#we are not here to discuss the risks of an open fire on a wooden boat. we're here to make than man COSY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sserpente · 5 years ago

Text

Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat--and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied...

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki... so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

Additional NSFW Warnings: breeding kink (a little bit, anyway), Loki is in heat (kind of, duh), lack of aftercare (at first...)

His antagonising scream tore through the entire compound. You flinched, alarmed. Loki. The heart-breaking sound of pain tugging at your nerves was followed by a loud thump—like a heavy metal door falling shut, locked for good. It had come from the cellar, where the Avengers stored weaponry and ammunition; along with provisory but secure prison cells of Wakandan technology for criminals until they could be handed over to the authorities.

When you reached the source of the rousing noise, you almost knocked straight into Thor. His muscly back resembled a thick fleshy wall that would break your bones if you collided with him with too much force and speed.

“What happened?” Out of breath, you moved around him—facing the culprit of the commotion. The eerie flickering camera right outside the cell door showed Loki knocking his fists repeatedly against the metal door. His knuckles were already bloody from the repeated impact, yet the door would not budge. Much more concerning, however, was his appearance. Loki’s skin—every inch revealed to the naked eye anyway—was blue, his otherwise enchanting blue eyes sparkling with mischief of a deep blood-red. Countless, unique and fleshy lines formed a complex pattern on his arms and the back of his hands, even his face and neck. Your lips parted, both in shock and surprise at what your eyesight had revealed to you.

“He’s losing his fucking mind.” Tony responded for Thor before the Thunderer could even open his mouth in defence. He came tramping into the room as mad as you had never experienced him, tapping away on a tablet in the process. “I told you it was bad idea to bring him back here, Point Break! What were you thinking?”

“Can anybody tell me what is going on?! Why is he… like this? Is he in pain?”

“In pain?! He almost killed Nat. If Wanda hadn’t interfered…” Tony did not finish the sentence—regardless, the threat of what consequences there would have been for the God of Mischief was clearly audible.

“This was unlike him. He had no reason to…”

“No? He pounced on her like a… like a…”

“Beast?” Bruce added matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pocket when he approached the scene and patted Thor on the back in an attempt of providing comfort.

“Maybe… maybe this isn’t his fault, Stark. I know my brother, he’s never acted like this before!” The God of Thunder roared in defence, his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Tony retorted sarcastically. “You know your brother so well he even tried to kill us all. Three times. No. This man is evil. Look at him!”

Petrified, you risked another peek. Loki was downright animalistic, his fists still working the metal cell door. He was getting weaker, worn out—like the fire in his red eyes was slowly being extinguished to make way for weariness. There was something primal in his behaviour; something raw. You would be ignorant to deny it scared you.

“Tony,” you began, forcing your voice to cease the shaking, “What happened? Why did he attack Natasha? Was he hurt?” Your sudden concern for him was going to give you away. No, not sudden. It had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface of your heart. You had only kept it a secret because… because what?

Loki did not know you had been harbouring romantic feelings for him for a significant amount of time now. Dark, tall and mysterious, he matched not only your type but had hopelessly captured you with his melancholic and lonely nature, the grief in his stunning blue eyes. You refused to believe that Loki was evil, that he had ever truly wanted to harm his brother; and you were desperate to be his friend… and even more than that. But the God of Mischief had hidden his heart behind such a hard shell that you were worried you might never get him to open up to you.

You would by no means describe yourself as an altruistic person—but there was a both enamoured and depraved part of you which desired, longed, for him to like you back.

“Talk to me.” You stated, tilting your head when he flung his dagger at one of the battered punching bags in the training room.

“What?” He sounded almost scornful when he spun around to gift you an incredulous look.

“Talk to me, Loki. I want to know what’s going on in your mind. I thought I was… you are always so distant. You disappear in here every other night, you snap at everyone trying to speak to you. You look nervous, like something is trying to break out of you.” Like you are trying to get rid of monstrous amounts of bottled up energy, you added silently. “You seem so restless. What’s wrong?”

“What concern is that of yours?” He spat.

“See! That is exactly what I meant.”

Loki growled. “What do you want from me, (Y/N)?” You flinched when he used your full name as opposed to the nickname everyone called you by.

“Why? Why are you screaming at me, I’m just trying to help! Don’t you get it, Loki? I care about you. And I care about what you think, even if I am probably the only one in this bloody compound who does.” Now that was unfair. But it was also the truth. “Why are you pushing me away? Let me in…”

Desperately, you moved forward in an attempt to reach up and cup his face, only for him to grab your wrists and pull them away harshly.

“Let you in? All I have ever received in return for ‘letting someone in’ was hurt and hatred. Give me one good reason for why I should open up to you,” he mocked, releasing your hands as if they would burn his fingers if they lingered on your skin for too long. “Tell you about my sorrows.” Sorrows. He had sorrows.

“I am not them.” You simply said. “Not any of them. I am not Odin, not Thor, none of the Avengers.”

Blinking, you snapped out of your memory. You had had this tragic conversation only two nights ago. No matter what you had said, he would not tell you what was on his mind. Now you knew.

“Something is wrong with him.” You interrupted the discussion, one you had not paid any attention to, by silencing them with a loud and determined voice.

“You don’t say?”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand… Loki is… he is Jötun. Thor, has he ever voluntarily turned into his Jötun form?”

The God of Thunder thought about it for a moment—then, he shook his head. “No.” You gave him a meaningful look. “So… you think it has something to do with his species?”

You nodded slowly and swallowed.

“Then we keep him in here until he is better.” He concluded. Your eyes widened.

“What? Thor, no… you can’t keep him locked up in there! What if he doesn’t get better on his own? Are you going to incarcerate him forever?”

“That would be an improvement.” Tony tossed in bitterly.

“We have to help him.”

“We? (Y/N)…” Bruce remarked almost tauntingly.

“You’ll find us upstairs. We need to let the others know about… whatever this is.” Tony added. You gnashed your teeth when he and Bruce turned to leave. For an awkward moment, it was eerily still—right until another one of Loki’s screams tore through the uncomfortable silence. You flinched once more. He was howling in pain.

“You think it might be a disease only Frost Giants can get?” Thor asked with concern in his deep voice at last.

You shrugged apologetically. “Maybe…”

“Loki and I were going to return to Asgard next week. I shall ask around, one of the healers should be familiar with Jötun diseases.”

“Go as soon as you can. Your brother is in pain, Thor, can’t you hear that?”

The God of Thunder nodded absentmindedly. But if no one was going to do something about Loki’s suffering—whatever it was—immediately, you would do it alone. So you did what Loki would do first. You dug up his books.

Loki’s room was neat, tidy. The green bed had been made—there was not a single wrinkle in the fabric and the desk was all clean, not giving thin layers of dust only visible in the direct sunlight a chance. The books he had brought from Asgard, old, thick, yellowed and heavy, he had stored on a bookshelf higher than you could reach.

Sucking in a determined breath, you moved the desk chair in front of it. The polished wooden floor to your feet complained with an ear-piercing shriek as you did. Determined, you climbed up to study the titles. All of them were written in Nordic Runes, making you realise that your research would end up being a lot harder than you had initially assumed. You could not speak a word of Old Norse, let alone read those Runes. Never mind that… you needed answers—and Loki needed your help.

It took you two hours to go through the titles and have them translated via a website you had had to pay for (using Tony’s credit card details—desperate times called for desperate measures) to use its allegedly reliable services.

Then, finally, after what felt like half an eternity, you found a suitable page-turner. It was titled Mythical Creatures and Species across Yggdrasil—at least, that was what the website you used told you.

Eagerly, you opened the book searching frantically for the chapter on Frost Giants and began sucking up all the information you could get. The more you read… and the more you compared Loki’s symptoms to the described behaviour of Jötuns in the book, the more aghast you became. One thing was for sure. Loki was not sick. Loki was aroused.

Terror-stricken, you bookmarked the page, grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet, abandoning the pile of books on Loki’s floor. You needed to speak to Thor right now.

He was about to enter the bathroom when you found him, once again almost knocking into his broad form.

“I… I found something.” You choked out.

“What?”

“I found something… about Loki. Thor… he is not ill, not really, he is…” Biting your lower lip, you pushed the God of Thunder into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “He is… aroused.”

“What?” He roared, blushing. “What do you mean he is aroused?”

“Look… I found this book, I…”

“You speak Old Norse?”

“No! I used… I used a translator. Thor, listen, please. It says here that to ensure their continued existence, male Frost Giants, every one-thousand years, experience the primal urge to copulate with females of their kind. Much like wolves or elves, this ‘heat’ usually begins with restlessness, extremely aggressive and possessive behaviour, unusual amounts of pent-up energy as well as an extreme hunger and loss of appetite at the very same time. Loki hasn’t showed up for lunch, dinner or breakfast and… he has been spending extraordinary times in the training room downstairs in the middle of the night lately. He barely sleeps, it seems.”

“Go on…”

“How old is Loki, Thor?”

“He is a little over one-thousand years… old.” He looked up in shock when he realised.

“That’s why he is in his Jötun form, Thor. He can’t control it, it’s not his fault, it’s… in his nature. God…” You had read it all, yet you were still working on processing it.

“This… it would explain why he tried to attack Nat. So… he is not in danger then?” Thor probed.

“No, not necessarily but—“

“So we can just wait until it is over.”

You frowned. “Until what is over?”

“His heat! If what you are saying is true and Loki’s behaviour derives from his heritage… if he cannot control his reactions, we have to keep him locked up and wait. We can’t have him ravish all the females in the compound.”

“But… he is in pain.”

An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted you.

“Hey, are you having a soap party in there? Other people need to use the bathroom too!” Closing the heavy book shut again, you rolled your eyes.

“There are at least three other bathrooms in this compound, Tony!”

“What are you two doing in here anyway?” He asked as he opened the door and leaned against the threshold when he spotted you two sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“(Y/N) found out that Loki is… uh… in heat.”

“In heat?!” Tony repeated. “Like a cat?”

“No! It… has something to do with the procreation cycle of Jötuns. It… is in his nature.”

“Fuck…”

“Hey… language.” If you hadn’t recognised his voice, you would know it was Steve who joined your heated discussion. “What’s going on here?”

“Loki is in heat, like a cat.” Steve frowned.

“No, he isn’t! Not like a cat, this is…” Thor stood again before you could finish your sentence.

“It’s for the best, (Y/N). Down there, he’ll be save from getting himself into trouble.”

“Thor, wait! Loki is suffering! Soon, he will…”

“We can’t risk it, (Y/N)! He almost raped Natasha!” Tony barked. “And if you go near him, I’ll lock you up too. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, (Y/N). I will not let him hurt you.”

“He… he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.” You chirped. No. Loki would never deliberately take a woman against her will. If he did… no! Loki had in incredible amount of self-control and composure; and you knew how much he despised his own heritage. He would fight this—for as long as he could.

“Besides…” Tony added. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a taste of his own medicine.”

“Stop blaming Loki for your PTSD, Tony. That was Thanos’ doing and you know that.” You growled darkly. The billionaire paused for a moment.

“He is staying where he is,” he concluded then. “Until he’s gone back to normal.”

But you did not want to wait. You couldn’t. You had read about the symptoms in detail. In the book it said that moodiness and aggression were only the beginning. If Loki did not act on what his Jötun body demanded from him and… released, then soon, excruciating pain would torment his loins. Masturbation appeared to be out of the picture. You nibbled on your lower lip. This thought of yours invaded his privacy on a truly shameful level, yet you were certain that if sexual arousal had already been plaguing him for a significant amount of time before this outbreak of his, he would have tried to lay hand on himself already and learned it did not provide the necessary relief.

Sooner or later, he would no longer be able to suppress his erection—and it would not disappear until he… sheathed himself inside a female to fill her with his seed. Under different circumstances, the idea of him claiming a woman… you, in such a possessive manner would have aroused you tremendously yourself. As of right now, however, Loki was in agony. The pain, if ignored for too long, would only get worse—it could last up to months and even then the denial of sexual release could result in permanent damage to his loins and even his potency.

But there was no cure either. No potion or spell to contain a male Jötun’s heat which Thor could have forwarded to Asgardian healers.

It was past midnight when you stopped reading and translating—too appalled by how much more Loki would have to suffer if nothing was done about his… condition. The only way to make it stop… was to act on it.

Your lips parted in realisation. You liked him, very much so—and you found Loki incredibly attractive, dreaming of his hands on your body, even. Perhaps you could help him after all. You were not Jötun but… would his body really make a difference? This most primal part of him wished to mate with a female—and although you had never seen a female Jötun, you doubted they looked much different than you did down there.

You had to wait another thirty minutes until the lights in Tony’s lab finally went out and you could sneak through the compound and downstairs to the cells—and once you had made sure that Vision was nowhere to be found, you switched off the security camera for Loki’s cell and approached the thick metal door.

It was quiet. He had stopped screaming. There was no banging against the walls either. Yet when you unlocked the door and slipped inside, his appearance, cowering on the floor and leaning against the cool wall with bare feet, startled you to the core. Loki’s raven hair was completely dishevelled, his knuckles bruised and covered in dry blood. His Jötun appearance was downright intimidating and close up, even more fascinating. He was breathing heavily, the thin shirt he had been wearing underneath all of his armour torn in several places, revealing blue skin and in his dark leather trousers… there was a remarkable bulge.

You shivered slightly when his red eyes met yours. Slowly, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” He growled hoarsely but weakly.

“I… I want to help you.”

The God of Mischief snorted. “You cannot help me.”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I can. Loki… I… I know what’s happening with you.”

He snorted once more. “So do I.”

“Let me help you.” Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him. He reacted immediately. Loki jerked, greedily, as if to grab you and pull you on his lap. He could barely stop himself. Yet you were convinced that he would not hurt you in this state… much. A wave of courage rolled over you—you were doing this for him; and you wouldn’t be doing it if you did not like him in this way. Regardless of what he thought of you after, if he could even imagine being with a mortal like that… you longed to stop his pain.

“Leave.” He said quickly when you kneeled down next to him, timidly resting your palms on his thighs. “No… I said… leave… while you still can.” You did not. In fact, you ignored his rather sincere warning. Slowly, to not tickle the sleeping dragon, you reached for the buttons of his leather trousers and began undoing them until he grabbed a hold of your wrists to stop you. He was ice cold.

“Have you… lost your mind?” Loki was cut off by a loud hiss escaping his lips when your fingertips brushed against his erection. He was large—much larger than he would be in his Aesir form, you presumed, and his cock too was blue and covered in dozens of ridges.

“It won’t go away on its own,” you whispered. “You know it won’t. It’s okay.”

Braver this time, you stroked him again, creating more skin on skin contact. Loki was still holding on to you tightly but made no move to stop you. The touch of a female… it must have been bringing some sort of relief already. Coming here had been the right decision.

“Loki…” You murmured. Finally, your hand closed around his incredibly hard cock entirely and you began to jerk him off—gently at first, only to pick up speed when his breathing grew even heavier than it already was. Defeated, he dropped his head against the wall, revealing his blue neck to you. “Please let me help you.” You repeated. “It’s okay. I trust you.” Upon those words, Loki’s eyes widened barely noticeably. Perhaps it was all he had needed to hear to lose his self-control and composure entirely.

Growling like a wild animal, he suddenly started at you, pushing you back firmly so you lost your balance like a beetle on its back, wrapped his ice cold hands around your ankles and pulled you into him. Your back collided with the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs. You gasped for air all the while Loki busied himself with your clothes. Any layer of fabric was too much. He wanted you naked for him. His sheer strength petrified you when he tore at your pyjamas and ripped them to pieces until they were scattered all over the cell. You trembled—but it wasn’t the icy temperature of his blue skin that made your limbs shake so much. It was, so you realised when your widened eyes fell on his massive erection, now fully springing free from his tight trousers, your own arousal growing into dizzying heights. This, whatever it was, excited you—maybe even way more than it should.

Once more, the God of Mischief grabbed your ankles, forcing your legs open. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his blood-red eyes upon your bare pussy. Your lower lips must have been glistening with your juices in the artificial light of the cell. Loki growled, his long and cold fingers gripping your ankles so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. Eagerly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his hard and ice cold cock teasing your clit. A moan escaped your lips, urging him on. The fire in his eyes had returned, like your body had set his ablaze.

He spread you even further for him, your nails digging into the metal floor beneath you—and then he claimed you for his own. Inch by antagonising inch, he split you apart, sheathing himself so deep inside of you all air was knocked from your lungs yet again. He was ice cold and he was much larger than the average man; and you were beginning to understand that yes, female Jötuns were anatomically different than humans. Human women were not made for taking such long cocks… so why did every single powerful thrust of his feel so good?

Loki pulled out almost completely, with only the tip remaining inside of you, only to plunge back inside only the fraction of a second later, fucking you furiously. Your tight and wet walls appeared to mould around his manhood, gripping him tightly, asking for more despite the almost unbearable coldness against your most intimate parts. No longer were you in control of your arms. They reached up, palms gliding over his bare chest and enjoying the coldness under your fingertips. Fascinated and aroused at the very same time, you traced every single ridge on Loki’s body while he was fucking you senseless, until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, unable to take the pleasure. His long manhood his spots inside of you which you had never known even existed. He leaned down, at last letting go of your ankles, instead taking a hold of your wrists to pin them both down right above your head and pressing his body so tightly against yours that your clit kept rubbing against his pelvis with every single stroke. You moaned, stricken by ecstasy, and arched your back as you kept moving your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aroused, you looked down, watching how his blue cock kept sliding in and out of you, spreading your lips as they enveloped him welcomingly.

Loki groaned, his attention steering towards your breasts as they bounced with each of his rough thrusts. Hungrily, he lowered his face, his cold breath ghosting over your mounts, and sucked your right nipple into his mouth—hard. He nibbled, suckled pulled and bit until the already hardened nub was throbbing with pleasure and need and he repeated the same blissful procedure with your left nipple all the while he kept rutting into you uncontrollably.

“Loki…” You wondered if, in his current state, he would be able to speak. As of right now, he indeed reminded you of a wolf who would annihilate anything standing between him and his subject of desire, his prey—you.

Your toes curled, the promising and numbing sensation growing in your lower abdomen having you scream his name over and over again. You could already feel yourself clenching around him, your body urging him on to mark you with his seed and impregnate you and when he finally released himself into you, burying his cock as deep inside of you as was physically possible and coating your walls with his load, he triggered your own release.

You came with a loud moan, feeling him twitch against you as your pussy contracted around him again and again until you collapsed underneath him, spent and tired from his vigorous fucking. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t even think about letting you be. Unceremoniously, he pulled you on his lap so you came to snuggle up against his cold and naked chest, your face hidden in his neck. He supported himself by leaning against the metal wall, his cock still resting deep inside of you.

“How… are you… feeling?” You breathed out, barely able to keep your eyes open. Being taken thoroughly by a Frost Giant had been a lot more exhausting than you had initially assumed.

He was panting, his eyes almost shut. His erection inside you, however, was still very prominent and nowhere near ebbing down.

“Better… soon.” He growled into your ear. Soon? A high-pitched scream escaped your lips when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit down hard enough to make you squirm on his lap. You could still feel his ice cold sperm dribbling out of you and coating his own cock when he grabbed your arse and began moving you up and down his cold rut, forcing you to ride him.

“Oh… fuck…” You choked out. You were tender already, sensitive to the touch. This was too much, too soon. Yet Loki was too caught up in his pleasure and urges to give you a break. He took you several more times that night, eliciting orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you—until you were on the verge of passing out.

You awoke with a hunger unlike one you had never experienced before. Irritated, you crawled out of bed—using the toilet but skipping your morning routine to get to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. It was only seven. Loki had not… released you until half past six. There was no way your body could have drawn enough rest from this meagre hour of sleep.

Be that as it may—for now, you were hungry. Quietly, you tiptoed into the kitchen, ignoring the sweet ache and tenderness between your legs and resisting the urge to cup yourself through your pyjama bottoms. The white and bright light of the fridge blinded you when you opened it and reached for a package of juice and one of those pre-packed turkey sandwiches Tony kept buying. Unceremoniously, you then closed the fridge with your butt and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. And you kept returning to the fridge until Steve joined you in the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then go for a run. When had you ever been this hungry before? Was it because of the aggressive sex you had had with Loki? Jesus…

You blushed when Steve asked you how you had slept—and you were rather grateful you had been smart enough to switch off the security cameras before… helping Loki out. He had still been in his Jötun form when you left at long last but he had looked content and… satisfied, in the most carnal manner possible. You would wait until the rest of the Avengers were up to check on him, to not raise any suspicion.

So when Thor staggered into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face, you nearly jumped from your seat.

“Good morning!” He yelled—clearly in a very good mood. He managed to scarf down an entire package of fruit loops before you couldn’t take it anymore and aggressively scratched your fork over your empty plate until the room went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t you forget something?” You asked him heatedly. The God of Thunder frowned.

“No! I did flush the toilet this morning, (Y/N).”

Rolling your eyes, you stood.

“Loki. Loki is still one level below you, locked up in a cell, in pain, while you are enjoying your breakfast.” You hoped though, sincerely, that he was no longer in pain.

“(Y/N)… we spoke about this, there is nothing we can do. Down there, he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. I told you I’m going to Asgard soon, I will speak to—”

It was in this moment that your plate broke in half. You had, subconsciously, used your fork to stab it so forcefully it fell apart like a rotten apple. Eyes widening, you mumbled an apology.

“Sorry… I just… no one should be suffering like this. You all heard him last night.”

Bruce gave you a gentle smile. “You’ve always had a big heart for everyone, huh?” You nodded quickly. They did not need to know about your feelings… or the arousing ache between your legs. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath, hurrying out of the kitchen without cleaning up behind you. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash some cold water on your face. The icy temperature calmed you once it came in contact with your skin, reminding you of him—if only for a moment.

You were shaking. What on Earth was wrong with you? You took a quick shower to wind down, threw on an oversized sweater and then headed downstairs to the prison cells. A glance at the monitor of the security camera made you let out a relieved breath. Loki had indeed gone back to his Aesir form—and he did no longer seem to be in pain. It was, so you wondered, very unusual, however, to not complain and wreak havoc so the Avengers would let him out but then again… would they truly believe him if he told them he had overcome his heat?

With another deep breath, you opened the cell door and slipped inside.

“You were not supposed to see me like this last night. No one was.” He said quietly before you could even open your mouth, not bothering to make eye contact with you.

“Did you know? What was happening to you?”

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile spreading on his thin lips. “I believed I would be able to control it.” Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Did I hurt you?” Your lips parted in surprise. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No… I mean… it was quite pleasurable… for me as well… actually.” You choked out sheepishly.

“Hmm… that I could tell,” Loki gave you a light smirk. “Thank you.” He said then—and for the first time since you had met him, you sensed true honesty and sincerity in his smooth voice.

“I’ll leave the door open.” You returned his smile; the planes in your belly flying loops.

“We are… keeping this between us, are we not?” He hastened to ask when you turned around.

“Of course.” After all, no one needed to know you had let Loki mate with you to regain control over his loins.

It was five days after your intimate encounter with Loki when your constant shaking became worse enough for him to notice—and if that wasn’t bad enough already, your body had begun to sweat; a lot. Day in and out, you had to change your sheets as if your bed was your personal sauna—or your personal hell.

You felt like you had been hit by a bus, like an extremely nasty form of the flu had you in its steel grip tightly, unwilling to let you go. Sleep, however, to get some rest and recover, would not come either. Two hours per night at most, three if you got lucky. And instead of getting better, it became worse.

He had been restless ever since. It could not be. After all, it had also never… or had it? Growling to himself, he locked the door to his room, enjoying the quietness and most of all, utter privacy.

Not a soul in the nine realms was aware he was still in the possession of the Tesseract. So when he produced it out of thin air—his large hand momentarily surrounded by a green mist—he made sure to hurry and quickly teleported himself back to Asgard. Heimdall would never open the Bifrost for him if he wasn’t accompanied by Thor.

He was worried about you and his surprise about these particular circumstances was remarkably low. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste your hard nipples on his tongue from when he had suckled on them. He remembered how warm your body felt against his when he had cradled you in his lap and the thought of your tight cunt around his throbbing cock stirred arousal in his leather trousers if only he indulged in reminiscences for too long. Most of all, however, he was unable to forget the sincere smile on your face when you had freed him from the cell the next day… and the mesmerised gaze you had met him with when he had ravished your sweet quim over and over again.

With another deep breath, he disappeared in an ice cold cloud of smoke.

Sneaking past the guards and into the palace library—the one place he had spent hours on end in growing up here, hiding away from Thor, his friends and the world, reading and hoarding knowledge—was pathetically easy. He knew exactly what to look for, what lecture would confirm his worrying suspicions. Once he found what he had been searching, he sat down on the windowsill—another usual spot he found comfort in—and began his research. He had known about the impact of a male Jötun’s seed on his female counterpart, of course; for even though he despised his own race, he, as opposed to Thor, had paid attention during their private tutoring lessons as children. The heavy book in his hands, however, made him, the God of Mischief and Trickery, hold his breath. What Loki had not known was that the repercussion of a male Jötun’s seed did not just occur in Jötun females. It applied to any species—including humans. However, the chances of survival for weaker lifeforms were alarmingly low.

Abandoning the book, he hurried out of the library and into the city. There was someone he needed to speak to.

“With all due respect, my prince but you are not welcome here.” Loki rolled his eyes. He knew it would not be fun, exactly, to seek out his ex-partners and ask about their well-being long after he had left them. The man opening him when he knocked on Sigyn’s door, a woman he had been engaged with for several years in his youth, was about as tall as Thor—his right hand decorated with a golden ring. Husband. Just great. And, judging by his obvious dismay of finding him on his doorstep, she must have told him about their shared past.

“I need to speak to your wife. Urgently. That is an order.” Sigyn’s husband growled, clenching his fists but stepped aside regardless. Loki made sure not to pay any attention to the furniture and his surroundings. Toys were scattered all across the living room, hinting that Sigyn had become both wife and mother in his absence. Her face fell when she spotted Loki standing in the middle of the small room—truly like he would even have preferred Helheim over being here of all places—as pale as a ghost.

“Loki… I mean… your highness. What… brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Um… by all means. Sit down. Would you like some ale?”

“No.” Sigyn pointed at the rectangular kitchen table and then sat down opposite of him. Her hands were folded on the surface of the polished wood.

“It is good to see you.”

“Likewise… Now this will sound odd,” he began unceremoniously, ignoring her husband towering above him with his arms crossed. “But I have to know how you fared after we separated. Not… emotionally. Physically.” He emphasised.

“Physically? That is indeed odd. Oh, I… um… let me see, it’s been such a long time. I had quite an appetite after you left,” she laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Loki sighed.

“An appetite. What more than that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… yes, of course! I fell ill a few days after. The healers never found out what my body was rebelling against. It lasted for a few months. Tiredness, insomnia, attacks of sweat and I could not stop shaking. Why do you ask? Did you… did you experience it too?”

“No,” he replied quickly, a nauseous feeling spreading in his guts. You were showing the exact same symptoms. Symptoms of addiction. “You said it lasted for a few months?”

“I am sorry, your highness but is there a point to this interrogation? My wife has to feed the baby.”

“We’re almost done.” He barked, glaring at Sigyn’s husband from the corner of his eye.

“It did,” Sigyn confirmed. “But then it never returned.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Loki took a deep breath and stood, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. It was only when he turned on his heel to leave this way too harmonic place that he noticed Sigyn’s husband had left the door open for him. He rolled his eyes.

“Loki! I-I mean, your highness…”

“Loki is fine, Sigyn. We have seen each other naked, after all.” Beside him, he could practically hear her husband gnashing his teeth. He smirked.

“I understand you do not wish to share with me what troubles you but whatever it is, I hope everything will turn out to be alright.”

Loki gave her a smile. It was as honest as he could muster in this tense situation. Sigyn had always known when he was being plagued by dark sorrows, even before he learned about his true parentage. Much like you. You too had been able to tell he had been unwell, both physically and mentally. He swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Sigyn.”

He had to see Amora, too. They had not exactly gone separate ways peacefully but if she had experienced the same symptoms as Sigyn after their break-up, he had to get back to you immediately. And he had to tell you. The truth, a luxury given his nature, was the very least you deserved.

“Where have you been?” Thor roared as soon as he entered the kitchen to pick up one of those cold drinking chocolates you had introduced him to a while back—the ridiculous amount of sugar would help you, if only for a moment. The presence of Tony, Nat, Bucky, Steve and Thor, leaning against the counter or sitting at the kitchen table, he ignored as best as he could. He would have preferred to be alone now.

Loki quirked his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Asgard, given that you were unwilling to get help yourself.”

“How? Heimdall wouldn’t…”

“There is a lot Heimdall does not know, brother.” Thor grumbled something he did not understand but it sounded awfully like a curse word in Old Norse.

“Whatever. Have you seen (Y/N)? Her room is down the same hallways as yours, has she left her room lately?” Tony barked at him.

“As far as I am concerned, she has Vision bring her excessive amounts of food, for she is too weak to come to the kitchen herself. No. I have not seen her around.” He replied nonchalantly, with false disinterest. This time, so it seemed, however, his choice of tone, equalled shooting himself in the foot.

“We need to get her to the hospital. None of the medicines I gave her worked even a little bit—and I contacted the best doctors I know.” Loki suppressed a scoff. As if a hospital full of human ‘doctors’ would be able to help you. The only one who could… was he.

“For Fuck’s sake, she has been feeling ill ever since…” Tony’s face fell. “Ever since we locked up your brother.” Belligerently, his gaze wandered over to Loki again. “Okay, Reindeer Games, what did you do to her and don’t even try to lie to me!”

“You do assume, automatically, that I have something to do with it?” He mocked. Tony clenched his fists.

“Loki,” Thor added calmly. “Do you… know something?” The God of Mischief sighed. If he told them, what little trust they had in his capabilities as an Avenger would vaporise like smoke. It mattered not. In fact, he could not care less if any of those self-proclaimed heroes even liked him. Yet if he spoke the truth… surely they would do anything in their power to keep you away from him—which was exactly what they could not do if they wanted you to survive and feel better again as much as he did. He could just take care of the problem on his own… sooner or later, however, they were bound to find out about their intimate encounters, and he was beyond keeping secrets like that. If he wanted to make love to you, then he would, may the Norns help him.

“It is… my seed.” He choked out reluctantly.

“Your… what!? Your… yeah, no, I can’t say that out loud without throwing up… is making her sick!?”

“The seed of a male Jötun is causing… an addiction. Withdrawal will make her weak and ill.” Loki looked up grimly. “Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships.”

“What, like penguins? How did she even come in contact with… did you… did you rape her? I swear to God, I will kill you.”

“I did not lay a finger on her.” Loki replied darkly.

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “So how did your happy juice get inside of her in the first place then!? How did that happen, I wonder?”

“She came to me voluntarily, Stark!”

“But you knew? If you knew it would make her sick, why didn’t you stop her, you selfish asshole!?”

“How!? How, Stark!? Resisting the urge to mate in heat is like attempting to suppress a sneeze. It’s impossible. Don’t bother your pathetic human mind with things you do not understand.”

“Loki…” Thor began warningly. The God of Mischief ignored him with a hostile growl.

“(Y/N) would never do that.” Tony said then.

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought you do.”

“You little shit, I will…” Tony jumped from his chair as if stung by an adder, prompting Loki to draw one of his daggers seemingly out of nowhere when he started at him. Both Natasha and Steve barely managed to hold him back.

“Leave it, Tony. This is Loki. He is just trying to provoke you.” Nat appeased.

Just this one time, however, they were wrong. Loki did, in fact, care about you. It was just he had not realised that until you had willingly offered your body to him when he had been in pain. Glaring at them darkly, he rose from his chair.

“I am going to fix this.” He spat. It almost sounded like a threat. “Not for you. I could watch you drop dead to my feet without so much as blinking. But for her.” Fuming, he stormed out, his right fist still clutching at his dagger in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. And as of right now, Thor knew better than to stop him.

He needed to see you. Remorse and guilt were eating him up from the inside out—and it wasn’t just the fact you had helped him in spite of everything he had done to Midgard only a few years back. It was… you were… Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment. You were his.

When he knocked on your door, there was no response. Now there was a chance you were asleep, yet he somehow knew better than to leave and try again later as to not startle you. After all… he was going to make you feel better.

He slipped inside, locking the door behind him with magic so you would not be disturbed. The sight of you almost broke his heart. You were trembling, buried under a pile of blankets, pale and weak.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke with a quiet voice, approaching you slowly. Your eyes opened when you heard his voice, your weak body barely managing to turn over to look at him. A cough escaped your lips before you could answer him.

“Hey…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” You tried for a laugh but could only manage another cough. With a straight face, he sat down on the edge of the bed so he was able to bring his palm to your forehead. You were incredibly warm, yet the sweat made your skin cold to the touch. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he was worried you only had a few weeks left until your body gave up fighting the withdrawal. He would not, ever let this happen.

“I brought you some cold drinking chocolate.”

“Oh…” You chuckled weakly. “Thank you. Is that the only reason you came?”

“No,” he laughed. “I came to check on you.”

“An eye for an eye, huh?” Your eyes fell shut when you smiled.

“Hmm… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that.” He purred. You never noticed how his eyes fell on your crotch, even if it was covered by a bunch of blankets. Slowly but determined, he slid his left hand under the layers of fabric until he found what he was searching for. With skilled fingers, he began to massage your clit until he felt you responding to his attentive touches. You arched your back, your sex growing wetter and wetter fast—like your body knew exactly what would follow. Licking his lips, he scooped some of it up to spread all over your quim and create even more friction. You were squirming by the time he removed the blankets entirely and positioned himself between your legs, careful not to shift all of his body weight onto you.

Was he going to… did he… could he possibly… reciprocate your feelings? Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies awakening in your belly. If only you could…

“Loki… Loki, I… I really want to do this again too but… not now, I’m… I really don’t feel well.”

“Shhh…” He would ponder over your words later. You wanted to do this again too? Had it not just be compassion and pity that had driven you to offer him your most intimate parts for relief? And what if you refused him now? You had to trust him. So he shut you up by pressing his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss and then, once again slowly but determined, removed the blankets and peeled your pyjama from you until he had you naked—fine, he had helped with magic; and he was certainly too impatient to remove his own clothes, so instead contented himself with freeing his growing erection from his trousers only.

A whimper escaped your lips when you caught sight of his arousal, his tip—not blue but the colour of flesh this time—pressing against your entrance. He slid inside you to the hilt with almost no resistance, your warm pussy welcoming him in. Loki moaned when your walls gripped him tightly; it was like your body already knew his release would make it feel better. Only this time, he was in control. This time, he would take his time and make gentle love to you—right until you began to tremble underneath him for entirely different reasons.

Your eyes fell shut when Loki started moving, retreating almost completely only to plunge back deep inside of you fast and passionately. You were too weak to buck your hips, as much as you would have loved to. And despite your weariness, he felt incredible. You were unable to decide which form of his you liked better.

You kissed him again when his nose brushed against yours and his breath tickled your lips, bathing in the intimacy between you. But when he slid his hand down to where your bodies were united to pamper your clit all the while speeding up, hungry for his release, you stopped him, albeit gently.

“I… I don’t think I can, I’m too… but I… it’s okay.” You murmured. “Cum.”

It was a request he could not resist, not any longer. Thrusting forward a few more times, his release was beginning to overwhelm him. He groaned into your ear, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, and let his climax consume him. He was throbbing against your walls, his seed—surprisingly warm and not as cold as it had been the first time—filling you to the brim and until you could feel it dribbling out of you again. Loki stilled, turning you over so you both rested on the mattress on your sides, with his slowly softening cock still inside of you and one of your legs draped over his hips. One heartbeat passed, then another and another. And just like that… you felt like you had been reborn.

“How… I feel so much better.” Loki kept silent. Remorse was sparkling in his blue eyes. Avoiding your curious gaze, he looked down, with a start fascinated with the blue roses on your bed sheets.

“Loki?”

“You did fail to read all of it, did you not?” He stated quietly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The book you took from my shelf. I looked it up when you got worse. It wasn’t until I left for Asgard that I realised why our… sexual encounter is making you ill.”

“I… wait… Does that mean you believe it has something to do with you? I mean… what we did? Is it… I’m not pregnant, am I!?”

“No. You are not.” He smirked at you weakly. “That, I would have sensed already. No… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated. Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships. They never… switch their partners once they mated during their first heat. If they do…” Loki took a deep breath. “It appears that the seed of a Frost Giant triggers some sort of… addiction for their female partner. They develop a carnal craving for their seed which forces them to keep returning for… more.”

Biologically speaking, this was a downright bulletproof way of ensuring the survival of a species—the Jötuns’ own bodies turning against them and demanding sex. The gravity of his words, however, hit you only a moment later. So this was why you had been feeling so sick lately. You were showing signs of… addiction. Your body had become addicted to Loki’s seed. You swallowed thickly.

“I-is there… is there a way to stop this?”

“I went to speak to my former partners back on Asgard—which, to be frank, does not just sound like a disaster. But I needed to know if they experienced any symptoms similar to yours when we… separated.” You ignored the painful sting in your heart when he said ‘former partners’. Of course Loki had had sex before, had perhaps even been in love. He did not strike you as the type of Norse God who was unexperienced in the art of love making. After all, he had more than just proved this to you. It mattered not, not now.

“And… did they?” You probed nervously.

Loki nodded seriously. “They were both bedridden for months, plagued by uncontrollable trembling and sweating. Their appetite increased, they ate twice as much than they usually would without ever feeling truly full… and they barely slept anymore, tossing and turning for most of the night. Amora added she became increasingly violent as well. They, of course, believed it was a virus which would pass, eventually.” Terrified, you remembered how you had broken your plate in the kitchen the night after your lovemaking. It all made sense now.

But you did not dare ask what this meant. When dreaming of having a relationship with Loki, you had not imaged a partnership out of physical and sexual necessity which would feel like a chore to him; like an obligation now that you had helped him out, after all.

“But they were Asgardian.” He suddenly said, pausing to let his words sink in. “You are human. You are mortal. I am uncertain you would survive…” If I stopped having sex with you. Is that what he had meant to say before he stopped himself abruptly?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage, as weak as it may be.

“This is all my own fault, Loki.”

“It is not—“

“N-no, let me speak. It’s my fault. You couldn’t help it. And I came to you on my own accord. But…” You swallowed. “Even if I had known, I still would have helped you.”

The God of Mischief frowned when you reached for his hand and held it—but it was a downright vulnerable expression.

“Loki… I’m not going to expect you to keep having sex with me if you don’t… I mean…” It was then he began to smirk cheekily.

“And if I do?” Loki had truthfully speaking always been a puzzle—always keeping his deepest thoughts and feelings all to himself. Until now. So he did reciprocate your feelings.

“Y-you do?” His smirk widened.

“It… does get better after a while, once the pair is more acquainted to each other’s bodies,” he continued. “And they are then able to spend more time apart without any signs of withdrawal showing. Ultimately, however, once the male Jötun claimed her, the female is bound to him… if he decides to keep her.”

Despite your weakness, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty sexist, Lokes.” Loki looked up. His heart jumped when you gave him a nickname.

“Sexist? No. Dominant? Yes.” He growled darkly.

“You’re right. It’s probably not sexist given that male Frost Giants go into heat.” You giggled in response. Loki tickled your sides for that remark, making you wriggle around on the bed. If your hunch was not deceiving your love-drunken mind, then the God of Mischief had just begun to court you.

“Loki?” You mused, raising your voice in a shy manner.

“Hmm?”

“I think I feel fit enough now to have an orgasm.”

The God of Mischief laughed—as heartily as you had never heard him laugh before. “Do you now?”

Next thing you knew he was already on top of you again, covering your naked body with tender kisses.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

8K notes · View notes

wonlouvre · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: child trafficking, child labor

a/n: just a disclaimer, i am not that well-versed when it comes to investigations and trial procedures at the court. please do correct me i make a mistake. i hope you enjoy this new part! i think we have about three or four chapters left. ANGST is on the next part :’(

seven: if you can’t believe | masterlist

“On April xx, 20xx, at approximately 10:30 in the morning, two unidentified males entered and held hostage the Emergency Room of the Royal Hospital. The nurse in charge of the information desk said that the two males approached the desk and asked if there were two boys (their identities are yet to be confirmed) admitted to the hospital. They claimed that they’re their guardians and wish to have them discharged and transferred to a different hospital. Based on their description, the nurse confirmed that there were two boys who came to the hospital earlier in the morning. However, the nurse informed them that they are not cleared to be discharged yet as per doctor’s orders and if they wish to discuss with the doctor-in-charge, they can. They only need to present IDs or any documentation to prove that they are indeed the guardian.

They did present IDs however, it was not valid and accepted by the hospital. The two males started demanding to see the two boys and insisted that they will recognize who they were. At that point, the nurse said the two males’ were beginning to raise their voices. The nurse asked them to calm down and wait patiently for the doctor-in-charge to arrive. That’s when the two males pulled out handguns and threateningly pointed it at the nurse.

The Royal Hospital’s security was alerted and immediately called the Royal Police. The hospital’s security was able to distract the two suspects until one of the police officers fired a shot. Fortunately, no hospital staff and patients were harmed. It is yet to be identified how the armed suspects were able to enter the hospital undetected.

The Royal Police cannot release the names of the suspects and any other details as the investigation is still ongoing. However, we are looking at the direction that this could possibly be a case of child trafficking and the two suspects are perpetrators.

Please be rest assured that we are committed to solve this case and hold everyone involved accountable. We ask the general public to only believe verified information and wait for the official statements that the Royal Police will release accordingly.

Thank you for your understanding.”

You’re both crestfallen and angry. This paper would probably rip apart from the way your hand is deathly gripping it. It’s never easy to read and hear about crimes committed against innocent people. It’s never easy because they don’t deserve to go through the torment, harm and trauma. You wish you could avoid it, but it would be wrong and unfair to the victims. So no matter how heartbreaking or uncomfortable it is, you read and you listen because you have to be aware of it. You have to know and not turn a blind eye because they deserve to be heard and fought for.

This black and white statement of the Royal Police is nothing but horrible. How did the kingdom let this pass? For a kingdom that’s so proud of its enforcement of strict laws, how did this crime happen right under its nose?

It weighs on your heart and ever since you’ve taken hold of this piece of paper, you don’t know how to continue on with the day anymore. You lean your head against the backrest and stare up the ceiling. You breathe in and breathe out, getting yourself together to think, to function.

Something is telling you that there is more to this hostage taking at the hospital and this case of child trafficking. And you desperately need to know. You’re already aware that the authorized and concerned people are doing their job already, but why is it drawing your attention?

You release an exasperated sigh and massage your right brow. It’s been twitching due to the boiling anger inside you and you just want it to stop. The only way for that to happen is to find answers. Picking up your phone among the pile of papers, you dial the number of the person you’re sure that can give you any information, big or small.

First ring. Second ring. Thi---, “Your Highness.”

You’re quick to your feet the moment he answered. “Hey Seungkwan. How have you been?”

Boo Seungkwan is the man to call. A persistent and assertive prosecutor and person in general. Definitely one of the brightest classmates and lawyers you have ever met. It’s no surprise that he’s hired by the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office as a prosecutor. He knows what he’s doing and more than doing, he knows how to fight to the end.

He actually wanted you to join together and you considered the offer. However, due to your position in the kingdom, you realized that practicing in private is more suitable for you.

“Well,” he says and pauses, “I have been better. How about you, Your Highness?”

“You know that you can call me Y/N, right?” You remind him, offering a smile even though he won’t be able to see it. “We went to law school and passed the exams together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, not a big fan of throwbacks. “To what do I owe this phone call anyway?”

“About the recent statement of the Royal Police, is there anything you’d be willing to share with me?” You requested and faced the window that’s overlooking the city.

You hear him chuckle on the other line. “I knew you’d ask. You do know that I’m risking my job as a prosecutor because I can’t say no to you right?”

“Is it something… big?” You ask nervously, biting the insides of your cheek.

A beat of silence passes and you can tell it is without having him say it. You think your heart is going to explode anytime soon.

“Big or not, it’s a case and a crime,” he retorts. “But this is something that Their Majesties need to brace themselves for,” he continues, warning laced on his voice. “It can shake the cabinet as well because we can tell that one, and if not, some of them are involved.”

There it is. The cold hard truth. There was nothing else to say. It’s more than obvious that the kingdom’s cabinet has been compromised and it will blow right at your family’s faces. You don’t even need to doubt it. But still, your blood runs cold at the thought.

“Thank you Seungkwan,” you say and breathe out a defeated sigh. “Let’s meet for coffee some other time.”

You hear him say “anytime” and then end the call.

You toss your phone back on the table and cross your arms as if you’re trying to hug yourself. Your eyes are out of focus and your mind has questions that need answers. This case is not even about protecting your family’s reputation anymore. It’s about your family protecting its people, its children, from this.

You’ll probably never forgive yourself if you and the rest of your family have failed to do its promise and duty.

“Your Highness?” Jeongyeon knocks on the wooden door and calls for you, pulling you back to the ground. “Are you ready to go?”

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. You don’t remember having errands outside the office today.

Jeongyeon notices your confusion and says, “Your monthly checkup is today.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind,” you say and quickly gather your things so that you can leave now. “Thank you, Jeongyeon.”

She nods, understanding what you meant. She keeps the door open and waits for you to pass through.

What the hell am I going to do? You ask yourself. A million thoughts has started running inside your mind from reading the statement up to finding out that this case could potentially be a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate that the Royal Family failed to prevent. Every day, there are crimes that get tried and solved in this kingdom. But for this particular crime, it doesn’t happen every day and it shouldn’t be in the first place. But, your kingdom must have grown complacent because here it is, a ticking time bomb that will explode anytime soon.

How did this happen and who allowed this to happen?

“Your stress levels are quite high compared to your previous check-up, Your Highness.” The doctor gives you a knowing smile after reading the results of your tests today.

“It’s because of work,” you make an excuse and return his smile with a sheepish one while scratching the back of your neck. “I think.”

The doctor tried to muffle his laughter, but you can hear him snicker nonetheless. He just nods and mutters an, “alright,” and proceeds to write down the results and updates of this consultation.

“Although there is nothing to be concerned about, I still advise you to take things slow,” he once again points out the reminder that he gave from the first time you got admitted. “Remember, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

You nod and purse your lips in a smile. “I promise I’ll try.”

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, but lets it go in the end.

“I think we are good,” he says and leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Let’s go back to your yearly check-up, like the usual.”

“Thank you for your time.” You stand up and reach your hand out to shake his. “I’ll see you next year, then.”

The doctor replies with his smile still intact, “I will be here.”

You think about taking the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to your apartment. You suddenly don’t feel so good and present, for lack of a better word. You just want to think alone, away from any distractions.

On your way out to the door, you pull your phone out from your bag to call Jeongyeon. This floor of the hospital is private and reserved only for your family. It’s something you’re not proud of and you should probably talk to Their Majesties about it. You sigh and hold your phone to your ear as you proceed to the elevator. You're only a few steps away when a familiar voice makes you stop.

“Hey.”

You jump in surprise, almost dropping your phone and bag. You turn around and you’re not so surprised anymore to see a grinning Wonwoo with hands inside the pockets of his white coat. With a roll of your eyes, you finally relaxed your tensed shoulders and walked towards him.

He meets you halfway and holds his hand out. You happily take it, making it easy for him to tug you close to his chest, bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist. Just like that, his breath against your skin made all your worries vanish.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, distancing from him but not letting go.

“I knew that you’d be here,” he answers, keeping his hold on your arms. “Had to see you.”

You scoff and give his shoulder a light shove. “Shut up. We were inseparable until our last day at your hometown and yet you still want to see me. Aren’t you sick and tired of my face yet?”

He pinches your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose. “Of course not.”

“Well, I’m leaving,” you announce and let go of him, reluctantly (as always). “You should probably get back to work.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you move any further and drags his hand from your arm to your hand, swaying it from side to side as he whines out, “But, I’m on my break. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t really give in easily and it takes a lot of persuasion before you actually do. Jeongyeon can’t even convince you to stop going home late. But with just one request and pleading eyes, Wonwoo has you standing inside his office.

It’s spacious, but a tad bit messy. There is lots of paper. In fact mountains of them, which you are very familiar with already. A wall of books is on one side of the room while three respective desks are on the other side. There’s a window, which is good, you can see some natural lighting. And of course, a small pantry for coffee and snacks.

Wonwoo offered his chair for you to sit on as he prepared you something to drink. You still look around and try to keep yourself occupied. Your eyes trail on his desk eventually and you can’t help but smile. If every corner of this room is in disarray, Wonwoo’s desk seems to be the only area that is not. There’s nothing much on it except for a jar of pens, pencils and highlighters, a notepad and some bookmarked books.

“You’ve met Soonyoung, right?” He asks, coming back with two warm cups. Coffee for him and tea for you. “I share this office with him and another doctor.”

You nod and take a quick sip. You noticed that it’s almost lunch time on the clock above the door and wondered, “Is this all you’re going to have for lunch?”

“I had some cheeseburger earlier this morning, so I’m good,” he answers and leans against the edge of the desk. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

You smile and shake your head no.

Then, it got quiet.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you think Wonwoo can sense something else by the way his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something more. He sips on his coffee one more time before placing the cup down on the table. Afterwards, he takes matters into his own hands and swivels the chair you're sitting on by the armrest towards him, catching you off guard.

His actions almost made you drop your drink and you thought for a moment if you should punch him again. “What are you doing?”

Wonwoo just gives you a mischievous smirk before leaning down to kiss your lips. Your eyes dilate in surprise while the rest of your body freezes. You’re just thankful you’re already sat on the chair, otherwise your legs would give up and you’d fall. When you don’t resist, his kiss deepens, demanding. But it didn’t go any further than a few more pecks here and there. You let him be until he decides to pull away, but not without giving one last long smooch.

“What was that for?” You ask, suddenly shy.

Wonwoo just nonchalantly shrugs. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

“You startled me!” You hiss and slap his arm.

Wonwoo has started to take pleasure in seeing you all flustered and shy. He finds it cute and he’ll take every chance he gets just to see it. But he knows there’s something bothering you and he’s hoping you give him the chance to hear you out.

“Talk to me,” he says while crouching, almost sitting down on the floor to meet your height. “What’s on that brilliant head of yours?”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words but give in nonetheless, “It’s the hostage that took place previously. There’s a new update about it.”

Wonwoo exhales and moves to massage your thighs. “I read about it briefly earlier.”

You nod and let the silence engulf the two of you once again.

“Listen, the kids they we’re talk---”

“Wonwoo!”

You jump when the door of the office suddenly bolts open with two unfamiliar boys dressed in hospital gowns running inside. They’re quickly followed by a panting Soonyoung who gives the two of you an apologetic smile. Wonwoo immediately stands up as they excitedly dash towards him while chanting his name.

“We heard you were on a break, can we play now? Please?” The little one, which you assumed was the youngest, pleads and hops in the hopes of Wonwoo carrying him. The other one, who’s much taller, does the same but he’s only clinging to his arms.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Your Highness,” Soonyoung says (you’re sure he’s teasing) and gives you a salute. “These boys never get tired and I have no idea how.”

You stand up from the chair too and try to get a good look on the boy’s faces, but you couldn’t because their attention is only on Wonwoo.

“We’ll play, alright?” Wonwoo tries to calm them down.”But I want you to meet someone special first.”

Your heart skips a beat meanwhile Soonyoung’s jaw drops in a silent squeal.

“They were the kids from the statement,” Wonwoo warrily says while making the boys face you.

Statement?

Your heart skipped one moment and the next it dropped to your stomach. You didn’t expect it to be them. You really hoped it wasn’t them. You don’t even know how sure you are that it’s them. But when you finally meet their eyes, these boys don’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore.

It’s them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly concerned by the sudden downcast of your face.

“Wonwoo...” you weakly whisper.

They’re one of the children adopted from the orphanage.

“Can you ask the orphanage if they can give us a copy of photographs displayed at their gallery?”

A phone call has never felt so dreadful. You can’t help but bite your nails as you listen to Jeongyeon adhere to your request. A lump has already formed on your throat and you don’t even know how you’re going to swallow it.

You slide your phone back to your pocket when Jeongyeon said she’d get back to you shortly. You turn around from where you were standing and see Wonwoo and Soonyoung playing with the two boys. It’s bittersweet. For one, you’re glad they are free and happy and on the other hand, it doesn’t sit right why they have to go through terrible and unimaginable things just so that they can be.

And it doesn’t help that it all happened here.

Wonwoo told you how they got to know them and how he had asked the hospital to keep them here in the meantime, in coordination with Social Services of course. He didn’t need the hostage taking or the police’s statement to know what’s going on because his guts already told him the moment he saw the state of the boys. But then again, what happened only confirmed what he feared the most.

Wonwoo deviates his attention to you and notices your lost gaze. By the looks of it, he’s aware that this is bothering you. He gives Sam’s hair a ruffle before standing up and walking to where you are.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching his hand out to softly squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you affirm, but the palm against your forehead doesn’t seem to agree. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay,” he tries to soothe your distress with his hand cradling your face. “I mean, it’s not. But, it’s not your fault.”

Why does it feel like it is?

You couldn’t ask him that out loud so you just give him a nod instead. Wonwoo knows you’re hesitant to believe him and he doesn’t like it. He takes your hands and squeezes them.

“Look at me,” he commands and when you don't, he lifts your chin up himself. “I’m confident this will be solved in no time. Have faith in your people and yourself, hmm? ”

“Okay,” you answer and that makes Wonwoo smile.

Okay. You’re going to stop wallowing in your own uncertainty. You draw your eyes back at the boys and at this moment, you promised that punishment will be inflicted to everyone responsible for their suffering.

No matter what it takes.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo fluff #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagine #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo seventeen #seventeen wonwoo #fic: ifliys

272 notes · View notes

demuredimensions · 3 years ago

Text

This is something I just kept thinking of over and over so I had to get it written down. I’ve never written fan fiction before. I don’t know how. This may not be of interest to anyone else. I’m glad I wrote it though. Today they announced season 2 and it’ll be funny to see how wrong I am about this. Anyway, here’s what I wrote:

Izzy brings Ed a piece of paper confirming the death of Stede Bonnet. “Looks like we don’t have to worry about him anymore, Captain.” Ed stares at the bit of paper with an illustration of a well dressed man crushed under a piano. He looks past the paper and into Izzy’s eyes. Ed’s eyes begin to tear slightly. Izzy’s eyebrows raise. Ed’s eyes widen and he says “I never want to hear the name Stede Bonnet again.” and he leaves the room. Izzy crumples the paper and throws it into the open fire that happens to be on their wooden vessel. Ed cries himself to sleep that night.

Stede collects the crew in his dinghy and they head out in the direction the crew saw their ship sailing off to. Stede is happy and hopeful. He notices Black Pete is wearing makeup and asks why. The crew explains that they were going to have a talent show and instead were abandoned on the island. They think Izzy is the cause. Stede is ready to take back his ship, make amends with Ed, and exile Izzy once and for all.

After days, just when it seems they’ll never catch up to the ship, they see oranges in the water. The Swede is ecstatic. Buttons claims they’re poisoned by sirens and he ought not eat them. Then they see a bottle of brandy followed by Stede’s beloved books. Stede and the crew are still convinced this is all Izzy’s doing and Ed is unaware. They follow the debris until they find the ship. They make a plan to sneak onto the ship without Izzy knowing.

They get the dinghy close to the edge of the ship and the rope ladder has been left down by someone, maybe one of their crew still on the ship.

They sneak up the ladder. Stede climbs it with ease for the first time in his pirate career. Each crew member sneaks to a crevice of the ship hoping to avoid Izzy. Stede knows where every hidden passage is. He comes to a panel in the back of his auxiliary wardrobe and gets in. Luckily all his summer linens are still in tact.

Stede sneaks out of the wardrobe only to find everything else in his bedroom/parlor/office area gone. As he looks around the room noticing everything missing he worries; what has become of Ed? Then he feels a sharp sting in his lower back.

“Fucking Stede Bonnet.” Izzy greets him with the tip of a sword.

Stede attempts to talk his way into seeing Ed. “Oh, hello, Mr. Hands. I was just hoping to get a few things from my ship. Is uh…Ed nearby?”

Izzy is annoyed. “Captain Blackbeard is on deck and he’s dying to see you, Stede Bonnet.”

Stede is confused. “He is? Oh well then, yes. I am d-dying to uh…see him as well.”

Izzy takes Stede up to the deck at sword point. Stede sees the back of Ed’s head. Ed slowly turns around to reveal that he is Blackbeard once again. Stede is hesitant. “H-hello, Ed.” Blackbeard is unflinching. “The Gentleman Pirate, I presume.” This hurts Stede worse than Izzy’s blade in his back. They are back to being strangers as though their intimate kiss never happened.

Stede quietly asks “Ed, could we maybe have a discussion in private…possibly?” Blackbeard squints and grins. “Anything you have to say to me can surely be said in front of…my crew.” Jim and Frenchie are brought on deck with their hands shackled and kicked to the deck floor. Frenchie is terrified. Jim is furious. Stede realizes he’s not the only one at risk and makes up a quick fuckery on the spot.

“Ah…but uh…Where is the rest of my crew?” Stede asks. Blackbeard looks up. “I left most of them on an desert island. Can’t really say what became of them. I do know the fate of one though.” Stede realizes Lucius is no where to be seen. Stede looks at Ed in shock and dismay. Blackbeard looks down. “The boy went overboard. Like a real pirate.”

Black Pete comes up to the deck from his hidden passage running towards Ed but is stopped by Izzy. The two of them begin sword fighting. The remaining crew members run onto the deck. Jim is breaking loose. Frenchie is backing into a corner. In all the chaos, Ed and Stede lock eyes. This is happening.

Jim tosses Stede a sword. All they need is their dagger. Blackbeard takes out a sword. Stede is scared but angry. “Ed, you didn’t have to do all this! You didn’t have to remove every sign of me!” Blackbeard scowls. “I removed nothing that hadn’t already left!” He swings his sword narrowly missing Stede. Stede screams and blocks. “Can’t we just talk about this like civilized people, Ed?!” Blackbeard ties his hair back. “Pirates are not civilized. And my name isn’t Ed. I am the kraken.” Stede realizes Ed is broken and he is the cause. He looks around and sees his crew members, his family, fighting for their lives. He knows he must do something to save them. He’s ran Ed through once before. He’s not sure he can do it again. He’s already hurt him so much. Can he really bring himself to hurt someone he lov—Ope! Ed’s stabbed him. Stede looks down and sees Ed’s sword in his left side. He grabs Ed’s hand and pulls him closer. They look into each other’s eyes. Ed’s expression goes from fury to fear. Stede whispers to Ed “You’ve run me through. Did I do it right? Made you miss all the important bits?” Ed looks softly at Stede. “You did. You’re a lunatic.”

The crew stops fighting to spectate. Ed stumbles away from Stede. Stede’s crew rushes to his aid. Stede faints.

Stede wakes up in his bathtub, wrapped in bandages. Ed sits by his side. Stede is confused. “I thought you were going to kill me, Ed.” Ed has been crying. His charcoal is running. “I was. Every time I think I’m going to kill you, I can’t do it.” Stede is slightly smug. “Well…I did turn to the left.” Ed is unamused. “Do you really think I don’t know how to counter my own move? I missed because I wanted to.” There’s a silence. “You wanted to?” Stede asks. Ed looks at the ground, embarrassed. “I meant what I said that day. And when you didn’t come to the dock I was prepared to erase you. Either by forgetting you or killing you.” Stede looks remorseful. “Ed…I…panicked. I thought I’d ruined the great Blackbeard. I’ve been a fool. I’m so terribly sorry.” Ed remembers the paper Izzy brought to him. “Sooo…the bloke under the piano; that was a fuck-“ “A fuckery, yes.” Stede answers. Ed smiles. “That’s not bad, Stede Bonnet. Not bad at all.” Stede smiles back. Ed puts his hands around Stede’s face. Stede leans into Ed’s hands. He feels safe. He feels home. Ed gives Stede a gentle kiss. Stede goes in for another. Ed puts his hand on Stede’s chest. “Best to rest up for now. You’ve got a hole in your liver.” Stede’s a little embarrassed. “Oh…heh heh, yes. Probably right.”

Just as Stede starts to nod off, he hears a noise in the auxiliary wardrobe. He climbs out of the tub to investigate. He opens the wardrobe and Lucius falls out into the floor. “Oh thank you! I’ve gotten to that door a dozen times and couldn’t figure how to open it!” Stede is shocked. “Lucius! How long have you been hiding? How did you eat?” Lucius smiles and whispers. “This lot isn’t exactly observant. They leave food out every night. I just sneaked out and back in.” Stede is curious if Lucius remembers what happened to him. “Ed said you went overboard. What happened?” Lucius’ smile turns to an annoyed frown. “Well I suppose he was a little angry that I told him to get over you and he PUSHED me overboard but I caught my little barnacle cleaners’ swing and managed to hang on until I could get back into the boat. Just typical.” Stede turns to Lucius. “What’s typical? That you, YOU managed to save yourself by a rope and board?” Lucius huffs “No. Typical that a pirate when faced with feelings would naturally throw their proverbial emotions overboard.” Stede raises his eyebrows. “Ah yes. That…uh…that does seem quite typical.”

Ed enters the room. “Hello, Lucius. You look…well.” Lucius is in slight disbelief. “Well? I nearly died.” Ed grins. “But you didn’t, my boy. Congratulations. You’re a real pirate now.” Lucius rolls his eyes. “A real pirate. Sure. Great.” Ed leaves the room. Stede and Lucius look at each other and shrug. At least he’s Ed again.

#our flag means death #OFMD #taika waititi #rhys darby #pirates #fan fiction #ed x stede

9 notes · View notes

johnsamericano · 5 years ago

Text

“Darling.” l.t.y

Pairing: mafia!Taeyong x journalist!reader

Genre: fluff (Taeyong’s a really soft boi), angst, (not kinky) smut

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, minor character death, sex, I think that’s it.

Summary: Your boss asks you to write an insight on the mafia gang that’s been causing so many deaths recently. But you don’t expect the leader to be so...different.

Word count: idk but it’s ✨long✨

A/n: I hope you like it 😌

“Yes, boss?” You peeked through the door of your boss’s office.

“Sit down, please.” He removed his glasses, gently massaging his nose bridge afterwards. “How long have you been working with us, y/n?”

“Five months, sir.”

“Do you like working here?” It suddenly sounded like he was about to fire you.

“Yes, very much.” You squeezed your hands nervously. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”

“Not at all, your work is pretty good for a rookie.” His gaze on you was intense. “That’s why I have a special job for you.” Your eyes lit up. You weren’t getting fired and that was a relief.

“I’m sure you’re aware about the recent murders around this area.” You nodded. “After exhaustive research, we’ve found the culprit.” That was good news, yet he seemed so serious.

“Have you told the police?”

“Oh I’m sure they know.” He smirked sarcastically, his mustache making contact with his wide nose. “But they won’t do anything, we’re dealing with a mafia gang after all.”

“Wait, what?” You lived in a small town were everyone knew each other. It was shocking enough to find out that a killer was in town, but mafia? That wasn’t possible. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am.” He said as cocky as ever. “I’ve worked in this industry for more than thirty years, I have my ways of getting information.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m not gonna do shit. You are.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I want you to find a way into the gang, get me as much information as you can and return.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You don’t have a say in this, y/n. Either you get information or you can pack your things, it won’t be hard to find a replacement for you.” He knew you wouldn’t risk losing your job, being a journalist meant everything to you.

“Is there a deadline?”

“We’ll discuss about that as soon as you find a way in. I’ll make sure all your personal information is well protected.” He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “You may leave now, miss y/n.” You bowed before exiting the office, kicking the plant pot by the door on your way out. One of your superiors approached you as you sat down at your small cubicle.

“What did he want?” He sat down on your desk as usual. The first few times you were afraid it’d break, but it turned out to be pretty resistant.

“He wants me to go on a suicidal mission.” You hid your face behind the palms of your hands. “And I had to say yes to keep my job.”

“The whole office turned him down, I guess he knew you wouldn’t.” He rubbed your back affectionately. “I’m sorry, I should’ve done it myself.”

“Don’t worry Jaemin, let’s just hope I don’t get myself killed.”

(...)

Three weeks. Three weeks you’d been visiting the same coffee shop in an attempt to meet the leader. But he never came, maybe your boss had the wrong information. Nevertheless, you didn’t give up. Sitting at the same spot from 9:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., waiting for something to happen. There was usually no one there since the recent murders had happened nearby.

One day you stayed for a couple more hours, completely immersed in your work. That’s when you saw him. A man surrounded by at least ten men in suits. He was wearing sunglasses even though the sun had hidden a long time ago. His hair was silver, carefully slicked back, revealing his multiple ear piercings. You wrote exactly what he looked like as you peeked through the window, too afraid to take a picture of him. He soon dissapeared through an alley with his bodyguards following closely. You closed your laptop and packed it into your yellow backpack, calling a cab to take you back to your office. Your boss was still there, checking some of the notes your coworkers had written.

“I found him!” You bursted into his office, your journal wide open in front of his face.

“Did you get in?” He remained unfazed.

“No, but-”

“Then you shouldn’t be celebrating.” You internally screamed before going back home. You stayed up all night trying to come up with a plan to approach him without getting beaten up by his bodyguards. But nothing seemed like a good excuse to talk to the leader. You ended up going back to the coffee shop with no ideas and three hours of sleep.

After three cups of espresso, you were finally awake and ready to go back to working on one of your notes. The lady who ran the shop was always nice to you, bringing you some free cupcakes from time to time.

“I’m just grateful to have a client, that’s all.” You almost felt bad for her. The leader was nowhere to be seen, and you honestly wanted to go home as soon as possible. So you packed your stuff and waved goodbye the old lady as usual. You received a call from Jaemin on your way to the bus stop.

“Any good news?”

“Well, I saw him yesterday. But apart from that, nothing.” You bumped into someone. “Sorry.” You looked up, only to find yourself in front of the man you’d wanted to meet for the past few weeks.

He was smirking the slightest, looking down at you while his bodyguards slightly pushed you away from him, using their arms to keep you at a safe distance.

“It’s okay, boys.”

“I’ll call you later Jaemin.” You hung up, your hands shaking.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at such a dangerous place?” He pushed his bodyguards to the side.

“I-I like the coffee shop back there.” You tried to sound as confident as possible.

“I see.” He smiled before removing his dark sunglasses, revealing a pair of cute doe eyes. Definitely not what you were expecting. “What’s your name, darling?”

‘Should I give him a fake name? No, he’d probably find out. But what if he does a background check on me and finds out I’m a journalist?’ You stared at him with wide eyes while you sorted out your options.

“I’m y/n.” You extended your hand, earning a collective gasp from the men surrounding you. “What’s your name?”

“There’s no need for you to know it.” He shook your hand with a wide smile. “Do you need a ride home?”

It’d be a terrific opportunity to get some information, but then again, he was a stranger. An extremely dangerous stranger. What if he kidnapped you and sold your organs in the black market? Your mom didn’t raise an idiot.

“I appreciate the offer, sir. But I rather take the bus. Good night.”

‘What an interesting little thing.’ Taeyong thought as you walked away.

He spent the next few days trying to gather information about you, but he couldn’t find anything, not even your age or last name. It was frustrating.

You, on the other side, decided not to tell anything to your boss until you had some solid information. That meant going back to the coffee shop.

The lady greeted you cheerfully as always. Your legs found their way to your usual spot by the window.

The day went by slowly, nothing new happened except for the fact that the lady gave you cookies instead of a cupcake this time.

The little bell on the door rang, announcing a new client. Out of pure curiosity, you lifted your gaze from the laptop. A gasp escaped your mouth as you saw the gang leader greet the lady and approach you with a wide smile.

He was wearing his usual sunglasses, but instead of his formal clothing, he was wearing a grey sweatshirt with jeans. He almost looked normal.

“Good evening, darling.”

“Hi.” Was the only answer that came out from your mouth. He never entered the shop, was it because of you?

“Can I take a seat?” You nodded.

He removed his glasses as soon as he was sitting comfortably on the wooden chair. It was amazing how fast he could go from looking like an intimidating man to a fluff ball. ‘Maybe he wears the glasses to look less cute. Yeah, I should probably write that down on my journal later.’ Conversations with yourself were now a habit since you didn’t have any coworker to talk with.

“So, y/n. How old are you?” The atmosphere seemed somehow more intimate now that he’d said your name.

“There’s no need for you to know it.” You replied, quoting his words from last night.

“Witty, I like it.” He laced his fingers, supporting his chin on them as he spoke. “No one has ever talked to me like that.”

He didn’t seem upset, which encouraged you to keep talking.

“I’ll make you an offer.” You closed your laptop, putting any distractions aside. “I’ll answer your questions as long as you answer mine. Deal?”

Taeyong was once again impressed with your boldness.

“Alright, deal.” He softly smiled, waiting for you to talk first.

“What’s your name?”

“Taeyong.” You nodded, repeating it inside your head so you wouldn’t forget it. “How old are you?”

“I’m 23. And you?”

“25. Where were you born?”

You answered to each other’s questions, careful not to give away to much information.

“What’s your job?”

“Let’s say I’m a businessman.” Well that was specific. “What about you?”

“Let’s say I’m a writer.” The screen of your phone lit up as you received a message from Jaemin.

‘How’s your mission going?’ You quickly grabbed the device, afraid that Taeyong would ask you about it. But he was busy looking at your face, appreciating every little detail. From the mole under your right eye to the tiniest pores in your skin.

You quickly typed ‘ttyl’ and turned off the phone, preventing any future messages from your coworker.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Your breath hitched.

“We met yesterday.”

“But I like you.”

“Uhm, it’s getting late, I better get going.” You smiled awkwardly before exiting the small building.

(...)

“Are you stupid?” Your boss spat out with a seemingly calm voice. “This could’ve been our chance.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But my safety comes first.”

“If he wanted to harm you he would’ve done it from the moment he met you.” He had a point. “You better find him again or you can bid goodbye your precious job.”

After your little “meeting” with your boss, you threw up at the nearest bathroom, pushing aside everyone who got on your way.

It happened every time you were under stress, and frankly, you hated it. You just wanted to quit your job, but it’d be hard for a rookie journalist like you to get a nice job.

“Maybe you should take a self defense course or something.” Jaemin mentioned while trying to cheer you up, sitting outside of the convenience store near your office.

“Maybe I should buy a weapon. A taser for example.” You sipped on your strawberry milk, the sweet flavor filling your mouth. Your head found it’s way to Jaemin’s shoulder, using it as a pillow.

A loud ‘bing’ interrupted your peaceful moment. You prayed it wasn’t your boss again.

‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, darling.’ Your first instinct was to look around, searching for Taeyong. But he was nowhere to be found.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m right in front of you, darling.’ Indeed, he was looking at you from the back seat of his armored car, smiling cockily while pushing his sunglasses further down his nose bridge. ‘Why don’t you come join me?’

“You look like you’ve just seen your grandmother’s ghost.” Jaemin muttered while looking at you.

“He’s here, Jaems. I need to go.” He nodded comprehensively before you got up from the rusty metal bench you were sitting on. You walked towards his van with both of your hands inside your pockets, regretting not having worn a pair of gloves in the morning.

“Hop in.”

“How did you get my number?” You asked, facing him from the other side of the door.

“Get in and I’ll answer all of your questions. Deal?” That cocky smile of his was starting to annoy the shit out of you.

“Fine.” You walked around the vehicle to reach for the opposite door, smoothly sliding into it. The scent of his cologne filled the wide space. “How did you get my number?”

“Take us to the coffee shop on the 5th Avenue.” You moved uncomfortably on the cold leather seat. “Do you want me to turn the heater on?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I have my ways of getting information, darling. But I must admit, it was hard for me to find anything about you.” He spoke as he pressed a button to turn your seat’s heater on. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You were worried he might have discovered about your job, but judging by the fact that he was smiling so sincerely to you, he probably hadn’t. “Why are we going to the coffee shop?”

“I just want to spend some time with you, that’s all.”

“But I didn’t agree to it.” The smile on his lips dropped, discouraged by the possibility of you not wanting to be with him.

“Sorry, we can stop the car if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’ll go. But just so you know, I always carry pepper spray with me.” He laughed. It was such a unique and contagious laugh that you couldn’t help but to smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that no one had ever talked to me like that.” You nodded while tucking your hands under your legs, attempting to defrost your fingers. “Give me your hands.” You reluctantly extended them. He removed his own gloves to put them on you.

“But your hands are gonna be cold.”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

You would’ve never expected for a gang leader to be so...kind. He helped you down the car, pulling one of your hands into his pocket.

“Is this okay?” How could you say no to such an adorable face? You nodded, feeling his long fingers tracing patterns over the wool glove. “Is it weird that I’ve fallen for you in such a short amount of time?” He’d never had such feelings before, it felt like the butterflies in his stomach would come flying out of his mouth at any moment.

“Yes, it is a bit odd.” You let him hold your hand, somehow comforted by his warmth. “But everything about you seems to be odd, so it’s okay I guess.”

“So I guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked you on a date again?” You suddenly recalled the conversation with your boss. You had to accept this time.

“I suppose we can have a date.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel attracted to Taeyong. Maybe it was his laugh, or the way his doe eyes would sparkle every time he’d look at you. But your work came first, and you were close to getting useful information from him.

“So, where are you from?” He asked, his chin resting on his palm. You’d noticed it was a habit of his to adopt said position when questioning you.

“That’s a secret.” A secret you had to protect with your life if you didn’t want him to know your identity.

“Fair enough.”

(...)

It had been a month since you started “officially” dating Taeyong. He seemed like a normal guy, which often made you question if your boss hadn’t mistaken his identity. But it was on your month anniversary that you discovered your boss was damn right.

“Welcome to my house.” ‘Welcome to my house? More like welcome to my palace.’

“This looks like the palace of Versailles.” You whispered, mesmerized with the ethereal paintings on the ceilings. “Your house looks familiar.” You hummed.

“You like it?” He hugged your waist with one arm, taking your chin between his fingers and forcing you to look at him.

“I mean, sure. It’s amazing.” He chuckled, leaning in to kiss your lips before you abruptly escaped his embrace. Taeyong couldn’t help but to sigh, he wanted to taste your pretty lips so bad, but you’d always find an excuse to avoid him. You walked down the hallway, admiring the paintings hung up on his wall, until you saw a picture of him. An elegant, blonde woman standing at one of his sides, while at the opposite side, a well known man stood.

“Mr. Lee?” You asked to yourself. You’d once written a note on him and his empire, he was one of your boss’s acquaintances.

“Oh, you know my dad?” You felt like fainting due to the excitement, you finally had valuable information.

“The whole city knows your dad.”

“I guess so.” He shrugged before pulling your arm. “Let’s continue with my house tour.” The mansion had at least twenty bedrooms, all of them the size of you apartment to say the least. But the most impressive room, by far, was Taeyong’s room.

“It used to be my parents’ room, but since they moved out I’ve taken it for myself.” He laid down on the bed, tapping his extended arm for you to lay on. “Don’t be shy.” You reluctantly let your body sink into the softness of the matress, Taeyong’s arms cuddling you while he whispers ‘I love you’, hoping you’ll say it back. But you don’t.

“It’s okay, darling. I’m a patient man.” He’d always say.

“Boss, we’ve got an-” A tall man entered the room, cutting himself of as he saw your figures.

“What did I say about knocking the door, John?” His harsh voice tone caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“I’m sorry, boss. But this is urgent.” You tried to remember every single word they said, hoping you’d be able to write them in your journal later.

“Fine.” He scoffed, turning his head to you and pecking your nose. “I’ll be back soon, baby. Don’t leave the room, just call the butler through that phone if you need anything.” The man in front of you seemed extremely confused with the situation, not being used to see his boss in a soft mood. “Let’s go.”

As soon as the door was closed, Taeyong spoke.

“She’s my girlfriend, I don’t want any of you around her. Am I clear?”

“Yes, boss. But if you allow me, how can we assure she isn’t trying to get information?” Taeyong grabbed him by the collar, his true personality making an appearance.

“If you ever bath mouth my girlfriend again I’ll cut your tongue.” Johnny knew he was damn capable of doing it, so he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “What’s the emergency you were talking about?” The grip on his shirt loosened, resuming their walk to the stairs.

“We found one of Nakamoto’s rats snooping around. He’s in the basement.” Taeyong nodded. “What should we do with him?”

“Maybe we should send his boss a little gift.” That little smirk was one of Johnny’s worst nightmares, it meant something extremely bloody was about to happen. They reached the ground floor, walked towards the kitchen where the fridge had been moved, revealing a hidden metallic door. You, on the other side, used your time to text Jaemin. ‘I’m in. Meet me tomorrow morning at our secret spot.’ To which he responded with a smiley face. By secret spot you meant the convenience store in front of your office.

You placed your head close to the wooden door, patiently waiting to hear footsteps or any sound at all. But even after ten minutes, there was nothing. So you carefully opened the door, pepper spray on your right hand while you peeked through a small opening. After making sure no one was close, you fully exited the bedroom, ready to explore your surroundings. That was until you heard a loud thud coming from the ground floor.

“Huh?” You feet moved by themselves, going down the stairs careful not to make any sound. You walked towards the sound, which became louder with every step you took. It wasn’t long till you found yourself in front of the big metallic door, the weird noises coming from inside giving you goosebumps. The door creaked under your palm as you pushed it open, the sounds of muffled screams now getting clearer. Your opposite hand gripped the small pepper spray, your thumb ready to press the button in case of emergency.

“What should we send to Mr. Nakamoto? Maybe one of your fingers? An ear? Oh, I know. Your head will be the perfect gift, don’t you think?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jolt and fall down the remaining steps.

“A-ah.” You winced, your eyes shut tightly due to the pain.

“Y/n.” He dropped the knife he was holding, immediately running up to your curled up body. “I’m gonna kill you if something happens to her, Johnny.”

“How is this my fault? You told her to stay in the bedroom!” Taeyong gave him a warning look before he lifted your body. Carrying it all the way upstairs before you could catch a glimpse of the situation downstairs.

“Why did you come out? Something bad could’ve happened.” He wasn’t angry, more like extremely concerned.

“What was going on there? Why do you have a secret door?”

“Let’s take care of your wounds first. I promise to tell you everything later.”

Taeyong kept his promise, applying antiseptic on your open wounds while he told you every detail about his job.

“My father used to run this business, his real estate company was just an easy way to cover it. He retired a few years ago, that’s when I took over. But it wasn’t until five months ago he gave me complete freedom to do whatever I pleased.” He placed a band aid over one of your small scratches, kissing the wound gently afterwards. “We deliver packages mainly on the alley near that coffee shop you like.” You faked surprise.

“So all those dead bodies...that was you?” You were uncapable of hiding the fear you felt. You knew the truth all along, but hearing it from his own mouth was a different story.

“Yes. Most of them were part of rival gangs, trying to get information from our business.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Will you still like me after this?” You wanted to say it was because of your job that you wanted to stay with him. But part of you knew that wasn’t the only reason.

“Yes.” You reached for his hand. Taeyong was taken aback, you were never one to start physical contact. “But you can’t keep secrets from me anymore. You need to be honest with me.” Said the woman who’d been lying to him since you met.

“I will be. Just promise you’ll never leave me.” He pulled you into a hug, smelling the lavender scent from your shampoo. That scent that made him feel so calm.

“I promise.” For now, at least. You still didn’t have enough information to go back to you boss. You let yourself get caught in the moment, sliding your hands up his back and hugging him as well.

“I love you.” He said again, hoping this time you’d say it back.

“I know.”

Taeyong sighed before loosening his embrace.

“I need to go downstairs to check up on some stuff.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, admiring your beautiful doll-like face. “Please, stay in the room.”

“Are you gonna...kill him?”

“He saw your face. If we let him go you’ll be in danger, and I can’t let that happen, darling.” He pecked your forehead. “I’ll be back, soon.”

A man was about to lose his life because of you. The thought kept haunting you even after Taeyong went downstairs, making sure to send some of his men to guard the bedroom door. You cuddled into the bedsheets, trying to get rid of your concerns. But nothing worked, your mind creating all sorts of wicked scenarios of that man getting killed.

‘Why did the boss have to choose me?’

“Y/n.” A hand rubbed on your shoulder. “It’s getting late. Come on, I’ll take you home.” You shook your head, not wanting to be alone at the moment. “What’s wrong babe?”

“Can I stay for the night?” Taeyong frowned at first, but then proceeded to kiss your cheek while combing your hair with his fingers.

“You can stay as long as you want, darling.” He went straight to his wardrobe, retrieving a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “It gets a little chilly in here after midnight. I’ll be in the room across the hall in case you need anything.” You held onto his hand tightly, stopping him from taking anymore steps away from you.

“W-wait.” The whole purpose of staying at his house was because you didn’t want to be alone. “Aren’t you gonna stay with me?”

“Do you want me to?” First, a hug from you, and now this. Taeyong’s day was definitely getting better and better.

“Yes.”

You both changed into more comfortable clothes. His baby blue hoodie smelled just like him, like a weird mixture of lavender and lemon. You laid down facing him, his arms wrapped around your waist as he waited for the right moment to speak. Your eyes examines every single part of his face. The scar beside his right eye caught your attention.

“How did you get this?” You fingers gently touched the damaged skin. “A fight with one of your rivals?”

“Actually.” He smiled. “I used to have atopy as a kid.” You’d expected a more dramatic answer.

“Oh.” You nodded, coming closer to his face to take a better look at the scar. “I think it’s cute.” Unconsciously, you pecked it.

“I think you’re cute.” He hugged your waist tighter, pulling you closer to his body. “Can I kiss you?” You nodded, gaze fixated on the way his soft lips would move every time he speaked. He was slow at first, making sure the kiss was something you wanted as well. But the moment your lips started moving against his, all his self control dissapeared.

“I love you.” He repeated for what seemed the hundredth time in the day. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Maybe you were just to caught up in the moment, that’s what you so desperately wanted to believe.

Taeyong smiled against your lips, sliding his hand down to grab a handful of your ass.

“Can you show me how much?” He grinded against your core, stealing a gasp from you.

“Taeyong.” How heavenly his name sounded in your lips. “I want you.”

“I know baby.” He slid your his sweats down as well as your underwear, sneaking a hand between your bodies to caress your lower lips. “I’ve been waiting for so long to show you just how much I love you.” You moaned as two of his long fingers entered you, curling them to reach for your sweet spot.

“I feel l-like I’m the only one receiving something here.” You held onto his silver locks.

“Shhh.” He peppered kisses all over your face as his pace increased. “Let me make you feel good, okay?” Your high came faster and more intense than usual. Taeyong cooed at you, retrieving his fingers to pull down his own sweats

“I’m on the pill, you don’t have to wear a condom.” He nodded, pushing his member through your tight hole as carefully as he could. He helped you to lay on your back, thrusting slowly into you while lacing your fingers together. Taeyong was ashamed to confess he was about to come after a few seconds of being inside you, but your hole clenched around him so deliciously that he couldn’t help it.

“I’m close.” He whispered as his lips made their way to your neck, sucking a mark on the soft skin.

“Me too.” You hugged his bare hips with your legs, feeling another huge wave of pleasure wash over your whole body. “Tae.” He shot his seed deep inside of you. He was about to pull out, but your embrace forced him to stay inside of you, his weight crushing you as he completely laid down on your small body.

“Do you want to stay like this?”

“You said it get’s chilly after midnight, and you’re pretty warm.” He couldn’t help but to smile, skillfully turning your bodies around so you were laying on top of him.

“Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Good night, Tae. I love you too.�� His heart swelled with affection as he drifted to sleep with you between his arms.

(...)

“You look so dumb right now.” Jaemin said as he looked at your pink, strawberry sweater. You sat in front of the convenience store you’d usually meet in.

“Shut up, Taeyong bought it for me on our five month anniversary, it was yesterday.” You smiled fondly at the fabric protecting you from the cold weather. “He’s really sweet.”

“The boss has been asking for you.” You felt like vomiting. “I think it’s time for you to come back to the office, we both know you have more than enough information.”

“I can’t do that to Taeyong, Jaemin.” You shook your head, tapping your shoes against the ground. “I’m gonna give the boss my letter of resignation today.”

“But you love your job.” He shook his head before you could even speak. “If you say something cheesy like ‘I love him more’ I’ll punch you.”

“I’m sorry.” You grabbed his hand. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course we can.” He hugged your shoulders. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the building.”

Your boss wasn’t at his office, some of your coworkers said he went out for lunch. It was easier for you to just leave the letter without having to deal with his scolding. You said one last goodbye to everyone before exiting the building. You didn’t expect to find Taeyong outside of the building, waiting for you with a small frown.

“What are you doing here?” He said with a small hint of anger in his voice. “Isn’t this the place where that local newspaper is printed?”

“T-tae, I was just-”

“Fucking liar.” He clenched his jaw. “Get in the car, now.” Tears streamed down your face as you entered the vehicle. “Crying won’t save you from anything, darling. You know what we do to traitors like you?” You shook your head, trying to get him to make eye contact with you. “You’ll find out.”

“Let me explain, please.” You sobbed. “I didn’t tell them anything, I just quit my job.”

“I don’t believe you.” He looked at you, your eyes getting red from crying and your small hands gripping the soft fabric of your sweater.

Despite knowing the truth about you, all he wanted to do was to hug you, to tell you everything was fine. But he couldn’t. The trip to his house was filled with your pleads, begging him to believe you. Taeyong felt like his heart was getting stabbed everytime he’d hear you sob.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I cut your tongue off.” Your breath hitched. You sat still, afraid to make any move. It wasn’t until you felt a tug on your sweater you realized you’d arrived to your destination.

“Miss, you need to come down.” You nodded, taking a deep breath before exiting the vehicle.

The driver guided you all the way to the hidden basement, which you’d only seen once. Taeyong wasn’t there, but Johnny was. He had a pair of black latex gloves and stood in front of a large wooden chair. It looked like the ones used to execute people.

“Take a sit, y/n.” His usual grin was gone as he talked. You had no other option but to do as he said, tensing up as he restrained your wrists and legs.

“Johnny?” He hummed. “Is Taeyong alright?” He laughed bitterly.

“You’re worried about him right now? I’m impressed.” The blade of his sharp knife traced the skin of your jawline. “You should worry about yourself.” He pressed the cold metal harder against you, making you whince. He removed the blade from your neck, letting the thick, red liquid roll down from your wound to stain your pretty sweater.

“Taeyong didn’t give me any instructions on what to do with you.” He took a few steps back, leaving the knife in a metal table. He picked up a metal rod instead. “But I’m guessing he doesn’t want you dead.” He played nervously with the object. “I’m sorry, y/n.” He said before beating your ribs with it. The scream that came out from your lips didn’t even sound like yours.

He kept hitting you with the rod at least ten more times before stopping. His features were filled with regret, but his job wasn’t done yet. His new target was your right hand, you begged for him to stop, but he didn’t.

Before the object could touch your hand, a loud gunshot interrupted him, followed by steps coming down to your location.

“We need your help John, it’s Nakamoto.” He dropped the rod. “They’re too many.”

“I’m coming.” He kneeled down in front of you. “I need you to stay quiet if you don’t want to get killed.” But you couldn’t help the small whines coming out of your mouth, even breathing hurt at this point. “I’m really sorry.”

You were left alone in the room, trying your best to keep quiet, but the pain in your ribs was piercing. All you wanted to do was to curl up and cry.

“There’s someone inside.” You heard a manly voice whisper, immediately followed by more gunshots and steps.

“Oh my god, you’re fine.” Taeyong found you, still tied up to the chair and quietly crying. He released you, pulling your arm to help you stand up, earning a loud whine from you. “What is it?”

“M-my ribs.” You hugged yourself slightly, attempting to ease the piercing pain.

“Let me see.” He removed your arms, lifting your sweater to reveal the purple skin. You weren’t able to see your injuries, but Taeyong assured you it was fine. “You’re alright, I need you to stand up for me, okay?”

“Taeyong, I’m sorry.” You kept muttering. “I’m so sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry then come with me.” You summoned all of your remaining strength to get your legs to work, walking as fast as you could.

You found yourself in front of a man on your way out. He didn’t look like one of Taeyong’s gang members. He pulled out a gun, pointing it directly at Taeyong, but you were faster than him, embracing him as you felt something impact on your back. Taeyong pulled out his own gun, quickly shooting the other male.

“Y/n.” He held you between his arms as he tried to stop the bleeding in your right shoulder, relieved the bullet hadn’t reached any of your vital organs. “I know it hurts, baby, but you need to keep walking for me, okay?”

“I can’t.” Your knees gave in and Taeyong had no other option but to carry you. He successfully walked across the battlefield and reached for his car, only to be pulled down by someone else. You rolled out of his arms, your ribs making contact with the hard concrete and making you scream in pain.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Taeyong and his sweet little girlfriend.” A man with weird accent said before grabbing your boyfriend by the collar. “I wanted to say that I personally disliked your gift. But I thought, maybe I could return the favor by sending your head to your father. I bet he’d really love that.”

“Run, y/n.”

“Awww, how sweet of you.” The man grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head back. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her after I finish with you. The boys have been really stressed this past few weeks. I bet she’d be a really nice fuck doll.”

“Don’t you dare, Yuta.” He tried to pull out his gun, but his rival easily snatched it away from him, carelessly throwing it near you. He pulled out a knife from his pocket, placing it directly over Taeyong’s neck. You dragged yourself to reach for the weapon, still completely unnoticed by Yuta.

“You should say goodbye to your-” A bullet pierced through his chest, blood splattering all over Taeyong’s face. The man’s limp body fell backwards, revealing Johnny holding a gun right behind him. Taeyong turned to you, an arm extended while your fingers grazed at the weapon. Blood was still leaking from your wound.

“Darling.” He quickly got up, taking you between his arms once again. “I need to take her to the hospital.”

“Don’t worry, we got the situation under control.” Taeyong nodded before laying you down over the backseats of his car.

He drove as fast as he could, exceeding the speed limits and earning a few honks from nearby cars. But it was all worth it when he saw the nurses taking you into the operation room to heal your wounds.

(...)

“She’s waking up.” Someone whispered while your eyes fluttered open, the bright sunlight forcing you to close them again.

“Darling?” Taeyong held onto your hand tightly. “Are you okay?”

You hummed, attempting to open your eyes again, this time catching a glimpse of a red eyed Taeyong right beside your bed.

“Tae?” He let out a relieved sigh, cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a kiss right afterwards.

“You’re alright now baby, you’re safe with me.”

#nct smut #nct au #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct scenarios #nct ot21 #nct #nct 127 #nct fluff #nct angst

301 notes · View notes

heliads · 5 years ago

Text

I’ll Protect You

When a mysterious death threat shows up at your front door from Gerard Argent, you know who you have to go to if you want to survive- Scott McCall.

masterlist

Things were going perfectly fine up until the moment you found the death threat on your front door. It was a pleasant, sunny morning. You had actually woken up without feeling exhausted, which was nice. It was shaping up to be an agreeable day. Then, you had heard the sharp knock on your door.

Yawning, you stumble blearily to the front door. Your parents, tired after long days of work, were still blissfully asleep and so the responsibility for answering whatever insistently knocking early-morning caller fell squarely on your shoulders.

Oddly enough, by the time you pull open the plain wooden door, your would-be guest has vanished. You poke your head out of the door, blinking in the bright light of morning, but you can’t see anybody. Strange.

You’re just about to head back inside and dismiss the whole venture as one of the younger neighbourhood kids playing a prank on you when you spot the folded paper lying a few feet away from the doorstep. Frowning, you pad over to it and pick it up, but your confused look turns into a troubled stare when you unfold the plain, unwrinkled note. It doesn’t say much, just a few words typed onto the stiff white paper.

We know what you are. We will be coming for you.

This alone spells danger, but it’s the grey heading at the top of the paper that really starts to worry you. This threat is sent by the Argents, legendary hunters of people exactly like you. And if they know what you are, you’ll be dead by morning for sure.

Checking the empty streets one last time for possible messengers, you quickly hurry back inside, slumping down into a nearby chair. Your parents don’t know you’re a werewolf, hell, neither do any of your friends. You’ve kept your supernatural identity a locked-away secret that only you know. You’ve never breathed a word about it, never gone wandering on full moons, and barely even used your supernatural abilities at all. How do the Argents know?

Of course, it’s not how they know that you should be focusing on. Regardless of what they did to find out your secret, they’ll be coming for you. You stare out of the window unseeingly, turning things over in your mind until you arrive at one last-ditch plan to save yourself.

Just as you’ve feared, there are people watching you from the second you walk through the doors of Beacon Hills High School. You’ve suspected for some time that there are a few junior hunters attending your school, and your theory is proven correct when they watch your every step. No one else seems to know about the fact that you’re a werewolf, but there’s a definite group of four or five people shadowing you no matter where you go.

Thankfully, the one class you need the most is your first period of the day. You head gratefully into your AP Bio class, nodding a distracted greeting to your teacher, who announces that you’ll be starting a partner project. Careful to avoid suspicion from the few potential hunters in the front, you slide quietly into a seat next to one particular dark-haired boy.

When Scott McCall notices you sitting next to him, he looks at you in confusion. “Not to be rude, but don’t you usually sit next to-” You cut him off briskly, pulling out your textbook and turning to the assigned page. “Yeah, but Ms. Finch said partners so I figured it would be alright.” You lean over the book as if starting to work on the assignment, but speak instead in a hushed tone.

“I need your help. It’s something really important.” Scott nods slowly. “Okay, what do you need help with?” You hesitate for a moment, deliberating on how best to explain your situation. “It’s the Argents. I know you’re a True Alpha, I need your help so they don’t kill me.”

Scott looks stunned for a second, then turns to you. “You’re a werewolf. How did I not know about that?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, but I found a death threat at my doorstep today from the Argents, and some of the wannabe hunters have been trailing me all day. I don’t know what to do.” Without attracting too much suspicion, you fish the note out of your backpack and hand it to Scott, who reads it quickly before giving it back to you.”

“That’s definitely a problem. Tell you what- head over to my house tonight after school. I'll get Stiles and the others to show up too, and we can all figure out what to do to make sure you’re alright.” You flash him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I mean it.” Scott returns your smile. “Hey, no problem. We’ve been needing to take care of the Argents for a while, anyway.”

The end of the day cannot arrive quickly enough, and you’re more than happy to quietly depart for Scott’s house. The hunters in the school have been eyeing you all day like you’re a prize pig they can’t wait to slaughter, instead of the fearsome monster that they all seem to fear.

By the time you manage to shake your followers and arrive at Scott's house undetected, the rest of the McCall pack is waiting for you. Scott ushers you inside, where everyone is gathered around the kitchen table, ready to help you with your little problem.

You pull the note you found earlier from your backpack and place it on the table, unfolding it so everyone can see the threat as well as the unmistakable logo of the Argents. Malia looks at it, thinking. “Chris Argent is still our ally, so this has to be Gerard’s doing. I thought we scared him out of town, though?”

Scott sighs. “I doubt we’d ever be that lucky. He’s probably trying to make his way back into Beacon Hills slowly, by taking out a wolf here and there.” Stiles squints up at you. “Also, Y/N, why didn’t you tell any of us you were a werewolf? We could have kept you more safe. I thought lone wolves were always unprotected.”

You tilt your head in acknowledgement. “Lone wolves face a lot more risk, that’s true. The thing is, I was trying my best to keep the whole werewolf thing a secret. I figured it would be easier to pretend to be a human if no one knew, and if I hung out with you guys, it would be pretty obvious that I was a supernatural of some sort.”

You look around the room, registering the confused looks on the faces of Scott and his friends. You spread your hands out in front of you, feeling slightly defensive. “Look, everyone who’s been associated with your friend group is either a supernatural or has been one at one point. If I wanted to make the hunters think I was a human, I probably wouldn’t be hanging out with the group that’s like 90% supernatural.”

Lydia nods, trying to hide a smile. “Y/N’s not wrong. I mean, Scott was a werewolf, then Malia was a werecoyote. Kira was human until she was revealed to be a kitsune, Liam was human until he was bitten, I thought I was human until I found out I was a banshee, Hayden and Corey became chimeras, Mason was host to the Beast, and even Stiles had to become the Nogitsune for a short while. Basically everyone in the pack has been a supernatural at one point.”

Stiles nods slowly. “I mean, I guess. I never thought about it that way.” Scott clears his throat. “Can we get back to the issue at hand? If Gerard Argent is coming back, then that spells bad news for Y/N. I’d like to make sure she lives long enough to graduate high school.” You laugh at that. “Me too. That sounds good.”

After a lengthy discussion, you and the McCall pack figure out what to do. You give them each directions to your house, and then the plan is set into motion.

By the time you make it back to your house, the sun is just starting to set. You toss your backpack into a corner of the room and make yourself a snack. Your parents are still at work, so the house appears deserted to any onlookers.

Just as you had feared, there’s another knock on the door. A voice calls out to you- “Come on out, Y/N. We know you’re there.” You give yourself a moment to collect yourself, then square your shoulders and walk to the door. When you pull it open, you find yourself face to face with at least half a dozen hunters, Gerard Argent at the front.

Gerard fixes you with a glare. “Did you really think that you could live freely and not be found out? We do not tolerate werewolves, a lesson you’ll be learning tonight. Beacon Hills is for the humans.” He gestures to one of the hunters, who hands him a crossbow. “Lone wolves do not survive for long out here. It’s a shame- you really should have known better than to be alone in a town like this.”

Gerard points the crossbow at you, an arrow aimed at the center of your throat. Before he can fire the weapon, however, a voice comes from behind you. “She’s not alone.”

Scott McCall steps out of the house, standing in between you and the hunter. The rest of the pack appears out of nowhere, encircling the hunters, who now look tense and afraid. Scott folds his arms over his chest, staring down at Gerard. “Do you remember the last time we spoke? We made a deal, one that is in your best interests to keep. The promise was that if you and your hunters left the supernaturals of Beacon Hills alone, we wouldn’t kill you on the spot.”

Scott gestures around to the pack. “We have weapons and powers that will allow us to take all of you down in the blink of an eye. So I’ll remind you, one last time, to honor our agreement. It’s as much for our benefit as it is for yours.”

Gerard maintains the eye contact for a moment longer, then looks away, nodding at his hunters to stand down. As they file out, Scott speaks one last time. “Y/N is with us. We have her back. If you even look at her again, I will slit your throat with my own claws.” Gerard spits out a few last words about how this is going ‘just as he had planned’ and that he is ‘warning you, Scott McCall, pride goeth before the fall’ before stumping away with the rest of his hunters.

Scott turns to you with a smile as the pack files inside your house. “See, that went pretty well. I don’t think they’re going to bother you again.” You laugh. “No, I think most of those guys looked like they’d rather move to Antarctica rather than have to deal with any of the pack again. They looked terrified.”

Scott laughs as well, but turns serious. “If you ever feel threatened again, please come find me. I know we just met and all, but I want to keep you safe.” You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “Man, I’d heard about Scott McCall’s need to save everyone, but isn’t this a little much?” Scott can’t help a smile. “You’re important to me, Y/N. I want to protect you.” You grin and nod. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll keep in touch.”

#teen wolf #scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall imagines #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf scott

203 notes · View notes

everlastingdreams · 5 years ago

Text

Weeping Monk x Fem Reader : Playing With Fire chapter 1

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Notes: A slow burn story where the reader begins to risk their life to help the fey. The situation becomes more dangerous as the Weeping Monk himself begins to figure out just what exactly you are doing.

Extra notes: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, angst, voilence, deaths, Percival being a smartass, tension, lots of tension. All sorts of tension tbh.

Warnings: Abusive behavior in this chapter. The warnings will increase as the story progresses so be warned!

Word count: 3507 words in this chapter.

Chapter: 1/ 30+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

~Past~

She sat opposite of you as she examined the cut on your knee. You had obtained it when you were playing in the forest on your own. A badly placed branch was all it took to trip and fall. Your older sister cleaned the cut with a damp cloth, then she stood up and went to retrieve a small bowl she had hidden in a box beneath her bed. You watched her through curious eyes as she showed it to you. You recoiled when you realised what was in the bowl "Is that... is that... fey medicine ?" The last word came as a whisper, speaking of fey medicine in Mirstone was dangerous, but actually using it was far worse. She nodded silently with a smile "Don't worry, y/n. I won't tell anyone. Will you ?" You quickly shook your head, of course you would not betray your sister. But you looked at the bowl in fear, thinking about all the stories your older brother Draegan had told you about the evil fey. "Isn't that dangerous ?" You asked looking frightened. She let out a soft laugh before putting your mind at ease "No, it is not. Don't believe what the people say about the fey, y/n. Don't believe Draegan. They do not know what they speak of." You frowned at that "The fey aren't evil ?" She gently rubbed some of the salve from the bowl on your knee "Of course not. They are just people, like us." But why did everyone here believe they are evil then ? "Then why do people say they are ?" You watched as the salve did not in fact hurt you. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at your face "People fear what they do not understand or know. But we cannot let fear blind us from the truth, y/n. Be braver then they are." You nodded as she convinced you about the fey. She would never lie to you. Your eyes fell on a necklace around her neck you had not seen before, instantly taking a liking to the pretty flower shaped wooden pendant "What's that ?" She looked down at the pendant around her neck when she saw you pointing at it "This ? Do you like it ?" She must have seen the sparkle in your eyes and you nodded. She took it off and put it over your head, so you were now wearing it "A fey gave it to me. They carved it themselves." Your eyes widened at her confession, still shocked that your sister would dare to bring fey items into the village, into the house... She held it between her fingers "Keep it. They told me it would bring me love and luck. But I already have that, I love you and I'm lucky you're my little sister." You smiled a bright toothy smile at her and she did the same "Thank you !" She patted your now bandaged knee "Perhaps it will bring you love and luck as well." She stood up and hid the box under her bed again. You kept the pendant your sister had given you that day. Only later you recognised which flower the pendant resembled. Years later it had brought you little luck and no love. But as long as you had the necklace, you still had her close to your heart, where she would always be.

~present~

You arrived back at the village, Mirstone, at dawn and quietly descended from your horse. Calling Mirstone a village was...generous. There were a few brick houses and the rest of it was made up out of tents. You were one of the few who was lucky enough to have a house of stone, it was perhaps the only perk you had from being the sister of the huntsman. A name your brother Draegan had earned by locating fey, capturing them and often even killing them. For a price.

A price Father Garden was willing to pay for Draegan's services. Yesterday you had found a map Draegan had acquired, containing the location of his next target. A fey camp not far from your village. When night had fallen you had rode your horse to the fey camp and warned them. They didn't trust you at first so you gave them the map and told them who you were. They were very grateful and quickly packed their things before leaving their camp. As you walked back into the village you hoped no one had seen you take the map. You were discreet but your brother had eyes everywhere. As you approached your tiny house you saw one of his henchmen waiting outside for you. You held your head high, not wanting to show fear as you greeted him politely. "He wants to speak to you. Don't keep him waiting." The henchman's voice was laced with threat. You turned away from him and made your way to the building you knew he would be at. It was where he and his henchmen planned their next move and where he would meet guests like Father Carden. He stood leaning over the table as he watched over the papers displayed on them. You did notice there seemed to be papers that you had not seen yesterday, they must have been new. You kept a distance, being in the same room was already too close for comfort. "Come closer, little sister." He didn't look in your direction. It was the same room and table where you had taken the map from yesterday evening. He must have realised that it was missing. You tried to control your breathing as you approached the table. "You asked for me ?" You tried your best to sound innocent and oblivious. "Where is it ?" Anger already audible in his words, he tapped his finger on the table. You evaded your eyes "Where's what ?" He slammed his fist on the table "Don't play dumb ! The map ! Where is it ?!" It made you jump and you took a step back. You did not know if someone had indeed seen you take the map or if this was just him blaming you for something again even though he had no real evidence for it. Something he often did.

“I don't know.” The words came out shaky and barely audible.

His eyes snapped to you instantly, in two quick steps he roughly grabbed hold of your arm. You could feel the bruises forming as his grip tightened around your arm.

"I don't know !!! I never saw a map !" You lied and hoped he would believe it. You tried to get your arm out of his grasp but his hold only tightened.

He opened his mouth to speak but then one of his men opened the door and entered the room.

“Father Carden has arrived, boss. Should I send him in ?” The man's eyes darted between you and Draegan.

He roughly let go off your arm. "We'll talk about this later !" A clear threat in that statement. He turned to the man “Send him in.”

The henchman left the room in a rush and you had expected your brother would lash out at you again. Instead he seemed to try and calm himself down "Pull yourself together, y/n ! Father Carden is here. It is time we discussed a raise in coin. Not a word about that missing map, you understand me ?" He pointed at your face, eyes flooding with hidden rage and you nodded obediently.

“Hide those papers ! Hurry !” He barked and you quickly grabbed the papers from the table and tossed them under a stack of books in the corner.

The door went open and the henchman walked in again, announcing Father Carden who walked in seconds later. And as always the Weeping Monk followed in his footsteps. You took the moment to create more distance between you and Draegan, hoping to soon have an oppurtunity to leave the room.

Your brother approached them with his arms spread out in a welcoming gesture but it was all an act. You wondered if they realised it as well ? "Ah ! Father Carden ! Have you once again come to bless us with your presence.. and coin ?" He added the last part once he was close enough to Father Carden. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you looked over at the Weeping Monk. He seemed as thrilled about this meeting as you were. Father Carden visited the camp every few weeks to talk about the progress in extinquishing the fey. And to pay your brother for his work of course. You hated it, hated seeing the red of the paladin's robes wandering around the village. As you walked around the village you tried to avoid them as much as possible.

“Huntsman.” Father Carden greeted him with a nod “That will depend on what you have to offer this time.”

Draegan shot you a quick look and you knew he was nervous. That map that went 'missing' was meant to be a bargaining chip in this. You ignored it, not even looking at him as you cast your gaze to the floor. Draegan straightened his back and tried to look confident “Two fey camps, no survivors. That is what I offer this time.”

Your stomach turned at the information, the fact that you were related to him made it even worse. He pulled another map from his jacket and showed Father Carden the locations as he described in gruesome detail how he had 'dealt' with the fey. Father Carden hummed approvingly while the Weeping Monk seemed almost bored by it all, as if he was not even listening to your brother's bragging. You had heard enough and started to move away from them, and towards the door. Draegan did not notice you leaving, and neither did Father Carden as your brother started to speak of more coin for his 'good work'. Something Father Carden didn't seem pleased with.

But the Weeping Monk had noticed, and you felt his eyes following you as you walked out of the room. Even though you felt intimidated you did not show it.

Refused to show it. He had noticed you at the Village the previous times he had been here. He paid little attention to the people at the village but you had drawn his attention the first time he had been there when you had physically bumped into him. Others would have uttered a quick apology and hurried along. Not you.

"Watch where you're walking !"

You had snapped at him before pushing your way passed him again. He had remembered the fire and rage in your eyes. It came as a suprise when he learned you were the Huntsman's sister. The Huntsman was a cruel man with no morals, who enjoyed to torture the fey when given the chance. It was what made him effective in what he did. But the Huntsman was alway polite to both him and Father Carden, he had to be if he were to expect payment. You however didn't seem to care about that, and everytime he visited the village he would observe as you avoided the Red Paladins like the plague. Often giving one of them a backhanded comment if they did try to have a conversation with you. He suspected you did not share your brother's view on cleansing the fey. Therefore he kept an eye on you while they visited the village, someone like you could easily sabotage Father Carden's mission and help the fey instead. He knew the Huntsman often acquired documents or information about the fey, valuable information, to earn more coin from Father Carden. And if you were indeed on the side of the fey, it would seem little trouble for you to take that information and give it to the enemy. He had learned not long ago that somehow everytime the Huntsman learned about a location of a fey camp before him, often the camp would be abandoned not long before he would arrive. As if someone had warned them. Warned them that they were coming. Something he had ignored to mention to Father Carden. He knew he would be the one to be blamed for not being fast enough, for not tracking those feys down faster then the Huntsman. He pretended that he had not puzzled it together and it seemed that the Huntsman was acting like it too. Either that or the Huntsman was oblivious to the whole thing. Something he didn't put past him, he was effective in hunting down fey, but he was often blinded by his own ego. And he doubted that the Huntsman would suspect his own sister to be at blame. In the times he had visited the Monk had never caught you acting suspicious.

Yet he still kept an eye on you, and it seemed some Paladins did the same but he suspected it was for reasons different then his own. You were the quiet type. The one that was almost always present at the meetings between Father Carden and the Huntsman but never spoke a word unless you were asked. If he had heard you speak four whole sentences in that room since he had first seen you, it would be a lot. Father Carden discussed the fey and the progress of wiping them out with the Huntsman, but he believed that the most interesting information about the fey would not come from the Huntsman. No. It might just come from you. Because when you had spoken when asked, you sounded anything but dumb, calculated almost. A level of alertness in your presence that matched his own. But you never shared information on the fey's location. Wether it was because the Huntsman had forbid you to in fear it would cost him his payment or if it was because you were indeed helping the fey, was something he dearly wished to figure out.

OooooOOOOOoooOOOOOOOooooooooOOOO

He followed Father Carden and the Huntsman at a distance around the small village while they discussed their next course of action. The Huntsman often tried to derail the conversation, steering it back to his attempt to talk about a raise in coin for him. Needless to say, he quickly lost interest in the conversation. The village, if one could even call it that, was small. And it wouldn't take someone long to recognise all who lived there. That is how it occured to him that you were nowhere to be seen outside. Perhaps you were inside one of the homes but his insticts were telling him otherwise. He waited until they were talking near a bunch of paladins before he felt it was safe enough to leave Father Carden's side for a while.

Hearing your brother brag about his cruel actions was what made you slip back into the building where he had made you hide the papers before Father Carden or the Monk could see them. You pulled them from under the stack of books and quickly flicked through them, looking for any information on his next location to strike. Looking for those new papers you had seen on the table. Right when you found some small drawn maps you heard the door creak. You had not heard any footsteps nearing and that was what filled you with dread. In the blink of an eye you had hidden the papers under the stack of books again, hoping that you would be able to find them again later. Just as you turned around, the Weeping Monk stepped into the room. Pushing the door open widely, making for a dramatic entrance. Obviously you had been in the same room as him before, but never alone with him. The only words you had spoken to him was when you had snapped at him after you had bumped into him the first time they had visited the village. It was perhaps foolish to be rude to him considering his reputation but your anger towards him, towards Father Carden and his paladins, was stronger then your fear. He slowly stepped into the room, eyes on you right away. As if he was expecting you to be there. The silence was nerve-racking, and you knew you had to say something as this was definitely looking suspicious. "Has my brother asked for me ?" You asked him in a innocent sounding way, hoping your voice gave nothing away. His eyes fell on the empty table, as he slowly walked further into the room. You moved a little so you where standing in front of the stack of books. "No." He stopped next to the table that was standing in between you. It created a distance between you that you were grateful for. In that moment you wished he would just say something, it was unnerving how he seemed to examine you from afar.

“Does Father Carden need something ?” You tried again.

His eyes fell on something behind you and you knew he must have spotted the papers sticking out from under the books. They had not been sticking out when he and Father Carden were in the room earlier. He moved away from the table and you froze on the spot when you saw him move in your direction. You worried about him finding the papers, but what could he accuse you of ? He had not seen you peeking at them, nor taking them. You were just in the room, in this case it was more suspicious that HE was in the room. If he were to take the papers you could tell Draegan that the Monk was trying to prevent him from doing his work and recieving his payment from Father Carden. But that would place you on the Monk's bad side, something you obviously did not want. You felt like a hare facing a wolf by the way he was watching you, watching to see if you would move. If you would run. Then right before he was close enough the door went open and your brother walked into the room while speaking loudly to Father Carden. Both of them looked suprised to see you and the Weeping Monk in the room, alone. The tension in the room must have been palpable. Your brother first looked behind you to the stack of books and then to the Weeping Monk who was standing in close proximity. It looked like you wouldn't even have to tell him what the Monk was there for. And the Monk seemed aware of it as well as he stepped away from you, and from the stack of books.

Draegan clapped his hands together breaking the cutting silence “Is there a problem ?” His eyes shot between you and the Monk and you saw an opportunity.

“Not at all, brother.” You gestured to the Monk “He was just telling me how your work has helped them in their mission.”

The Monk's eyes shot to you, a frown now gracing his face before it dawned on him what you were doing. To your suprise the Monk played along “Cleansing the previous camps has weakened them greatly, their food supplies will be running low by now.”

Both your brother and Father Carden seemed to believe the lie. The conversation then continued between Draegan and Father Carden as if nothing had happened. But the tension between you and the Monk was hanging in the room.

You could have told the Huntsman he was going for the papers, but instead you had kept quiet. It further confirmed his believe that you were smarter then you let on. Those must have been papers containing the information about the fey and you had been looking through them right before he had entered the room again, that is why they were now sticking out from under the books. You could have told the Huntsman he had intended to take the papers, it would have been a good cover for you. It suprised him that you had lied instead, had the Huntsman known what he was really doing he doubted things would remain civil. By lying, by covering his intentions, you had protected yourself. You were drawing the suspicion away from you that way. You had used his presence in the room to your advantage and as he played along with the lie, he had become your excuse to be in that room right there and then. Smart. Still, there was little doubt left in his mind that you were secretly warning the fey against the Huntsman. The problem was that he had no solid proof. This time you stayed in the room and remained quiet until right before they left again, you avoided facing your brother again that day about the missing map. Although it appeared that the payment he recieved from Father Carden had calmed him down somewhat.

Even if the negotiaton about a raise in coin had failed.

Taglist:

@itsjustjenna @thesneakylittleminx @ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @mixedchicaq @boredoomfm @soccmoss @fxrchxldws @rogershoe @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @tanyaherondale @lancelotapricot

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

#weeping monk #weeping monk x reader #weeping monk fanfiction #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot x reader #Cursed Netflix #cursed fic #cursed squirrel #cursed percival #The Green Knight #The Weeping Monk #lancelot x you

158 notes · View notes

cant-think-of-anything · 4 years ago

Text

Pirate AU (Part Five)

Lucie watched Alastair gently clean his sisters wounds before bandaging them up.

Knowing how much they cared for each other, she had expected Alastair to be angry. And though he was ready to quite literally murder Tatiana, he didn’t seem mad at her. Lucie couldn’t say the same for herself.

Cordelia had gotten hurt. She could’ve been killed if she wasn’t protecting Lucie. Dragging her out of her spiraling guilt, Thomas pressed a cup of tea into her hands, warming her cold fingers. He was also watching Alastair.

“You could not have done anything to prevent this Lucie.”

Lucie stilled. Thomas had arrived with Alastair who ended up sending a message to Eugenia. The three of them had helped Lucie clean up the glass and left Alastair to address Cordelia’s shoulder since he was the only one who knew any form of medical training. When Lucie had questioned him, he responded he knew how to do many things, like baking and tattooing. She had decided not to ask if he was being sarcastic.

Thomas and Eugenia seemed fueled with purpose. Upon telling them Tatiana Blackthorn, the same woman responsible for the public marriage scandal between James and her daughter a few years back, was the one who had killed Barbra, they seemed more focused on vengeance than anything.

Eugenia snapped her fingers loudly. “Oi! Lucie, Thomas get over here.”

Alastair and her cousin had spread out a map of London they had acquired from the library. Combining the information that had come from Alastair and Lucie, they had placed that Tatiana was indeed another pirate, and apparently belonged or led one of the scariest crews to exist. Which was really just delightful for them.

After locating the ship’s docking point, Alastair had gone earlier, confirming that the ship was there and, judging by the symbol carved into its wood, the correct ship.

“We need to get in somehow,” He said quietly while studying the maps.

Suddenly, Thomas looked up. “Christopher.”

“Who?” Alastair asked, staring as if Thomas had lost his mind.

“My cousin, he makes things, if we need to break into a ship he’s quite good at making destructive things.”

And that, seemingly, was all it took. As her friends packed their items, discussing quietly, she watched Cordelia, still asleep, breathe softly in the firelight.

“I don’t want to leave her,” Alastair said, startling her. “But I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

Lucie turned her face away. “For what happened… I’m sorry.”

Alastair looked up, surprised. "You needn’t apologize for that. My sister makes her own decisions, however ill-advised they may be sometimes. She won’t blame you and nor do I.”

Before Lucie could respond Eugenia rapped her knuckles on the door to grab their attention. She watched as they left, leaving her alone with an unconscious Cordelia. Mostly alone she thought, looking at her very tall friend who was staring at the fire. She sat next to him, crossing her legs on the couch and letting her head fall against his shoulder.

“Pirates,” He whispered, shaking his head lightly.

“Indeed,” Lucie responded before adding “Thomas, darling, have you seen what they wear?”

Thomas laughed and bade her goodbye, following Alastair and Eugenia.

~~~

Eugenia thought she had met her fair share of quiet people, but being in a carriage with Alastair was like being in a carriage with a well dressed mannequin. Thomas had mentioned needing to drop by one of his other friend’s houses and promptly abandoned Eugenia.

“You found my brother.” She said, cutting into the silence.

“I did,” Alastair replied, still staring out the window.

How was it even possible for a person to talk this little? Eugenia made a frustrated noise and waved her hand in front of his face, smiling at his scowl.

“I’m trying to thank you,”

“I found your brother entirely by accident. I don’t think that’s praise-worthy.”

“Well you saved him by the sounds of it.”

“He told you?” Alastair sounded surprised. “Well I suppose I did it out of instinct. And a bit of thought went into how you would feel.”

Eugenia smirked, pretending to swoon. “He cares!”

Alastair swatted her arm before reaching into his coat. When his hand withdrew, there was a silver longsword in his grasp, the hilt littered with rubies. She sucked in a breath and reached her hand out to touch the engraved handle. She felt a jolt of surprise when Alastair gave it to her.

“All our weapons are gold anyway. It wouldn’t match. Try not to get yourself killed.” He went back to staring out the window, but Eugenia found she didn’t mind.

~~~

Thomas ducked into Christopher’s lab, cursing London’s tiny doors to find his sister and Alastair already seated there.

Christopher’s head was bent over his notebook, his hair nearly catching flame on an open fire before Alastair threw a damp towel at his head.

“Thomas!” Christopher greeted, his face lighting up.

“We need your help,” Alastair said. He seemed to hate any form of pleasantries.

“With?”

“We need to get into a… very thick wooden box,” Eugenia cut in.

Christopher’s face clouded, and Thomas could practically see his mind working. Christopher was the smartest scientist in London and that Thomas could say with entire surety. He didn’t like keeping things from him, they had been inseparable for so long but this was not his secret to tell.

He listened as Christopher told them what all he needed to create such a substance and Eugenia rose, offering readily to go to the market. Thomas thought he saw a flash of silver in her coat but she was gone before he could ask. His cousin’s face was in a deep revere of thought it seemed so Thomas left the room, Alastair close behind.

~~~

Eugenia wished the cobblestones on the ground of this godforsaken market would swallow her up whole. She quite liked the boisterous activity and the loud arguing. What she did not feel so fond of was crouching in the alleyway like a lowlife trying to avoid her own family. Matthew Fairchild and Anna Lightwood were known to frequent illegal places and as much as Eugenia loved them, she wished she could snap her fingers and make them disappear. If they found her here they would certainly tell the rest of their friends, and Eugenia couldn’t risk putting Lucie and Thomas under scrutiny now.

“Hello?”

Eugenia cursed vehemently before turning around to face whatever person called out to her.

And oh, Eugenia was going to positively faint. Someone would have to drag her out of the market and send her body home. There was a woman standing in the alleyway, a hat shaded half of her face but Eugenia knew it was just as lovely as the rest of her. The mystery woman brushed long black hair out of her dark brown eyes to study Eugenia.

“Are you all right?” The woman asked with her perfectly shaped lips moving to help her up.

No. “Yes! Of course.”

She looked amused. “Is there a reason you're crouched in a dirty alleyway then?”

“A perfectly normal, justifiable reason yes.” When the woman waited for her to elaborate she added “I can’t let my family see me here.”

“Ah,” She responded before sticking out her hand. “I’m Kamala.”

“Eugenia.”

“I came in through a back exit, I can take you through there.” Kamala hesitated then, and Eugenia realized that their hands were still interlocked. “If you would like that.”

Well she couldn’t have said no to that.

~~~

Alastair, it seemed, liked to perch on dangerous places such as the third floor balcony. Thomas was caught between the urge to join him to see the appeal or pull him off so he wouldn’t get hurt.

Thomas watched as he tipped his head back, his perfect dark hair rustling softly in the wind. Moving closer hesitantly, he placed his forearms on the railing, seeing Alastair’s eyes open from the corner of his vision.

“Are you okay?” The words slipped out on their own accord.

Thomas turned, facing the shorter boy fully. Alastair’s entire being seemed stressed and worried and while Thomas understood why, an irrational part of him wanted to see if he could fix that.

“We might die.”

“Not a pleasant thought.”

“I don’t care much what happens to me, but Cordelia and my mother can’t survive on their own.”

“Why? Cordelia seems capable enough.”

Alastair shook his head, turning his eyes away as if he’d said too much.

“Where have you sailed?” Thomas questioned, leaning back onto piller, sensing the signal for a subject change. He also couldn’t quite wrap his head around the “pirate” thing.

“Many places. All of them were better than this repulsive town.

That startled a laugh out of Thomas. “I can understand that. I wish I could leave this city too sometimes.”

Alastair leaned closer and cocked his head to the side “Where would you go?”

Thomas flushed and leaned back. “Anywhere I suppose.”

Alastair looked as he was going to respond but the door banged open. Thomas jerked away, just realizing how close the two of them had been to look at Christopher.

“Eugenia’s back.” He called, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between them.

~~~

Cordelia felt as if someone had an iron arm clamped to her shoulder and was shaking her brain vigorously. She opened her eyes and groaned at the stabbing light.

“Cordelia?”

Lucie, she tried to say but found that she could not. She felt an actual hand wrap around hers and soft fingers brush hair from her forehead.

“It’s okay, don’t say anything.”

Slowly, Lucie’s outline cleared and she could see her lovely blue eyes hovering a few inches from her face. Suddenly it was hard to breathe for entirely different reasons.

Lucie gently laid her hands on Cordelia’s arms, careful not to disturb her wounds. Cordelia found herself suddenly overwhelmed with how close her fire-lit skin was, the hesitant brush of an escaped curl against her neck. She never wanted to pull away.

“I know you just got hurt on your shoulders,” she started hoarsely, “but I thought…”

Cordelia, finally able to find her voice said “Never blame yourself Lucie. If it were to protect you I would do it a thousand times over.”

She heard Lucie’s breathing stop before she pulled away slightly, much to Cordelia’s disappointment.

“They found the ship. We’ll find her too.” Lucie’s eyes blazed bright. “I want you to teach me, show me how you wield your weapons, set your ships on water. She took far too much already and I refuse to let her take more.”

~~~

You know that one tik tok audio that’s like- “Everyone is just who they are and who they are is just stone cold gay?” Yeah that’s this fic

ALSO someone help me out who’s taller in Joshwood?

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood (Also I didn’t say this before but I can add you if you want)

#eugenia lightwood #kamala joshi #joshwood #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #lucelia #christopher lightwood #the last hours #tlh #tsc #sorry if the pov shifts give you whiplash #my writing #tw weapon

49 notes · View notes

winryofresembool · 4 years ago

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 38

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: A new semester is starting

A/N: We are finally done with the holiday chapters! When it comes to this chapter, I'd like to state that I only have some experience from a couple of Finnish universities so I really don't know a whole lot about how certain things work in practice in the States, so please ignore the possible inaccuracies for the sake of this fic. It feels weird after a couple of 'bigger' chapters to have a bit more 'fillery' one... but... but... there's Caleo in the beginning?? So I hope you'll enjoy nevertheless. I wish I could spread even more love towards this ship because they deserve it but sadly there are only so few hours in a day. The fandom seems so quiet these days...

Anyway, enough rambling! Now let's get to this chapter, and the usual reminder: I love to hear what you think! All comments are much appreciated :)

Words: 2500+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

”Is something the matter? You look quite unhappy.”

Leo felt arms sneak around his shoulders from behind while he was sitting on the common area sofa, staring at his laptop with a frown. Some of the speaker’s reddish brown hair fell in front of his face, the smell of cinnamon drifting into his nose, and for some reason that alone was enough to relieve some of Leo’s uneasiness. The small, pale hands found their way down his biceps and stopped there, but he wasn’t going to complain. If he was honest, he was really happy about Calypso’s growing confidence when it came to the physical affection, because it told him she really trusted him. Sometimes he was still amazed that he out of all the people had managed to break the ice around her.

Before Leo let himself get too lovestruck, though, he reminded himself why he was staring at his laptop in the first place. The new semester was starting and that naturally meant new courses, new assignments, new texts to read and… new emails from his professors. One specific email had managed to twist his stomach quite badly. In it, the professor from his chemistry lab class had asked him for a meeting, and Leo assumed he wanted to discuss what had happened on the exam day. Wishing that he could just ignore that said message, he turned his attention back to his girlfriend.

“Just uni issues… nothing more severe this time,” Leo replied half jokingly. The holidays had given him some perspective on what really was important to him and failing a class didn’t feel quite as big an issue anymore. It was inconvenient, yes, on a few levels, but not entirely unfixable.

“Oh?” Calypso finally let her hands slide off of him and sat down next to him. She seemed a bit relieved that this was about the university and not something that was out of her reach, and if Leo was honest, he couldn’t blame her. “What kind of issues?”

“A professor wants to meet me face to face tomorrow. Probably to talk about my recent chemistry lab test or something like that.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Hmm… Isn’t it quite unusual for them to give special focus to a single student at this stage?” Calypso asked.

“Apparently they still do that in my department. Who knows, maybe they think I’ve caused them enough trouble by now and want me to quit.”

“But what happened in your lab test was not your fault. Do you think you are any closer to being able to finish it in case you get another chance?”

When Calypso was looking at him with those almost chocolate brown eyes, he felt that it wasn’t impossible.

“Some smart person once said that I need to believe in myself more, so that’s what I need to learn to do. After that… it might be possible.”

“I’m glad you’re listening to me at least sometimes.” Calypso gave him a lopsided smile. “The fact that you know what you should do means that you’re already on your way there.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Wanting to talk about something else, Leo asked: “Well, what about you? How are you feeling about the upcoming semester?”

“I’m feeling… pretty good about it, you know? Sure, I’ve been reading our course plans and it sounds like our professors are planning to make us work like every day is an exam day and we have some group assignments and important presentations coming up, but… I really like learning? And I like listening to the conversations between our professors and my fellow students during our lectures because it’s something I never got to do when I was stuck at home… I feel like I get new points of views from them all the time. And Annabeth is a really big help; she knows everything about everything so if I ever feel like I can’t follow the lectures, she can always clarify them to me.”

“I have a hard time imagining you not being able to keep up with the professors… but yeah, it’s good you can ask for her help if needed.”

Calypso nodded.

“You know, I’m glad you two got your issues sorted out in the fall,” Leo added as an afterthought.

Calypso looked up at him with a slight frown as if she had completely forgotten about what exactly had happened in the fall. “Oh, right, that. I feel like it was just one big misunderstanding. Both of us realized that we can’t get stuck on something that happened so long ago.”

Leo couldn’t deny that he had also felt a bit jealous of Percy when he had first found out about his and Calypso’s past, but she had clearly moved on, so he wasn’t holding a grudge anymore either. Calypso had decided to date him, and that’s what mattered.

“Yeah, I know from my personal experiences that ain’t worth it,” he replied.

Calypso leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

“I have a… maybe a bit weird question. Do you believe in some kind of greater power? You know, like gods?”

Leo wondered why she would ask that. “I dunno. Maybe. I’m not really strongly for or against that. I think I’m the kind of person who needs to see it to believe it, but I don’t think it’s impossible. But why do you ask?”

“This will sound extremely cheesy but sometimes I wonder… if there was a reason why we two met. Like some greater power that pushed us together for some reason.”

“Wow. I don’t know if any greater powers had their fingers in that but I am glad that it happened.” Leo threw his arm around her shoulder and wondered briefly why it felt like such a natural thing to do. At one point he had been too intimidated to initiate any kind of physical contact but now that they were more open with each other and she had seen him in some of his worse moments – he didn’t mind anymore.

“Yeah. Me too.” Calypso whispered.

Only the buzzing of the fridge and some other kitchen machinery could be heard on the background while the flatmates were simply enjoying each other’s company, resting their heads against each other, but eventually Calypso suggested:

“Hey... I think I need something that will allow me to disconnect a bit, so… how about some Friends?”

Leo didn’t have anything against that suggestion. In fact, he always enjoyed the TV show or movie nights with Calypso, for various reasons. “Sure. That sounds great to me. You know I’m always ready to roast my homeboy Chandler.”

“I know you are.” Calypso nudged him and took the remote control to find the right episode. As they started watching and commenting on it (he always enjoyed how snarky Calypso’s comments could be), Leo almost forgot about the upcoming meeting with the professor.

…

The next day, Leo found himself in the building where the office of his lab professor was located. At the breakfast table he had practiced the meeting with Calypso, and Jason had also joined him a bit later to wish him luck. To Leo’s relief, he did seem a lot happier than when he had seen him before the holiday break, but he still didn’t talk a whole lot about his current situation. Leo himself decided that it was better if he didn’t guide his friends too much so instead he did a quick recap on the recent developments in his own life – without mentioning his new relationship status. Luckily Jason didn’t ask, as he seemed to be more worried about Leo’s upcoming meeting.

As he was waiting for the professor to arrive, Leo kept glancing at his clock nervously. The man was already a few minutes late. While Leo knew that wasn’t anything unusual in the university world, as the professors tended to be busy, he still kept wishing he could get the meeting over with as soon as possible. His leg started bouncing again on its own and his fingers were tapping against the wooden handle of the chair. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite as sure about what he was going to tell the professor as he had felt earlier.

Finally, he was pulled from his thoughts by a loud ‘ahem’.

“Mr. Valdez? Sorry I’m late, my meeting with a couple of coworkers got a bit long,” the professor said.

“That’s… that’s fine,” Leo stuttered. Some months ago he would probably have said something snarky as a response but right now he knew better than to take any risks.

“Go in, go in, so we can have a talk,” the professor encouraged. Unwillingly, Leo followed him into his office and had to be told to sit down before he even realized that there was a comfortable looking arm chair right next to him.

“So…” the professor started once he was seated behind his desk. “You probably know why I invited you here.”

“I… I do have an idea…” Leo said hesitantly, looking everywhere in the room except the professor. The man had a lot of engineering related books in his bookshelf, a big stack of papers - probably students’ assignments - and a fancy looking calculator on his desk. Behind him on the wall there was a single photograph of his family. Pretty much exactly how Leo had imagined the said professor’s room looking.

“I will be direct with you. Your achievements in the lab classes - or lack thereof - is a cause of confusion for us. In almost all of the theory related classes, you are on the top of the class – despite the occasional reports that your behavior towards the lecturers could use some improvement.” The man raised his eyebrow, but Leo thought he could see a glint of amusement in his eyes. That didn’t last long, though. “However, until now we have been willing to overlook that because of your talents. Maths, physics, chemistry… those things you clearly don’t have any issues with. But already for the second year you have been avoiding the lab classes for which you have been signed up and last fall you even left the chemistry lab test before you managed to get it completed. I’m sure you are aware that if you want to move onto the more advanced classes, you need to complete the mandatory ones before you are allowed to do that.”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that,” Leo replied stiffly, wondering briefly when was the last time he had called anyone sir, other than ironically.

“In that case…” His voice turned less formal, more fatherly as he continued, which surprised Leo. The professors he was used to dealing with were usually not all too nice to him, although he was willing to admit that some of it was probably deserved. “Can I ask you, is there a specific reason why you haven’t attended the lab classes?”

Leo wondered if he should come up with a quick lie. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life that he would have to do that in order to protect himself. However, the professor really seemed sincere and concerned about him and in a way his expression reminded him of Jo’s when she was expecting him to open up. Perhaps that’s why he ended up deciding to answer honestly:

“Yes. There is.”

“And? What is the reason?” The professor raised his eyebrow.

Leo inhaled deeply before forming his response. “I’m afraid of fire. Yeah, laugh ahead, but it’s true. I can’t deal with anything that requires heating because of some nasty as hell childhood trauma.”

To his surprise, the professor didn’t get angry at him for talking to him in such a manner. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows.

“And you’re still planning to make mechanical engineering your career? Despite your fear?”

Leo nodded slowly. “Yeah. Building and fixing inanimate objects is the only thing I’ve ever known how to do. I was basically born with a hammer and a wrench in my hands and I was capable of building toys for myself when I was like four. After an accident…” He refrained from mentioning his mother because he couldn’t guarantee he would be able to stay calm if he brought that up. “… I haven’t been able to light up a match or anything like that. But almost five years ago, two awesome women adopted me and one of them is a mechanic. She reminded me what I really love about tinkering and it was then that I decided that I wanna keep trying. It’s a process but I am working on it.”

The professor smiled a little. “You know… a lot of our students were unable to take the chemistry lab course in the fall, so we decided to organize another course now in the spring. As it happens, there’s still some room for new people in it. So, if you’re interested, you’re welcome. But remember, you would need to attend all the mandatory classes and complete the tasks that you are assigned, no exceptions. That means we will not be going easy on you just because of your fear.”

Leo’s eyes widened with surprise. He hadn’t expected to get a chance like that.

“Woah, thanks sir! I won’t let you down!”

“That’s good to hear,” the professor nodded approvingly. “Can I ask you a question, though? Why do you want to become a mechanical engineer? I mean, what exactly is it that fascinates you about it, other than the influences you have gotten at your home?”

Leo imagined that the professor could probably see the bolts and nuts moving in his brain as he formed his answer. “I… I wanna learn to develop products that will help us make the world a safer, more sustainable place for us. We engineers, if anyone, can develop technology that will help us achieve that goal. But that’s not all. I also wanna learn more so I can help to share the information forward. I wanna show kids who come from similar backgrounds as I that they should keep on dreaming. There was a time when my mom ate porridge - only porridge - for her meals so she could pay the rent when her business was slow, but she still kept doing it. Because that’s how much she cared about her job. And I want to continue in her footsteps.”

The professor shifted on his seat. “That is an admirable goal, Mr. Valdez. I hope you will succeed. Remember, you do have the skill – you just need to know how to use it.”

“Yeah… Thanks professor.”

“No problem. Don’t forget the class enrollments end tonight so you need to be fast if you want to participate. That’s all for now. Good luck in your future endeavors.”

“Thanks. I’ll go enroll myself then. Bye for now.”

“See you, Mr. Valdez.”

Leo breathed a long sigh of relief the moment he stepped out of the professor’s office. The meeting had gone way better than he had dared to expect. He hadn’t thought he would get another chance so fast, but was grateful for the opportunity. Now, he would only need to kick his fears into the deepest pits of Tartarus, as Calypso would say.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

10 notes · View notes

labelleofbelfastcity · 4 years ago

Text

hold my hand, it’s a long way down

1.5k, high fantasy royalty au, most of the details of which were provided by @capybart

read on ao3 here

Kalina smirks as she glides into the room, black furs gleaming around her shoulders and long train hissing across the floor. Riz, reflexively, takes a step back, as his eyes clock the false crown atop her head, the feline smile curving her mouth, and the knife in her hand, flickering in the candlelight.

“I trust you’re doing well,” she says, and keeps approaching until she’s standing right before him, staring him down.

Riz’s heart jumps a beat and his eyes dart around, trying to see where he can go, what he can grab, if it is even likely to move at all before that knife is sliding into his neck and tearing an ugly gash in his throat. “Not with any thanks to you.”

Kalina huffs, mouth quirking to the side, before she slumps down to sit on his bed, shoulders falling and head tilting to look at him. The black gem in the center of her diadem seems to dance like cold fire, drawing Riz’s eyes to it even as he tries to focus on a million and one other things. Unnatural, Riz thinks, with a sickening shock directly to his heart. And then he remembers the things people have always whispered about Kalina, words like witch and sorceress and Shadow Cat. Remembers those words and sees the way her eyes flash yellow in the candle’s flame.

“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo. I thought you’d figure out by now that this is all for you.”

“Where’s my mom?” Riz spits out, as he has done every time Kalina visits him in these much too fancy rooms, this much too fancy prison.

Kalina rolls her eyes, leans back on one arm, flips the dagger in her other hand, “Thought we got past that already.”

“I know you did something to her.”

“I didn’t do anything. Besides, she’s safe. She’s comfortable. What more could you ask of me?”

“I want you to give her back.”

“And I thought it was you, kiddo, who told me not too long ago that people weren’t toys. That they couldn’t be given and taken. Hm. Must be wrong about that.” Kalina flicks the tip of the dagger at him, holding it just a few inches away from Riz’s ribs, where she could slide it straight up and into his heart. “That’s not what I came here for, though. How’s the prince doing?”

“Aren’t you at court with him?” Riz spits out, and refuses to yield yet another step.

“Yes, yes. And he’s doing so well today, too. I’ve never seen a more attentive courter, practically glued to the Lady Aelwyn’s side. Which is funny, seeing as how we had to drag him from his rooms less than a week ago.”

“Fabian’s not planning anything,” Riz says, leaving out the because I am.

Kalina huffs, and taps the dagger against her own cheek, “I don’t know when you’ll learn. Everything you know, I know. I’m in your head, kiddo.”

Riz’s spine snaps straight as a scream he knows doesn’t exist sounds from his left, and then his right, screams that sounds like Fig and Fabian. Screams he only knows because of that day, weeks ago, when the Abernants and their holy warriors in gleaming sun-forged metal took the castle and forced the prince, Riz’s friend, the person Riz was supposed to protect above all else, to stab his father in the heart. Fig had screamed then, in rage, and tried to take the nearest knight out with a swing of her lute, and Fabian had screamed later, when the three of them were back in these rooms, in that soft, silent way of tears and grief and heartache and complete and total betrayal.

“See? That’s what you don’t understand,” Kalina says, standing once again. “That’s what I’m saving you from. I’m protecting your little friends because you’re useful to me. You don’t want to stop being useful to me, do you?”

Riz remains where he is, fighting back the nausea as the screams grow. Now, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, rooted to the spot by a clawed hand holding tightly onto his mind.

“Do you?” Kalina asks again, and this time she brings the knife up to Riz’s jaw, just under his ear. The cold pricks against his skin and Riz is so afraid.

“No,” he rasps out, and she smiles again, eyes crinkling. The screams immediately stop.

“Good.” The heavy handle of the knife drops into Riz’s hand, and his fingers close over it reflexively. It’s dangerous, to give your enemy a weapon. Dangerous, still, to give them a weapon they have no hope to use in any way that counts. “You can’t get away from me, bud. Just remember that.”

Riz snarls at her, “We’re going to stop you.”

Kalina clucks her tongue and begins to walk away, “The only way you’ll escape is if I want you to.”

The door swings shut behind her right as her hold over Riz’s body drops, and he sags a little, before startling upright again. She must know, there’s no way she doesn’t. Her knowing had not been a factor of the plan, despite everything pointing towards its likelihood. Really, how could Riz have been so stupid? He’ll need a few minutes to change things, modify them so that they can actually escape, can actually get out of here.

Fabian is trapped in this castle. Fig is trapped. Their new ally, the oracle Adaine Abernant, their friend, is trapped as well. He can’t risk their freedom for himself, can’t risk Fabian and Fig’s sacrifices and the dangerous line between family and safety Adaine is flirting with. He just… he’ll figure out another way. He just needs time.

The heavy sound of a wooden lute being swung against a head thunks from outside Riz’s door, and then it’s opening to reveal his friends standing on the threshold. No, no, no, this is happening too fast. He hasn’t had time to plan.

Fig lowers her lute from where it’s raised in the air, hovering around where the now unconscious guard’s head probably was less than a second ago.

“Shit, Riz, we need to go,” Adaine says, hoisting her skirts and sprinting for his window, the same window Riz had been preparing before Kalina waltzed in.

Fabian twirls his red, embroidered, very much not stealthy court cloak from his shoulders, slinging on the black one he’d stashed on Riz’s chair earlier. The cloak that Kalina had most certainly seen because Riz hadn’t bothered to hide it. “We have five minutes.”

Adaine throws the window open and immediately heaves one of her legs out of it, hair whipping slightly in the breeze. She reaches behind her and grabs Fig’s hand, pulling her up and onto the windowsill beside her.

They’ve discussed this plan ad nauseum for weeks. So it’s almost too easy for Adaine and Fig to leap from the window with nothing but a nod, not even noticing how Riz has yet to move from his spot.

“Alright, we’re next, The Ball,” Fabian says, and hoists himself up onto the windowsill, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the leap.

Riz moves, then, takes a step back, hands outstretched in a pleading way that doesn’t connect with the usual brave, cunning parts of himself, the parts that plan a castle escape and wind up as companion to the prince. “You can’t take me with you. Kalina, she’s— She’s in my head. She knows, Fabian. I can’t risk it.”

Fabian’s mouth tugs and he leans back into the room, grabbing one of Riz’s outstretched hands and tugging him forward, to the open window, to their one chance at escape. “I didn’t leave you behind before, I’m not about to start now.”

And Riz remembers, remembers the way he and Fig had fought tooth and nail during those first moments of the coup, before the King had fallen at his son’s hand. They’d bought Fabian a second of time, a moment to run, but he’d frozen, frozen as the knights grappled Fig and Riz, frozen with his sword hanging in the air, the wound on his face a bleeding mess.

“Go, Fabian,” Riz had screamed, Fig shouting as well.

Fabian’s sword clattered out of his hand, and he allowed himself to be grabbed by the knight who cut out his eye, to be dragged alongside Riz and Fig to that throne room, to where Kalina and the Abernants waited with King Bill Seacaster slowly bleeding out on his own steps.

“I couldn’t leave you, The Ball. I couldn’t lose you.” Fabian had said that night, once the tears were dry and Fig snored beside them.

“You won’t. We’re going to get through this together,” Riz had said and curled up tightly into Fabian’s side.

The memory flashes in Riz’s head, and then it’s gone, and Riz is back in his night dark room, wind from the open window brushing against his cheeks, and Fabian’s warm hand wrapped around his, pleading, in his own way, for him to follow.

Riz holds tight to the dagger Kalina had given him, the dagger he plans to hurl straight into her heart someday, and allows himself to be pulled out of the window.

#bellewrites #this was SO FUN #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fic #fanfic #riz gukgak #fabriz #kalina

49 notes · View notes

adhduck · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3 of But I Can Hope How This Will End is now up, besties, and yes I have chosen violence 😌

AO3

CWs: canon-typical blue veins/disease content; accusation of ‘death wish’ implying suicidal ideation; canon-typical discussions/descriptions of injury, pain, death; several descriptions of blood; slight emetophobia; mentions of past trauma for Zolf; slightly in-depth descriptions of temporary first aid

With Wounds We Can Heal

Wilde almost never goes on missions; even before the curse blocked access to most of his combat skills, he wasn’t built to be an in-field agent. He’s a diplomat at heart, not a fighter, so there’s no need to risk getting him infected when the others can bring information safely back to him.

So when Wilde announces at breakfast one morning he’s going to a meeting, not just in-person but with someone they haven’t verified yet, Zolf is understandably upset.

“Since when do you have a bleeding death wish?” he demands, pushing his plate to the side.

Wilde remains perfectly, infuriatingly calm. “I will admit the risks are higher than usual, but if Mr. Douglas’ information is true, it will be both crucial and time-sensitive. We don’t have a week.”

“Well, isn’t that bloody convenient,” Zolf mutters.

“Does seem like a trap,” Carter agrees. “I mean, he just happens to have exactly what we need, and exactly the right urgency to not go through safety protocols? That’s classic untrustworthy stuff.”

“Which is why I’ve already put in safety measures myself. We will both come alone and unarmed. I made sure the meeting spot was neutral ground, something we couldn’t hide traps or snipers in. Nothing physical will be changing hands, so there won’t be a need for close contact. And just as with his initial report, any information I bring back will be verified before we commit to a next course of action.”

Barnes leans forward, drawing everyone’s attention in that subtle way of his. “What’s your plan if you get into combat? I know you said you’ll both come alone and without weapons, but that doesn’t mean he’ll actually follow that.”

“He knows I’m a talented magic user, and doesn’t know about the shackles, so that should intimidate him into not attacking. And if he does catch my bluff, and my excellent running shoes don’t do the trick—” Wilde shrugs, and Zolf’s hands curl into fists atop the table. “Well, I know I’m none of you, but I can hold my own just fine, I think.”

“Unless you show up and he shoots you right off the bat,” Zolf argues, trying very hard not to picture it. “Or he has a group with, like, invisibility spells or potions or somethin’, and they attack you all at once. Or—bloody hell, Wilde, or anything! There’s no reason to think this man is anything but a danger until he’s gone through quarantine, and even then, he could still be a- a regular ole dick who wants to kill you! You certainly made enough enemies before all this started.”

“Our job,” Wilde says coolly, though Zolf can see just a touch of tension forming in the corner of his jaw, “is to figure out how this blue vein scourge works and stop it. We are saving the world here. There’s no way to do that without a bit of risk.”

“Risk is one thing, but this is just plain stupid,” Zolf snaps back. “If you need the information, fine, whatever, let’s get it. But at least bring one of us with you.”

“That’s not the deal I made with Bo- Mr. Douglas.”

“And? Who says he won’t just break the deal and betray you first chance he gets?”

That, for some reason, brings down Wilde’s façade, but just for a moment—he’s covered it up almost as quickly as Zolf notices. “As I said before, I’ve already done some research on him and the information he presented as evidence of our meeting’s importance. If he’s still himself, not honoring the terms of our agreement will make him back out immediately. And if he’s infected, bringing someone else will almost certainly ensure a fight, and we cannot risk half of our group getting taken out in one go.”

Zolf is going to actually, truly strangle this man. “But we can risk you getting taken out?”

Wilde’s jaw tenses, releases. “We’ve all risked our lives for the cause. This is no different.”

“Yes, it is, because you’re relying on- on bloody trust when the world’s like this—”

The harsh scrape of Wilde’s chair being pushed back cuts Zolf off. Standing over them, Wilde looks every bit the rich, uncaring aristocrat Zolf thought he was all those months ago– save for that same tension in the corner of his jaw. “I’m trusting myself—my research, my insights, my diplomatic abilities.” He sweeps his eyes across the table, lands a few inches above Zolf’s head. “You can trust in me or not, I don’t care. I’m going either way.”

Zolf feels unmoored, suddenly. Like he missed something important, something he’s supposed to say or know. “Wilde—”

“Thank you for breakfast, Zolf,” Wilde says, and it almost hurts more that he sounds sincere. “I’ll be in my office if any of you need me.”

He turns and walks off, and all Zolf can think, a little nonsensically, is I do.

Wilde leaves for his meeting the next morning, unarmored and alone, and Zolf is absolutely fine about it. Sure, he’s making more bread when he just made some yesterday; and sure, he rearranged the cell five times in some shitty wooden prosthetics because he couldn’t decide whether to put Wilde’s favorite blanket in there. And sure, when he tried to decide on a Campbell to read, he ended up with the only one he can’t read—a Gaelic translation of When Passions Collide Wilde once brought him. But it’s not- he’s just- it’s fine. He’s used to the people he cares about being in danger, and no matter how much he disagrees with Wilde, he does trust him.

So instead of going with Wilde, Zolf bakes bread.

The fussing gets him through the first day of Wilde’s three-day journey with only minimal stress-pacing. He cleans the inn on the second, doing an inventory of their supplies as he goes, and realizes they’re drastically lower on mundane medical supplies than they should be. To be fair, they rarely use them, as all the field agents can be healed magically, but it’s no excuse for this lack of upkeep, especially when Wilde could sustain any number of illnesses or injuries on his mission.

He brings it up to Barnes and Carter, and they agree it’s worth Barnes – who has both social skills and a sword – taking a trip to the village. Zolf gets a firm clap on the shoulder as a goodbye, which he returns with an awkward pat since their height difference doesn’t allow for much else. And for Carter, Barnes curls a hand around his neck and leans their foreheads together; not long enough to make Carter stay still, but long enough to loosen tension Zolf hadn’t noticed from his shoulders.

(Something in Zolf aches.)

Barnes is gone for maybe an hour before Carter gets too antsy to be around the inn and takes off for a run. Since there are no other visitors at the moment, that leaves Zolf alone in the inn besides the owner, who’s manning the bar, so he takes the opportunity to sit by the fire and flip through his Gaelic Campbell, trying to guess which scene is which. He’s doing pretty well, too, and then he spots Wilde’s favorite blanket hanging on the chair opposite him – he’d taken it out of the cell again this morning – and starts to feel the weight of the quiet. How it settles heavy on his heart and lungs, makes the space around him simultaneously cavernous and too small to move in. The deafening loneliness of it.

Zolf’s been around the block enough times to know when he’s starting to spiral, so he heads to the kitchen to make lunch. While he’s at it, he figures he can start prepping soup for tomorrow, which will be easiest on Wilde’s anxious stomach and convenient for leftovers. (Bread, too, but he’s already made far too much of that.)

He’s halfway through getting out the ingredients for miso when he hears the backdoor of the inn open, the muffled sound of his name being called, and his heart does a distinct, worryingly earnest oh.

It only takes thirty seconds to make it to the backdoor; just long enough for Zolf to concoct five or six ways to greet Wilde sans-touch, all of them horrible. Just say hello, you bloody idiot, he tells himself as he rounds the last corner, sees Wilde—

Oh.

There’s this feeling Zolf’s gotten a handful of times in his life, always right before disaster strikes—or after, sometimes, but just before he’s realized. When he kicked the tunnel’s support beam and heard a crack. A breath before he hit the water, already littered with debris and bodies from the ship that used to be his home. Waking in an unfamiliar lab with no legs and Sasha’s organs floating above her chest like some sort of horrible biology experiment. It’s a sort of…grounding feeling, but not in a settled way. Like the last moment before the earth crumbles beneath you, when you’re still on solid ground but somehow you know, you know, you’re about to fall.

Zolf sees Wilde, and he’s falling.

There’s blood—not deathly amounts of it, bleeding out wise, but he can’t tell where it’s from because Wilde’s currently facedown on the ground, weakly trying to pull himself onto his elbows. His clothes are torn, his bag of holding nowhere to be seen. A blood-soaked knife – the only weapon Zolf could convince him to bring – is clutched in one hand.

“Wilde,” Zolf says, and he’s underground again, he’s underwater again, he’s falling.

He starts forward, and Wilde flinches backwards with an alarming burst of energy. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Zolf freezes, forces himself to take a breath. Of course. Wilde was out, he could be infected, they can’t touch. But that doesn’t mean Zolf is gonna let him bleed out. “What happened? Are you injured?”

Finally, Wilde manages to pull himself to his elbows, but hesitates there; he’s leaning all his weight to one side, so probably a broken leg.

“Meeting wasn’t a big hit,” Wilde chokes out, head hanging low; his voice sounds wrong, and not just from the obvious pain and exhaustion. It’s gargled, and sort of twisted up, like he’s got something lodged in the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed, Wilde,” Zolf says. He’s not going to panic. Wilde’s going to be fine, because Zolf’s going to make sure he’s fine, because Zolf is absolutely not going to panic. “Can you walk?”

Wilde lifts his head to look Zolf in the eye, which reveals where a lot of the blood is coming from: there’s a deep wound across his cheek, cutting from below his eye to his chin and ripping through his mouth on the way. He spits some blood, heaves a breath that seems to hurt the whole way in and out. “I could until about thirty seconds ago, yes,” he manages. His arms are shaking; Zolf’s hand twitches.

“Put pressure on that cut, if you can,” he says, trying to sound calmly firm but mostly just sounding impatient. Wilde winces when presses a hand to the wound, but keeps it there. “Good. Now, we’re low on medical supplies, but we should at least have stuff to clean it and sew it back up.”

Wilde nods. “Once I’m in the cell.”

In a show of good bedside manner, Zolf doesn’t outwardly roll his eyes. “Bloody hell, Wilde, I can’t doctor you through the bars. It needs to be before.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I won’t be stupid about it. We’ve got gloves, I won’t touch you at all—”

“No,” Wilde growls, that fierceness rising up again. He breathes in and out, hard, and the anger settles, or at least contains itself. “We get me into the cell, and you work me through how to treat it myself. If I pass quarantine, we’ll do further medical procedures, and if not- well, it won’t matter, because you’ll have killed me.”

Zolf can’t help it; he flinches. “Fuck, Wilde, don’t—look, that cut is bad, okay? You might lose some facial functioning if it’s not treated properly. And if your leg’s broken, which I’m pretty sure it is, you could end up with a limp, or not being able to walk at all.” He winces. “Not- not that not being able to walk is wrong or somethin’, it’s just- I mean, we don’t exactly have the resources—”

He trails off, too panicked to keep track of his words, and realizes that Wilde is…smiling? It’s more of a grimace, but Zolf is almost sure that’s an attempt at a smile. What the fuck, Wilde. He doesn’t answer for a second, either, so Zolf adds, “Wilde? You with me?”

Wilde blinks, then schools his expression into something more formal, nodding seriously. “Your concerns are noted.”

“And?”

Wilde does a rather pitiful attempt at a shrug. “That’s it; I’ve noted them.” And then the absolute bastard starts trying to crawl.

“Poseidon’s soggy arse, Wilde, you’re not making it to the cell like that,” Zolf hisses, looking around for an alternate solution. Gods, why did Barnes and Carter have to leave at the worst possible time?

Spitting some more blood, Wilde bites back, “Well, I have to make it somehow, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but not like—oh, wait, I might have an idea. Stay- stay here.”

(Wilde gives him a particularly withering look at that, which, fair.)

After half a second of hesitation at the idea of leaving Wilde alone and bleeding, Zolf runs for the living area. Wilde’s blanket is still there, and Zolf starts to reach for it, then imagines it stained to ruin with blood, burned to ash as a precaution. He grabs the big quilt instead.

“Here,” Zolf says when he returns, a little out of breath as he presents the quilt. “I can just wrap you up and carry you downstairs.”

Wilde, who is currently trying to work himself into a half-sitting position, eyes the blanket like it’s a vial of bubbling green liquid. “I’m over twenty inches taller than you, Zolf.”

“And yet you weigh about as much as my glaive,” Zolf replies. Wilde still seems unsure, so he adds, “It’s either this or waiting for Carter to get back, and then we can risk two people getting you down there instead of one.”

A muscle ticks in Wilde’s jaw. “Fine. But you don’t touch any part of the quilt that has touched me.”

Zolf lays the quilt out for Wilde to push himself onto—a slow, painful process that has Zolf cursing the world for giving weight to Wilde’s stubborn paranoia. Once he’s settled, Zolf wraps the quilt around him much the way he imagines one would do for a child, focusing his tension into the curl of his fists so the rest of him can be gentle.

He recalls the first night he helped carry Wilde to bed, tucking him in (shoulders, waist, thighs) so he couldn’t wiggle free in the night. This isn’t what I meant, you idiot, he thinks, and pulls Wilde’s half-limp form into his arms.

It’s difficult going, mostly because of the aforementioned two dozen extra inches Zolf has to manage, which also makes it slow. A few times, when Zolf stumbles or is forced to shift his grip, Wilde winces and starts to curl against Zolf’s chest; he always catches himself, though, muffling the noise against the quilt instead. Still, Zolf can feel the ghost of Wilde’s labored breathing on his collarbone, his matted hair against the curve of Zolf’s shoulder. He wants to look at Wilde; he can’t bear to.

They make it to the cell and, miraculously, down the steps, at which point Zolf remembers his legs are, in fact, magical. “Ah, shit.”

Wilde stirs a little from where he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. (Zolf aches.) “What- oh. Your legs.”

Zolf tightens his grip (shoulders, hips) and does as a small a shrug as he can manage. “Only a problem inside the cell itself. I’ll just go on my knees.”

He manages to grab the keys hanging by the stairs with two fingers, leans Wilde more onto his chest as he unlocks the door and pulls it open. When he drops slowly to his knees, Wilde’s heels and then calves touch the ground; this makes Wilde chuckle, which then makes him curl up in pain. His forehead brushes Zolf’s shirt before he manages to turn away.

“Almost there,” Zolf says, trying his damnedest to not sound shaky. He shuffles into the cell’s interior, suppressing a grimace at the sensation of his legs going dead, and gently lays Wilde down. Their eyes meet for a moment, then he shuffles back out and locks the door.

“All right, now keep up pressure on your face, and since we can’t elevate your leg yet, just try not to move it, all right? I need to grab supplies, so just- just don’t go anywhere, or somethin’.” Wilde manages a full glare, which is almost relieving. “Okay, yeah, I know, I just meant- just don’t- you know. Yeah.”

Wilde sighs, nods his head. “As long as you bring me some wine, too.”

“I’ll bring alcohol,” Zolf promises, “but it’s for the wound, not for drinking.”

This earns him a heavy, dramatic sigh, and Zolf lets himself a smile a bit before he heads back into the inn proper. A bard to the last, that one.

He’s pulling out the last of the supplies he needs – which is everything they have – when Carter gets back. He comes in the front door at least, thank gods; Zolf doesn’t want to have this discussion standing over a pool of Wilde’s blood. He intercepts Carter as he enters the seating area, ready to explain, but it’s not hard to guess: bundle of supplies in one arm, alcohol and pillow in the other, what’s sure to be a harrowing look on his face. (Not hard for Carter, anyway, who’s already too perceptive for his own good.)

“What happened?”

Zolf huffs out a steadying breath. “Meeting went wrong, Wilde came back early, he’s not doing well. Got ‘im to the cell, but.” He lifts his full arms awkwardly.

“Shit. Did they betray him?”

“Didn’t ask.”

He nods, frowning. “Yeah, fair enough. Should I—actually, you know what, you should have that covered right now, so I’ll take watch. Make sure nobody followed him.”

Zolf hadn’t thought of that, and he kicks himself for not being more careful. “Good plan. Thanks, Carter.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says; brushes his hand over Zolf’s shoulder, a half-pat, then he’s off again.

When Zolf makes it back to Wilde, he’s in almost the exact same position he was left in: wrapped in the blanket, barely conscious, keeping up a low hum of pain. “Hey,” he says gently, and Wilde stirs a little. “Time to patch you up, yeah?”

“Sorry,” Wilde replies, unfolding the blanket and easing himself into a sort of lounging position. There are clear streaks of tears down his face; his jaw is completely clenched.

“Ain’t gotta be,” Zolf says firmly, sliding the supplies through. “Let’s get the blood cleaned up, see what we’re working with.”

Wilde raises an eyebrow but says nothing as he takes the damp cloth and gets to work. A lot of the blood has dried already, coming off in flaky clumps as he wipes away the worst of the mess on his cheek. He’s incredibly delicate around the wound itself, but there’s a sharpness to each careful swipe across his jaw and chin that tells Zolf he’d be harsher if he had the energy to be.

His mouth is what Wilde gets to last, resoaking the rag for the third time to squeeze out the blood, and as he swipes the corner delicately over where his lips have been torn open, Zolf—gods, it’s horrible, it’s unforgivable, he shouldn’t even be acknowledging it. But in that moment, with Wilde hurt and half-conscious and maybe just days away from not even being Wilde anymore, Zolf thinks for the very first time: I think I want to kiss him.

“So?” Wilde says; Zolf startles, which at least gets a fond little exhale. “What’re we working with, oh mighty healer?”

“Um.” Zolf absolutely cannot look at Wilde right now, but he also has to. He compromises by squinting a little, blurring out everything that isn’t the problem at hand. “Yeah, uh, it’s—you’re definitely gonna need stitches, though I don’t know if you can handle that at the moment.”

Wilde glances down at his shaking hands; the movement briefly unbalances him. “You’re probably right—as much as it wounds me to say it.”

It’s unclear whether that was intended as a pun, and Zolf’s not in the mood to find it funny either way, so he just nods. “We’ll just have to temporarily close it, then.”

Thinking of a way to do this takes several minutes, during which Wilde cleans the wound with an alcohol-soaked rag and a worrying lack of complaints. Finally, what Zolf figures out is to take a piece of surgical tape that’s slightly too small and stretch it across the cut so it’ll pull the sides together, trimming the middle part so it doesn’t stick to the wounded skin. He has to guide Wilde through some complex extra wrapping to stop it from peeling off without covering up his eyes, mouth, or nose; it ends up looking rather ugly and pins Wilde’s snarled hair to his head, but it seems to help.

They clean up a couple other scrapes and gashes Wilde didn’t mention earlier – there’s one on the side of his ribcage, shallow but terrifying with its intent – and then get to his leg. With Zolf unable to examine the injury properly, he can’t confirm what the exact issue is, but it’s not grisly, so Zolf walks Wilde through a basic wrapping and tells him to elevate it on the overstuffed pillow he brought. “We’ll need to do more when you’re out, of course,” he adds. “But right now your job is just to sleep.”

It says a lot about Wilde’s current state that his only response to that is curling up on the blood-soiled blanket, perching his leg awkwardly on the pillow, and falling asleep within seconds. Even with the accompanying ease of tension, he looks awful: clothes ripped and dirty, left trouser leg sheared off from the thigh down for the cast, a mummy-like arrangement of surgical tape crisscrossing his overly pale and pink-stained face.

But he’s also alive, and Zolf allows himself a shaky exhale at the knowledge. Puts his face in his hands when that breath threatens to quicken, focuses on the divine warmth in his chest until the panic fades. He looks back at Wilde, his hand resting delicately beside his face, a few locks of hair obscuring his cheek, and there it is again, that feeling—that terrifying, horribly-timed feeling that prickles at the tips of his fingers and in the pit of his stomach, that stretches languidly in his chest like a stray cat who’s decided to stick around. That makes him hope for something he doesn’t even have a name for.

Fuck.

#rqg #rusty quill gaming #zoscar #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #rqg barnes #rqg carter #zoscar fic #rqg fic #rqgaming #zoscar fanfiction #zoscar fanfic #but i can hope how this will end

9 notes · View notes

xiaomomowrites · 4 years ago

Text

zhongli, come down

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

Or, Zhongli and Childe visit Snezhnaya, but there’s a certain adeptus on Zhongli’s mind.

Find it on Ao3!

WARNING: this fic contains mentions of death/minor character death. Read at your own risk!

This part takes place between act V and act VI, which is still in the works~

A/N: I had meant to get this out earlier, but I live in Texas so we’ve been having sporadic power outages for the past three or four days. I had spotty connection and it was freezing in my house so this ended up a little delayed! Plus, act VI really just doesn’t wanna be written :( I want it to be perfect before I post it though, I don’t wanna give y’all mediocre Tartali food lol. But I hope you all enjoy, I’ll be adding a little message at the end if you’re interested, so stay tuned. -u.n.

Zhongli felt another full-body shiver rack through him when the wind whistled by again ruthlessly. Archaic divinity and equity aside, he wanted nothing more but to spit and curse the harsh ice beneath his feet. He had all but lost feeling in his fingers and toes as he stood still in the snow, waiting for Childe to finish grabbing them coffee. The Harbinger had offered the drink out of the kindness of his heart when he had seen how badly Zhongli was shivering, as if they hadn’t come here together before. Zhongli accepted the coffee with enthusiasm, knowing it makes Childe happy when he accepts his gifts.

He found himself at the doorstep of Snezhnaya with Childe, visiting his family for the year as they did each November. Unfortunately, November through February seemed to be the harshest that the winters got. The weather would breach zero degrees and drop past negative ten, the wind would lash furiously past parkas and scarves and mittens and kiss bare skin. And Zhongli, in all his divine beauty, would miss the warm summer nights of Liyue so much that he needed to remind himself of how much he loved his husband just to agree to get on the train with him.

Childe, his darling ginger, simply hummed alongside him and tucked Zhongli’s arm beneath his own to keep him from slipping on the ice. His time in Liyue had not shaken his immunity to the cold at all. His other hand sipped at the warm coffee encapsulated in green cardboard, humming a happy noise from the back of his throat. Even if it was a one time occurrence years ago that ended with minor bruising along the ex-Archon’s back, Childe never let him live the moment down and swore to hold onto him every second they found themselves in his hometown. Zhongli had insisted that he need not pace himself just to walk alongside an old man like him, but he had just pinched his cheeks, kissed his nose, and reminded him that he wasn’t that old.

“You’ve got that sexy rich-middle-aged-man thing going on for you. Except, all your money comes from me, and you’re actually six thousand years old,” Tartaglia had told him then, beaming up at him so brightly it made Zhongli blink.

Soon enough, Zhongli finds himself at his in-law’s residence. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of Childe’s siblings enthusiasm, and waits for Childe to knock. The Harbinger grins at his anticipation and raps his knuckles against the comforting wood. Not even a beat later and the oak swings open, revealing Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They’ve all gotten so big since he last saw them, watching them grow fills the ex-Archon with pride. Zhongli finds himself smiling, squeezing Childe’s hand partially because he’s overwhelmed with joy, and also so he doesn’t slip and fall on his ass too hard when he’s tackled.

Seconds later he finds himself with an armful of red headed siblings. He stumbles, but thankfully Childe’s there to steady him upright. Zhongli squeezes his hand again in thanks.

“Mr. Zhongli!” One of them screeches in his ear, “You’re back! Do you have any presents for us?”

“Mr. Zhongli!” Another one yells, “did you bring me a new book?”

Luckily, Tartaglia’s mother begins barking at her children to reign them back inside and to ‘leave the nice man alone’, so that he has time to readjust and step inside the warmth of their cozy abode. Zhongli smiles, cheeks red and ears redder, and bows as deep as he can.

“Thank you for having me,” the honey-like voice glides against the wooden walls like it belongs there, “it is a pleasure to see you all again.”

“Oh stop,” his mother-in-law gushes, “we’ve seen you every year for years now, honey, drop the formalities!” she waves him off while pulling her own son into a bone crushing hug. “And it’s good to see you too, hun.”

“Hi mom,” Childe responds sheepishly, careful not to squeeze her too hard, lest her back start cracking again. He raises a hand to cradle the back of her head with a fondness reserved only for her. “Where’s dad?”

The question hangs above their heads heavily. A beat of silence passes before she smiles warily and squeezes her son’s cheeks. “He’s at the fireplace, Ajax.”

Childe nods, and eyes the urn sitting high above the crackling fireplace. It’s a beautiful marble urn that Tartaglia paid for in full, with a single ruby gem nestled right beside his father’s name. Even in this state, his father has the largest presence in the house. It is a presence even Zhongli can acknowledge and respect. The thought pushes Zhongli to squeeze his hand and mutter, “Go?”

Tartaglia nods, and swallows hard. Zhongli urges him forward carefully with a gloved hand against the small of his back. His mother watches him go along with sullen and somber eyes. And it is only when Childe is stationed in front of the fire, a single gloved hand covering his mouth, when Zhongli breaks the silence.

“So,” Zhongli begins, turning to his in-law. “The last time we spoke, you promised me a recipe for that delicious meal you served us last year. Were you able to hold up your end of the contract?”

The red-headed woman beams up at him and grabs at his hands. Her hands are so small, so soft and delicate, Zhongli wishes nothing more but to protect this family with his life. And well, that makes two of them.

“Of course, dear,” she says excitedly, “come with me.”

The next hour or so consisted of Zhongli patiently waiting in the kitchen while his mother-in-law bustled around, excitedly explaining the process of dough rolling, frying, meat filling, and then frying again. Zhongli watched with fascination, always one to appreciate cultures from all around the world. He hummed and nodded in confirmation every once in a while when she would turn to him, asking him if he understood, and he smiled.

Tartaglia came padding into the kitchen later, eyes slightly red and puffy, and Zhongli didn’t need to ask if something was wrong to understand what was going on. He knew all too well of his feelings of conflict toward his father in the past. Now that the man himself was gone, Zhongli could only imagine the things Childe was feeling at the moment.

Zhongli never exactly had a family to grieve, anyway. As far as he knew, all the family he had was in this very house alone.

And Xiao, the voice in his head whispered, snapping him out of his reverie. Zhongli blinked the voice away. Now was not the time.

“Talking behind my back, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, coming up behind him to snake his arms around his waist. “That’s not very husband-like of you, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Zhongli played along, “your mother and I were just discussing how unruly you are in the morning, and how you leave wet towels on the floor after you shower. Truly a horrendous habit, Tartaglia.”

The ginger pouts over his shoulder and leans in to bite his cheek, reveling in the way Zhongli squeezes one eye shut in a faux flinch. He quickly kisses the flesh he sunk his teeth into and settles back against his husband.

“Smells good, mom.”

“It always smells good, Ajax,” she tuts, waving her spoon in his face, “what do you think of your mother, huh?”

“Why am I being attacked,” Tartaglia pouts, the end of the sentence lilting upward in a whine. Zhongli clicks his tongue at his behavior and pats his head reassuringly.

“The food will be ready soon,” he reassures, “besides, she was just telling me all about a soup that I must try my hand at next year.”

Tartaglia groans dramatically and leans all his weight against Zhongli in response.

—

Night falls, and Childe finds himself lighting the fireplace in the room they stay in upstairs, letting the flames embrace the room in an auburn glow. His siblings are tucked in and finally quiet after Zhongli’s endless stories of Liyue. His mother had turned in an hour earlier after smothering the two in kisses, and the couple had stayed in the kitchen for a bit sipping wine and conversing in the moonlight. After downing a good amount and feeling a light buzz through their systems, they called it a night and headed upstairs, pinkies linked as always.

But Zhongli was off during the entire conversation. It may have seemed like he was himself to an outsider, but Tartaglia knew better. He knew when his husband was somewhere else. He had seen it too many times before.

So later, when Zhongli finds himself sitting on their windowsill rather melancholic, watching the snow fall, Childe regards him with a careful stare. The ex-Archon eyes the way the snow falls so tenderly yet so purposefully, as if they all held a secret that even an ancient being like him didn’t understand. He shivers at the cold that seeps in through the windows and kisses his fingertips where they meet the glass, and cradles his hand back to his chest slowly.

“Zhongli,” Childe calls. The said man turns from the window, eyes bright and oddly wet. Oh, Childe knows that look. “C’mere,” he beckons. Zhongli obeys and pads over to where his husband is situated on their bed. He crawls onto the mattress next to him and slumps against the headboard, still deep in his thoughts.

The Harbinger looks at him with concern and squirms over to where Zhongli sits. He uses his chest as a pillow, wrapping his arms around a lithe waist and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes deeply the mature scent of silk flowers and feels his heart thump happily in his chest. Childe stays quiet for a moment, and allows himself to focus on the rise and fall of his sturdy chest. Zhongli runs the length of his palm up and down Tartaglia’s side as he ponders.

Childe decides to break the silence before he falls asleep. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Zhongli’s hand comes up to his hair and scratches at his scalp the way he knows Childe likes it.

“Nothing. I am just… thinking.” His voice trails off pensively.

“Hmm. As usual,” he hums, “what about?” Childe prods gently, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance his husband will indulge him.

He’s quiet for a moment. Far too quiet. Childe wonders if he should drop the subject.

“Xiao, actually,” he says suddenly. “I am thinking of Xiao.”

“Xiao,” Childe parrots, confused as to why the legendary adeptus lingers in his beloved’s head at a time like this.

Zhongli sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward, eyebrows furrowing in mild discomfort. “Whenever I am with you, I cannot help but think of him.”

Childe’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Elaborate?” He’s only mildly offended, but he jests nonetheless in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Zhongli chuckles and pushes a thumb between Childe’s frown. “Not like that. You know there’s no one in my heart except you. Besides, he’s like… family to me. I simply care deeply for his well being.”

Childe offers a wry smile. He knows, he’s just teasing. “So what’s wrong?”

“When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

“When I’m with you, I forget all my troubles. My burdens are made lighter simply by your presence. I forget what it felt like to be a part of the Archon War, or what it was like having so much blood on my hands. When I’m with you, I forget all of that. And I am happy.” Zhongli’s tone of voice certainly does not match the topic he speaks of.

Still, Childe gulps. The ex-Archon can be too sappy for his own good, he might have a heart attack.

“Xiao, on the other hand, carries burdens almost heavier than mine,” he speaks as if it were an irrefutable fact. Although Childe wants to protest, he allows him to continue. “Millennia of suffering. Centuries of torture. Generations worth of karma building up on his plate. And he has no one he can turn to to help him forget; no one to help him bear it. Xiao is… alone.” His voice cracks pathetically.

Ah.

The wind turns colder. There’s a chill that goes through the room, and it seeps into Childe’s bones. The Harbinger’s eyes dart to the fireplace, almost accusing it of not doing its job. He’s mildly aware of the new presence outside of the window that reeks of karma and a heavy heart. The tidal waves of grief and remorse spill into the room, and Tartaglia almost wants to wave a hand in front of his face to waft the energy away. Nevertheless, Childe dismisses it knowing that it is harmless, and turns all of his attention on his partner.

“What about that traveler,” Childe offers, “Xiao seems to be fixated on him.”

Zhongli shakes his head. “Young Traveler is far too free spirited for that, and Xiao is the type to only give his heart when he is certain that the source is stable and everlasting.”

Childe nods in understanding. He’s the same way, after all. “He was right to give his heart to you.”

“And yet I betrayed him, did I not?” Zhongli asks.

Childe frowns once again. He wills his voice to not sound too accusing when he asks, “In what way?”

Zhongli waves his free hand in the air, trying his best to convey the emotions that had been eating at him all evening.

“I am here, parading away with my husband while he still watches over Liyue per my request. Even though our contract ended, he still persists. He still fights the demons of the gods I slayed myself. He still is trapped by the shackles of Liyue, cleaning up my mess, worshipping my name, while I lay here wondering if I want coffee or tea when the sun rises.”

His voice wavers. Childe’s heart tugs. The Harbinger shuffles closer and squeezes him tighter.

“I can’t help but feel as though I am responsible for his suffering. I am the one who summoned him, am I not? The fierce Yakshas… oh how truly amazing they were,” Zhongli rambles, fingers tightening their hold on Childe. “And now they are all…”

“Zhongli.” He cuts him off sternly. The man in question shakes out his reverie, glassy amber eyes meeting cerulean. Childe brings a hand to his cheek to caress the sinfully soft skin there. The ginger leans in, pressing his forehead against his temple and pleads.

“Stop,” he whispers, and then his hand finds purchase on his husband’s neck. “Stop.”

“I am not worthy of it any longer, Ajax,” Zhongli’s voice warbles, “all I want is for Young Xiao to rest and finally find peace. I no longer want him to have nightmares, asleep or not. I want to be the one to be rid of his burdens. I want him to be happy, Ajax, I want—“

“No,” Childe interrupts again, “there is nothing you can do, my love. And I’m so sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But his suffering has nothing to do with you anymore. Xiao looks up to you—“

“But he shouldn’t.”

“Xiao looks up to you,” he persists, “for a reason. He adores you, okay? No matter what you do. No matter what you say. No matter how you look. Even if you’re skin and bone and wrinkly with gray hair, Xiao would still admire you. Your strength has withstood the test of time, and so has his loyalty to you.” He brushes a stray hair from Zhongli’s face and continues.

“You were the one that saved him. Have you ever thought of that, old man? You saved him and named him. I mean, if someone were to pull me out of the abyss and give me a hug for god’s sake, I probably would have turned out different,” Zhongli’s eyes soften even more, but Childe refuses to make this about him. He thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest in mock petulance. “Xiao respects you because you deserve it. It is as simple as that.”

Zhongli is quiet, pondering, so Tartaglia takes that as an invitation to continue.

“You have served your time bearing your burdens. You have saved souls and you have killed your own share of demons, and you fought to get where you are now. You deserve a break, Zhongli. And you don’t need to feel guilty that someone out there hasn’t been liberated of their own issues. You of all people understand Xiao’s strength. Probably more than Xiao himself, right? So have faith in him, Xiansheng. And know that you don’t have to carry the burden of freedom on your own. Burdens are meant to be shared, and I’m your husband, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget,” Zhongli chuckles as he jests. His voice still warbles, but Tartaglia will take what he can get. Childe pinches his cheek playfully.

“Sooo,” Childe trails off, running a finger down the length of Zhongli’s pale neck. “With that being said, I think you should enjoy the time you have now, with me, instead of reminiscing about the past.”

Zhongli nods.

“After all, I won’t be here forever-”

“Do not.” Zhongli interrupts, looking away. His chest stops fluctuating, and it takes a moment for Childe to realize he was holding his breath. And just like that, his defensive wall is back up again. Tartaglia looks at him with wide eyes. Obviously he had struck a chord he hadn’t meant to. The grip Zhongli had around the back of his neck tightened like he meant to keep him close to his chest forever; greedy, selfish hands continue to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Oh,” Tartaglia breathes, “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“I know,” Zhongli all but whimpers, “but my brain doesn’t exactly register those kinds of things as jokes.”

Tartaglia nods, unsure of what else to say. So, he ditches the thought of saying anything, and lifts a deft finger to tilt Zhongli’s face back to him. He abandons his words and leans in instead. He captures his God’s lips with his own and presses close, desperate to show him that he’s there. Tartaglia’s alive and well and very much in love, and he’s there. He’s not going anywhere; he wouldn’t even dare to think about going anywhere. Their marriage was more than a contract, it was a covenant. The vows that were sworn on that night kept them glued together, and only ‘til death do they part.

Well, until Ajax’s death, at least.

The thought makes Tartaglia’s head pound, and he shakes the thoughts away with determination.

“I’m here,” he reassures anyway when they part, kiss-bruised lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “Let me prove it to you.”

Zhongli nods wordlessly, cupping Childe’s face with one hand and dragging the Harbinger onto his lap with the other. They press against each other, nice and close, so that one would not be able to decipher where one began and the other ended.

“I love you,” Tartaglia confesses into the dark, breathless. Zhongli drags him impossibly closer.

Xiao takes that as his cue to leave, the wind chill harsh and no longer gentle as he vanishes into thin air.

A/N: Okayy I’m gonna get a little serious in the end notes hehe so if you wanna skip out on that, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful week :) find me on twitter @/xiaoscribbles and AO3 @/unironicallynapping

I wanted to write this because I’ve been on my own journey to recovery lately. My family suffered many losses in 2020 and since then, I had been struggling to get back on path and find a healthy mindset. But there’s a passage that I read in a book I’ve been reading that covers the guilt we sometimes feel when we recover, knowing and know that there’s someone out there who is suffering, too. The guilt can become unbearable, but it doesn’t need to be felt. You can take your feelings of guilt and turn it into something good. You can enjoy the life of recovery you’re living while still being there for those who need it. You can show someone you love them while also reveling in the happiness that you deserve. You don’t need to feel like you don’t deserve it just because you recovered, and someone else hasn’t. Everyone is on their own path, so rejoice in the fact that you’ve made it to your own happiness!

I hope this fic/message spoke to some of you. It’s a really important message to me, and I just wanted to share :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #zhongli #childe #xiao #tartaglia #character study #domestic bliss #childe x zhongli #rex lapis #tartali #chili #zhongchi

47 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 5 years ago

Text

Kisaeng (BTS)

[Masterlist]

Beta: @bluewhale52, @janetfraiserdeservedbetter Genre: historical, drama, adventure, comedy, feel good, slice of life (if you lived in the 1654), spy’s (espionage). Rating: Teen and up Summary: Mulan disguised as a soldier, went to war to spare her father and save china. The bangtan boys disguised as concubines, went to an all womens home and saved a small village. Words: 12154 Announcement: This is part of a reverse trope project with castle bangtan. I am happy to have made this and for everyone who helped support along the way.

Winters End 1654 Hanseong,

Today my mentor Bang Si-Hyuk taught me the history of the Qing invasion and the passing over of the Ming to Qing era. We discussed the Qing Calendar and the offerings of princesses made to King Dorgon. Bang-seodang (teacher) told me I was a child for not understanding that there was a place for everyone. Men would fight in the wars and women would stay home and bear children. He is telling me this as news has spread that we are going to war and it is only a matter of time before they call for us. But when I think of my family and my sister, I want to protect them. I don’t want to fight in the war even if it is for my country. Leaving will only put my family at risk.

Kim Namjoon.

Namjoon placed down his brush and wiped his palm of ink that sometimes smudged. With a deep sigh, Namjoon got ready collecting his satchel, and headed to the town. Namjoon arrived at the small well-frequented building. The building held all the information of the residents in town and was also a place for people to send letters. That’s where he spent most of his days reading and writing correspondence for the villagers.

He had received the earliest message about the impending war. There was only so much he could do to protect his family and he feared the coming announcement of deployment. Every available man was to go, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves. The women would have to tend the farm and care for the younglings which would only work if they stuck together.

The problem lay with the men who would be allowed to stay behind due to business, like the butchers and the barmen and anyone who would swindle or pay their way out of deployment. These men were shady and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit and hurt the women left behind unprotected.

Namjoon was in the middle of writing another love letter for one of the many present flower boys (beautiful men) within the town. Today’s letter was to someone Namjoon had written to on many occasions and yet never had the pleasure of meeting in person.

My dearest Kim Seokjin,

There is no one who can compare to your beauty. A man such as yourself would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose. That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.

“How does that sound, Miss Ahn?” Namjoon looked up, his expression deadpanned. He never expected his tutor to teach him the importance of reading, writing, history, poetry and Confucius’ philosophy, only to waste it on love letters from pining women addressed to the same two young men every week.

Part of him felt sorry for the two men, but another part of him felt jealous that these two men had the entire pick of women from the town, and he was stuck with his lessons. The constant “Scholars life is one without women” Bang-seodang (teacher) preached whenever he noticed Namjoon’s eyes wander from his books out the window at the young ladies giggling.

Namjoon finished with the letters and handed them over to Hoseok, the delivery man whom he only ever saw in passing; the man was so energetic and gangly. He had an odd tone of voice but it always sounded chipper.

Namjoon had only the briefest of moments with the young man. “Here for the mail,” Hoseok called, and the letters were placed on the counter along with two coins for his hard work and he took the money and letters and headed on his way.

Hoseok took a stack of perfume scented letters from his bag and rolled his eyes. Seokjin was a popular young man, only to be outdone in recent years by Taehyung.

The things Hoseok had to go through to deliver the mail was honestly scary in itself. He found it best never to stand around too long; best to simply hand over the mail and leave.

He had a few regular customers he enjoyed spending a short time conversing with. Today he was delivering mail to the Noble Kim household. He walked in, nodding to the servants, and promptly followed the steward.

“It seems the young master has mail once more,” The steward called and Hoseok was beckoned inside. He bowed low and shuffled quickly and quietly across the room where the Kim family were having breakfast.

Hoseok knelt down and began taking out multiple letters addressed to the second son. “Father I don’t want to go to war,” Seokjin protested adamantly, slamming his rice bowl down onto the table.

“It is the way things are, how they’ve always been.”

“Why don’t they send a few girls, why do they get to sit around at home? It isn’t fair”

Hoseok had heard about the possibility of war from the postal office. Any messages to and from the city passed through himself which left him privy to important and secret information. He did feel a tad nervous for his sister and mother. He wanted to stay home to protect them, but only a few men with jobs important to the community got to stay behind, men who provided essential services like the postman. The problem was that only one could stay behind and unfortunately, it would not be Hoseok to represent the post but the old man who ran the office.

Hoseok wished he could just dress as a woman and stay behind but that was a crazy idea; men who did that were either shunned as cowards or killed. He handed over the stack of letters and moved on his way, bowing again before backing out of the room, leaving Seokjin with his hands full of letters of adoration and sickly sweet perfume.

Letters again; they each began talking about the war wishing he came back safe as if he had already left and had resigned to his fate. Those words dwelled in Seokjin’s head more and more and made him feel ill and bitter. He tried not to crease his forehead. He didn't look good when he was angry.

If only he could be a girl and laze around without a care. He would play and frolic in the gardens and he would have an easy life.

Seokjin read each letter slowly and sighed. Of course, he was handsome, and these women had their way with words. Every day, the letters became more profound and he could feel his ego rising.

Seokjin sighed once more, a growing habit for the day as he got dressed. He looked fit for a Nobleman, his hair tied in a top knot manggeon (mesh headband that stops baby hairs sticking out) preventing any hair from falling in his face. He then wore his gat (hat) with fine jade bead gatkeun (beads that hang from their hat).

He thought he looked quite smart and with his small pouch of coins around his neck, wandered from the estate. His father had ordered swords, readying for the war to come and had sent Seokjin to pick them up from the blacksmith.

Seokjin held his hands together behind his back and casually strolled through the streets, trying to keep his composure. He nodded at a group of giggling girls but his smile fell soon after he passed them. They were so lucky, they weren’t taking up arms to fight for their families. No, the women had it easy.

Amidst his fuming, he accidentally made eye contact with an old drunk man who looked him up and down and smiled crassly. Seokjin shivered in disgust. Part of him wondered if he could pass as a woman; he had a pretty enough face and perfectly plump lips.

He didn’t have much time to think as he arrived at the blacksmiths. He walked into the room and saw a shirtless young man, smithing. Beside him, an older man, presumably the man’s father, was shoveling coal into the fire.

“Jungkook, we have a customer,” the older of the two smiled at Seokjin before resuming his work.

Jungkook dropped his things and grabbed a towel, drying his chest of sweat. He headed to the wooden table by the entrance, draping his Hanbok over his chest and thin waist to appear more decent in front of the handsome nobleman.

“Good morning, Sir, what can I do for you today?” He smiled a particularly wholesome little smile, teeth a little big but endearing.

“I am here to pick up the order of swords my father ordered?” The nobleman smiled.

“Your name sir?” Jungkook sat at the desk and opened the ledger. Though Jungkook wasn’t a nobleman with extensive education, he still knew how to read and write basic words associated with smithing.

“Kim.”

“Kim, Kim, Kim...gardening tools.... no, aha the swords! Yes, sir, that will be 100 mun a piece sir.”

“I should have enough here,” he smiled, placing down a pouch that made a heavy ‘clink’ sound as it hit the wood.

Jungkook emptied the pouch and counted the coins with expertise, then handed back the change and the silk floral pouch it came in. He fetched the swords and carried them over; they were expertly made by him and his father.

“Thank you,” Jungkook smiled and began explaining in detail the care and features they added to the handcrafted metal weapon. “Three foot long single-edged, weighted and balanced”

Guiding the customer out, Jungkook handed over the two swords and held the door open for the handsome young man to crab walk from the smith’s shop. He looked completely out of place holding such dangerous weapons, and he pitied the young man. He was the son of a nobleman and would definitely be expected to set an example.

Jungkook had on many occasions sparred with his father and was able to hold his own in a sword or unarmed fight. He wondered if his father would be okay alone. He would be exempted due to his job and physical condition, but he was getting older, would he be able to work on his own without getting hurt or sick?

Scooping up the bag of tools, Jungkook told his father to take a break and that he would deliver the tools and bring back some fresh fruit from the Kim farm. He poured his father a glass of tea then left.

As Jungkook traveled through the crowd to reach the fields across town, he passed the small bar. Inside, he could hear the raucous of unsavory street merchants discussing how they were going to bribe their way out of deployment. They had plans to pay the royal officials and take over the town when all the men had left. It seemed that all they wanted to do was cause havoc to all the families and businesses, and blackmail them into paying a safety fee.

He pressed on, trying not to think about his father being exploited or worse, given his current state. While musing, he arrived at the small farmhouse on the edge of town and was greeted by a handsome young man.

“Hello, Can you hold this?” The young man smiled, handing over a large rope. Placing down the bag of tools, Jungkook gladly held the rope tightly in his palms.

Taehyung raced to the other end of the rope and secured it in both hands, he looked up with a grin before shouting, “Okay pull!”

The young man who had arrived at the farm was confused but he pulled the rope nonetheless. Taehyung pulled back and the two were suddenly in a heated tug of war.

Taehyung giggled and the young man seemed to give it his all. It was a battle of strength and the farmer’s son wasn’t particularly muscular as he very much neglected most of his farming duties for foolish games so it was only fair that the young delivery man bested him.

“Good game, you are pretty strong for someone so young,” Taehyung patted the Younger man's head before scooping up the rope.

“Isn’t this a child’s game?” Jungkook eyed the rope draped over the older man’s shoulders.

“Sometimes it helps pass the time to act a little childish, and it made you smile so you thought it was fun too right?”

“I enjoyed it, thank you for the game, I am here to deliver tools for your family.” He said now looking more serious.

“Ah yes you must be the blacksmith, you look like a blacksmith. All work, no fun.” Taehyung tapped the younger man’s nose before turning with a flourish, humming as he went, beckoning the smith to follow.

“I have to work to take care of my father,” He pouted, Taehyung enjoyed the boy's childish nature, the two could definitely get up to some mischief.

“My name is Taehyung,” He smiled, gesturing to the large box in the shed and removing a small pouch of coins from his satchel.

“Jungkook,” He sighed, placing the tools down and gratefully accepting the money.

“What are you going to spend it on, sweets?”

“Uh, it's for my father's medicine,” Jungkook laughed, making Taehyung feel a little sorry for the kid, he was so young and yet working so hard already.

Taehyung with his unwavering curiosity decided to tail the boy once they parted, not trying to be discreet, just walking a few paces behind and whenever the boy turned, Taehyung gave him a smile and wave. Lost in thought for a moment, Taehyung didn’t take notice of the boy in front of him until they were colliding, fumbling with the empty porcelain soju bottles.

As Jimin fell, he pulled each bottle to his chest and held them; though the impact was quite jarring, the bottles were safe. Jimin lived with his grandparents and they ran a business selling rice wine which was popular but didn’t make them a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to replace any new bottles.

It was his job to deliver the full bottles to the bar and bring back the empty ones. If any bottles were broken, the bar would pay for replacements. That was the rule, but if they were broken during delivery, the money came out of his family’s pocket.

“I am sorry,” the man who had run into him was polite and gentle, helping Jimin to his feet and dusting him off, “Let me help you carry some of those, I promise I will look where I am going.”

“Thank you for the offer, you can carry this half” He offloaded a few from his arms.

“I am Taehyung by the way, who are you?”

“Oh, I am Jimin,” he smiled, thankful for the help. The two journeyed through the vendors until they arrived at Jimin’s family business, “Gran, I have a friend who helped me,” Jimin called.

“Oh let me see him! Oh he is quite the looker, Jimin, if only you were a girl, what is the use of you being so pretty if you can’t lure in handsome young men,” she joked playfully, this was their running joke that Jimin was so pretty.

“I can lure in handsome men just fine, see if I was a girl I would have too many suitors. I wouldn’t be able to pick,” Jimin laughed.

“If you were a girl then you wouldn’t have to go to war.” Jimin’s heart sank knowing his grandmother really didn’t want to see him leave.

“That would be one way to get out of the army,” Taehyung laughed and Jimin’s grandmother handed him a plate of rice cakes. The two boys wolfed them down happily, bonding over their love of sweets and games.

Taehyung left and Jimin was getting ready to close up shop; he lifted a large porcelain vase of Soju and carried it over to the butchers. The butchers were not the nicest of people; they were affiliated with the outlaws, the ones Jimin heard talking about taking over the city when the men left for war.

“Yah!” Yoongi called, seeing the graceful form of Jimin from the top floor of the liquor store. “Jiminie.”

“Hey Yoongi, I am here to trade.” Jimin smiled up at him and he nodded, coming down.

“Alright, dad’s got your meat pack ready, it's all freshly cut.” Yoongi handed over the basket.

“Have you been preparing for deployment?” Jimin asked him, it seemed the secret war was not so secret as it was all everyone was talking about. The boy always meant well, this innocent question asked by anyone else would not have ended so well.

“I am not going, Jimin, my dad has bribed the officials trying to get as many men as possible to stay behind so that they can take over the town. there isn’t much resistance when the only people left are the elderly, the women, and the children.”

“You should think about staying too, maybe I can convince my father not to threaten your family and their shop.”

“I can’t; it’s punishable by death if you try to avoid your duty.” Jimin sighed, “Gran thinks I should just dress up as a lady and stay behind and protect my family.”

“You could definitely get by as a lady, you would just have to work on a few things,” Yoongi hummed looking him up and down. He eyed Jimin up and down wondering if Jimin could really do it, lie to the officials, and say he was a girl.

He would have to stay in the Kisaeng house; he couldn’t stay with his grandparents, because if he was found out they would all be killed. Perhaps Yoongi was thinking too far into this, but he really did like Jimin. He was the only person who knew who he was and yet still wanted to be his friend.

“Maybe that might be an option, I don’t know how my grandparents will do on their own being so old; the shop barely makes enough money for food as it is.”

“Look, if you can’t stay, I could try my best but it’s alcohol, and you know these men love to drink,” Yoongi said honestly, “they will probably go through all the supplies in a week and everyone else will struggle.”

Yoongi sighed, watching the boy leave looking rather forlorn; perhaps he shouldn’t have told him.

Spring 1654 Hanseong,

Today, I, Kim Namjoon, have done something stupid. I dressed as a girl but it seems like I wasn’t the only one. Five other idiotic bamboo shoots have no clue what they are doing. Stepping foot into the kisaeng house was taboo, only women and eunuchs were allowed entrance. But the officials have been bought out by the corrupt street merchants, the kind who plan to take whatever women and land they see fit. We are all honestly praying for a miracle, that no one will find out we are men, some are better at hiding it than others. We will see.

Kim Namjoon

Namjoon was rudely awoken by the call of war. He guessed today was the day. He dressed slowly, in no hurry to give his life away. Departing his room with little thoughts of breakfast, Namjoon heard the soft sniffles from his sister who was mournfully packing. There was not enough room for all the beautiful dresses so she had left many behind.

He wanted nothing more than to stay, if only to protect his sister in their own home and let her keep her luxuries of dresses and books.

Namjoon knew women were not allowed to read or write but he made time every day teaching his younger sister or letting her sit in on lessons when father was away working in the palace.

Namjoon hugged his sister, trying to comfort her as well as to calm his nerves. “Do you need me to walk you home, I can carry your bag?” He said trying so hard to prolong the moment.

“No brother it is okay,” she paused. “You are going to come back, you're smarter than any of the men out there. You’ll return, I know it.”

She scooped up her bag and left the house, waving from the front gate. Namjoon was sure he wouldn’t get away with his plan. But he packed a few of his sister’s bigger dresses, hoping they would cover him entirely. He grabbed a subtle pink chima (skirt) and sky blue jeogori (jacket), looking at the two items, they honestly looked complicated but he knew logically which items went where.

Namjoon did his best stripping from his masculine clothes and getting to work. He wrapped his chest and followed the order he believed for the under skirts and silks. Once fitted, he was exhausted; wrestling fabric wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to be late or leave room for doubt, so he settled for a simple braid.

He followed behind his younger sister, by a few yards, trying to mimic her walk and mannerisms, hoping that he could pass as a girl. He ducked past some officials keeping his head low until he saw the beautiful residence. A collection of young girls were already lining up with their belongings.

As fathers and brothers were going to war, some children were left without parents. This meant the children were rehomed into other families. The young women old enough were left in the kisaeng house (home for courtesan), where girls were taught how to be wives before they were sent to the matchmakers.

Hoseok had secretly been stealing his sister's clothes, trying to perfect her style of makeup. The two had such similar feminine features, the only difference was Hoseok’s athletic body. It wasn’t hard for him to slowly get the hang of her makeup and hair routines. Honestly, Hoseok thought he had a real knack for braiding hair.

He tried to round out his lean build with some makeshift breasts, but he couldn’t get them the same size; that and they had a tendency to slip. He had his chest wrap on but it was too loose around his chest and the fact he didn’t have boobs made the whole thing shift and the rice pouches he had slipped right out.

He deemed himself ready, heading out towards the kisaeng house with his coin purse on his hip. Lining up, he couldn’t help but blanch at the poor excuse of a woman standing in front of him.

Her hair was not at all perfect like his, but he seemed similarly dressed. Hoseok looked down at his own green jeogori and red chima, for a brief moment he wondered what the young girl was going through. Her family must be torn apart by the war; without a second thought, he tapped the tall woman on the shoulder, only to be greeted by Namjoon, who he recognized from their brief encounters at the postal office.

Almost revealing their identity, Hoseok covered his mouth. As the officials passed by, the two disguised men bowed politely behind their fans. The stuffing in Hoseok’s chest wrap slipped to his waist making his chest obviously lopsided. Namjoon’s face contorted in an attempt to keep his composure.

Hoseok’s laugh came out uncharacteristically deep but he remembered why he was laughing, he was trying to appear feminine. Turning his body away, he faced Namjoon, “Let me fix your hair, sweetie, you must have been upset having to see your brother leave.”

“Ah thank you,” Namjoon said with a sweet soft voice. The two turned away from the officials so that Hoseok could fix his breast dilemma and also tame Namjoon’s hair before the two of them were found out as fakes. After doing a beautiful updo where Hoseok added one of his spare combs for decoration, he turned Namjoon to face him in order to add a little makeup from his floral coin purse.

Seokjin felt betrayed by his family; his father lied about the three of them going to war. It seemed as a Nobleman he was exempt, and as his older brother was the firstborn he was also exempt in order to carry on the family name.

Seokjin however was the spare son. This meant he was expendable. He was begrudgingly on his way to the front gate of town ready to hand over his ID and his life to some stupid war when he heard the uncharacteristic masculine giggles from the line of young women waiting to spend their days pouring tea and strolling through town while he trekked the countryside and fought for his life and theirs.

He followed the sound, eyes catching on two rather tall figures, and it didn’t take long to recognize Hoseok’s face. He couldn’t forget the face of his mailman and he had to admit it was a bit of a feat that he and the rather tall looking young man were both trying to pass as young women. Seokjin looked down at the sword on his waist and contemplated seriously about joining the two.

He caught sight of a beautiful silk chima in a brilliant dusty rose color, he leaned over the counter, “Excuse me, ma’am, I would like to buy this beautiful set for my sister before I leave.” He exchanged some of his coins making sure he had enough for what he had planned. He threw in a veil as well, not to cover his beautiful face but to offer to the taller man he saw with Hoseok, whose jawline was just a little too masculine.

Seokjin got dressed behind the postal office; he stepped out once more making sure to cut in line in front of Hoseok. Seokjin offered the tall man ahead of him the pretty lace veil which matched his outfit. “For your jawline, it is too prominent you must appear more dainty,” Seokjin muttered with a swish of his skirt. He was thankful he hadn’t fallen on his face with how much fabric encircled him.

The tall man took the offered fabric wrapping it around his face only to have Seokjin swat his hands away, “You are hopeless.”

“Ah Namjoon, this is Seokjin,” Hoseok gestured between the two.

The boys spent a few moments brainstorming new names and identities, in order to really get into character.

It didn’t take long for the three to reach the front of the line; they had taken to preening each other, trying to help one another appear more feminine. Seokjin almost anticipated Namsoon’s refusal but when he wasn’t pushed out, it was Seokjin’s turn. Stepping inside, he was met by a woman dressed in a brilliant dark grey chima and orange Jeogori. Her eyes had a sharp glint. The smirk on her face was prominent as she brushed her small fingers across her chin. “What brings you to my home, young lady?”

Jungkook was camping a few paces into the tree line behind the blacksmiths. He hoped he could look after his father and not get caught for staying home. He saw the officials handing out exemption passes and he knew he couldn’t leave. Not when the enemy had such large numbers behind them.

Jungkook went hunting, he didn’t want to bother his father by being an extra burden on their small supply of food. Catching something significant for dinner, Jungkook did his best to prepare the meat and then cooked it over a small fire.

The shadows crawled across the ground as the sun bowed behind the hills. Jungkook wondered if life could be this easy without wars and evil, if there could be harmony and peace one day.

Jungkook heard a commotion in town and frowned, going to the edge of the forest to listen. “The King has heard people have paid their way out of deployment, anyone caught will be sentenced to death. Come forward now and you will be spared and sent off with your fellow men.” The man read from the scroll, looking about the village. “We will now commence inspecting every household”

A few men stepped forward, walking to the front gate and signing their deployment. A few retreated and were cut down by the bite of the swords from the royal guards. There was running coming from his left and a small figure spoke quickly; “Run, the guards are coming”

Jungkook followed after the thin figure and the two stopped at the nearest window and climbed in. They were caught by a young woman dressed regally in orange, grey, and gold, “Good evening, can I help you?”

“Uh… we um?” Jungkook was embarrassed.

“I will happily help two young ladies such as yourself, but, you will have to dress quickly if you wish to make dinner”

Ladies? Dress for dinner? Jungkook was confused, the sound of the royal guard growing louder as they searched for any men hiding from their duties. He looked up at the woman catching her eye, she smirked knowingly.

“You wouldn’t want the guards catching you underdressed now would you?” He realized then that she was offering them refuge.

The two nodded, taking the clothes thrown in their direction, rushing to dress. The woman helped tie their jeogori before leading them out to the Sigdang (dining hall). She led them to a table filled with some other strange looking ladies, some of which Jungkook could have sworn were in disguise as well. Was that Taehyung?

Taehyung smiled seeing the two new additions to their group. He recognized the blacksmith anywhere and smiled trying to get the young man’s attention. Giggling when he did just that, Taehyung hadn’t spoken with Jungkook for long the day they met but he knew those wide curious eyes. They looked just as confused when Taehyung handed him a rope that afternoon by his family's farmhouse.

The woman was in on it, when Jimin and Taehyung came up with the idea, they didn’t expect Jimin’s Gran to not only hear their plan but also support it. She went out of her way to speak with the woman known as Hojang (head of house).

The bargain was to take in the two gentlemen who would protect the women and to provide free wine for the building next door. Kisaeng was a place where women could stay and learn all the things a woman should know before marriage.

Next door, however, was the tea house, at least during the day. At night it was filled with men, mostly guards and officials who would drink and dabble with opioids in the company of fine young women.

These women were not forced to be there, but those who chose to be would leave with their coin purses filled. Some of the money was used to fund the house, and the rest was pocket money they could spend on new silks and anything else they desired.

Taehyung learned quite a lot about this during the days leading up to the deployment. The Hojang held such a big presence; she moved with grace and did business with the best.

Jimin’s Gran had painstakingly obtained the silk and hand made clothes tailored to her grandson’s and Taehyung’s bodies. She also taught them how to sit, stand, walk and dress like a lady. The two were doing rather well but the hojang scrutinized every little detail that they should work on in her home.

Taehyung could see she expected nothing less than perfection from her girls and she wouldn’t make an exception for them. She would make proper ladies out of them if it took everything she had, and perhaps a little more.

Gran had always taught Jimin things that she loved herself. Jimin remembered dancing with his gran every afternoon, when he was young, the two would hold beautiful fans and perform. Jimin would do anything to make his gran happy.

The Hojang picked up on this early, pleased with his form but it didn’t last long when he opened his mouth. Though his voice was sweet, the words and drawl were masculine and crass.

Jimin was surprised when Taehyung and himself were joined by more young men in dresses. He didn’t think anyone else would have the guts or the stupidity to join the house. He tried to fight the smirk that stretched across his face when he saw the three young men sitting across the table.

The Hojang had laid out the rules that they had to obey while living in her house: they were not to touch any of the women, they were to share a room by themselves, they were to only refer to themselves as their female alter egos, and they were to act like graceful ladies at all times.

Jimin greeted the newcomers. “My name is Park Jimin” He smiled sweetly. He was glad his name was widely used by both girls and boys or he would have to remember something else.

“Namsoon,” the tallest smiled, holding out a large hand to shake but immediately retracted it with a small shy smile. ‘Definitely a boy.’ Jimin thought.

“Seojin,” the broad shoulders were giving Jimin mixed thoughts. However, no matter if they were a female or male, Jimin knew this person was beautiful.

“Hye-Seong,” a cute voice said, surprising Jimin. The voice was a little nasally but it belonged to a man none-the-less. The group turned to the two newcomers dressed in beautiful silks and ribbons, their hair braided down their backs.

“Yoonji” A familiar deep drawl spoke, making Jimin drop his chopsticks looking over at him shocked. Jimin looked Yoongi over, seeing that the young man actually made a rather beautiful woman, he almost felt himself blush.

“My name is uh… Jeong-suk” Jimin found it almost laughable.‘Jeongsuk’s build was almost unbearably muscular in the outfit, it wasn’t fitted to him at all. He looked like he was an overloaded dumpling the way the fabric worked over-time to conceal him.

“Hi, My name is Taeyeon, it is nice to meet everyone” Jimin laughed at how deep Taehyung’s voice sounded before he lifted the pitch.

Yoongi couldn’t believe his father talked him into staying only to have it backfire. Yoongi thought finally he would be able to get away from his father and the immoral activities he orchestrated.

Now he was pretending to be a woman, this was probably the biggest disrespect he could have ever felt. He almost wanted to walk out onto the streets and hand himself in. He would take death over the humiliation.

“Alright ladies everyone at your table will be sleeping in your quarters, the token on your table is the room color you will be staying in,” Hojang clapped her hands. Yoongi looked at the token on the table and Jimin lifted it for all the occupants to see the Yellow wooden piece “I would like you all to bathe and get to bed as quickly as you can, as we have lessons tomorrow. And I will not have any giggling or you will be eating bean soup for the whole week.”

The girls obeyed the Hojang’s instruction and started filling out. Yoongi watched in amusement at the kid he had met in the forest leaning away practically in fear of the women passing by.

“I would like the yellow table to please stay behind.” The Hojang announced.

Yoongi sighed, wondering what this woman had to say to him and his new friends. Once the room was empty, the Hojang addressed them.

“I am happy to house you all, but you will follow my rules and I will teach you what you need to know. I will have you getting men to empty their pockets and you won’t have to do anything more than throwing them a coy smile.” Humming, the Hojang looked at them all over, eyes settling on Yoongi’s making him feel vulnerable.

“I can see who has good intentions, and I can see who thinks that women have it easy. I will show you what it means to be a woman, the struggles you will face.” She gestured the group to stand. Yoongi struggled, trying to get up as he was stepping on his skirt. He really tried to correct himself, but it was too late the fabric under his foot tore. The Hojang sent a disappointed and disapproving glare.

“Miss Namsoon, your sister is here, I have warned her to not refer to you as her brother nor Namjoon. I have told her if anyone finds out you are men, you will be killed. Your room is secluded across the courtyard and has its own private hot spring. So please bathe there and nowhere else. If I find out you are perving on my girls, I will turn you into eunuchs.”

Yoongi swallowed audibly. He felt respect for this woman. But he was also scared of her.

Summer 1654 Hanseong,

The past three moon cycles have been particularly painful. I have seen so much and started to really appreciate what women have to go through, if only from the first lesson that left us all so exhausted. The list of expectations of a woman before she could even be considered for marriage is frightful. The Hojang confiscated my books and ceased my ability to speak freely. My mentor explained Confucius’ teachings on how important it is to speak your mind and be true to yourself. But the first lesson from Hojang was not the same. I am proud to say I have grown, I now truly see how important words are.

Kim Namjoon

The day began with cleaning their sleeping quarters and heading to the sigdang, where they were to cook their own meals as was expected of wives (unless of course, they were wives of noblemen who had servants). Namjoon looked at the ingredients rather unsurely, he had no idea what one was supposed to do with them.

He was a smart guy, he knew what everything was and how it ended up together, but the process in between wasn’t something he was familiar with. He saw Jimin take the rice and begin washing it without instruction. Jimin explained his family worked with rice for their business, making rice wine and that his gran was particularly fond of rice cakes.

“Why do you wash the rice?” Seo-jin curiously asked, Namjoon turned and watched the younger man work confidently with the ingredients.

“To make it fluffy,” he smiled, “you have to wash the rice to get the frothy stuff off the top of the water.”

The Hojang had invited a wholesome old woman for the cooking class; her small plump figure held such a firecracker personality. She spoke so lively and made the whole lesson amusing.

“Now chop them into half-moons,” the woman smiled. “Be careful of your fingers, curl your hand into almost a fist and hold the knife against the back of your knuckles to prevent slipping and losing a finger.” Namjoon was trying to follow the instruction, but he heard an exasperated sigh from Yoonji.

“Stop, let me.” It was impressive how Yoonji’s hands moved so quickly and precisely while cutting the vegetables.

Namjoon knew at this moment cooking wasn’t for him but judging by the wonder in Seojin’s eyes, it resonated more with him. Taking his notebook out, Namjoon thought it best to write down the instructions the woman was giving on cooking so that he might be able to learn and practice.

The Hojang had other plans, taking the book from his hands and leaning down. “Ladies shouldn’t burden themselves with reading and writing,” her words were bitter through the clenched teeth of a forced smile. She clearly didn’t believe what she was saying as she herself could read and write.

Namjoon realized that this was a privilege only for the king, the nobleman, the officials, and scholars. Namjoon realized that he had yet to meet a female scholar.

The house had been given some free time from the grueling lessons. Honestly, if Hoseok had to pour tea again and have the Hojang smack his elbows with the thin bamboo stick whenever they stuck out too far, he would rip his hair out. On top of that, it was frustrating not to be able to speak out and stand up for himself without getting another sharp tap across his hand.

The boys had all sat in the room that night discussing how the Hojang was abusing them for her own pleasure. “It has to be to get back at us for being male and suppressing her.”

The chance to be free was something important to Hoseok. He was a mailman for a reason, and that reason was to move when and where he wanted to, never be tied down and confined to one place.

Being held up in the kisaeng house was making Hoseok restless, so during this free time, there was nothing that could stop him from racing out from the cage he was supposed to call home. Taking to the streets, it was market day and vendors and merchants were in the town square selling anything and everything he could think of and more. With his coin purse on his hip, he began walking with a practiced giggle.

He almost resented the persona he was to live with, enforced by the hojang. Perhaps it was just because he was thinking of the woman, but Hoseok could swear he felt her gaze. Looking over his shoulder there she was standing on the front porch, parasol in hand, staring directly at him, as if to mentally remind him of the damned curfew.

Could that woman relax at all? Could she just learn to chill and have some fun for once? Hoseok huffed; some fun would probably make her less cranky, but he couldn’t see her acting nicer, that in itself was a scary thought.

Hoseok went past his home and saw both his sister and mother outside playing with the children they took in after he had left. He smiled; they looked happy and healthy and that was reassuring. ‘Perhaps I was worried for nothing.’

As he was heading back, he started wondering if he should have gone to war and defended his country. He shook his head; it was too late now, he had to accept his fate no matter how grueling it got.

Scuffing his feet on the way back to the town square, a sly smile creeping across his face at the thought of the scolding he would receive for doing something unladylike, like walking ungracefully.

“I have to get back, the Hojang will be expecting me.” A small feminine voice spoke, so timid and laced with fear. Hoseok looked down the small lane to see some of the young ladies from the kisaeng house cornered by a much larger group of royal guards.

Hoseok paused, looking on wondering if they were trying what he thought they would do. He didn’t have to wait long to confirm that yes, in fact, they were. He stepped closer. “Ladies, we all have to head home now. We can’t keep the Hojang waiting,” Hoseok said a little cutely.

“We are just talking, come join us,” one of the guards said. “The more the merrier.”

Hoseok was guided over, he would have smacked away the guard’s hand on his lower back but it would reveal his identity.

He tried to squirm from the older man’s grasp. He smelt like alcohol. Amongst the women was Seojin, standing there looking concerned as he was eyed by the plethora of strong men.

Seokjin looked at Hye-Seong, he didn’t know why but he was tense. On a regular day, he was always unbothered, he was taught that as a nobleman there should be nothing he feared, not even death.

Why did he feel so vulnerable? This was so unlike him. It was like he couldn’t say or do anything as one of the men pointed out how ‘cute’ he was while sliding his hand down Seokjin’s back.

He felt a sense of dread, he honestly had never felt so scared in his life. Scared of what these men might do to him, what they might do when they found out. He was spared from any horrors he could think of when he heard a familiar voice, one that he usually cowered under.

There she was, the hojang. She slowly closed her parasol and fastened it shut with a ribbon, before looking at the girls. “Head back home and you can start the dinner preparations early,” she smiled reassuringly.

Hye-Seong gestured for the girls to go and Seokjin took a moment trying to muster the courage to leave. “Seojin, head back.” A soft hand landed on his broad shoulder, the Hojang was smaller than him and Seokjin had no idea how strong she was but she looked at him and he knew nothing could hurt him.

Walking away he looked back and felt a swell of admiration for the woman who didn’t bow in front of the palace officials. They stepped forward and he felt scared once more, she did in fact look smaller in front of them despite never faltering.

Seokjin and Hoseok waited behind the Hojang, the two floundering on whether to go for help or to stand in her place. Suddenly, three figures barged past Seokjin with determination. Jimin, Yoonji, and Jeong-suk were all shoulders and fists stepping in front of the Hojang.

“Ya, you have a problem?” Jimin’s voice was sweet and yet laced heavy with warning. It took the men by surprise as Jimin moved like he was dancing but ended up driving one of the men’s faces into the ground. Still, with his sweet expression, he said with a sense of finality, “We will be going home now.”

It took a long time for Jungkook to get used to having people around his age constantly in his presence. He never had any big brother figures, it was just him and his father and they mostly worked in the shop. Of course, Jungkook’s father taught him many important life lessons, and he was thankful for them.

There was just something that grew in Jungkook like he had been locked up in his mind when he was working in the blacksmiths. It took a long time but eventually, Jungkook felt his shell break, and all his thoughts and feelings could be let out and expressed.

Nurtured by the open and honest environment in the kisaeng, he found himself no longer hiding away from the women, but instead connecting with them. Jungkook always took laundry duty for his sleeping quarter; he loved the smell of the clean fabrics and he also enjoyed the time with the women by the stream.

One would start singing to pass the time and the others would join in, they each made songs and they would sing it a few times until it felt right. Of course, Jungkook had his favorites and he would sing them as he strolled around the enclosed gardens.

Just one day, if I can be with you, Just one day, if I can hold your hands, Just one day, if I can be with you Just one day, just one day If only we can be together

For some, it was easy to adjust to the new way of life, for Taehyung it was not, with an abundance of energy he tried his best to expel it all. At first, he found a ball, and he and Jimin went outside to kick it around but were scolded by the Hojang who said “Women shouldn’t be seen doing anything masculine,” and apparently that included running around, playing sports, or just anything Taehyung deemed fun.

It wasn’t for lack of trying; Taehyung would find a new activity and a new area in the house or in the inner courtyard. He would barely set up or have a few moments of fun before he heard the voice that haunted him even in his dreams.

“Taeyeon, follow me,” Taehyung sighed, dropping the small ball he had been kicking between him and some of the young girls, perhaps he was a bit of a bad influence. He walked slowly after the Hojang. Mentally cursing her and stepping quickly in an effort to step on the back of her skirt so she would trip but she was too quick.

She led him into a small room he hadn’t seen before and he got nervous; was he being punished for disobeying the rules? He eyed the bamboo cane in her hand while she moved about the room and made up two desks. She placed a sweet flower arrangement on one and a stiff parchment pinned to a board on the other.

“Sit and watch, and then I will let you have a go. I promise you will have fun.” She explained how to grind the dyes and how to mix them perfectly before she began painting the flowers within the vase.

Taehyung was fascinated by the way the picture came to life, although there was a moment of confusion and doubt before it all came together. She spoke slowly, describing her technique. “You will develop your own technique that will feel right to you. Feel free to come here often and practice, let out your energy.”

“I can?” He seemed excited.

“A lady can do dainty activities, ones that are seen as beautiful and feminine.” She said softly.

“Why do you have so many rules?” He blurted out and winced, ready for a scolding but only felt a soft pat on his head.

“They aren’t my rules, no man will marry these ladies if they don’t meet these basic standards. Ask any man who they want to marry; they want someone who cooks and cleans, who doesn’t speak too much and is beautiful and feminine.” She sighed, “I would teach them how to read and write, but they are not expected to. I would teach them to fight and protect themselves but then they will not be seen as desirable young flowers, they would have too many thorns.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, and following the Hojang’s directions, began setting up his paints and parchment. He was allowed to paint whatever he wished. When he was done he frowned. “It doesn’t look nice.”

“What do you mean? Look at the depth you created here, you have such a good style, Taeyeon. Keep drawing until you grow comfortable and like what you have painted, but I will keep this one. Your first painting is precious.” She began to leave, “Don’t stay up too long, you have more lessons tomorrow.”

“Miss Hojang, I have a question?” Taehyung's voice was soft and curious as he turned away from the canvas. “If you could do anything that you ever wanted, what would it be?”

“Goodnight Taehyung,” she gave a small chuckle, smiling for the first time since Taehyung met her, and his opinion changed at that moment. She wasn’t as evil as he first thought.

It wasn’t long until Taehyung had told the whole group about the hojang; how she was actually a really considerate woman, who had nothing but good intentions for the girls she was protecting.

The boys talked about how the expectations were so unfair, that the girls should learn how to protect themselves and they should be educated. “I wish I could just teach them how to defend themselves,” Jimin hummed. “I learned from a young age how to fight, I could definitely show them some things.”

“I could teach them how to read and write, you could teach them how to fight,” The idea sparked inside Namsoon, they headed off to the hojang to present the idea, who agreed to their proposal.

Jimin led the class through the stretches thanking the girls for their cooperation, he had been teaching for two months and the girls were getting rather good. They really loved these new classes, they were so unlike what they were used to. It was hard for Jimin to teach his class in a dress but he made it work. Jimin had never felt prouder when he heard of stories of the ladies in the tea house defending themselves and others against rowdy patrons.

He also helped Hye-Seong with his dance practice, it seemed he really liked the class. Hyeseong mentioned to Jimin after their first dance class how he had never felt freer in his life, and after a few more, Hyeseong was moving his body freely to the music.

Jimin loved the idea that his friends enjoyed things that could be considered feminine, just like the things he liked. Maybe he wasn’t odd for liking dancing if his friends enjoyed art and simple house chores and cooking.

Yoongi had snuck out to speak with his father not because he particularly cared for the man, but he just knew his father would be angry if he didn’t report to him. He was climbing over the fence when he heard a cough behind him. “Yoonji where are you going?” Jeongsuk asked in a tiny voice.

“I have to see my father,” he spoke softly, trying not to wake anyone else up, “You should go back to bed.”

“I will come with you,” Jeongsuk smiled, climbing over the fence with Yoongi who sighed. The two walked along the dirt road until they arrived at the butchers.

“Wait here, Jeongsuk,” Yoongi spoke seriously, and quietly gestured to the spot just outside the lights of the street lamps. “I will be back.”

“My name is Jungkook,” He grabbed the sleeve of Yoongi’s jeogori before he pulled it off and helped him change into his masculine clothes and tied his hair up. “I know we aren’t supposed to tell each other our names but I need to say it, I need to feel like me for a little bit.”

“Yoongi,” he patted the younger boy's head, “Stay here Jungkook.”

He walked inside, nervous to see his father, and to hear what he would say. Meeting his father’s gaze across the room of laughing drunk men, his father stood up looking as harsh as always. “Where did you run off to?”

“The officials came, they were killing everyone, I just went off for a bit until they lost me.”

“Where have you been, you look awfully clean.” A slur drew Yoongi’s eyes from his father. Yoongi knew he would have to answer truthfully or he would be found out and beaten.

“I was hiding at the Kisaeng house,” he sighed.

“At the kisaeng house?” his father said. “What, are you pretending to be a girl?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, ears a little pink, and perhaps he should have just taken the beating.

“No son of mine is dressing as a woman!” His father shooed Yoongi, his hand pointing to the door. “Get out, I didn’t raise you to become a whore.”

“I only used it as a place to hide, I am back now.” Yoongi sighed nonchalantly, trying to get his father to calm down.

“If you don’t get out, I will kick your ass,” his father said, taking long strides until he was towering over his son. “I didn’t raise you for twenty-six years only to have you acting like some delicate flower. You always looked too much like your mother.” He raised his hand to hit Yoongi. Without flinching or shying away Yoongi waited for impact but it never came. A hand had clasped around his father's wrist.

“Hey, let’s just go back,” Jungkook said, letting go of the butcher’s hand then towing a struggling Yoongi behind him.

“Let me go,” Yoongi hissed as they were walking back to the house. “He was right, I am a disgrace, why am I prancing around in dresses when I am a man?”

“NO!” Jungkook grabbed the older man, thankful that he was stronger. “If there is one thing I have learned about my stay here, it is that women aren’t weak, they aren’t to be looked down on.”

“Good for you, I don’t need this disrespect.”

“Why do you care so much about what your father and those bad men think, you know they are scum. You aren’t, Yoongi. You left and you are a good person,” Jungkook protested.

“Did you not see what was on the tables?” Jungkook said. “Land deeds, they are strong-arming women and children from their homes, taking ownership of land that isn’t theirs. We must use what we have to our advantage.”

“What do we have, dancing and the ability to pour drinks for men.”

“I don’t know but if we don’t do something, your father and those men will only make things worse, you have nowhere else to go.”

How Jungkook got Yoongi to come back with him he would never know but he was thankful he did. As the two climbed over the wall to the kisaeng house, they were unaware of a pair of eyes watching them.

Summers End 1654 Hanseong,

Things have gotten worse. The officials have suspected someone in the kisaeng house is a man, it won’t be long before they send someone to investigate. We are trying to figure out how we can hide them and their extra appendages, but the situation doesn’t seem very hopeful. If things keep going the way they are, the town will become slaves to the merchants and no woman or child will be safe from their wrath.

Yeong-hui (Hojang of the Kisaeng house)

There was an abrupt knock at the door, startling the Hojang. She sat up and began dressing, as a woman should never be seen underdressed, then she opened the door. The steward bowed low before relaying a message. “There are officials at the front gate, asking to enter the premise.”

Yeong-hui didn’t waste any time. Tying her hair as she walked, looking regal as always, she stopped at the front gate and signaled for the doors to be opened.

“Miss Yeong-hui, we have heard multiple rumors that the Kisaeng house is harboring a fugitive from war—” one of the officials started.

“I will stop you right there,” Yeong-hui interrupted. “You have the right to search the property only when my girls have woken and dressed appropriately. It is perverse for you to even insinuate that I would allow you to enter while they are sleeping. You shall be allowed entry in when the sunlight reaches the Jing (gong) in the town center.”

Yeong-hui gestured behind them to the Jing and the man went to argue.

“No exceptions. Cooperate, or when you find there is no fugitive within these walls that you have barged into for nothing more than a story,” she eyed their Baji (lower part of a man’s hanbok), “well then I guess I could use a few more eunuch’s to help with chores now, don’t I?”

The men squirmed and the man leading the search party faltered.

“I would also like to see the confirmation letter from the king as I want proof you are allowed to step foot into my home,” Yeong-Hui added.

“Fine, we will get permission from the King. We will return at the specified time and nothing will stop us searching the premise and the ‘girls’ within the walls,” the leader of the search squad huffed before steering his men away from the front gate.

Yeong-hui headed inside, waking the young women early. She raced to the secluded sleeping quarters where the boys were staying. She saw them all sleeping haphazardly and smiled fondly.

She saw Taehyung wrapped around Namjoon, he was upside down on the older boy's futon hugging his calves, his face pressed between the scholar's ankles. Jungkook had his torso draped over Hoseok’s legs and his foot dangerously close to Seokjin’s face. Jimin’s head was on the eldest’s wide shoulders and even though Yoongi was the first away his pale thin arm stretched across the futon and was sweetly held in Jimin’s grasp.

They had all grown so much and had learned important life lessons that she was happy to be a part of their growth.

Without a moment longer, she woke the boys with a clap and a call. “Ladies, it is time to get up, the officials are sending a search party to find any man hidden within the kisaeng house.” She said, and what happened next was like a flash of lightning before the deep rumble of thunder. The boys jolted out of their beds, then a barrage of young girls burst through the doors, clutching bags of makeup, hair accessories, and armsful of fabric.

“You have to get up and get ready, the officials are coming!” Some of the ladies shouted, helping the men get dressed without batting an eyelash, ignoring the fact that they were all practically shirtless. Yeong-hui smiled softly, it seemed she had underestimated the ladies, how they had found out about the boys, and even took care of them.

It was pleasant to see them all coming together. If only they could change the way men and women interacted, if only they could show women were more intelligent and stronger than they were perceived to be.

The Kisaeng house started breakfast early. Yeong-hui explained that she would have the girls present themselves to the officials one by one and each of the boys would be placed randomly in between the girls. It would draw too much attention if the odd-looking ladies were to meet the officials one after another.

The officials came and started their interrogation. After the first group of girls was individually interviewed and scrutinized, Seokjin headed inside. If anyone could pass, it would be him. The Hojang smiled, sitting on a magnificent seat at the head of the table while the officials were off to the side, on less elaborate cushions.

“This is the beautiful Seojin, she has become the best cook in the house,” Yeong-hui smiled, and the officials blushed when Seojin blew them a kiss after taking a seat gracefully.

“Alright, next” the official stuttered after receiving a wink. Seokjin had passed.

After the next group of girls, Jimin walked into the room. As his long elegant legs strode in, there was a presence around him that made all the officials tense. He moved with allure and as he sat in perfect posture, the sleeve of his Jeogori slipped revealing a dainty shoulder and sensual clavicle.

The officials were sweating profusely, shifting in their seats. “This is Jimin, she is a dancer would you like to see?” The Hojang gestured for Jimin to begin, and Jimin started moving slowly with a delicate wave of the fan.

The officials were quick to decide and Jimin raced off smiling coyly. Another group passed and this time Hoseok came in, acting cute and charming the men. Yoongi’s turn then came, and his small frame and soft features helped him pass. When it came to Taehyung, he gave the officials his powerful gaze and devilishly said, “I can show you that I am a woman, if you want,” while playing with the hem of his skirt.

Yeong-hui was almost in stitches; something about the way these boys shamelessly flirted for their freedom had her choking back her laughter. Namjoon stepped in wearing a soft veil. “Miss Namsoon is quite a shy girl but she loves when some of the visitors to the tea house read to her.”

“Men such as yourselves would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.” Namjoon giggled slightly making the men nervous with such forward words “That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.”

Last was Jungkook who sang a song he had made to the group of men and talked about making friends whilst doing the laundry. Jungkook was allowed to leave and the men finished their search of the property before leaving, albeit a little flustered and a little sheepish for their antics earlier that morning.

The house was lively for the young women who had sensed the weight of the interviews and therefore felt the celebratory relief. Yeong-hui allowed the boys to run around and play freely; they and a few young women began kicking a ball around the inner courtyard.

As the group dwindled, Yoongi was left sitting on the porch, his head tilted back, eyes shut enjoying the breeze. Yeong-hui grabbed a bottle of the Park family's best soju and two ceramic glasses, then moved across the hand-polished wooden floor before sitting down, legs dangling over the edge beside Yoongi.

“You care for a drink?” Yeong-hui smiled softly waving the bottle in her hand. Yoongi nodded, moving to take the bottle as he was younger, but she began pouring for him. She poured elegantly and effortlessly, making no mistake as if she was demonstrating in front of the class.

Yoongi thanked her politely and the two began drinking in silence. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to spill all his troubles, expressing his struggles from the beginning.

“I can’t touch him, I will have to leave the town, my father won’t allow me to stay. He has a pile of land deeds so even if I found a place somewhere, he likely owns it.” Yoongi downed the next glass. “I could show him how good women are, that they aren’t delicate flowers, that they can plot and scheme and m I could probably steal the land deeds right from under his nose.”

“Well, why don’t we do just that?” Yeong-hui smiled, and the two began plotting an elaborate coup to retrieve the land deeds. Yeong-hui walked slowly, leading Yoongi back to his quarters but when they got close, they could hear Seokjin’s voice shouting.

“I knew it! I knew those words sounded familiar! You have been reading my letters?” Seokjin said “...have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.”

Hoseok was cackling and pointed out, “he didn’t read them, he is the one who wrote them!”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked, his voice almost dying down.

“The women in town would pay me to write love letters addressed to you,” Namjoon said cautiously, and the group laughed.

Autumn Chuseok (Harvest festival) 1654 Hanseong,

It took a lot of planning and preparation but everyone was willing and ready to do their job. Tonight was the Chuseok festival; the tea house was open and the ladies of the kisaeng walked the streets dressed elaborately, inviting men inside to drink at a fee.

Usually, each young woman would bring in men who looked like they were of noble status. They were advised to stay clear of any man wearing the bandit emblem. Tonight, however, it was encouraged. The unsavory men were led inside and shown all the respects of a nobleman if not more. The women were working undercover and they weren’t going to let the operation down.

Within the tea house were Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook. While working, Yoongi was explaining who was who, and soon they had their targets. The boys split up, getting to work trying to impress the merchants, and having them each pay more and more money for some alcohol.

Yoongi as Yoonji was making quick work of his targets, whispering filthy things in their ears and having them drink until they were inebriated. Then he took their coin pouches and moved on to the next unsuspecting victim, who was also a member of his father’s gang.

Across town, Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, accompanied by a handful of the kisaeng, headed to Yoongi’s father's home. Jimin was quick to move up the side of the building, slipping upstairs while the men were drinking boisterously downstairs. Jimin was light-footed and found the small box hidden just as Yoongi had described.

He took the box, it was heavy with deeds, gold, and more, and as he moved to escape, he bumped his foot on the side of the table.

“Did you hear that?”

Jimin froze.

“Good evening would you men be interested in going to the kisaeng tea house? We have many delicious festival snacks for you to try?” Taehyung said playfully and the men blushed to see a group of women poking their heads into the butcher’s home.

The men looked flustered and eventually refused to say they had to stay and take care of the place. Jimin was able to escape and the group graciously began heading back to the kisaeng house.

They were almost back safe within the kisaeng walls when they heard a shout.

“Hey!” The group froze, Jimin hiding with the box in the middle of the group. “You dropped this” The man smiled, blushing profusely having to talk to a stunning Taehyung.

Taehyung took his handkerchief and smiled, “thank you.” The group continued on their way, hurrying inside the house where they met Namjoon, working hard over a desk.

In the days leading to the coup, Namjoon and Yeong-hui had taken a census of families within the village. They found that the gang had been procuring land for many years before the war.

Namjoon, with the newly acquired land deeds from Yoongi’s father’s house, was now dividing land and profits, ensuring each family would have a home and land to live on.

The next morning, the members of the gang were regretful of their night and were in foul moods. Yoongi’s father marched to the kisaeng house and began pounding his fists on the doors, demanding to enter the premises.

Yeong-hui signaled the doors to be opened, and the man entered, alone. He stepped forward, looking at the group of women dressed in baji and holding weapons. The man spotted Yoongi standing on the far end of the inner courtyard.

Yeong-hui walked through the group of women until she stood in front of Yoongi who was dressed as a woman and was not at all ashamed. “You stole from me, you little rat?” Yoongi nodded. His father’s face was bright red, “I will kill you!”

The women moved with a loud cry and the man faltered, releasing a mocking laugh. “You think you can hurt me?”

“Yes, I believe we can,” Jimin smiled, standing in front of the women, just in case the man was an unexpected fighter. He was a street merchant after all and they weren’t known for fighting fair. However, it seemed the women were holding their own, as they started knocking the man to the ground.

Spring 1655 Hanseong,

With the power restored, the people are thriving, the women are stronger than ever. The land is now divided, ensuring there are better harvests and more trade among the vendors. I have been working to teach the girls in the kisaeng how to read and write, training them to be scholars. Seokjin and I are planning to present the young women in front of the king, as well-educated scholars.

Seokjin has been around a lot. Having perfected his cooking skills, he happily teaches the women his favorite dishes. Something about being free and independent and able to make his food makes the man happy. He likes how free he feels, admitting he originally thought it was the women who were free to do whatever they wanted but he was wrong.

Yoongi has found he has a real talent for playing some of the instruments, and he and Jungkook spend their days making songs. Hoseok and Jimin enjoy dancing and are some of the best dancers, and Jimin also spends his time teaching the young ladies how to defend themselves. Jungkook has made light-weight weapons for the women who find themselves in the ways of fighting.

Taehyung teaches Art and keeps things in the kisaeng house light with sports and games. It wasn’t long before a new age began, the age of female growth.

Let’s just say when the fathers, brothers, and husbands return home from war they will be in for quite a shock, as every family now owns the land and the land deeds are under the women’s names. The women are all stronger, smarter, and happier.

Every day the Hojang fights to liberate her girls more and more, we help however we can even if we have to dress up as women to do it. As for the Hojang, Miss Yeong-hui, whose name means eternal play, she has changed her name to Jester. She is now working on a project to use some of the young women trained to fight for future espionage.

Kim Namjoon

If you enjoyed this story don’t forget to Like | Share so others can enjoy it too. Please see my [Masterlist] for more of my work.

71 notes · View notes