching anyway”. 

“…What did you just say, Lupin?” Padfoot’s reaction was almost instant, as he straightened in his seat, his eyes burning holes in Moony’s chest. 

“Exactly what I meant to,” Remus replied dryly, visibly unimpressed. “Don’t play stupid, Sirius, you are smarter than that”. 

“Blithering idiot,” Padfoot gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper in control. “You haven’t got a fucking clue, have you?”

“Okay, that’s enough!” your voice seemed to have resonated in the entire castle as you got on your feet between the two people you cherished most in the world. “Remus,” Moony could swear your voice trembled, as you spoke his name. If you only knew how often he dreamed about this moment, about the way your lips form every letter before the sound comes out of your mouth! “Please, just go.”

Your eyes were glistening in the light of the chimney fire, dark circles only accentuating their redness. Yet you were still breathtakingly beautiful, especially now, making him question every decision he had made these past seven days.  

He wanted to speak; actually, he wanted to scream, to get the hurt out of his system. But what for?… You could never count just in how many pieces his heart had already crumbled, as he recalled again and again that pitying look of your beautiful shimmering eyes. You could never see him the way he saw you. You belonged with Sirius, and he… Well he was just yet another Icarus who got too close to the sun.

Holding back, Remus bit the inside of his right cheek so hard, he felt the taste of blood on his tongue. 

“Fine,” he said, his vision blurring. He threw one last look at the people he used to call friends - they dodged his gaze better than he avoided them all week. 

He stormed out of the Common Room seconds before the tears finally fell.

Having watched Lupin’s frame disappear in the dark corridors, you made your way back to Sirius’ side and into his open arms. He didn’t say anything, just held you close and placed a gentle kiss on top of your head. 

As awkward silence settled in, Prongs and Padfoot exchanged meaningful glances. Sirius slowly nodded at James, still not letting go of you. 

Despite what Lily kept on saying, Remus didn’t need saving. What, however, Moony desperately required was a proper kick in the ass, something, it just happened so, the Marauders were known to excel at. 

Accio Chapter 5: Marauders to the Rescue 

My Beautiful Taglist (please, hit me up should you want to be tagged or untagged): @xapham, @spunkypatterns,  @jackie-houston, @justducky0423, @zakthedrak, @marauder–harder, @davros2004, @firefurr, @heyjess-marie, @kapolisradomthoughts

[imagine-loki]

Giftless

TITLE: Giftless CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 2/50 AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die.  Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Underage reader (no sex!!)  Also on AO3 click here

You nodded and did your best to convince Tony that you’d be careful. That much you could honestly tell him. You would be careful. That didn’t mean you would stay away from the new guy, from Loki. As any proper niece, you weren’t going to listen to Tony. He meant well, but he didn’t understand people. He understood robots and electronics so much better than people, but he tried.  For you anyway, he tried.  “Stay up here tonight?“ Tony asked you. You knew he wasn’t really asking.  It was a demand in order to keep you away from Loki.  You rolled your eyes, but nodded.  

"Fine,” you grumbled, but it really didn’t matter, since you were just going to read until bed regardless. That’s what you did, which is why 90% of the decorations in your rooms were bookshelves, completely crammed and overflowing with books.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he promised. He kissed the top of your head before he left. He really tried to be affectionate, though it was hard work for him. But you were all the family the other had, so you tried to understand each other. “I have to go make sure they get him settled in without trouble,” he said apologetically.  You nodded again, feeling the spark of loneliness when he left, but he had a job to do.  It still hurt to be so alone most of the time.  But you wouldn’t tell anyone that. 

You sat and read for a few more hours, until you heard a commotion out in the hallway. You went to the door and cracked the door open to see what was going on, not even caring that you were standing in the doorway in your pajamas. You trusted everyone here, they were all family, besides, it was winter and your pajamas were plaid full-length pants and a long sleeve shirt. “He’s not staying here!” you heard Tony roar. You stepped further out of your room to see what was going on. Tony and Director Fury were yelling at each other across the hall. There was a figure in the doorway behind them and you recognized the figure as Loki.

“This is the best place for him,” Fury replied calmly.

“He can’t stay in the suite across the hall from my niece!” Tony roared in reply, his fists curled.  You knew him well enough to know he was moments away from summoning his armor.  

"We need him up here until we can put him on active duty. It will keep him from leaving without someone noticing. Your niece is up here since she’s safest away from the main entrance to compound. This is my decision,” Fury replied.  His voice remained calm and rational.  Tony may own the building, but Fury technically controlled everything that happened within its walls.

“We can’t trust him,” Tony was trying to be rational, but he was failing.  You saw it and you knew that Director Fury saw it too. 

“His powers are contained. He’s in chains. He’s safe and not going to hurt anyone. You’re out of line soldier,” Fury replied. 

Tony growled.  “I’m not a soldier!”  You could see him give up, though.  He didn’t have a choice but to accept Fury’s decision.  He would normally fight, but Fury was already doing him a favor letting you live here. You slipped back into your room before either of them noticed you were standing there. That would only cause trouble, but before you ducked into the room, you looked at Loki and saw him watching you.  Hopefully, he would keep his mouth shut that you’d been watching. 

Tony and Fury left a few minutes later after arguing some more over logistics.  You grabbed a book off of one of your many shelves and went across the hall when they were gone. You took a moment to steel your nerves before you knocked on the door.  Loki opened it a minute later, looking wary. His expression switched to shock for a moment before his perfectly calm expression was back in place. You took a moment to appreciate his form up close. He was thin, but muscular with raven hair and green eyes. He was also older than you. He looked twentyish, while you were almost eighteen. He still had the manacles on his wrists with the long chain between them, but was now wearing black pajama bottoms and a green t-shirt. “Can I help you?” he asked, sounding wary. You knew Tony had warned him to stay away from you, so of course he was wary of you showing up.

“I’m Kat, Y/N Stark, but I go by Kat. I live just across the hall,” you waved to your open door. “I know these rooms are pretty bare when you first move in. I thought you’d like something to read…” you held out the book to him, offering friendship.  You knew it was more than he’d get from anyone else, which pained you.  

“Your uncle instructed me to stay away from you. He was quite insistent,” was his reply in a very pleasant British accent. You grinned, this you could handle.

“He gave me the same instructions in regards to you, but he’s my uncle, so I’m contractually obligated to ignore such orders,” you told him with a smile. “And you can’t stay away from me when I come to bother you,” you reminded him quite logically. That earned you a chuckle from him.

“It seems I might have a kindred spirit here after all,” he replied warmly. He took the book from you gently. He was taking extra care not to touch your skin, or hit you accidentally with the chains. “Thank you for the loan, Lady Stark,”

"You’re welcome. I have plenty, and I’m always willing to share,” you smiled at him again.  It would take time to gain his trust, and more than just the lending of a book, but you’d earned it.  He deserved to have a friend, if he really had switched sides. You heard the clock chime midnight. “It’s getting late. I should get some sleep. I can’t run on no sleep like all of you supers seem able to,” you teased.

"Supers?” he asked, tilting his head at the foreign word.

“Sorry, it’s a slang term for the superheroes, for those with powers,” you explained to him. You forgot that if he came from another world and while his grasp of English was impeccable, he might not know things like slang.

“And you are not one of them?" 

You shook your head.  “No, I’m just a normal human,”

“Then why do you live among these…supers?” he didn’t seem to care much for the slang word.

“My uncle is Iron Man. He’s the only family I have left,” you told him. It was common knowledge anyway, so it didn’t hurt to share. “The world knows his secret identity, so they know who I am. It’s safer for me to live among the supers than to live among the humans. Besides, it was here, or foster care, and I’d rather stay with my family.” He took that in and you saw him store the words away to parse over later.  He seemed to be memorizing the interaction to evaluate the whole thing later. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kat,” he finally said. You couldn’t be disappointed he didn’t want to talk more. You were the one who reminded him that you needed sleep.  You hadn’t wanted to overstay your welcome on your first interaction anyway. 

“It was nice to meet you too,” you replied and headed back to your own rooms. He watched you until you were safely inside with the door closed and locked behind you.  It was only then that you heard his door close across the hall. You didn’t know what Tony was talking about him being dangerous. He seemed nice enough.