#He's managed his expectations into a hole with life in the middle of nowhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saphirered · 2 years

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Tempest Chapter 1: Tithes (Eris x reader)

So this has been whirling around my brain for a while now. Finally I've succumbed to writing it out. If people actually like this and would like to see more I could turn it into a short story. You can find more chapters here. Hope you enjoy! 😘

Summary: After failure of his brothers Eris is sent to collect a tithe from what he expects to be some village rat. Instead he meets an enigma and there’s much more to you than meets the eye. You play the same game he plays and he may yet have use for you in his plots against his father. Will he be able to turn you into a pawn or will you be his undoing?

The supposed heir of the Autumn Court crown follows along the trail deep in thought. He’d say he can’t believe his father sent him to deal with some petty commoner not paying their tithe but he too saw how those who went before him returned unsuccessful. Still he argued a waste of time. His father disagreed. It only takes a single stone to start a riot. The Autumn Court rules with an iron fist and so any sign of rebellion must be snuffed out before it can spark. Only the Vanserras are to light the sparks at their leisure. They control what is and isn’t. They wield the flames. Those very flames did not serve his brother well on this venture. The poor sod returned vomiting brambles. It’s a wonder he even made it to where a guard patrol found him. Though, Eris cares little. He supposes it would have gotten rid of another rival but alas, the sod survived, even though he’d be thinking twice about whatever made him deserving of this fate.

The path continues, through the village; some middle-of-nowhere farmers village he cared little about and didn’t know existed until now. He earns some looks as he strides in on horseback. The ragtag villagers offer their respects, as is customary. They seem to know their place so why does a single nuisance not? His own gaze falls to the cottage at the top of the hill, the one with the forest behind it. The description his watch captain gave him seems correct. That’s where he’ll go, following the hills to that single cottage overlooking this shit-hole of a village. The path isn’t strenuous but his horse grows restless. Whinnying and bucking but Eris manages to calm the creature, though the tension remains. Were he anyone else he might admit to the shivers that run down his spine or that slight sense of paranoia something follows him, watches him from the shadows. Nothing is there. There’s few shadows and the planes are clear. Yet there’s a looming energy from the forest up ahead. He’s the son of Autumn. He’s not supposed to feel out of his element among woods.

The cottage in sight looks no different than any place in the village. It’s old, run down and could probably do with a patch job for the cracks in the walls. The windows are clear, bordered with wine red curtains from the inside. The front porch has seen better days. Scratches and scuffs cover it and the wood is dried. A few racks hang from the beams overhead, carrying an assortment of herbs in various stages of drying, neatly sorted. None of this should make Eris feel on guard but he is. Something feels entirely out of place, tells him to turn back round. He’d be a fool if he did. He succeeds where his siblings fail. He’s the first son. He is here with a purpose and he will fulfil it at any cost. And so he moves to the porch, ties the reins of his horse to the post out front. It seems to have seen use for that very purpose plenty of times yet there’s no horses, no stables or pens. Now he comes to realise, there’s no sounds of life. No birds chirp or caw. No critters scurry through the hills and leaves. Nothing. Just… deafening silence.

The door is something else. Plain wood, stained dark but what stands out among the staining is two lines crossing each other. While trying to determine what it might be or why it might be there, Eris almost- almost misses the corpse of a small animal at the doorstep, blood staining the porch. He shakes off the questions. Petty village squabbles are beneath him. He’s here to complete a task and he will do so. Mindful not to let the blood stain his shoes he knocks on the door. Despite it all he has not forgotten his manners. No reply comes so he knocks again, or at least he tries because before his knuckles hit the wood the door creaks open to reveal a homey interior. Full view of the interior is hidden behind the visage of another creature.

“If you came here to see if the nonsense those villagers spout is true, you can kindly stumble back down the hill. I’m not in mood for another show.” You speak. Eris takes you in. He’s rather unimpressed. Old worn clothes leave much to be desired compared to the court fashions. You’re at least a hundred years off, but even then your attire might not fit Autumn at all. Despite at least being clean, especially compared to the villagers he passed by; there seems to be some pride in your appearance but he sees it. Your appearance is an act, a mask similar to the one he finds himself wearing, though the lines have blurred as time has passed. It takes one to know one. Where does truth end, and where do the lies begin? Despite it all, despite your own mask, you are certainly appealing to the eye. It explains the stories of the poor collectors having fallen under some sort of spell, your spell. He is not so easily tempted by a pretty face.

“Not here for a show, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint. I’m here to collect the debt you owe, with interest.” The fae offers a cocky smile but you remain wholly unimpressed. You cross your arms, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, and take in the male in front of you. Copper hair, sharp handsome features but his eyes; while a beautiful russet, hold no light in them. They are devoid of life. You know that look. You share it too. You dare say he’s keen on the eyes. You dare tie him to the one that came before him, also handsome but you’ll admit to preferring this one in front of you. A brother, most likely. The other one took to flaunting titles. You’ll blame the boredom for allowing yourself to indulge in whatever comes next as opposed to assuring his immediate departure. You’ll play with him for now.

“Then I’ll tell you what I told your brother; I do not owe anything to anyone. My debts are squared. Sorry to disappoint. You can run back to your castle now.” You mock with a pout. He’s got to admit, you have some gal speaking to him the way you do, especially seeing as you’ve made the connection. Eris knows his brother well enough and feels safe to assume he did not fail to mention his heritage. You openly mock a Vanserra. Others have paid heavily for far less.

“Did you tell him before or after you made him cough up brambles til he bled?” Even in that very moment he knew it was gamble. Eris would be accusing you of whatever happened to his brother. Would you be guilty he’d not look forward to suffering a similar fate. It’s a worthy risk. He knows nothing of you, but your existence. He knows you live here in this cottage and given what he found, are not very well liked. He’s gotten a read off of you but how much of that is correct. Your mask is impeccable and discerning between act and truth is near impossible. It’s both frustrating and intriguing.

“Would it make a difference?” You tilt your head, the shadow of an amused smile pulling at your lips. “And just to set the record straight, he vomited those pesky little thorns long after he bled too.” His hunch proved right, and the previously implacable sense of danger, points to you. You hold something he can’t quite begin to comprehend and every step towards understanding feels like it would be one closer to damnation. Eris knows when to choose survival above all but won’t deny he can see a multitude of purposes for just the presence you exert. It’d make it all the sweeter if he proved successful in his task. It doesn’t mean he can’t have fun. He plays with fire. He’s impervious to getting burned by the flames.

“I offered him tea. He lost his manners, said some… unsavoury things. I told him if he dared repeat them he’d be choking on his words. I keep my promises.” The ease you speak with is frightening. No guilt, no remorse. The harm done to another, it sounds like second nature; a necessary feat. So easily you pick violence and it does nothing to you. The lines have blurred for you too. Where does the mask end, and where do you begin? It’s a frightening look into a mirror. Eris sees it now, the more the speaks with you, the more he learns. He straightens his pose.

“Not only did you attack a son of your high lord, you deny him his tithe; lawfully owed. These are serious crimes but I am merciful. I am willing to compromise, negotiate, for mutually assured benefits.” Eris offers. He can see many uses for someone like you and it should not be difficult to trick you into more than you might have bargained for. He trusts his skill. Of course it would be interesting how you respond, how he weaves his web until he gets whatever he needs. A challenge but one he’ll succeed. It’s a game he knows, an easy one. You’ll be no different if he plays these cards right.

“I cannot owe a tithe to a male not my high lord. You talk about mutual benefits but all you seek is your own. I punished an insolent child before, I’m not afraid to do it again.” You counter. Despite your tone, you’re not truly frustrated. You remain indifferent. You force an emotion you do not feel, you switch masks for your own benefit. You play the game. Perhaps this would be more difficult than Eris initially thought.

“You live in Autumn lands, feed from Autumn soil and benefit from the protection of the high lord of Autumn.” A hint of frustration does rise within him. He’s not used to this much back talking. He’s used to political games, dealing with the snakes in court, playing his family, his people anyone he has to to succeed at his task. He’s used to this behaviour when dealing with his brothers but he quells them easily, punishes them for their stupidity and shows them exactly why their father favours him. You hold no regard for authority. You do not acknowledge or respect those who deserve it, yet you demand it without question for yourself. Who do you think you are? What right do you have to behave like you do?

“I hold up in a cottage abandoned by Autumn people. I feed the earth to flourish when its lord couldn’t give a rat’s ass and get demonised for it by his people. I’ve had enough of your insolence.” You reach into your pocket.

“And I of yours.” Eris sees you reach. Knowing what you did to his brother, and sensing that rising pressure pushing him to fight or fly he acts. His hand reaches for yours in an attempt to stop you but you take a singular step backwards and so his hand collides with an invisible wall of force. He slams against it, fist balled. He tries to send a scorching flame through, if only as a warning signal not to push further. He’s wasted enough time but that too does not pan out the way he hoped, the way he planned.

You grasp the tendril of flame passing through the barrier. It burns your skin though you hardly flinch as you hold on. You twist it in your hold and Eris feels a tug, a tug and then a scorching pain. His flames are not supposed to hurt him and yet now he feels the burn of the flames. You look him straight in the eye; fire within them rivalling the burn he feels, for a brief second that reflects what inkling of power you might hold at your fingertips. He’d be a fool to deny what he sees, what he feels. It doesn’t matter if you are more powerful than him or not. The amount of power is irrelevant.

“Mark my words, little lord. Wish harm upon me and I shall return it upon you threefold.” You hiss, words a promise. You let go of the flame, it falters, no longer fed by your own energy, whatever source it might have. It snuffs out and Eris cradles his burned palm. Thrusting yours forward he is knocked backwards, off the porch and onto the dry grass. You step out of the comforts and safety of your cottage and reach into that pocket of yours to pull out a silver marble. You toss it into the sky, thunder crackles and the air changes. The clouds turn grey, and first drops of rain begin to fall as you stand over him.

He might have thought twice. He might have felt an inkling of fear at not only being caught off guard like he was, but for the display of exactly what you have access to, even if a faint glimpse, even if external in source. The how’s and why’s are the furthest from his mind. Eris waits, anticipating your next move, ready to react in a fraction of a second, to save his own hide if necessary. But then he sees something spark in your eyes. He sees a spark of light, however faint it may be, as you kneel at his side. He feels a rush of energy flow through his veins as you reach to brush some dirt from his cheek. That rush of energy turns to a spark. Amazement. He doesn’t truly understand the meaning of it but it sparks more. He wants more, even if that is by stepping on your toes. He wants to know you. Selfish gain or not. For the first time in a long time he feels a kinship, something that levels the playing field, something that screams equal.

“Because I’m in a good mood, I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Once you’ve found your manners, you may knock on my door once more and we may discuss what favours you’ll end up owing me.” Voice laced with the cockiness of a victor would normally have pushed him over the edge to retaliate. It would have been easy too, given the opening you left in your defences, almost as if you’d expect him to strike just there. Instead Eris finds himself challenged, satisfied, and ready to play the game and anticipating what comes next. You push him beyond limits but face him with something that forces him to adapt and leave behind what he has grown accustomed to, you make him fight for more, and learn new things. He might not want to admit it but you give him a vision of who he used to be, who he truly is, without the mask. For a moment he forgets about the risks of it all, forgets about all the consequences and alarm bells his mind play. He smiles. Challenge accepted.

You let go of his cheek, not without a mocking pat and raise to your feet, stepping backwards and leaving the first son of Autumn on the hill, rain falls, soaking him bit by bit, or maybe rain had been falling since your display, because it only takes one look at you to see you are unaffected by it, the ground beneath you is too. Curious. You watch him as you take another step but eventually turn on your heels and stroll back to the comforts of your porch. When you step under the cover of it rain falls by the bucket. Leaning on his elbows he shouts after you.

“Wait! If I am to be your guest, should I not at least know your name?” He asks speaking courteously as he would with those he charms for his benefit.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my guest.” You smile to yourself.

“You set a challenge. I accept and will take nothing short of success.” He’d sit in this damned rain day and night if he had to. Few things have pushed him to unleash that level of determination but then again, he has not felt anything a challenge in equally as long. You’re not a puzzle to solve where he has all the pieces. You are something else entirely. You are an enigma he wants to unravel at any cost.

“Arrogant too. Best of luck, Vanserra.” You chuckle. A warmth he’s missed sparks within him, makes him feel just a little more alive, and feels the burning of the mask. You stand in your doorway once more, arms crossed, leaning against the frame as he rises to his feet. Eris bows deeply but keeps eye contact with you throughout it all. Many ladies have swooned at the mere gesture, the fraction of attention he offered them, but with you, he sees something else. You do not swoon. He sees a playfulness spark within you; a challenge opposed. You shake your head, hold onto your door and begin to close it.

“Arrogance is only a crutch to those who know not how to wield it.” Always needing the last word, doesn’t he? But so do you.

“Then you may call me Tempest. For I am no stranger to arrogance, little lord.” Smile on your face you close the door to your cottage. The blood-drawn X is no more. The mark is gone. His horse still tied to the porch whinnies as he approaches. Eris will wait. He thinks of the thousands of ways he’d be known to charm and deceive his way into wherever he needs to be, wherever he wants to be. He discards all of those. He’d recognise any attempt of pampering, any attempt of falsehoods and charm. This is not a trial of wants and wits, not until he steps past that threshold.

So he reaches into his travel pack, pulls out what provisions he had brought; food and a wineskin. With them in hand he walks onto the porch he waits, takes a breath and reminds himself why he is here in the first place. You’d almost made him forget his purpose. Almost. Eris lets his knuckles rap against the door, once, twice, three times and takes a step back. He waits. When it takes a second longer than expected, he considers he might have failed, and will have to resort to other measures but the door does open and inside he sees the cozy sitting room, tea set out on the table; two steaming cups, one at your side, an arm’s length from the comfortable chair you sit in, the other at the empty seat opposite of yours.

Eris doesn’t hesitate when he steps inside.

#acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #acotar fic #eris x oc #eris vanserra x oc #sjm fic #sjmaas #sarah j maas #autumn court

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dorkwithfeelings · 2 years

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Two Conditions |☆Radioheads☆

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

A/N: The first piece I'm writing that isn't a request, but instead came to me while I was watching the pool house scene on my first playthrough. I've never successfully written a piece so fast without hating it, so I hope all you radioheads lovers enjoy reading this! ♡

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CW: Nada, just a fluffy moment of peace between Ryan and Dylan!

Pairing: Dylan x Ryan

Word Count: 714

(Checked over to the best of my abilities).

No words could describe the searing pain radiating through Dylan’s forearm as remained seated on the bench, in the pool house. Not even the freak show that just went down with Nick could distract him from the throbbing that came with having his hand blasted away from the rest of his body.

Maybe begging Ryan to do that to him had been the wrong decision, but something in his gut told him that wasn't so. While it did hurt like a bitch, Dylan would rather feel this pain than become whatever Nick was now.

With Kaitlyn comforting Abi and Ryan sitting staring into space opposite him, Dylan tilted his head back against the wall to stare at the gaping hole Nick had blasted through the ceiling.

Fuck this night, is all he could think. He was a hand down now, permanently. He missed his cat, too.

"How you holding up?"

Dylan looked across from him again, finding Ryan's eyes meeting his own, expectant of an answer. He raised his left arm a bit, showing off the bloody gauze covering his stump with a crooked and almost delirious smile.

"Oh, y'know, just deciding whether I want a hook attachment or Freddy Krueger claws." Dylan quipped, slurring just slightly as the painkillers Kaitlyn gave him had started to kick in.

His quick wit and sarcasm always managed to get a smile from Ryan, but this time it was only momentary as he found his lips curling downwards just as quickly as they went upwards. Dylan noticed and put his arm back down.

"So, uh... you really shot my hand off back there," The tone in Dylan’s voice was calm, though it was quite clear he still couldn't believe it happened. "I know I asked for it but, like... would you jump off a cliff if I asked you to?"

"It was an intense moment, man. I don't think either of us were thinking straight," Ryan pointed out, Dylan nodded.

Silence settled, neither boy was looking at one another now. Ryan's grip was hard on the shotgun's handle. Anyone could see he was beginning to feel guilty for what he did back in the radio hut. Did he really save Dylan from a fate similar to Nick's, or did he just pointlessly change his life for nothing?

A sigh broke through Dylan’s lips. He got up from where he was sat and moved to sit beside Ryan instead. He faced him, putting his one remaining hand on his shoulder.

"Tonight got fucked up pretty fast, out of nowhere. The pain I'm in right now, absolutely mind-numbing," Dylan paused and looked Ryan right in the eyes, "But I'm not mad at you."

Ryan's grip on the gun loosened visibly at the reassurance, some colour returning to his knuckles. He focused on Dylan’s eyes and sure enough, there wasn't an ounce of hate or anger in them.

"Even if you aren't angry, I'm sorry for doing it so thoughtlessly. Shit, man... I didn't even consider the consequences."

"Neither did I, clearly. I was the one asking for it-"

"You were in pain. You were panicking." Ryan interrupted, refusing to let Dylan put any blame on himself.

It was obvious that even in this instance, the pair didn't quite see eye to eye. There was no bad blood, though. In fact, the whole thing made Dylan chuckle and his hand landed on top of Ryan's somewhere in the middle of the whole thing. He subconsciously curled his fingers over Ryan's, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Y'know, I can live with having one hand on one condition- well, maybe two conditions."

Ryan arched a brow, his hand responding to the touch from Dylan’s, pushing further into it.

"What conditions are they?"

"One, that you still think I'm handsome, regardless of the number of limbs I have." Dylan grinned, noticing how that wording may have sounded. "And two, that you give me your goddamn number."

Ryan laughed, for the first time in a while, letting out a quiet hum afterward.

"I tell you what; let's get through tonight and then... you can have my number a hundred times over."

Dylan smiled a smile like no other. His face lit up so much, he was positively radiant.

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

#the quarry #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #the quarry dylan #the quarry ryan #ryan the quarry #dylan the quarry #dylan x ryan #radioheads #drylan

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gazetotheabyss · 7 months

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Johnny Striker

Johnny Striker was a biker. Johnny Striker killed a hiker. Bashed his head in with a brick Cuz he called him a stupid prick. Never had Johnny been the sharpest tool in God's shed Didn't matter when any who crossed him wound up dead. Ran round in '64, But now he doesn't bike no more.

The blood lingered still so warmly on Johnny's fingers. Absently with a soulless stare he listened to the only sound that lingered in those long forgotten trails he liked to explore.

Drip

Drip.

Drip......

Followed each moment punctually by the splattering of each drop across the blacktop. Still he feels nothing. Not even satisfaction from killing the poor man whose only crime was yelling at a drunk biker who almost ran him down. Always did he feel so ungodly empty. No matter of drug, murder, or mindless fucking seemed to ever satisfy that deep seated desire that hung within him. Bearded face would wrinkle as he inhales sharply through his nose, and spat out a particular thick wad before turning his attention elsewhere.

The poor man was already dead, so Johnny saw a number of goodies that he wouldn't need to be carried with him across the rainbow bridge. Errant swipes of bloodied palms across his leather vest do all they can to clean them off-- Not that he'd been particularly clean before mind you. Hands growing brown from thickening ichor start to pilfer anything shiny or valuable he can glean from the man's personage. Fancy gold watch, wedding band probably worth something, wallet empty of cash, anything else weren't worth dick. It was strange though. Digging around for hidden treasures, hand fully immersed in the man's front pocket. Not something you'd typically expect from a man running on the roadside.

Rough as it was, Johnny just thought it was pretty. Like fogged red glass, uneven twists and edges. Maybe it was a ruby? Uncut? It's a shape Johnny didn't know the name of, and didn't particularly care to learn. If he couldn't sell it maybe he'd keep it. Put it on a necklace. Whatever it had been, didn't mean much anymore, with its former owners skull caved into nothing more than a bloodied mess of fragments and viscera.

Out here in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, he didn't have any fear of the law being on his tail. After fencing whatever he managed to pick up that day he winds up in his room back at he clubhouse. Asshole at the Pawn Shop said his pretty rock was useless.

"Not a real gemstone. Probably just some cut up glass or something. Bottom of a beer bottle maybe."

No, that wasn't true. It was plenty beautiful, and it wasn't just a piece of glass. Even just looking at it, Johnny felt an air of purpose. Like looking upon something divine! It wasn't a feeling he had the words in his vocabulary to describe. Even as he sat on his bed in the dark, with it setting off an ephemeral glow that had been entirely lost upon him, he could almost feel as if he were special for once in his miserable life. Like the hole inside him could finally be filled.

He went to sleep easy that night. But staying so was much harder. Before that night he'd never dreamed all that much, and if he did, it was never something he retained. But early in the morning hour the following day, he awoke in a cold sweat. His body had nearly felt frozen to the bone in spite of the summer heat. Nightmares plagued his unconscious night. Sights of horrible monsters, beings once shaped like humans but now nearly unrecognizable. Twisting, agonizingly writhing in a screaming mass of suffering. Clawing for their lives, but begging for death. Suffering. Life as suffering. And nothing more. It was just a dream, he told himself over and over. Despite how clearly the distorted faces clawed at his mind so clearly, just as their fingers seemed to at reality itself.

In clear defiance of his dark dreams, he dragged himself free from his bed and thin coverings, and dressed for the day. He'd kill someone else if he missed out on Ma Maxine's, the beloved matriarch of their club and wife of the late founder, delicious breakfast. He could almost smell the sausage sizzling as it were, and he could feel his stomach grumble in reply to the thought. Far be it from him to forget snatching his new precious stone to take with him too.

Much of his day drew much the same as the one previous. Riding around the canyon on his hog after breakfast, beer, lunch, darts with Pauly, crashing the drive-in movies with the rest of the guys. Threatening the owner after everyone got all up in arms over a club of good ol' boys hootin' and hollerin' at Two Thousand Maniacs goin' wild on the screen. Spent some time with Arno, fuckin' around with the rock and eventually embedding it in a ring, poorly enough that they had to secure it with glue. Then dinner comes and goes, and he's locked away in his room again. The rock, that he'd affectionately started calling 'Lucy', feels like it's gotten bigger. Something that had only affirmed in his mind that it had been extra special.

So why did he feel empty again? All of that good feeling that had come about that first night? Swept away in a wash of despair and sadness that he'd never felt before. All he could do was think about those faces. No matter what he did or whom he did it with, the nightmare forced itself through the veil of distraction to the forefront of his mind.

Johnny didn't sleep that night. He laid awake under his dirty covers in his ramshackle room, staring at the ceiling without blinking. Sweating away all his nightmarish thoughts.

When morning broke, his eyes had been as dry as they were heavy. But the murderous simpleton was finally starting to forget the sight of those faces. When he stretched his palm to his end table, to gather up the ring he'd fashioned out of 'Lucy', his face drops. When he'd found it, it had been no larger than a pebble. Maybe an inch in diameter. The night previous it had gotten a little bigger, enough to have filled out its presence in the ring. Turning it from a cheap bauble to one of those fancy school rings the boys who actually finished school got. Now? Now it was near the size of a table tennis ball at its greatest width, breaking free of the thin nickel bindings it had been wound in.

You know. He'd slept pretty calmly before he'd found this thing, hadn't he? Eyes were frantic, heavy as they looked at it. Like the way it had shone back at him no longer made him feel special... Maybe Russ was right, he was dumb. So now he was just being dumb. Just forgot how big the rock was-- Or someone was pulling a fast one on him.

Either way, when he left for the day, he decided to not bring it along this time. For all it was worth for a miserable nasty man like Johnny, his day had gotten a little better. Having put the thought of weird rocks from his mind. Things were turnin' 'round for him. Least for a few hours.

On his daily game of darts with his blood brother and bestest friend in the world, Pauly, he could hear the man behind him. Distinctly it had been his voice. Whispering. Muttering. It was Pauly's fault, after all, wasn't it? All those insults he'd supposedly hurled at Johnny that night under his breath. Fat. Stupid. Coward. Weak. All of them acted as the strength behind Johnny's arm as he swung it down, dart in hand, into theface of the other man. Again. Again. And again.

Until Pauly was gone. Johnny a panting mess above his bloody corpse. The bar silent as the trail that first night. All eyes had been on him, until he proudly proclaimed why he did it. No one said a damned thing to him that night. Not as he climbed the stairs to his room, huffing angrily at Pauly who was most certainly not alive to hear.

When his thin plywood door is pushed open, the darkness of the room practically engulfed him. Like an Octopus, he'd thought, feeling the many arms of that abyss ensnaring him, leading him forward. Eyes locked onto the far side of his once safe space, he sees it, not any bigger, but certainly a little brighter. A deep sickly amber. 'Like burnt snot and maple syrup', he'd not so elegantly thought. It was like an eye. Burning him from the inside out, tearing away at his sanity. Johnny made it maybe ten steps, five of which into his room, before he stopped. Trembling.

Johnny slept outside in the cold with the dogs that night. They were always nicer to him anyway.

Yet the dream still had not been. Twisting landscapes of horrible incomprehensible shapes. Skies of unnatural colors, beasts of unsightly origin. They were all things of intrigue lost upon a simple mind such as his. Instead he felt only terror about that he did not understand. The dream was cut short, when he was attacked. A crushing strength that had felt so real. From a figure so much bigger than even him, wings like a bats stretched, claws inches long, and no face. Yet still it shrieked. A horrible sound. Johnny had to defend himself. Thick portly fingers wrapped tight around its throat, fist ramming into the place its face would have been.

But when he woke, he felt cold flesh beneath his hand. Congealed blood hung from his knuckles. Battered, beaten, dead as Pauly... That one almost made him cry, Ma Maxine. Musta been coming to check on him in the middle of the night. Having never known his real ma, she was close as he'd ever come. Made it worse when he had to hide her. Throw her in the grinder, feed her to the dogs. No one would forgive him for that one like they did Pauly.

"Lucy", he thought aloud in his dark room. "Lucy-fer." What had once been a loving tribute to his first wank, had turned against him so coldly. What did he do? What could he do? He wrung his hands together, having found a calmness to his fidgeting in the dark. All the smashing he tried had done nothing. Not even a fracture at the corners. This thing had been the work of the devil. Was he being punished? Was it takin' from him all the good things he had on purpose? Whatever it was doing, he felt it around him. The whispering of old tongues, the primal fear of darkness wisping about in the night air. Sweat poured down his thick features, passing over his furled brow.

Unsure of what to do, of how to handle this fucked up situation that he'd only rotted worse with his own brashness-- He acted without thinking. Digits like sausages wrapped around the girth of the crystalline object, shoving down his throat without another consideration. Through it all he gagged, he choked, and for it he almost couldn't breathe. But eventually it went down. All those dark feelings along with it.

When the rest of the gang wakes the disappointment that hung in the air had been palpable. No eggs. No bacon. No sausage. An empty kitchen and dining hall met their expectations. But their dogs slobbered good by the sound of it.

Unfortunately it wasn't the first time Ma Maxine had gone AWOL, so no one thought too much of it. Usually she packed a bag and rode north to sit at the street corner she'd met Ol' Pa Henry. A conclusion that elated Johnny. Thinking through all measure he'd gotten away with it again. But swallowing that stone turned his guts something fierce. He tried to continue his day as if it were normal. Had a mighty breakfast of moonshine and twinkie, went out for his ride out in the canyon--

But his stomach gurgled. An uncomfortable feeling, like his healthy breakfast didn't quite agree with him. He groaned, he moaned, pausing on the side of the dirt trail and clutching his gut. After some moments of patience and angry screaming though, he set back out.

Darts by himself were so much more fun. Pauly always beat him, now that asshole weren't gonna rub it in his face no more.

It itched. A tickle in the deepest parts of his stomach. Cold. Wet. Sweaty. Stomach hurt.

He skipped lunch. Dinner too. And when the guys had wanted to go out for a movie, he weren't invited. Since Pauly, no one wanted to hang around him anymore. With how strange he was acting that morning, anyone else who had even considered him had written him off as well.

Fine with him. He didn't need 'em anyway. Buncha assholes always ruined his fun anyway, he was more than content to sit back at the club alone in the main hall. He laughed, he poured himself beers, watched re-runs of Lucy. But midway through the third episode of his marathon, it had felt like clawing. Miserable slashing at the inside of his gut. Doubled over the wood of the bar, blood and bile merged in some unholy union of smell and visual was expelled onto the surface. He felt full. Too full.

Johnny, with gloved mitts clutched at his stomach, thought angrily to himself,

"Maybe I shouldn't have ea--"

But that was a thought the Earth would never know in its totality. An explosion of meat and blood showered the bar. The mangled upper half of Johnny Striker hanging from the 'shoulders' of some unholy aberration. Shape far from normal or of this Earth, like mangled road kill glued together. Misshapen and undulating, it stumbled forward. With a sickening thud, Johnny fell to the ground at the monster's hind. It turned 'round to face him, or at least that's what it had felt like. Looking upon those twisted horrified faces. The thing of his dream had grown inside him, and stared at him with the faces of the three lives he'd destroyed. Johnny faded fast, all that blood pouring from his open body.

Life quickly left his eyes, the final thought to ever go through his mind the simple words. "Are them my legs?" As his head lay less than a foot from his dismembered thigh.

No odd or unearthly creature was found upon the return of the gang from their day gallivanting.

Just Johnny laying on the floor. Half ripped apart, head gone, mostly eaten, with the dogs off their leashes runnin' about outside with blood soaked muzzles.

Most made their assumptions.

Met himself a terrible fate

Maybe it were somethin' he ate.

#scary stories #horror story #horror #scary story #creepypasta #creative writing #horror fiction

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casuallyimagining · 2 years

Text

Meant to Be Yours

Sequel to (Not) Meant to Be. Please read that before diving into this!!

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: It's been a week since you made the toughest decision of your life... Genre: angst Word Count: 2,574 Warnings: brief discussion of infertility Notes: Thanks to @eatjeanjin for beta-ing this. And thanks to @missgeniality for the banner.

Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

The thing that people don’t consider when a long-term relationship ends is the sheer loneliness of it all. After a certain point, that person becomes your person, the person you tell everything to, who knows your deepest fears and what makes your soul ache and exactly the thing to say when you’re lost in your feelings with nowhere to turn. But then that person--your person--becomes the reason for the pain. And it’s an incredibly lonely feeling to be on your own when you’re hurting like that.

You’d been staring at the wall of your studio for days. Or, you supposed, it wasn’t just your studio any more. It was back to being your apartment, threadbare though it was. You couldn’t bring yourself to actually pack your things from Yoongi’s apartment.

You couldn’t bring yourself to face him.

The wall of your apartment, now blank, looked as empty as you felt. It used to be full of photos. One of you and Namjoon by the river, one of you and Jungkook lost in some video game, you and Jin cooking, you and Hobi playing cards. But mostly, it was full of photos of you and Yoongi. They were back at his apartment now, in your office, hanging beside the custom vinyl of Yoongi’s second mixtape you’d had made. You’d wanted a physical reminder of the album that had brought you together, first as friends, then as more. What would he do with it and the photos now that you were no more?

You sighed and wrapped the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders. Sitting on the floor, your mind was surprisingly clear despite the pain. The pain. You’d felt pain before. Similar to this. There had been the guy in middle school who had pretended to like you on a dare. The guy in high school who had only lasted a few weeks before you realized he was a jerk. And then the guy in college who had broken your heart into so many pieces you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to mend it.

But this pain was different from all of that. Something was missing, somewhere inside you. Deep in your soul, there was a Yoongi-shaped hole that had been ripped open.

And it was all your fault.

In spite of it all, this was a good thing, you told yourself. He could take the time he needed to mourn the loss of your relationship and then get back out there. Find someone new. Find someone who wasn’t broken in the ways that you were broken and eventually start a family. This was a mercy. This was the right decision.

Your chest seized up, a silent sob escaping your lips. But no tears came. They had abandoned you days ago, dried up shortly before you realized there was no way you could continue to teach. So you had cancelled your students’ voice lessons and taken up your position on the floor.

Because what do you do, really, when it feels like half of your soul has died?

When your phone rang, it was the first sound you’d heard in… days. Almost a week. It had been a week since you’d left Yoongi in the parking garage. You fought back another silent sob at your ringtone--”People,” because of course it had to remind you of him, too--but you managed to answer on the fourth ring.

Jungkook’s voice was bright, clear, and not at all what you’d expect it to sound like at a time like this. You’d expected him to be mad at you, or at least frustrated. But instead, he sounded almost happy you picked up. But there was something else in his tone. Concern, maybe?

“Noona! Have you talked to Yoongi lately?” he asked, voice serious but not accusatory.

“I… No?” Had he not told Jungkook? Had he told any of the members? Was it your place to say anything? “Why?”

“He’s been holed up in his studio. We’re all starting to worry about him. Has he been coming home at night? He’s always at work when we leave, and he’s here when I get here in the mornings.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. How were you supposed to know?

“Jungkook, we-”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting you off. You heard someone clapping in the background and looked at the clock on your phone. Dance rehearsal would be starting in a few minutes. Was Yoongi skipping practices, too? “Would you mind checking on him? Just to make sure he’s still alive in there? He won’t answer the door for me, so he must really be in deep with something. I have to go, I’ll talk to you soon, Noona, okay? Bye!”

He hung up before you could say another word.

Your phone dropped into your lap.

This was for the best, you reminded yourself. He was better off.

But there was something about the worry in Jungkook’s voice that nagged at you. He’d sounded deeply concerned. And you knew how Yoongi was. He’d bury himself in work until he passed out from exhaustion. So, even though it shouldn’t have, it bothered you that Jungkook was worried. Enough that, hours later, you stood just outside the main doors to the Hybe building, plastic bag of barbecue and glass noodles clutched tightly in your hand. It was late. Both because it had taken you a while to figure out what you wanted to do, and because there was less chance of you running into anyone at 10:30 at night.

You took a deep breath and pulled open the heavy glass door.

When you walked in, the security guard nodded to you and continued to read his newspaper, not even bothering to check your ID. Of course he wouldn’t. To him, this was just a normal day. His world hadn’t been shattered into a million tiny pieces for the greater good. This was just a Tuesday night for him. Nothing to see here.

You could see yourself trembling in the reflection of the elevator as it took you to the correct floor. You felt like you were going to vomit. Nerves, anxiety, sadness all pooled into a sludge in the pit of your stomach, churning with every step you took closer to the right hallway.

And then you were there, standing in front of the door to his studio. You could punch in the code if you wanted--if he hadn’t changed it--but that wasn’t your place any more. You no longer had passcode privileges, even if the code was the same.

So you knocked. Tentatively at first. Because what the fuck do you say in a situation like this? Coming here was stupid. But you’d already spent what little cash you had left in your wallet on the food in your hand so you knocked again, louder this time. And then when that didn’t work, you knocked a third time.

When no answer came, you sighed. Jungkook had been right. He really was holed up in the studio. Or maybe he was out. Maybe he had gone home. Suddenly, it occurred to you that maybe Jungkook had been wrong. That maybe he was just missing Yoongi coming and going. They were both busy. It was entirely possible that they had just operated on different schedules for the week.

But then the door to the studio opened. And no. Jungkook had definitely not been wrong.

Yoongi looked about as disheveled as you did, which was saying something since you’d spent the past few days barely leaving your living room floor. His shirt was crumpled and wrinkly, his skin was paler than normal, and his hair stuck up at odd angles. You heard him draw in a sharp breath, and your eyes met his. You could see the pain in his deep brown eyes, and the sadness. But there, just beyond the exhaustion, you could see it. You could sense it.

Even just standing there in front of him, he still felt like home.

The realization struck you like a truck on the freeway, and the tears--which you thought had dried up days ago--sprung up anew. But you swallowed them down. You came here on a mission.

“Eat,” you managed to croak out, shoving the bag of food into his chest. It was the only coherent thing your brain could process at the moment.

His hands came up to cradle the bag reflexively, and you noticed how thin he looked. “I-I don’t-”

“Jungkook called me and said you hadn’t been eating,” you explained softly. “He asked me to come check on you.”

Yoongi nodded dumbly, his brow furrowed, and again, silence fell over you. For the first time ever, you felt uncomfortable in his presence. It felt wrong, like trying to drive your car with the seat in the wrong place. But you tried to push that feeling away. There was no use dwelling on it, not when he wasn’t yours any more.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice quiet and raw, like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time.

“I don’t think-”

“Five minutes,” he quickly interrupted. “Please.”

Again, your eyes met his, and you felt yourself nodding. “Five minutes,” you agreed, stepping into the studio when he side-stepped to let you in.

He deserved five minutes. After a year and a half of dating, he deserved more than that. He deserved everything.

It was for the best, you told yourself, spinning to face him as the door closed behind him. Wasn’t it?

He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing down the misplaced strands and then fucking everything up again when he tugged at the ends. You had a feeling he’d been doing that a lot lately. Cautiously, he sat the bag of food down on his desk. He wiped his palms down the front of his joggers before looking at you, sad eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you said,” he started tentatively, his hand coming up to scratch at the bit of skin just behind his ear. “And I came to a conclusion.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t need kids.” The way he said it, so plain, so simple, it was like he was talking about the weather, or about some mediocre sports score.

“Yoongi...” you warned, voice tense. If he was going to argue this again, you weren’t sure you wanted to stick around to hear it.

“No hear me out.” He took a step forward, hands splayed at his sides in a peaceful gesture. “Not leaving this studio for a week has given me a lot of time to think. And I realized that I have imagined my future probably a million different ways over the past year and a half. Some of them plausible, some of them not, some worst-case scenarios…” Yoongi sighed, his hand coming up to run through his hair yet again. “But do you want to know something? In every one of those daydreams, you were there with me.” Again, he stepped closer to you, close enough that his hand could brush against yours tentatively, but he made no other attempt to touch you. “Not a single one had a kid in it.”

“I-”

“I read somewhere that if something or someone makes you happy, you chase it like your life depends on it.”

You looked at him, eyes searching his. His gaze was soft. This close, you could see how red his eyes were, and you felt guilty for making him cry. You never wanted to be the reason he hurt. You would tear your soul out a million times just to keep him from hurting. You loved him. He was your person.

You fucked up.

“Please don’t make me chase you,” he pleaded softly, the barest hint of a laugh in his voice. “You know I don’t like running. But I will if I have to. God-fuck, I’d run from here to New York if I had to.”

The tears sprung up again, and you squeezed your eyes shut to prevent them from falling. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You had to be strong, no matter how much it hurt. The pain was your consequence. You swallowed thickly. You had to endure it.

Gently, as if he were handling the most delicate glass, Yoongi’s hands cupped your jaw, his thumbs ghosting over your skin, barely touching you, but leaving flames in their wake. The dam broke then, tears cascading down like a flood. You felt stupid for crying, stupid for causing all this, stupid for the whole situation. But mostly, you felt broken. This was your fault, your stupid broken body’s fault. And you hated that.

“Hey,” he soothed, voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was firm in spite of the waterfalls on your cheeks. “It’s not okay. God, I- how could you say that?”

“Because it is.” It was a statement, but he sounded confused. His thumbs swiped at your cheeks once again. “It’s okay. Or, it will be.”

“Not about that,” you said sharply, pulling away from him. “How could you.. want me? After everything I’ve told you, how could you possibly-” Your voice broke, and you forced yourself to take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “I’m broken, Yoongi. People don’t keep broken things.”

When you looked at him again, you could see the tears in his eyes.

“You’re not broken.” His voice was soft, full of honey and warmth. “Broken implies that something needs to be fixed. You’re you.” Cautiously, he took a step forward, his hand brushing against yours before capturing it fully, drawing you closer. “I love you, broken or not. And if I deserve love, so do you.”

You hated when he parroted your own words back at you.

You tried to hold it in, tried to squeeze your eyes tight and cover your mouth and hold back the sheer force that you knew was coming. But then he tugged on your hand and you fell into his embrace, violent sobs wracking your body. Yoongi caught you--because of course he caught you--his arms wrapped around you tightly, and you ugly cried into his shoulder, your face buried into the neckline of his crumpled t-shirt.

No one had ever spoken to you that tenderly before. You had avoided talking too much about your past relationships, but Yoongi wasn’t stupid. You knew he had figured some things out. And you weren’t even sure what it was that set you off, maybe the confidence in the way he had said it, the simplicity of it all. Whatever it was had short-circuited your brain, knocked down walls you hadn’t even known were in there, and sent every emotion pouring out of you in one giant, all-consuming wave.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs, your arms winding tightly around his back, clutching at his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt balled in your hands. “I’m so sorry.”

You repeated it with every shallow breath you managed to take in, your lungs burning from the force of your crying and the little oxygen you were getting. Yoongi held you, one arm locked firmly around your waist, the other hand soothing up and down your back in soft, slow circles.

“I love you,” he repeated, a mantra of his own to counter yours. “It’s okay. I love you.”

Read more of the series here.

#yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #thebtswritersclub #suga #suga x reader #bts yoongi #bts yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts suga #bts suga x reader #bts #yoongi angst #yoongi hurt comfort #suga angst #suga hurt comfort #bts angst #bts hurt comfort

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romione-trope-fest · 2 years

Text

Something To Look Forward To

Enjoy this wonderful Stuck Together from Goldilockss!

----------------------------

Fic Title: Something To Look Forward To

Author name: Goldilockss

Selected Trope: Stuck Together

Summary: Falling into a pit in the middle of nowhere might sound like the last thing they need on their dangerous quest. In reality, it might be exactly the excuse they're looking for to mend everything that had been damaged.

Word count: 5850

Rating: T (for the swearing)

...

The wind was bitingly cold as they trudged tiredly through the heavy snow, inconsistently laden upon the forest's landscape. In one place, it'd feel 10 cm deep, and Ron's boot would sink unsteadily throwing him slightly off balance in the process, and in the next, the path would have melted somehow or been stomped through by creatures he'd rather not imagine around, exposing the solid ground below.

He didn't have to look into a mirror to know his cheeks were blazing, not from embarrassment this time however, but the icy punch mother nature has decided to throw at them this February evening. The once thick sole on his boots had long become worn, likely even before he ever put them on, and the moisture was seeping torturously into his socks.

It was utter shit, in another words.

And yet, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"I think we should probably stop in about a quarter mile, don't you think, Harry?", her voice called out a few metres ahead of him.

Then there was the metaphorical coldness that somehow stabbed him harder than the freezing temperatures ever could.

He heard Harry mumble a reply, somewhat unenthusiasticaly, before facing forward again.

It had been a bit over a month now, since he had appeared at that frozen lake. Subconsciously, Ron squeezed the deluminator that rested snugly in his front pocket. He hadn't expected a warm welcome of course, in fact, on one lonely occasion in the middle of nowhere, he'd had the paralysing image of them kicking him out before he'd even set foot inside the tent.

But for once in his life, it seemed, he had managed to push those thoughts aside, too crushed by the unbearably heavy guilt of leaving to abandon his search. And his persistence had paid off. Harry was surprisingly, but not unpleasantly so, easy to fall back into friendship with. And though Ron often wondered whether the inadvertent insight his best mate got into the chaotically tangled jungle that was Ron's mind played a significant role in the painless forgiveness, he tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hermione, however, was a completely different story. Cold shoulders, biting retorts, or worse, complete dismissal, despite their familiarity, were still harder to swallow than a gallon of Skele-gro. But he promised himself he wouldn't let it discourage him, not when in the grand scheme of things, the idea of seeing her every day, alive and moving around right before his eyes, counted higher than any offhand insult ever could.

In any case, he felt like he deserved it. More, really. So he kept trekking through the snowy woods, several steps behind Hermione, who in turn, was a few feet behind Harry, the ominous silence providing a blank canvas for his thoughts, as all other sound save for their heavy steps and labored breathing, got absorbed by the pillowy snow.

That is until-

"Eh- sorry", he said meekly, a tinge confused why he almost walked right into Hermione's cloud of hair.

And now she was making no attempt to move forward. Instead, she appeared to be shaking off her boots by stomping them almost furiously into the little patch of solid ground.

"I-is everything alright?" he swallowed nervously.

She ignored him, continuing with her efforts of digging a hole to the other side of the world. The natural way to proceed for him was with a joke, but he held back.

Ron tapped her shoulder lightly and she recoiled immediately. He pretended it didn't hurt.

"What?!", she asked irritably.

"Uh…just wasn't sure what you're doing," he shrugged.

"I'm doing something! Either shut up and don't bother me or keep on walking," she snapped turning back to her mysterious task.

Guess that settles it then, he thought, refraining from opening his mouth once more. A distant part of him knew it made his blood boil the way she was treating him like hippogriff dung she was trying to scrape of her shoe. But that part, the currently dormant part that would've inevitably started arguing with her, had no power over the much larger part that insisted on staying in her good books, no matter what.

He looked up to where Harry stood far ahead, apparently having noticed the absence of steps behind him and having turned around to watch indifferently. Their eyes met, and Ron shrugged mutely at his questioning glance.

He was tempted to make an exception on his previous decision to remain quiet when everything around him switched into action, and before he could say 'hippogriff', he was falling-

"-fuck!"

There was a searing pain just above his arse, he noticed, and a mass sprawled across him… and hastily getting up, he felt. Felt, because whatever shithole they had found themselves in this time, was engulfed in impenetrable darkness.

"Hermione?", he asked uncertainly, struggling to his feet. "You there?"

"Light your wand," she ordered, doing the same, and he could finally recognise the frazzled look on her face.

Not for long though, as she turned around, light pointed in the direction of the ceiling.

"What on earth happened?"

It seemed like she wasn't planning on answering until, "We need to let Harry know we're okay. There's a hatch, but it's powered by some intricate magic, so it won't open."

"Uhm, okay, have you tried… alohomora?"

If looks could kill.

"I'll assume you did then. That was a stupid question. He'll probably put up the protective charms around this spot for now."

He felt like she was only half-listening, recognising that wild look in her eyes when approximately a million thoughts a minute were trying to pass through that brilliant mind of hers.

The eerie stillness of the dark was sending a shiver down his spine, and he wondered whether there was a different light source in here. What is this place anyway?

Instinctively, Ron pulled out the deluminator, flicking it open swiftly and releasing whatever source was stored neatly inside. To his great relief, what looked like an abandoned lantern in the corner of the room, lit up, painting the concrete walls in a golden glow.

Hermione didn't verbally acknowledge the change, but stored away her wand nonetheless.

"We could slip in a piece of paper through the crack I think," she concluded more to herself, reaching into her beaded bag to look for what was presumably a quill and some parchment.

"You could try a patronus too, maybe", he added hopefully, willing to be an active participant.

She stopped her movements before rounding on him again, "You try it."

Ron's ears burned red despite the chill, as he chastised himself for bringing up the idea in the first place. "Mine's not gonna work," he replied evenly.

"And why is that?"

"It just won't. Yours will definitely be better, trust me."

"I'd rather not."

Ouch.

He knew casting a patronus wasn't her strong suit, especially a talking one, but if anyone could figure it out it would be her. She didn't seem too keen though.

"Guess we'll stick with your idea then," he nodded.

Hermione was already halfway there, taking a self-inking quill to scratch a note against the wall. "Why don't you give that patronus of yours a go then?" She sounded rather condescending, and he missed the times she would enthusiastically encourage him to practice his spells.

Raising his wand with a trembling hand, he found himself in the same troublesome predicament as when he had tried it over a month ago. He wasn't sure whether it was the general dismal hopelessness of a war, the deeply embedded fear of losing a loved one that seemed to have a perpetual grip on his heart, or You-Know-Who's dark violating entrance into Ron's most private thoughts still fresh on his mind, that currently prevented any positive memories from occurring.

That's why, Ron wasn't too surprised to see what could only be called a burp of magic spit out of his outstretched wand, before disintegrating immediately. But his awareness of it didn't stop the shame.

He turned his head haltingly to catch Hermione staring intently at him in the oppressing silence, before hastily looking back at her parchment.

Great, now he didn't just look like a twat, but like a ham-fisted one, he sighed opting to shove his wand wordlessly into his back pocket and to instead observe the lovely abode they were currently trapped in.

"That should do it," he heard Hermione mutter under her breath, stuffing the folded note in the narrow crevice of the otherwise leaden metal hatch.

"Now we have to find a way out of here before it gets dark. The ground felt hollow before... There must be some kind of triggering spell or something…", she trailed off, thinking out loud rather than talking directly to him.

"And this might be some sort of trap. There could be pre-charmed curses on standby-," she continued.

"There aren't," he interrupted suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

Clearing his throat and removing his hand from the rough engraving he'd been tracing on the coarse concrete, he risked turning towards her.

"We're safe here, I think."

"And how, may I ask, did you come to that conclusion?", she bristled, hands firmly on her hips.

Ignoring the clear scepticism, he pointed at the wall, where a roughly sketched phoenix in a circle stood out proudly.

"It's one of the original emblems of the order," he smiled wistfully.

Hermione's tense stance weakened slightly as she approached it.

"How do you know that?"

"Mum had uhm… some old photos of her brothers, y'know, during the first war. She'd get them out sometimes and show them to us. And a few had that symbol somewhere."

She nodded in acknowledgement, and questioned further, apparently forgetting for a split second that she was furious with him, "So where are we then? Some sort of bunker?"

"I think that's exactly where we are. I've heard about these, there were quite a few scattered around Britain. Apparently they-fuck... "

"Is it necessary to swear so much?", she asked heatedly, but Ron was too busy running an irritated hand through his hair.

"We won't be getting out of here any earlier than in two hours, well," he lifted his watch, "An hour and fifty minutes to be exact."

Her expression plagued with unbridled horror as she squeaked, "What? Why?!"

"It's the way these things are built," he exhaled heavily. "They were like random hideouts from death eaters for people on the run the first time 'round. That's why they made them practically indestructible and real durable," he banged a fist on the firm wall in demonstration and regretted it immediately. "There's some sort of timer - dad discussed it with Bill once - it locks you in, no way in, no way out, for a couple of hours. They wanted to use them now too but they decided against it. Impractical, apparently," he finished sardonically.

"No, no, no, there must be a way out!"

Hermione's response was overly shrill in his opinion, considering they could've been much worse off.

"It's okay, we'll explain it to Harry in another note, he can light a fire and sit guard for now, it's not that big of-"

"Not that big of a deal?!", she screeched, and he had the horrific discovery that she was on the brink of tears. "The last thing I want right now is to be stuck in a putrid, sealed, concrete box, especially with you!"

She sniffed noisily before facing away to scribble another hasty note to Harry, as Ron stood frozen in place. His heart plummeted to his stomach at her words, his eyes burned as if dipped in acid, and all he could respond with was a faint, "Oh."

Flumping dejectedly in one corner of the dim room, he focused on examining every imperfection of the uneven wall. Absently, he noted Hermione occupying the opposite corner, having shoved the parchment through to Harry.

This was going to be a long two hours.

---

Naturally, about half an hour in, Hermione pulled out one of the tattered books stowed away in her beaded bag.

An uncomfortable stillness spread through the air. Ron hated silence. It left him alone with his thoughts, dwelling uselessly on every single humiliating interaction or irreparable mistake he's ever committed, which generally left him more disheartened than he was to begin with. Ironically, he'd found himself in more and more of these silent situations, where the quietness grows deeper until all he can hear is the steady rhythm of his heart and the deafening whirlwind of intrusive thoughts that encloses him.

But nothing compared to how sickening it got with the locket fastened to his neck, hanging like a suffocating weight on his chest. Because the conflicting thoughts that tend to tip slightly towards the negative, became indiscernibly interlaced with those of Tom Riddle, throwing everything atrociously off balance.

As much as the claw-like grip of guilt strangling him still followed him around - and would continue do so, he knew, for a very long time if not forever - in the relieving solitude of his cluttered mind, he could admit that leaving was inevitable.

As heartless as it sounded even to his own ears, he knew the desperation to confirm his family's well-being and Riddle's overwhelming presence within him, would've lead him away. Because if they didn't, the dark, cruel thoughts that had plagued his conscience then, would've prevailed eventually. He would've ended up either hurting his friends, or himself. And one fact he knew to be indisputably true, was that it would always end in the latter.

It was after several more minutes of silent pondering that he croaked out, "I'm sorry."

A callous laugh escaped her, "Good to know. Anything for in particular?"

Though her voice dripped with venom, he responded honestly.

"Everything, really. For being a prat First Year and calling you a nightmare, being a prat in Third Year with that bloody rat, being a prat in Fourth Year with Krum, being a prat in Sixth Year with Lavender, and obviously being a prat this year and…leaving, but I was a prat even before I left, with the locket and all, so I'm sorry for that too. And since you can sense a recurring theme here, just sorry for being a prat."

Ron didn't dare look at her, afraid he'll see her laugh again or worse, not even care. He'd apologised already, but it was shorter and she didn't seem to be listening then, as she pretended to ignore him. Now, since they found themselves in this unique predicament, he figured he might as well take his shot, lest she think his previous apology insincere or insufficient.

Yet the unnerving silence stretched further, urging him to take a peak at his verdict. To his horror, when he finally twisted his neck to check on her, there were silent tears cascading down her cheeks, his view only slightly obstructed by the rampant curls framing her face.

"Hey, no, no, no, please don't cry… I'm not worth it," he edged slightly towards her, bringing himself on his butt about two arm-lengths away. He supposed that at least she was showing some form of emotion besides the constant venomous retorts, but seeing her cry was one of those things that always managed to break his heart, and unfortunately, due to his own stupidity, she mostly did it on his account. Good going you moron.

Hermione's head snapped up, her glare still just as penetratingly fierce even with red-rimmed eyes and wet tear-tracks. "D-do you think you'll just say sorry and everything will go back to normal?!"

"What? Of course not! I know it won't," he fumed, feeling like she wasn't listening, "I know you fucking hate me, Hermione, who wouldn't hate me? I hate me. I don't expect you to forgive me either. I just wanted you to know I mean it, that I'm really sorry, there are literally no words to describe how sorry I am, and I need you to know that. That it was literally torture being away from you," he felt brave enough to omit the unnecessary 'and Harry' that popped up in most of their conversations over the years, "and I'd honestly rather die than do it again."

She was wiping at her eyes furiously, "You can't do that. You can't promise you won't leave again when we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or the day after that…"

"No, I suppose I can't," he shifted an inch closer and caught her eye, staring unwaveringly into her hazel pools. "But I can swear I won't do it willingly. I won't make that decision again. They'd have to drag me away."

She suppressed a hiccupy sob, nodding and breaking eye contact to look at her fingers. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but they had come a lot further than he expected.

Ron suddenly became aware of the slight tremor in her hands, squeezed in the crack created by her bent knees.

"What-?"

She barely had time to protest as he draped his padded jacket on top of her legs. "Don't even try to deny it." Though he said it, he was still surprised when she complied. Maybe they had gotten a lot further than he first assumed.

"Aren't you going to be cold?", she asked hesitantly.

"I'll be alright."

He picked at his laces for a bit until she asked in a small voice he wasn't used to hearing from her, "How much time do we have left?"

Sighing resignedly, he checked his watch, " 'Bout 40 minutes, give or take."

Fully utilising the surge of Gryffindor courage that currently existed within him, he remained seated two feet away instead of fleeing back to his corner. He would've been happy to have sat there, closer than they have in months, even without saying another word, but Hermione seemed to have other plans.

"I don't hate you," she murmured softly, looking down, and it took him a moment to convince himself she actually said it.

"It would've been reasonable, even if you did," he said despite himself.

"I don't," she hurried to repeat, finally turning to look at him. "I'm still really angry," he nodded in understanding, "but I could never hate you."

Her sincerity was overwhelming, and he blinked rapidly for a few seconds before risking a tiny smile her way. And Ron was thanking every deity that existed when she granted him one too.

Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon.

Ron scooted over until their thighs just brushed barely against each other.

"I'm still furious though. And I need to know more before I can come to terms with it."

He made to move back away, afraid he'd gone too far, but she placed a reassuring hand on his knee.

Ron swallowed the lump that had gathered in his throat, and strived to ignore the tingles her touch sent through him."What do you want to know? Whatever it is, I'll say it."

Hermione searched his eyes for several seconds and he took the opportunity to relish her entire attention being directed at him. "You and Harry are hiding something. About how you destroyed the locket…,"she paused, perhaps uncertain about continuing upon noticing his face pale significantly, "besides, I'd have to be stupid to believe that it didn't fight back."

Ron's mouth opened then closed several times like a fish suddenly thrown out of water. There's little less he'd like than to relive those agonizing minutes that brought the expression wears his heart on his sleeve to a whole new dimension. But his dilemma wasn't really a difficult choice at the end of the day - he'd relive it a million times for her - so he shut his eyes and swallowed, turning to stare at the opposite wall.

Finally, he spoke, "I-it had more of an effect on me, than on either of you. I don't know why, maybe I'm weaker, but I'm not saying this as an excuse. Just…it's easier to understand this way."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her nodding.

"Anyway, when I put it on, yeah, it would say stuff-"

"It never made a sound," she cut in, and he was split between annoyance at her interruption and amusement of it being such a her thing to do.

"Not out loud, it didn't speak out loud."

"Then-"

"Hermione! Could you, like, let me finish? I'm not very well-spoken as is."

She had the decency to look abashed, and nodded for him to go on.

He exhaled heavily, "It would whisper things to me, but it was all in here," he pointed to his head. "He'd be using my own thoughts against me. Make me convinced my worst fears were real and doubt whatever I previously hoped wasn't."

Ron felt her shake her head slowly, "I don't understand. Like what?"

He had the distinct feeling he was burning up. "Like-like when I was practically bedridden, and you were coming to check on my arm… it felt like I was a burden, to you and Harry, that I'm holding you back. Felt like you were talking behind my back, complaining about me or…", he trailed off, not quite ready to finish that sentence.

"That's ridiculous," her eyes were incinerating the side of his face.

Ron released a mirthless laugh. "It didn't feel ridiculous," he commented downcast.

"No!" her tiny hand was unexpectedly clutching onto his arm. "I mean, I was the one who almost killed you. I could never think you were a burden, cause I was too busy feeling guilty."

"There was nothing to be guilty about. 'Twasn't your fault, it was an accident, and you saved us," he defended instantly.

"Maybe, but we never thought you were holding us back."

"Like I said, I couldn't really give you the benefit of the doubt. It was just neverending negativity."

"So…"

"So?"

"What happened when you destroyed it?"

He flicked his gaze rapidly to her, then back to the plain wall.

"It did the same thing, but worse."

For a moment he couldn't continue but she wouldn't have it, "How?"

And then, the words came tumbling out, "H-Harry said I should do it, said he felt like it had to be me. I was holding the sword and Harry opened it with parseltongue, but before I could hit it, there was a weird hissing sound, a-and it was him."

"Tom R-"

"Yeah," he confirmed anxiously. "His eye, translucent like a ghost o-or illusion or something. And then he started talking…", he dropped his head solidly into his large palms, as if the image could be banished as long as he closed his eyes, but the image was eternally imprinted onto the back of his eyelids, replaying the same part like a broken record.

Once his head lifted, ashen-faced and expressionless, he stared unseeingly at the wall, unaware of Hermione's evident hesitation, and echoed the words that felt carved into his soul more painfully than with Umbridge's black quill, "I have seen your heart, and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…"

Ron's unnaturally impassive voice lacked its usual unrestrained emotion and his lifelessly phlegmatic disposition made Hermione shudder, as if the life was suddenly sucked out of him, rendering the air around them uncomfortably frigid.

"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter… Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend… Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"

Ripped out of his trance-like state by Hermione practically cutting off the blood flowing through his forearm, Ron turned swiftly, observing her eyes wide with horror and certainly a freight train of other emotions he couldn't really pick out.

"Don't! You don't have to-"

"But I do, don't I? I want you to know," he breathed. His mind was on fire but the barrage of thoughts were making him numb enough to be unconcerned by the fact that his feelings for her, if he chose to continue, would be as obvious as the freckles blanketing his skin.

It took her a moment to consider, but curiosity seemed to win out, "Okay."

"So, yeah...," he breathed out shakily. "Then-then you and Harry appeared..."

"What?"

"Illusions of you. But you kept adding on to the things Riddle was taunting me with, that I'm nothing, and no one would ever choose me over the Chosen One, stuff like that," he gulped. "It was a lot more staggering, coming from you,... but I think that was the goal, wasn't it?"

The last part seemed lodged in his throat, so deciding to forgo the idea of being articulate, he let the words flood out of him like an open dam, "And then the two of you, the illusions of you, started snogging so I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the sword and smashed right through it." Deciding to omit the part about him crying like a baby, he let his words sink in, before peering at her once more.

Hermione was no longer touching him, and her eyes were flooded with a dangerous concoction of outrage, calculation and bewilderment as she scrutinised him, connecting all the scattered pieces. Ron just hoped she liked the final image.

Then her hands were flying at him like wild bludgers, "ARE" smack "YOU" punch "KIDDING" slap "ME?!"

"Ow! Hermione- stop!", he attempted to catch her flailing arms to halt the stinging blows.

"How could you even think I liked Harry that way?! He's like a brother to me! He always has been!"

"I know that now! That's what he said too, when y'know... he saw everything."

"Because that's how it's always been!"

"Well how was I supposed to know that?!", it was his turn to retaliate and it felt somewhat freeing to finally release some of the emotions that'd been pent up for weeks, if not years.

"I don't know, Ronald! Common sense, maybe?"

"Are you shitting me? The entire bloody Wizarding world thought you were dating! Excuse me for not being very certain."

"And what was it, exactly, that made you believe that load of rubbish?!", she shot back.

He faltered slightly, "I don't know. I guess you've always gotten along quite well, and who wouldn't like Harry? You were always trying to be affectionate and supportive with him and all that...", he trailed off.

"Of course I was trying to make him feel better, Ron! He's an orphan whose guardians are abusive monsters, you insensitive halfwit!"

"Thanks for reminding me, I must've forgotten," he replied sarcastically, getting worked up, "it's not like I've bloody slept in the same room as him for years, or have literally kidnapped his arse from that shithole! I know exactly what my best mate's going through. And I help as much as I can when he wants me to help."

Ron's entire face was blazing now, but there was no stopping him. "It's always about poor Harry, but where does that leave me, huh? Yes, I wouldn't wish his fate on anyone else and this whole savior-of-the-world prophecy is a fucking nightmare for him, but he gets everything else! The love, the fame, the money, the support, when do I get something? I just want one thing for myself! Since he's an orphan then what, I don't deserve affection, or attention or fucking anything? I was almost always there for him, and I despise myself for the times I wasn't, and he had plenty of people who loved him. His mother's love was strong enough to defeat the darkest curse in history! My mum doesn't even know my favorite color! When has anybody ever loved me?! Where was everyone when I was at my lowest?!"

It felt like he was hyperventilating, as he ended his sentence in the deafening silence. He definitely didn't mean to let it all out like that. Or at all, really. He had learned to live with it, that foul part of his mind. They were his problems. No one was supposed to know. Especially not the girl he loved. Now, whatever chance the hopeful part of his subconscious wished he had was positively gone.

Hermione was staring at him, tears pouring silently onto her flushed cheeks, hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light and wide with an unreadable expression, but no less beautiful, as he awaited his verdict once more.

Yet just like always they were interrupted, as a loud clonk sounded above their heads and the metal latch creaked open, flinging the hatch open.

How convenient, Ron thought miserably, and Hermione snatched her wrists hurriedly out of his grasp before he even had the chance to acknowledge it.

Harry's messy head popped into view with a relieved smile, and moved away just as quickly when Hermione clambered her way out.

"Everything alright?", he heard him ask, referring to the both of them.

"Yes," Hermione answered stiffly, "I'll set up the tent now."

Her light footsteps faded away before Harry asked him, "So, no progress made then? I kind of hoped the whole 'trapped in one place' thing would help you sort things out."

Ron extinguished the light with his deluminator and picked up his forgotten jacket, peering up at him and sighing, "I think I fucked it up even worse this time."

"Are you sure that's possible?", Harry grinned at him teasingly. There was always a light-hearted tone to their friendship, and joking with Harry never failed to make him feel a little better. But his heart and his mind were too far down in the dumps right now.

To avoid worrying him, Ron sent a half-hearted smile his way as he climbed out, closing the hatch back up and watching it conceal itself. "Probably is."

If Harry noticed anything off, he didn't comment. "I suppose I should be thankful you're coming out of there alive then?"

"Yeah, just barely. You go inside mate, I'll take up watch," he patted his back. There was still another hour of Harry's time left technically, but he figured he needed some time alone. Or away from the painful truth.

"Alright then, cheers mate." Harry grinned and disappeared through the flap.

Ron settled on the ground, leaning tiredly against the canvas tent wall. Another silent night alone with his thoughts.

---

Ron had expected their night watches to overlap. One of his favorite ways to overcome the guilt of leaving was by sitting out there for as long as physically possible, until one of them send him back in or he felt too exhausted. Today, the nervous energy of the previous hours hadn't dissipated, so he wasn't planning on going in at all. He'd let her sleep a bit longer, it's the least he could do.

Which is why he was surprised when, not even two hours in, the tent flap rustled behind him.

His eyes must've literally left his sockets for a second when he saw it was her. Caught like a deer in headlights, she stood frozen and staring back at him.

Hermione cleared her throat noisily, regaining some semblance of control, "I brought you a cup of tea."

"Oh," he released excitedly, reaching out for the cup she was extending, "thank you," he added softly. Silently, she lowered herself beside him, palms firmly clasping her own steaming cuppa.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed some minutes later, causing him to almost spit out his tea in surprise.

"What on earth for?" Hermione rarely apologised for anything she did do wrong, and he could barely think of anything at the moment.

"I've been thinking, after what you said..."

Oh, that's not good.

"...and I realised how awfully I treated you over the years."

What? That's what she got from that fuck up of a declaration?

When he unintentionally unloaded his biggest fears on her, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad.

"Are you barking? What makes you say that?"

She looked at him owl-eyed like he was as nutty as his mother's fruitcake. "I've literally sent birds at you that left permanent scars!"

He rubbed his arms subconsciously, "They healed a bit...and I kind of deserved it, anyway."

"And I knew you were insecure about some things and I couldn't understand why, but I never even complimented you! In fact, I just kept on criticising you!"

"You always said constructive criticism helps you improve," he shrugged, "you inspired me to push myself, there's nothing bad about that."

"Yes, but I never told you how wonderful you actually are... I just kept making it worse," she sniffed again, eyes moist with suppressed distress. "How you felt, that's awful. No one should feel like that. Like they're not loved," she added in a quieter tone that made his heart beat a little faster.

"And you got it all wrong," she added.

Ron offered her a timid smile, "I was kind of hoping I did this time."

"I wasn't more affectionate towards Harry because I liked him more," it looked like she was preparing to divulge important information and he braced himself, "I just didn't want you to figure out I liked you more than Harry."

Well, that might just end him right here. Her half-whispered words were like a soothing balm, that calmed him yet simultaneously made his skin vibrate with exhilarating energy. It was the closest thing to what he dreamed of hearing her say, what he hoped she felt.

"I like you more than Harry too," he snuffed a little, wiping his sleeve haphazardly against his wet eyes.

She laughed in such a lighthearted way that made his heart sing. He loved hearing her laugh, and he hadn't heard nearly enough of it over the past weeks.

They were both smiling goofily, tears rushing down their faces in the overwhelming atmosphere, when he blurted, "I know you're still angry, but can I hug you?"

It felt like another sob burst out of her as she nodded eagerly, "Please do."

In the next few moments they were a jumble of limbs in a moist embrace, his tall stature bending over her much smaller form as Ron held her tightly to his chest, tighter than he ever had. Hermione too, scrambled to latch her hands on his back, head snuggled securely against his collarbone.

"Oh, I missed you so much," he whispered against the side of her head.

Her arms tightened protectively around him as she murmured, "Me too."

It wasn't the moment for big confessions, they both knew. They still had a war to fight, a world to save, a friend to stand by through it all.

But hours later, when Hermione was leaning comfortably on his shoulder, eyes heavy with the mellow warmth of her jar of bluebell flames in front of them, Ron had a sudden surge of optimism fill him and he knew they'd get it done. This hunt and the mission. Because now he had something absolutely wicked to look forward to, and he wouldn't let some nasty-looking madman stand in his way.

#submission

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dodo-begone · 3 years

Text

Trapped with a Leviathan

Pairing: Yandere!Ranbob x Reader

Word Count: 5.7K

Warning: Death, unhealthy behavior, yandere, blood, abandonment, memory loss, angst at the end (?)

Finding Karl’s little library was such a treat. It looked so cute, so quaint. It was small and cramped, but the type that still held so much comfort. Though you had no idea you weren’t supposed to know about it until Karl came from somewhere else in the library. His panicked expression told you everything you’d need to know.

After a long talk about the library, what he did in it and you swearing to keep mum about Karl’s secret, you both went your separate ways.

That didn’t stop you from bothering him about it though. You begged him for weeks on end to bring him with you on one of his adventures. Each request was met with a hard no from Karl. His reasoning everytime was “it’s dangerous on the other side. You never know what could be on the other side. You never know what could go wrong”.

One attempt did lead to the answer you craved. You were jumping for joy when Karl finally relented and said you could join him on the next trip. He said that it should be safe enough for you to come with him because the adventures so far hadn’t been dangerous.

With Karl’s acceptance, you were so excited for the trip, words couldn’t describe the euphoria you felt. You could just feel that the adventure would be life-changing.

You somehow managed to stay yourself, which apparently wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Karl had mentioned how sometimes the portal would spit you out as someone else and how it’s sometimes didn’t change you one bit.

It felt very strange, wrong in a way. It was painfully obvious that this wasn’t your time period. You were even in the clothes you had on before the adventure, which made you stick out like a black lamb in a flock of white. When you talked it out with Karl though, he said that you didn’t look that bad or out of place. If you acted more naturally, maybe took a bit after his lead, then you’d fit in better. The only thing that made you stick out, he said, was the fact that you acted like you stuck out. You just had to blend in, act like you belonged there.

So between the two of you, y’all agreed that you’d go along with what the fishermen were going to be doing. At least, that’s what you both agreed on doing.

Once you looked around again, you got a better assessment of the fishermen. They were barbaric. Absolute heathens. The shenanigans had escalated to Cletus and Benjamin punching each other. Although it started as playful, it quickly escalated to something on the very border between playful and a true fight. What had once been playful punching evolved to actual full-force punches and harsh pushes. The third fisherman, Charles, was pretty much ignoring it all. And Isaac, oh boy, you were wrong in assuming that the two of you would be taking the back seat for this adventure.

Isaac was trying his best to get control of the group, yelling at them to stop what they were doing so they could actually get something done. It wasn’t very effective, as it just added another layer onto the chaos, but it was some effort. Much more than the other three were doing.

With a defeated sigh, you also try to calm the group down. You don’t remember much of what happened though. It was all a blur. People running around, a book, some boats, and then you were in a strange building just above the ocean. In the middle of nowhere. There was no land in sight. How far had y’all gone?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Cletus chanting “open sesame”, with his face pressed to an iron door. Although amusing, the attempts proved fruitless. Charles and Isaac had gone back outside for some odd reason. You couldn’t recall them stating a reason as to why they left, but that wasn’t too important. What was important was stopping Cletus from slamming himself against the door. It was frightening how little he actually cared for his well-being.

Cletus’ attempts were stopped, but not by you. You had gone over to stop Cletus, and were in the process of holding him back when Benjamin called for everyone to come to him. Charles and Isaac came back swiftly, with Isaac inspecting the new-found item. You and Cletus could barely get over to them before Isaac was ushering Benjamin over to the door. Isaac stated that this was the supposed key that should let them into the locked room. Though you had no recollection of him ever stating that a key was necessary to get in. It made more sense then what Cletus was doing, so you kept quiet.

Once Benjamin and Isaac were at the door, Isaac took the key and inserted it into the lock. The door was swiftly opened by Isaac, and he walked in to investigate further. Not even two seconds passed before the others were repeatedly closed and opened the door. They seemed to be having fun twisting the key and running around. You couldn’t get through the doorway with them running in and out of the room, so you stayed away from the traffic until Isaac came back out. A book was visible from the doorway, but indecipherable from the position you were in. Isaac soon stood over the book, blocking it entirely from view.

After Isaac read the book to the group, which the others didn’t really seem to pay too much attention to, they crowded into the room to read the book for themselves. You would’ve gone in, but small and tight spaces like that with so many people in it was suffocating. It was just easier to let them figure everything out then to panic and crowd the room with them. The men must’ve found something of interest in there, maybe another key or something similar, because soon there was a small piece of the wall being moved. With the obstacle removed, it revealed a ladder leading underground, or more specifically under the surface of the water.

Cletus had absolutely no impulse control and jumped down the hole almost immediately, though you really should’ve expected it by now. Nothing this man did showing any real thought process. He did climb back up to y’all though with no sign of injury, so that temporarily satiated the fear you had for his safety. Though that small peaceful was short lived as Cletus demanded y’all close the opening on him while he went down.

Screaming as the door closed a little too close to Cletus’ head, the group frantically tried to open the passage-way to check on Cletus. Panicking only led to chaos as they all tried to open it at the same time. Which resulted in the opening repeatedly being covered and closed in quick succession. You were petrified, frozen in place, fearing for Cletus’ safety and wellbeing. Had he actually been hurt?

Luckily the group got their act together and the passage-way was cleared for Cletus. While everyone gathered by the opening to find any sign of Cletus, the man of the hour made his appearance.

Perfectly fine. He was perfectly fine. He even started joking about how he had been decapitated, slowly making his descent back down. Everyone else followed after him, down with him and with his joking. You were the last to follow.

Before arriving at the bottom, you could hear the others yelling about something. Only “there’s a guy” could be discerned from the cacophony of voices. When you finally got to the bottom, all of the noise made sense.

There was a man. Well, it wasn’t exactly a man. But it was some-what humanoid. The thing resembled Ranboo, surprisingly. Must’ve been part enderman or something. They were the most noticeable thing. Everybody started introducing themselves, with Isaac starting first. The next was the new being, who’s name was Ranbob. It was odd how he took so long to answer, but he was apparently alone for quite a while. So socializing and remembering names weren’t really necessary. Then the introductions went on with Benjamin, to Charles, to Cletus, then yourself. Cletus loudly smelling Ranbob made you very uncomfortable, so you finally directed your attention elsewhere.

The new sight was much more pleasant to the eye. You hadn’t realized before that y’all were in a room made almost entirely of glass. Walls showing you the dark outside word with kelp practically obscuring the possible view. There were barrels and chests clumped together in different areas around the room. Though you made a chilling discovery when you finally looked down.

Blood. A dried spot of blood. It sent you into a small panic. Frantically looking around the room led to a shocking discovery. There wasn’t just one small puddle of dried blood. Instead there were multiple, all varying in size. You weren’t the only one who noticed the blood though.

Ranbob was talking about where you were, about how many people used to live there. Isaac must’ve felt something was off because he made a snarky remark about how Ranbob didn’t clean the blood off the floor. This made the other three look at the floor, discovering the blood they had once looked over. The only excuse that Ranbob gave was that “many people died here”, which wasn’t very reassuring. It was so blunt, so apathetic to what could’ve happened here. You brushed it to the side though, making the excuse for him that, since he was alone, he would be blunt about everything because he was so used to it.

Isaac trusted him enough, for some reason, to ask him to show everyone around the city. Though Ranbob only got to one room before Isaac and the others went on ahead to explore. Their excursion was short lived as they came to a dead end; two imposing doors were locked, blocking all outsiders from the contents inside. Cletus tried his tactic of slamming himself into the door to get in, which proved useless. What was worse this time was the other fishermen were cheering him on. Giving some ideas on what could be done to ram it open. Although funny, it was a pitiful sight.

Though the energy just radiating off of them was too much. They were practically bouncing off the walls from their want to get into the room. Honestly it looked more like children got into candy and were on a sugar high rather than four grown men trying to get into a room.

With a heavy sigh, you realized it was going to be a long day.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranbo was rather quirky. He was awkward, but it was so endearing. While the fishermen were running around, touching and reading into everything they could in the rooms, you stood by Ranbob as he talked about each room.

With each explanation, there was at least one interruption from the others. They all talked over each other, and Ranbob was not spared from this treatment. It embarrassed you how they would ask him questions yet never listen to him. Ranbob’s irritation was obvious, yet he kept his cool. Isaac and the others didn’t even acknowledge Ranbob other than to ask about the rooms. They treated him like he was a robot or something. Either not there or not human.

As the tour went on, you progressively got more embarrassed and irritated. Their treatment of Ranbob was consistent, if not worse, as time progressed. So you did what you could; you listened to Ranbob intently. It was the least you could do, since they weren’t listening to him. It wasn’t like he didn’t have interesting information to share. Why it was quite the opposite. The history he shared was fascinating, an insider’s view of each room was more in depth and immersive than the information found scattered around. And the conversation was pleasant; you even had bantered with each other. Ranbob’s remarks were quirky and quite hilarious, yet cute at the same time.

While he went on his tangents about Mizu’s history, you both wandered around, taking a look at the city without the disturbance of the others. He was specifically talking about what research he had done about Fundy when he stopped walking. It took you a second to realize he stopped, but when you did, you immediately went back to him. He was looking around, almost frantically. Stopping his search, he looked you directly in the eye. The sudden eye contact made you uncomfortable, but the look in them put you on edge. They were panicked, with a hint of something else. You couldn’t identify it, but all you knew was the look in his eye didn’t match the expression of his face.

“Can you wait here,” he asked, looking you in the eyes. “I forgot something in one of the other rooms. I won’t be long.” Suddenly he grabbed your shoulders, his voice changing from its usual monotone to a more desperate one. “Please stay here. I just need to grab something really quick.” His actions started to scare you, but you agreed.

“Thank you. Remember: I’ll be right back. So wait here. Please.” With that, he left.

When he started to leave, you finally took in your surroundings. You had ended up in the meeting room again. Ranbob’s actions unnerved you, ticked at something deep inside of you. Your instincts were begging you to run, yet you ignored them, staying in the room that Ranbob left you in. Watching Ranbob jogging down one of the hallways, you had to mentally reassure yourself.

Everything is fine. It’s just Ranbob. Ranbob is socially awkward. He hasn’t been with other people in a long time. He won’t do anything bad. He couldn’t do anything bad. That’s just how he is.

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It felt like you had been waiting forever. Time moved oddly, you mused. Yes, time was a human construct, but it was also a universal constant. Always correlation with either the sun or moon. And you had no idea what time it could’ve been. All light that would’ve made its way down to you had been blocked by the ocean water and kelp. The light from inside danced across the kelp scattered along the ocean with fish darting between the kelp like children on a playground. This was the only form of entertainment you had while waiting for Ranbob. You didn’t want to touch or disturb anything that was in the room. Being so zoned out, you had no idea you had company until you were being violently shaken.

Disturbed from your thoughts, you swiftly turn to look at who had messed with you. And right behind you were the fishermen. Isaac, Benjamin and Charles. They were panting, and quite hard at that. Feeling overwhelmed by their sudden reappearance, you were dazed. You were practically zoned out, but weren’t at the same time. Everything looked normal, but you couldn’t hear anything besides a general buzz. Your only que about what was going on was Isaac and the others making grand gestures and touching you.

Fighting the trance-like state was hard. So hard to focus on them, but they looked so panicked. You had to get out of it, for them. And luckily you did. Only to hear a question that just made no sense.

“Did Ranbob hurt you?”

You couldn’t tell who asked the question, but you found the question odd. Reverting back to blocking everything out, you went back to thinking on what that phrase could mean. Ranbob? Hurting you? That’s just preposterous. Ranbob was an odd fellow, that was true. But not that odd. He was kind at heart and couldn't hurt a fly. They must’ve been overreacting or something since you were away from them.

Trying to get back to reality was a struggle, but one you had to make. The panicked faces of you friends were saddening, and they got worse the longer you didn’t answer. You had to be quick about this.

“No, Ranbob didn’t hurt me.” was all you could get out before they started to talk over you again. You had more to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was like the noise was making you mute. So you stayed silent, going with what the others were doing. With how long you were examining things, you wondered how you missed one detail. It was so big, it should’ve been noticed by you at the beginning.

Cletus wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Frantically you look around, wanting to find any sign of the rambunctious man. But you found nothing. Only Charles was seen. Benjamin and Isaac were already going down another secret passage way in the meeting room. Charles gently led you to the opening, giving reassuring words about how it's safe and that he’d be right behind you.

Down below, it was much darker than above. Practically no sunlight could get to y’all. The only light source you found was from an open room. A room with a bright light could wait though. A skeleton with a book definitely couldn’t. It was undeniable, hard to believe that the dead of Mizu weren’t properly buried. Grabbing the book, since the skeleton wasn’t really needing it, you read the book aloud. You didn’t grasp any of the information on the page. Didn’t have a clue if you were actually reading aloud or if what you said was actually making sense. But it was, because they started to talk about how the room with the light, as the book stated, had to have the key to the next room.

Looking around didn’t give you much information on what they were talking about. Another room? There were literally walls everywhere. How could there be another room down here?

But you kept quiet, not wanting to make the situation worse with your silly questions. After all, it was probably answered in the book and you just weren’t paying attention.

That's besides the point. What was important was getting that key. Walking into the next room made a pit grow in your stomach. The key was in there? Somewhere in this lava-flooded room? Where could it even be? You had to look around the room multiple times to finally understand what was going on. There was some parkour leading up to a small crevice in one of the walls.

Not long after your discovery, Benjamin took on the challenge of grabbing the key. Every jump made you gasp in fear. Fear that Benjamin would fall to his death. Every trip or stumble made your anxiety grow uncontrollably. Isaac saw your panic though, which you were grateful for. He walked over to you, grabbing your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry too much about Benjamin,” Isaac said,” He’s a professional at this”. He tried his best to reassure you by looking into your eyes. Uncertainty and hope danced within his. The attempt at a reassuring look only emphasized the emotions in his eyes, making you feel on edge. You had to be strong though. For Isaac, for Charles and especially for Benjamin.

After calming down, you looked back up to see Benjamin’s progress. He was almost at the top. Two more jumps to go. With the tension growing, Benjamin prepared for the second to last jump. It felt like time slowed once he left the platform. He was flying in the air, bending his knees for the anticipated landing. Touching the platform, you thought he was safe. How wrong you were in this assumption. His foot slipped out from under him, making him slip off the edge and into the lava below.

His screams of agony were overwhelming, scratching something deep inside of you. It scared you, made you feel horrible. Screams soon turned to silence. The bubbling of the lava in the new-found silence was absolutely deafening.

All three of you looked amongst each other. It was undeniable; all three of you were scared to take on the challenge. You were absolutely paralized in fear and frantically looked between the two of them, hoping that they’d come up with some alternative plan.

“I’ll go,” Isaac stated after a long moment of silence. You and Charles looked at Isaac, scared for his safety after the example Benjamin left for you all. But Isaac chose to possibly sacrifice his life for the two of you. Silence was the best answer to someone who had already decided to face death head-on.

Every one of Isaac’s jumps made you more anxious than the last. He definitely wasn’t as good as Benjamin. Almost every landing ended with him stumbling to regain his balance. But after an agonizing wait, Isaac made it to the top, brandishing a shiny key to you and Charles. You both cheered for Isaac’s accomplishment, but soon grew silent.

“How’re you going to get down?” Charles hollered in hopes of being heard over the bubbling lava, looking around for an alternative way down. There seemed to be only two options. Option one was going back the way he came, which was rather dangerous. It was hard to get there and it looked even harder to travel the same path backwards. Option two was just jumping to you and Charles from where Isaac was, which was also very risky. Neither option was optimal.

Charles and Isaac soon got to talking about a plan. They both were talking about Isaac going back the way he came, but soon decided that it was much too perilous. Isaac soon started to yell back about how he’d just jump from where he was to the beginning, where you and Charles stood. You and Charles started to object when Isaac disappeared into the crevice. He got a running started and jumped at the very last second. It seemed like he was soaring with how slowly time passed. But he made it safely. Isaac’s landing was a catharsis for you and Charles. You both were so happy that you gave Isaac a group hug that almost sent the three of you into the lava.

After the hug, the three of you went back into the room leading back up. Isaac went up to the wall adjacent to the lava room and inserted the key in a small hole, which had gone unnoticed by you until that very moment. Once the doorway was opened, the three of you walked in, feeling like y’all could defeat the world together.

Now all the rooms before had been unique, especially the ones representing and holding the items of historical figures. But this one just felt so different from the others. It was much darker than the others, with no view of the water surrounding y’all. The walls, floor, and ceiling were pitch blkac. With lime green pillars and baseboards around the outer rims of the room. All of the items looked to be of much higher quality than the contents of other rooms. Yes they were all filled with historical artifacts, but the value of everything in this room felt much greater than almost all of the rooms combined. There were chests, anvils, diamond armor, diamond swords, barrels, enchantment tables, and a little enclosure room. There was even a disc engraved above the doorway.

It was obvious that whoever made this room really liked whoever this room was themed after. The little enclosure was well made. Almost looked like the world above the ocean with a green field, a blue sky with clouds and a little cave with lava and gold visible from the glass of the enclosure. But the main centerpiece was, well it was unnerving. It looked so much like Dream. A little lime-green thing in the center with Dream’s little white blobby face on it. The sight was sickening to you. He was everywhere, even in the damn, well whatever time period it is. Finding out if the new reality had already happened or could happen hadn’t been a priority. But now you really wished you found out because this was absolutely bullshit.

Isaac screaming diverted your attention to the Dream exhibit to whatever was behind y’all. And boy was it a pleasant sight. It was Ranbob! And he looked unharmed, which was even better. Could it get any better than this?

In unison, you and Charles called out to Ranbob. Saying how glad y’all were that he was alright while running over to give him a hug. That was until Isaac screamed at the two of you to stop, which y’all did. When you both looked at Isaac, the sight was frightening yet devastating. He looked scared and tears had already started to grow in his eyes. That wasn’t it though. The raw anger that painted his eyes and face seemed so out of place. What was his problem? It was just Ranbob.

“Are you kidding me” Isaac screeched, running up to you and Charles. When he got to y’all, he pushed and pulled with all his might to get y’all away from Ranbob. “What do you mean ‘thank god’? He killed Cletus!”

Isaac’s claim was shocking, yet Charles went right along with it. Taking back everything he said and spouting about how he killed Cletus. The news left you numb.

No way. There was no way Cletus was dead. Maybe he just got lost? Or knocked unconscious? Maybe left as well? And Ranbob wouldn’t have done that! Yeah he’s different and definitely isn’t socially sauve, but he isn’t the type of person to just hurt others. He’s just an easy target to push Cletus’ disappearance onto. There was no way that Ranbob killed him, right?

But the panicked faces of the fishermen haunted you. Accompanied with their sudden reappearance without Cletus was all that was needed to know that he was actually gone.

That creates another question; what had actually happened to Cletus? He was so full of life. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but definitely should’ve lived longer than he had. Even with his level of intelligence, it shouldn’t have killed him yet.

You looked at Isaac in hopes of an answer, but all you got back was a face that screamed “I fucked up”’. Silently you begged for questions, which Isaac went over to gladly give.

While Isaac was making his way over to you, Ranbob started to explain the room and who it was made after, since it was apparently made to honor somebody. Your suspicion on it being for Dream was confirmed by Ranbob as he went on to talk more about the other themed rooms.

He talked about how each room was themed after someone, how each room was dedicated toward someone the previous residents worshiped. Each room made for an “idol”; some historically important person who the people looked up to. The idols were revered as god-like people. When Ranbob went on about who he worshipped, Isaac interrupted, like usual, asking if Ranbob’s idol was Ranboo. Because that’s Ranbob’s ancestor, so that seems like the obvious choice, right? But Ranbob denies it, saying his Idol was Dream.

Isaac went back up to the glass, pointing into the enclosure toward the green abomination. “Is that this man” he asked, breaking the glass without a care in the world. Ranbob curtly answered with a “yes” before he went on with his speech.

You unintentionally zoned out on Ranbob’s speech, which had been a first for the day. It was a low buzz compared to the shattering of glass that gave under Isaac’s fists. You, Isaac, and Charles went into the enclosure, as Ranbob talked about how Dream was a good man. When you turned to look at him again, you were shocked by what you saw.

Ranbob was right behind what remained of the glass, still in the main room, looking in on the three of you. During his speech and everyone moving, he had grabbed one of the diamond swords. His voice showed no emotion, no indication on what could happen next. He started to stalk closer to y’all, following into the enclosure.

“Nobody leaves here” he utters. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a fucking toothpick.

“What do you mean ‘nobody leaves here?’” It barely comes out as a whisper, but it echoed off the walls. Too quiet, it was too quiet. You wanted the noise back. You wanted your noisy boys back.

No immediate answer was given. After a tense moment, the answer was given. It wasn’t a verbal answer. The answer was Ranbob lunging at Charles with his sword ready to strike.

Everything happened so fast after that. Before every death seemed to happen in slow-motion, but now Charles’ death couldn’t have come any quicker. A few slashes from Ranbob’s sword was all that was needed to silence the poor man. The other shrieks of fear weren’t silenced though. If anything, they raised in volume because of the fear for their own lives. Only you and Isaac remained of the original visitors. During Charles’ slaughter, which you wanted to view as a valiant sacrifice to not feel as guilty, Isaac runs out of the enclosure while you are momentarily frozen by fear.

Not even a second after Charles’ agonizing howls of pain cease, a portal on the other side of the room appears. It’s obviously one of Karl’s portals because of the odd swirly thing in the center. When the portal appears, you do your best to dash out of the enclosure without Ranbob getting to you. Whatever god took pity on you wanted some fucking entertainment because you only escaped by the skin of your teeth.

Isaac is almost at the portal when you’re barely halfway across the room.

“Isaac, wait” you cry, hoping to get any help you could from the man. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t pay attention to you. “Isaac please, wait. Help.”

Your attempts were proving futile, but you didn’t want to give up yet. “Karl wait” you bellow as loud as humanly possible. It was your last hope. The portal closed before you were even three-fourths across the room.

You slow to a stop, stunned by what had unfolded in front of you. He just left you? Karl left you? No, there’s no way he’d purposely leave you there, especially with a murder, right? Maybe he just didn’t hear you? Trying to make excuses for Karl were useless. You knew the reality; Karl purposely left you for dead. To get himself out of a sticky situation.

Bitter, betrayed, numb. They were only a few words that could describe how you felt right now.

A presence on your shoulder shocks you back into reality. Or as much reality as you can handle right now. The world felt so disconnected. Unreal. You turn around to Ranbob, who’s obviously talked based on the fact that his damn mouth is moving. This motherfucker. Why won’t he just kill you already? It’s so obvious that you’re next. You could care less if he killed you now. Death was just sitting in front of you, taunting you with her lethal weapon. Everything you loved had just been ripped away from you by somebody you had trusted with your safety, your life.

But Ranbob doesn’t lift his sword. Instead he grabs your shoulder, leading you out of the room. As he exits, he drops his bloodied sword by the doorway.

You heard one thing he said, and you wish you hadn’t heard anything at it. His words would haunt you till the day you die.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

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The previous adventure had been hard on Karl. He almost honking died back there! He’s dazed by his close encounter with death, but fine. Perfectly fine. No harm was brought to him, which was great!

As quickly as he could in his tired and dazed state, he went back to the main part of his library. There he pulled out a blank book and started to document his most recent adventure.

It was hard to remember what he had gone through, and even harder to write all of it down. So he did his best in shortening it. He talked about how the future was bad and how he needed to change events in the present to prevent the future he was presented with. That Dream kinnie had to be stopped before he even appeared.

After hours of pouring his previous trip into a book, which was mostly spent thinking of words and staying awake, he felt satisfied. Most of the important bits made it into the book, or at least he thinks it did. He doesn;t even remember what he put in the book now.

Giving the room a slow scan, he grabs another book. The book was completely empty, just like the last book he grabbed. He sat and stared at it, pondering if he should write in it. And if he did, what he'd write in it. Without much thought, he grabbed a quill and ink pot to start writing in the new book. Writing a small, quick thing wouldn’t hurt.

This book was going to be a more personal entry thing after his journeys, he decided. For how he felt after each adventure. After all, the other books are meant to be full of facts for future reference about what could/had happened. Not a honking diary.

Karl started off talking about how his memory was starting to fail him and asking himself if he should continue, which he decided that he had to do. “For the safety of the future” was his reasoning. His fear of forgetting his loved ones appeared on the page, but he just couldn’t forget about how all of the people on the last adventure reminded of someone in the present day. But there was someone that just seemed odd. Out of place. They were familiar, but a stranger all at the same time. Something was different about this compared to the others.

It felt like he met that person before…

#c: ranbob #tw: yandere #tw: blood #tw: death #mcyt x reader #Ranbob x reader #x reader #yandere #dream smp x reader #yandere Ranbob #c: karl #c: cletus #c: charles #c: benjamin

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twdeadfanfic · 3 years

Text

Vows Pt. 7

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Summary:

The last battle with Negan doesn’t go as it should, with Negan coming on top, and so reader, Daryl’s girlfriend, offers herself as a wife to Negan if he doesn’t kill Daryl or anyone else. Negan accepts, he won’t kill anyone but will take reader as a wife, and he’ll take Daryl and some of the others to the Sanctuary as prisoners, promising not to hurt anyone if reader is one of his wives and the communities work for him.

This has both flashbacks to reader and Daryl’s story since meeting to now, and the present with reader living at the Sanctuary as a wife, trying to keep Daryl and their people safe, and she and the other wives dealing with Negan, plotting… (This is not a Negan x reader fic!)

Warning, there are reader and Negan scenes in this chapter, but also there’s Daryl...and not only on flashback.

After another few days of playing nice, and you decided to go ahead and talk to Negan about the living conditions of your people. This time, you didn’t go to wait for him in his bedroom, instead, you waited for a day in which he called for you, hoping that he’d be in a good mood after it.

So, there you were now, trying to not be embarrassed about being naked, resisting the urge to cover yourself with the sheet. Negan was lying against the headboard and you shifted to straddle him, trying to summon your best seductress black widow performance, feeling less and less stupid every time that you tried.

“Look at you, wanting a second round already?” Negan teased with a smug smirk. “Where’s that girl who’d squirm away every time I looked at her?” He chuckled and you shrugged, not knowing how to answer.

“I…I wanted to ask you something…” You began, and Negan’s smirk grew.

“So…this is not just you wanting me…tks tks…I’m disappointed,” he chuckled. “What is it, doll, more chocolate?”

“No…not, not that…it’s…” You chewed on your lip, not sure of how to word it, and Negan’s smile was gone.

“Spit it, doll.”

“I wanted to talk to you about my people…the ones you have here…” You forced yourself to speak. “You have them in those cages…”

“Yes,” Negan interrupted you. “Alive and non tortured, as you asked.”

“I know, I know, and I’m very grateful, you gave me everything I asked for.” You almost gagged at your own words. “But those cages…being all day inside those, the darkness, no fresh air, for weeks…it feels almost like torture.

“No. Torture would be blasting music so they don’t sleep and beating them from time to time,” Negan stated as nothing, and you were running out of ideas.

“I know…but still…can’t you…can’t you let them out, even if just for an hour? So they can see light and breath?”

Negan blinked at you. “Absolutely fucking not…you are not really asking me that, are yo,u doll?” He sounded dangerous, but it didn’t intimidate you, and you tried your best pout.

“I am…I’m not saying to let them go, or have them all day outside the cage, just an hour ?” You tried pouting again. “You say that people are resources…Rick and the others, they’re resources, but you are wasting them unused. Let them out for an hour while you have them working for you. You had a good eye, got some of the most resourceful, Rosita is incredible with bombs and stuff like that, she can build you an arsenal...”

“Last time I got someone of yours working on my weapons, they made bullets explode in my men’s hands, doll…”

“That won’t happen again, they learned their lesson,” you tried to assure him, and Negan just looked at you in silence for once. “Please, Negan, please.” You pouted again.

Negan kept looking at you, studying you, and you were getting anxious, but then he smirked, looking you up and down, and you tried once again not to be embarrassed by your nakedness.

“Okay, doll, you ask, I give,” he chuckled, her smug smirk growing. “They can leave the cell from time to time, just one at a time, get some work done, with my guys watching over them, ready to shoot them if they try something.”

You forced yourself to grin, wrapping your arms around him to hug him briefly, somehow you hated the hugs more than the kisses and even the sex, but you try to use everything to your advantage.

“Thank you, thank you!” You peck his lips, trying to sound so sweet that you feel your teeth rotting.

Negan chuckled and reached to cup your face. “Not so fast, darling…” He said with that dark smile and you froze, wondering if he’d tricked you and what was he going to do. “I want something in exchange.”

“What?” You asked with dread, trying not to sound scared, and Negan’s smile grew.

“Tell me that you love me.”

“What?” You blinked at him

“Tell me that you love me,” he repeated with that smug, yet menacing grin. “I don’t know…I can see you’ve been thinking about your friends a lot, yeah? That includes Daryl, uh? Sure you have…” He chuckled. “It kind of feels like you still love him too much…” Seriously? Did he expect you not to? “But…what about me?” You just blinked at Negan, unable to find words. Did he really expect you to love him or just to pretend it? “Don’t you love me?”

“I…” You knew he wanted you to say it, but it felt so wrong. “I love you like Amber loves you.” It’s a way of saying it that it’s not a lie.

Negan chuckled, seeming amused. “Good try, doll. Do you want your friends to leave those shit holes?” He asked and you nodded. “Then fucking say it, say I love you, Negan.”

It tasted like ashes in your mouth, but you spat it out. “I love you, Negan.”

His smirk grew as he looked at you. “Again, with a little bit more of feeling? Come on…because you mean it, right?”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to spit at him. “I love you.”

Negan’s dark smile went wider. “Better. Again.”

“I love you.”

“Good girl...Now come here…” Negan grabbed your hips, moving you off him and dropping you onto your back, and you tried to think that at least you had won your friends some sunlight and fresh air…

Later that day, you were in your room, sat down on the bed against the headboard, hugging Daryl’s shirt to you, inhaling the scent that almost wasn’t there anymore.

You couldn’t believe that you had said to Negan that you loved him, even if it was a lie, even if you didn’t mean it…you couldn’t believe that he wanted you to say it even if he had to know it was a lie, no matter his ego, and he wanted you to sound genuine…But when finally you were allowed to leave his room, he’d told you that starting tomorrow, Daryl and the others could go out the cages from time to time, so it was worthy…

It was so different from that first time you told Daryl that you loved him, when you meant every word, with a love stronger and fiercer than you’d ever felt before…

Then…

The Greene’s farm, your heaven-sent safe place, had fallen the night before under a sea of walkers in which had been the most terrifying moment of your life, riding behind Daryl on his bike, holding tight to him, burying your face in his back while monsters snapped and reached for you both every where, until you managed to reach the intersection and find the others…the ones who hadn’t died, at least.

Now, it was night again, and you all were camped in the middle of nowhere. You were sat down on the ground between Daryl’s legs, lying against his chest, and he’d an arm around you while the other held his crossbow, looking around while he kept watch.

You glanced at Rick, doing the same at the other side of the camp, and then looked at Daryl. “Hey…you really think that we can trust him?” You nodded towards Rick. “All that stuff he said before…I don’t know, Daryl, he sounded kind of dangerous…”

“Nah, Rick’s a good guy,” Daryl assured you. “Just…he got like that ‘cause all the shit that’s goin’ on…but we can trust him, we’ll be good if we stick with him.”

It was almost funny, to hear Daryl speak like that about Rick, holding him with such regard, considering how much he’d hated him not that long ago. “Okay.” You nodded. “I don’t know if I trust Rick…but I trust you.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, but his arm tightened around you and he nuzzled your hair before kissing your temple. You smiled, he could be so sweet and caring sometimes, and he slowly was letting himself show that side more and more…you loved it…and you loved him, with so much force…

“Daryl…” You looked at him again. “I love you.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, just looked at you, but you didn’t miss the emotion in his eyes, and then he dropped his head to nuzzle your neck, placing a soft kiss on your skin and burying his face on the crook of your shoulder. He stayed like that, not pulling back, and you chuckled, it melted your heart a bit. You kissed the top of his head and began to stroke the hair at the back of his neck. You didn’t think much of Daryl not saying I love you back, he showed you in his way, and you knew it’d take him time to say it with words, you weren’t going to push him.

Several months later, you were laying down on your back over the grass of the prison fence that you had managed to clear of walkers, and you smiled, looking at the stars. You were safe behind fences, and tomorrow, you’d make sure you had walls too.

Everyone was already asleep, or trying, besides Daryl and Rick, who were taking watch around the perimeter. Eventually, you fell asleep, and you woke up some hours later, when you felt Daryl lying down next to you, his shift having ended, now time for T-Dog’s.

“’night…” You whispered and Daryl just hummed, throwing an arm over you and pillowing his head on your chest. You smiled, kissing the top of his head and wrapping an arm around him, stroking his hair with your other hand. You had almost fallen asleep again when you felt Daryl muttering something against your neck, but it was so quiet and muffled that you couldn’t quite catch it. “What?”

For a moment, Daryl didn’t say anything, and you thought he might have been talking in his sleep, but then he pulled back slightly to whisper again, “I love you.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through you at Daryl’s words, and you almost giggled, giddy. “I love you too,” you whispered back, holding Daryl tighter to you. “So much that I can’t even explain it…”

Now…

You lied on your bed at the Sanctuary, holding Daryl’s shirt to you too, trying not to cry on it, afraid that it’d make the scent disappear even more, and you tried to sleep…

The next day, Negan came looking for you, and you were going to head for his bedroom, but instead he took you outside the wive’s room, leading you through the Sanctuary and outside, pointing to you stuff here and there as he gloated about the place.

“I told you I’d let your dear friends outside, doll…and today is Rick’s day.” Negan gave you that dark grin as he walked you outside, and then he waved towards the fences.

You saw Rick there, forced to work with some other people, a couple of saviors not far from them, watching over them, making sure they worked and stayed in line. They were reinforcing the fences and also moving walkers here and there, using them as protection for the fences too. It seemed dangerous, with the walkers snapping to them, and you felt uneasy with Rick working there.

“Isn’t that dangerous? They could get bitten…” You said, looking from Rick to Negan, who kept smirking darkly at you.

“I’m sure Ricky boy can handle himself,” Negan said, patting your cheek. “You wanted him outside the cage, right?”

“Yeah…” But not at risk of getting bitten…but if he kept staying in a dark cell day after day, that couldn’t be good either…you didn’t know what to think.

“You got it.” Negan grinned. “And not even a thank you?”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. “Thank you, Negan,” you forced yourself to say.

You looked at Rick, he had spotted you now from the distance, and you arched your eyebrows at him, trying to silently ask him if he was okay. He nodded and did the same to you, and you nodded too. It was something, you guessed…

The next day, you didn’t get to see her, but you knew that it was Rosita’s turn to go out of the cage and get some air and sunlight, though you didn’t know how much sunlight , since Negan told you that he had her working checking and putting together explosives and bombs, since you had told him she was good at that. You kind of wondered if Rosita might not go ahead and try to blow up the Sanctuary with all of you included…

You wondered, too, when it’d be Daryl’s turn to get out of the cell. You didn’t ask, though, the less you talked to Negan about Daryl, the better, you were sure of that, and even if you wanted to see Daryl, check how he was, you thought that it’d be better if Daryl didn’t see you. You knew it’d hurt him, and you didn’t want him to have to worry about you, he had enough, you were faring better than him, and you didn’t want him to have to see you with Negan, afraid that he’d try to taunt Daryl or anything like that.

In a couple of days, though, your wishes were crushed, when Negan toured you around the Sanctuary again, and as you got closer and closer to an open door, you realized that there were the bathrooms, and Daryl was inside mopping, a savior near him with a gun pointed to him.

You stopped and began to backtrack, even though you saw that Daryl’s eyes had found you already, but Negan grabbed your arm hard and didn’t let you move away.

“I want to go back, please,” you told him, trying to turn around. “Thanks for the walk but I want to go back now.”

“But I don’t want to.” Negan smiled darkly at you, and then he pushed you in front of him, placing his hand on your neck to push you forward and make you walk to the bathrooms.

“Negan, please, I don’t want to,” you tried again, trying to resist and squirm from his grasp, but Negan kept walking you forward…this couldn’t be good, he wouldn’t have brought you there if he didn’t want to rail up Daryl in any way…what if he began telling him what you and he did night in, night out…

You were about to struggle again, but you noticed the shift in Daryl’s eyes and stopped, realizing that he thought Negan was hurting you. You were about to shake your head, try to reassure him, Negan didn’t hurt you physically and you knew neither was now his intention, he just wanted to take the piss at Daryl and you, but it was too late.

Daryl threw the mope to the ground with a growl, and he tried to go to you, but the savior holding him at gunpoint kicked the butt of his rifle against his head, and then pointed it to his head. You were so scared that he was about to shoot Daryl, your heart seemed to stop beating.

“No! Stop!” You didn’t know if you were yelling to the savior or to Daryl, but the savior didn’t shoot, just kept pressing the riffle to Daryl’s head, and so you called for him. “Daryl! Stop! I’m okay, stop!” You could see Daryl shaking in rage, but he stopped trying to do anything, so you turned to look at Negan. “Do something!”

“What? Do I tell my savior to shoot?” Negan grinned at you and you glared at him. “I’m kidding, sweetheart…Alan! Get Daryl back to his cage.” The savior nodded, pushing Daryl with the riffle to make him turn around and face Negan, who was blocking the corridor, you next to him.

Negan looked at you and grinned again. “I must say, I’m fucking impressed, doll…the way you yelled at them? And they listened and stopped…fucking impressive, darling….wasn’t it, Alan?” Negan asked, and the savior nodded curtly. “Maybe I should change your job, have you out here, giving orders, keeping everyone in line.” Negan joked, and you shrugged, uncomfortable. “But no…I enjoy you way more in the bedroom.” Negan chuckled and kissed you, grasping your chin and holding your face in place so you couldn’t pull back, even if you hated that he was kissing you in front of Daryl.

When Negan pulled back, he chuckled as he looked at your face, before turning to the savior and Daryl again. “Now…this shit can’t happen again, are we clear? Or the next time, my guys will blow up your head, okay?” Negan said, but Daryl didn’t say anything, and the savior nodded curtly again.

You knew the threat was real, and you looked at Daryl with begging eyes, asking him to play along, so he wouldn’t get hurt or killed.

“It won’t happen again, he thought, he…” You didn’t know if it was a good idea to say that Daryl’d thought that Negan was hurting you, he took such pride in boasting about how good he treated his spoiled wives...

“What?” Negan looked at Daryl again. “What did you think, doggy Daryl, uh?” He smirked darkly, but Daryl just shook in rage, silent. “That I’m shagging your ex-girl every night? That you wanted to rip my throat open with your bare teeth like the dog you are? Yeah…I know.” Negan chuckled.

You didn’t like where this was going, and you were scared that Daryl might snap at any moment and he’d be shot, so you reached to held Negan’s arm, trying to get his attention. “He got it, okay? Can we go back to the room?”

“Oh, you’re eager today, aren’t you?” Negan chuckled, grabbing your chin and kissing your lips again. “Sure, doll…maybe if we get at it all night long I’ll change my mind about not letting Daryl leave his cage to clean our bathrooms and eat something that’s not dog food anymore after his little outburst here.”

Negan chuckled again, kissing you once more, and you let him do it even if you hated it as much as his words.

“Okay…Alan,” Negan called for the savior, though he was still looking at you. “Get the dog back to his kennel and bring Ezekiel to finish what Daryl didn’t…I’m gonna go fuck my wife.”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t dare to look at Daryl. Negan reached to grab your neck again, turning you around and pushing at you to walk in front of him, and you let him. Negan was demanding and possessive, but he’d never touched you or any of the others in that way, as far as you were aware, so you guessed that he was putting on even more of a show for Daryl, trying to rail him up.

You hated it…the last thing that Daryl needed was to think that Negan was hurting you in any way. You knew him, he’d worry, beat himself about it, drive himself crazy, when in reality, you weren’t doing that bad, you could endure sleeping with Negan, you had learned to, it kept your people safe, and your living conditions were way better than much others at the Sanctuary…but you had no way to let Daryl know that, not with Negan deciding to be even more of a prick just to get a reaction out of Daryl…

Negan did get a reaction out of Daryl, in an even worse way that you could have imagined, but you were oblivious to it all, sheltered in the wive’s room, with no idea of what was going on outside, until a couple of days later, when Negan stormed into the wives room.

“Y/N!”

Negan’s voice boomed as he called for you, and you paled as you heard it, knowing instantly that something was wrong, he never yelled like that to his wives when you all were pleasant to him. When you rushed to him, your anxiety and fear got even worse when you saw he was holding his bat.

“You know what your feral, dumb, dog did!?” He yelled at you…Daryl, something must have happened with Daryl… oh no…you were terrified but you managed to shake your head.

“He pretended to be dead when one of my saviors opened his cage, an idiot it seems, because he decided to check if your rabid dog was dead! And he wasn’t’! He grabbed the guy, bashed his head against the wall like the feral bitch he is! They found him trying to sneak in here, that stupid dog, as if he would have been able.”

Oh no…oh no…this was bad…it was getting harder to breathe as you panicked more and more… Daryl had tried to come for you, he must have really thought that you were being mistreated and abused…there was no way he wouldn’t try to go to you if he thought that…and for that he’d hurt a savior, maybe killed him, and escaped his cage…this was bad…you should have tried better to assure Daryl that you were okay, a note, something… now it was too late.

“Did you…” You tried to force words out of your mouth. “Did you kill him?”

Negan scoffed. “That’s all you care about, of course…” He grabbed your chin, making you look at him, and for a moment you thought he might bash Lucille in your head no matter you were a wife. “What if I did? He’s nothing to you now. You’re mine.”

“We have a deal…not killing him, not torturing him,” you found the courage to say.

Negan chuckled, letting go of your face. “You’re bringing up that shit now? You’re something else, doll…that deal goes to hell the moment someone pulls the shit that the stupid dog did…but it stands for your other friends…unless you wanna leave?”

You shook your head at that, you knew that right at that moment, Negan was a step away from just going ahead and killing everyone else of your friends in their cages…but no, they were resources, they kept the people back at home in their toes…you wouldn’t let Negan blackmail you with that…Daryl’d be the only one he’d kill…

“So did you kill him or not?” You asked even if you were scared of the answer.

“No,” Negan said, but the look in his eyes stopped you from being relieved. “Not yet. Not fast. But I’m going to…and you’re going to watch in the first row!” Negan grabbed your arm. “Also, all of you.” He waved the bat around, talking to the other wives. “You’re coming too, I spoiled you all too much, you need to remember what happens if someone crosses me like this. I want everyone in the Sanctuary to watch this.”

With that, he tugged at you, dragging you with him, and you knew better than to try to resist.

Well...shit happened.

If you enjoyed this, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, thanks.

Also, as always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

New taglist for Daryl,I trimmed it, if you want to be tagged let me know and also, please, if you are not interested in being tagged anymore let me know too

@coffeebooksandfandom @gruffle1 @yenne-yen-illustrations @sourwolf-sterek32 @lonewolf471 @daryldixonandfrogs @collecting-stories @princessxpunk @smiithys @captainbuckyboobear @dazzledamazon @spidergirla5 @lilythemadqueen @lightning-butterfly @purplebtsmagic @courtnytrash04 @seizethesam @fuseburner @phoenixblack89 @boywivlove @amaroho @woundmetender @classyunknownlover @tenderlyunlikelyexpert @kaitieskidmore1 @sttrawberries @huffledor-able541 @browneyes528 @soraitmnt @thereshallbenoother @leej2468 @heartlessmarvello @redneckstrash @bitchynicole @supernatural79impala @thiccblondeliv @maggie-l-m @baseballbitch116 @sweatywildpanda @theteaset @amaroho @my-current-fandom-is @whitexwingedxdoves @nickangel13 @oceans-daughter-3 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon/reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon & reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fic #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl twd

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afictionalwhore · 3 years

Text

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

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Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

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The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

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#bnha shigaraki #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki x reader #a gift for you #i hope it’s ok #my beautiful humble queen #OTL

131 notes · View notes

dat-town · 3 years

Text

wish you were here

Characters: Mark Lee & you

Setting: wish dragon au (and a bit of aladdin because mark even has a tiger in their garden like jasmine did. don’t ask why, just blame the regular mv), childhood best friends to lovers (at least there’s potential?)

Genre: fluff and humour

Warnings: mentions of a sick animal and a wild animal kept as a pet in a huge garden (just like jasmine’s tiger, it’s very tamed)

Summary: A magical teapot, a dragon that wants everyone to be happy and an old friendship being revived. Oh yeah, have I told you that you have 3 wishes?

Words: 6.4k

For @restlessmaknae 💕

When your mother told you you got delivery to your childhood home, you certainly did not expect this: a brown box as big as a small watermelon with your old Canadian address and MARK LEE scrabbled next to your name as another recipient but no sender. Not to mention, the first stamp on the thing was dating back to the early 2010s. Where the hell was this package for 10 years? And what would you and your old neighbour slash best friend have gotten together?

Okay, first things first:

You and this clumsy, kind of cute kid, Mark had been quite tight while growing up. You were born in the same year, only a month apart, and his family lived in the house next to yours in the suburbs of Vancouver, so it was kind of natural. You two might have been against the world kind of comrades, playing hide and seek when you were six and wondering about whether time travelling was possible through black holes at twelve. But no matter how close you used to be, you fell out of touch when Mark's family moved to the other end of the world, back to Korea, their roots when you were fourteen. You slowly forgot about him, and started university in the city, moving away from home, so nothing really reminded you of him ⎼ and your stupid, big fat crush on him that you had no courage to tell him about in middle school ⎼, nothing until this box.

You put the delivered package on your kitchen table while you make some dinner for yourself out of what you have gotten during grocery shopping earlier just before you picked up the mysterious stuff at the post office. You eye it suspiciously over your pasta, really not wrapping your mind about what it could be but instead of annoying yourself with this pointless curiosity, you put your fork down and stand up to open it. It’s a struggle at first, the box being secured with multiple adhesive tapes over the years but when you finally get rid of all that and can look inside of it, an intense feeling rushes through you… immerse disappointment.

“A teapot? For real? What were we thinking?” you furrow your brows taking the small, green and pretty old teapot into your hands. It looks like a piece of a traditional Asian set with its jade colour and dragon pattern. It couldn’t have been in a much better shape 10 years ago either seeing how wayworn it is but still, you expected something more… exciting? Something funny that might or might not give you an excuse to look up Mark Lee on the internet and message him for the sake of old times. But how lame it would be to befriend him on Facebook only to tell him that you got delivered a teapot under both your names. Hah, you would rather not embarrass yourself like that.

You shoot one last glance at the teapot before leaving it on your counter and going back to your food, you successfully forget about the whole ordeal. You carry your life on with only one small difference: Mark Lee back on your mind after long, long years.

It was just a small crush, you tell yourself, sighing as you look into the mirror, absentmindedly wondering how he’s doing. Does he think of you sometimes as well? Did he go to music college like he has always wanted? Is he happy? You wish he was even if he’s half a world away and with that thought you think it’s time to go to sleep despite the upcoming weekend days. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule over some boy but as soon as you pull the blanket over your chest and close your eyes, something explodes in your kitchen.

You jump out of bed faster than lightning, in slight panic over the fact that your neighbours will hate you for bothering them late at night and your landlord would kill you if you managed to blow up your microwave. But the sight that welcomes you is like no other that you imagined. The whole room is covered in thick pink glittery smoke. Like your worst Barbie nightmare.

“What the⎼” you cough, waving your hands to clear the air and once it dissolves into nothingness with its weirdly cotton candy smell, there’s a boy in the middle of it all, sitting cross legged on your kitchen counter so casually as if he owned the place. His pink-ish purple hair hangs into his eyes and he seems to find your coffee machine strangely interesting. You grab the first thing you can ⎼ a blender ⎼ and hold it up in defensive before yelling at the boy: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The stranger’s mouth pulls up in a charming smile, his eyes sparkle as he turns his attention to you, hopping off the counter. He’s all thin and long limbs, so you hate how you hate to look up at him as he walks towards you before bowing ceremoniously.

“Hello, sorry for the sudden appearance, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’ve been stuck in that teapot waaay too long. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. My name is Taeyong, I’m a wish dragon and you’re my new owner,” he smiles and what he says makes absolutely no sense.

“A wish dragon?” you mumble in shock, looking around to see if this is just another prank of Johnny. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out from under one of the cupboards. Or maybe you just fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Yeah, that seems like a realistic scenario.

“Ah, yes! I know I don’t look like it but modern times require modern solutions. Most people freak out because of my dragon form, so human it is,” the boy who seems only a few years older than you grins as he’s chatting and you have to give it to him, he takes this role pretty seriously. “You have three wishes as my owner. You can ask for anything as long as it’s not about death or love.”

So you got yourself someone who thinks he’s basically a genie? Oh gosh, is he that drunk?

“Aha, very funny. I’m too tired for this prank, so I would appreciate it if you left the same way you came...” you point towards your window because there’s no way he came through the door. Putting down your blender because the guy looks pretty harmless despite his crazy blabbering, you move to go back to your bedroom.

“No, no, no, I can’t do that,” the boy, Taeyong as he introduced himself, appears in front of you within a second and grabs your shoulder as if he could shake some sense into you. He looks pretty desperate. “I can only get a new owner if I fulfill all wishes of yours. It was super stuffy in that box the last decade, you know.”

At that excuse you let out a laugh.

“You don’t even fit it the⎼”

“You were saying?” Taeyong is suddenly nowhere near ahead of you but instead a small creature, supposedly a dragon, in the size of your palm flies in front of your eye level. “It’s magic!”

Okay, now that sight makes you feel like it’s you who is drunk. Or worse.

“Am I dead?” you have to ask in a small, uncertain voice, trying to think back what could have happened. Maybe that explosion literally blew your apartment up? But it hurts when you pinch your arm and turning back into his human form, Taeyong wants to prove the very same thing. Not the hurting but the not dead part, obviously.

“No, you’re very much alive and a happy owner of a wish dragon. Not permanently, of course, but still,” he tells you as he drags you onto your couch in the living room. As if sitting down could help processing all this.

So you have a wish dragon in your home, a magical creature that can casually switch between its dragon and human form and he says you should wish for three things, so he could leave and you could go back to your old, boring life without magic and things that scare you to death at 11PM.

“Can I ask… why? Why me? I’m not really owner-material,” you whisper because heck yeah, you even managed to kill your cactus before. Taeyong purses his lips as he sits down, a hand at his chin.

“Well, it’s unusual indeed to have a peasant girl, no offence, as my owner but as far as I know, you and your friend asked for a sign that magic was real.”

Oh, you remember that, being so obsessed with shooting stars and other stuff like that, you two used Mark’s brother’s computer to browse the internet, trying to find evidence about all that. You were kids wanting to believe in a world beyond the one you knew. But...

“That was like 10 years ago,” you furrow your eyebrows, not getting the timing.

“Well, sorry, you weren’t put on the top of the Heaven wish list and the shipping from Shanghai to Vancouver isn’t the fastest either,” Taeyong shrugs as if it was supposed to be natural. As if that was the most unbelievable thing. Well, delivery services are sometimes a pain in the ass, that’s true but getting a wish delivered by Heaven was something you would have never thought of and it all drains down on you. Strangest realisation of your life.

“So… it’s all real,” you whisper ahead of yourself: magic, dragons and all that. You could basically see your old best friend’s I told you so smile and let out a soft chuckle. “I wish Mark could meet with you, too.”

At that the guy ahead of you claps his hands and rubs them together, creating the same purple smoke from before. You look at him alarmed.

“Your wish, my command,” Taeyong grins and lifts his hands and before you could make a sound of protest because gosh, you didn’t mean it literally, you feel the ground move under your feet and you’re falling, into the darkness but despite shutting your eyes automatically, fearing the impact of the crash, nothing comes. Only the smell of soy sauce in the air and warm sunshine on your skin… Wait, what?

Your eyelids fly open and you notice in shock that you’re not in your flat anymore, ready to sleep. Instead, you stand in the middle of a goddamn street somewhere in Korea based on the signs still in your PJ shorts and tee. Oh my gosh! You hide in an alley right away and yank the seemingly proud Taeyong with you.

“I didn’t tell you that I meant right now! I can’t meet Mark in my PJs and I need my phone and wallet to function anyways. Not to mention, I don’t speak Korean at all...” you ramble panicking, the realisation that you’re indeed on the other side of the Earth due to some magic is yet to register. But the awkwardness from the stares you have just gotten has already turned you bashful.

Listening to you, the wish dragon seems sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he scratched his nape, his colourful hair falling into his cast down eyes.

“Oh… sorry. I got so excited over the wish that I didn’t think about it! It’s been a while since I did teleport magic but hey, I still have it in me. Anyways, sorry. Phone and wallet, you said? Here you go,” he pulls out something from his pants which magically seems to be indeed your belongings. That definitely makes things earlier.

“Uhm, thanks. Where are we exactly?”

“Ah, well you mentioned your friend Mark Lee, so we’re here. Well, one bell away because I did remember that it’s rude to intrude other’s houses without permission first,” oh now, you know, you snicker internally and gulp because hell, even if you wanted to see Mark, you wouldn’t have thought that the meeting would come so soon. You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself mentally.

“So… you’re telling me that this… is where Mark lives?” you point at the impressive apartment complex on the corner of the street but Taeyong shakes his head.

“Nope, This is where your Mark lives,” he says and before you could object about the ‘your’ part, the dragon points at the other side of the road at a luxurious house with a huge garden, basically a palace. Seeing the beautiful fountain, the modern and yet traditional Korean style building beyond the fences makes your jaw drop.

“Hahaha, alright for a magic dragon you must have made a mistake. There’s no way the Mark Lee I know lives here,” you look back at Taeyong finding it funny that the kid who used to wore his favourite tees until his mother basically threw them out would live at such a place.

“Mark Lee, korean name Minhyung, supposed to be 22 years old internationally soon. Bad eyesight, contagious laugh, clumsy but has surprisingly good reflexes, gets embarrassed easily. Sound familiar?” Taeyong crooks a brow at you as he reads the information off from a parchment he just took out of his pants. Everything he listed is just so Mark that you’re left in disbelief.

“Uuh… that sounds about right.”

“His father hit it big in 2016 with a tech company, their net worth has too many zeros to count,” Taeyong explains, seeing how surprised you were over the fact that he lived a lavish life like this. Not that he doesn’t deserve it! Mark is such a sweetheart, so of course, you would only want the best for him but as if half the world wasn’t enough, now you have another huge gap between you.

“Gosh, I really can’t believe this. How am I supposed to just ring the bell and say hello after so much time?” you sighed with your head in your hands. “Argh, I need to buy some clothes and change.”

Taeyong approves the idea based on how enthusiastically he hollers, you wonder why nobody on the street seems to pay no attention to him. Maybe only you see him, just more reason for you to be crazy.

“Good idea because we’re having dinner with Mark!”

“What?” you look up in shock, not following through. Taeyong grins down at you, flashing a giddy smile and with a twirl he’s changed from his baggy, casual clothes to something more chic but still laidback.

“Your wish was him meeting me, so I arranged everything. I can't meet him without you and the teapot there, you know,” he explains as if it was supposed to be obvious. You aren't ready yet though.

“You just want to eat all the fancy delicious food he has,” you squint at him suspiciously and the dragon stays silent, so you must be right. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe, but can you blame me? I haven’t had a feast since a literal decade!” he hollers and somehow you really cannot find it in yourself to be angry at him. You are in Seoul for god's sake after all and magic is real, you can put up with the inconvenience of buying clothes and making yourself look decent before dumping all this surprise on Mark.

An hour later you stand in front of the gates of the Lee mansion and nervously you wipe your sweating hands into your dress. You can totally do this, you just say hi to an old friend, it's not like you're afraid he wouldn't remember you, hah, of course not–

"Y/N!"

You whip your head at the call of your name to the source of that all too familiar voice. Sure it's deeper than you remember but there's no mistake in whose it is. Plus, who else would call your name in South Korea of all places.

"Mark, hey!" you wave the boy who just got out of one of the fanciest cars you've ever seen in your life. And yet, despite the Prada suit and expensive shoes, styled hair and Swiss watch on wrist, Mark Lee still has that goofy little smile and the doe eyes that used to make you weak in the knees. Hah, who are you kidding? They still do.

"Oh my god, dude, you… you got pretty," Mark jogs up to you and having no filter like always he blabbers immediately only to stutter as his ears turn red. It was so him talking before thinking, so you didn’t really mean to dwell on his words. Although you felt your cheeks dusted with pink soon enough. "I mean, it's really good to see you! I was so surprised to see your name in my calendar for today's dinner! You should have told me you were coming to Korea, I would have picked you up at the airport."

His calendar? Ah, of course, he must have been busy and all that. You wouldn’t have been surprised to see an assistant run after him at this point, so you wonder how your wish dragon magically put you onto his list of important people to meet. Gosh, it was so weird.

"Ah, I have a funny story about that…" you chuckled to yourself but before you could have get out anything, even a please, can we go to a more private place? Mark’s eyes zero on the guy next to you and his eyes grow comically wide.

"And uhm, who is your friend?" he points at Taeyong who waves him in exchange with a kilowatt smile. He looks back at you with his mouth agapé. "Oh my god, you came to invite me to your wedding?"

He says oh my god way too many times for an eloquent rich kid, he really is the Mark Lee you knew.

"No, never! I mean, of course, I would invite you but Taeyong and I– I literally met him on my way here," you explain hastily cursing yourself for the silly lie. You came to tell him the news not to try to make it believable.

“I heard there’s food,” the wish dragon pipes in very helpful and you shoot him a disapproving glance he doesn’t notice. Luckily, Mark doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course, dinner! Come on in, let’s get you two settled,” he grins albeit a bit awkwardly as he leads you through the gate after opening it with his card.

On the way through the very, very, very big garden, he’s chattering about how he misses the Vancouver weather, especially on humid, hot days like this and talks about how he thinks the fountain in their yard is a bit too much but his mom loved it and then before you know it, you sit by a huge dining table with fine food in front of you. Suddenly you can’t decide whether you're grateful for Taeyong’s shameless presence – he digs into the jjigae right away – because at least the situation isn’t awkward because of your silence or you’re annoyed by it because you must seem like a weirdo because of him. That’s why you decide to rip off the bandage and tell Mark as soon as the last maid has disappeared too.

“Okay, so actually I came here because I have a surprise,” you speak up, probably too serious because the boy almost chokes on his food due to how fast he turns his head towards you.

“More surprise?” he coughs out and you offer him a glass of water which he takes with a smile.

“You literally won’t believe this one!” you assure him and wait until he gulps down the drink. Only then you point to Taeyong and tell him that your childhood wish has come true.

Mark almost falls off his chair this time.

Not after you tell him that though. He laughs at that with that wheezing laugh of his as if you told the joke of the century then pats you on the shoulder murmuring That was a good one, bro and turning back to his food. But then you look at the magic dragon pointedly and Taeyong puts down his chopsticks with an exaggerated sign. Then he flexes his magic: turning into his dragon form among additional sparkles and Mark suddenly looks like he’s about to faint. He reaches out to tap on your shoulder while not taking his eyes off the wish dragon.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and honestly, you totally get his reaction while Taeyong mumbles something about ‘people these days not believing in dragons’ as he shows off all the things he could do: gift riches, make one stronger than they are, giving skills of whatever one wants. He starts rambling about how this one Chinese emperor became wealthy thanks to this, how that one actor in martial arts and all this before changing back to his human form and he continues eating his pasta like nothing ever happened.

“I can do this all day,” he shrugs as if he didn’t just perform the coolest magic tricks.

“This… this is the best thing ever!” Mark exclaims with those sparkles in his eyes you missed so much. He was always so excited about new things and it automatically makes you smile how he bombards Taeyong with million questions like: ‘So you are the wish dragon that grants wishes?’ or asking him about his scales, his unique color, how it feels to live in such a small teapot, how old he is and the dragon glows under all the attention. Can’t blame him but Mark has always been so curious about the world, it’s endearing.

“So your first wish was to meet me?” he turns to you after long minutes of interrogating Taeyong and suddenly, under the spotlight you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can feel yourself blushing because you didn’t necessarily mean to wish for that but it’s not like you’re regretting it, it’s just… you don’t want him to misunderstand.

“I thought you should meet him, too, after all the package was delivered for the two of us,” you look down, trying to sound nonchalant while picking your food, avoiding Mark’s gaze. No matter how open armed he welcomed you, you still aren’t convinced that it’s okay to be here because the more time you spend with him, the more you would like to stay a part of his life. “It’s just… I wasn’t really sure we could ever meet again. We didn’t keep contact after you left.”

With dropped shoulders, you try not to sound too downhearted because of what happened because you know all too well, it wasn’t his fault, it was a family decision and look at him, it did good for him! He seems happy, they live in a practically mansion but most importantly, he didn’t seem to change with the wealth. He might wear expensive clothes but under it all he’s still the boy with the most loveable smile.

“I… I was thinking about you a lot, I just thought you forgot about me,” Mark admits with a sheepish smile, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. He really still is the same and it’s playing silly little games with your heart. If this was a cheesy Disney movie, a slow bgm would start to play as you look into each other but your moment is broken when Taeyong accidentally kicks into his chair as he stands up. At first he looks alarmed but then giggles.

“I will just… go. Don’t mind me,” he disappears like smoke with a wink, leaving you two alone at which Mark lets out a woah. You chuckle at his cute reaction, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You thought it would be awkward, just the two of you alone after long years but Mark has this thing that he makes people feel comfortable around him, so it’s actually quite nice. You catch up on everything and anything that comes to your mind: old neighbours, studies, friends, what are you doing now and what would you like to do, too.

After finishing the delicious dinner, Mark offers a home tour which you would never refuse and you jaw drops at the huge crystal chandelier in their living room as well as their swimming pool but your favourite place in the whole mansion is Mark’s room because it’s just so him. You can’t describe it well but the moment you step inside, it feels like home. It’s cozy to the point it makes you want to cuddle a pillow. It has colours of pastels, a synthesizer here, a guitar there, posters of singers framed on his wall and vinyl records hanging down. His window has a view of sunset and Namsan above their green garden and although you haven’t been in Seoul before, you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite place in the whole damn city, too.

“Wait, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Mark suddenly exclaims while you’re looking through his pictures and he pulls you out of his room, out of the house, into the garden: You giggle all the way as he’s being so secretive about it but then your steps halt unexpectedly and the hand you have in Mark’s yanks him back.

“Mark… why is there a tiger in your garden in the middle of Seoul?” you ask as quietly and as immobile as you can. You don’t want to attract the sleeping animal’s attention to yourself. But to your biggest surprise, the boy just laughs, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

“She’s Jasmine and she won’t hurt you,” he reassures you but needless to say, you’re not too calm and you’re pulled close to the wild animal that lifts its huge head towards you lazily. “She was abandoned by her mother as a cub and she was outcast in the zoo because she’s a bit sick, so she has always been weaker than her siblings. Dad made a donation and we have raised her since she was young.”

You hiss when Mark reaches out without fear but the tiger basically purrs as he strokes down his fur at the neck. You watch in awe as this big wild animal becomes a soft cat under the hands of Mark Lee. When the boy encourages you to pat her too, you hesitate but he promises you that it’s gonna be alright and you take a leap of faith.

“What’s her sickness?” you wonder aloud as your fingers get lost in the soft fur of the tiger. You hope she’s not in a lot of pain.

“It’s an immune system thing, not sure what exactly but she wouldn’t have survived this long in the wild,” the boy tells you and his mouth curls up in a smile when Jasmine licks your hand. It seems like you’re tiger-approved. You look into its warm brown eyes and your heart churns at the thought of her condition.

Mark tells you stories of Jasmine, about that one time she crashed his birthday cake or how much she likes to swim with him in their pool during summer and gosh, you could listen to him go on and on forever. You’re only reminded of the reality, that all this is just a possible one-time thing, a weekend getaway with magic when Taeyong shows up in swimwear, ready to crash in said pool.

“I guess he might have been bored in that teapot,” Mark laughs, not minding at all. He even offers you to join but you have a better idea.

“Taeyong, I have my second wish!” you call out for the wish dragon who’s suddenly much more excited about that than the water. He’s beside you in a moment, beaming and curious. You glance at Mark with a soft smile before looking at your personal genie confidently.

“I wish Jasmine would be healthy,” you whisper, playing with the tiger’s furry ears which she seems to enjoy. You were a little bit afraid the dragon would say it’s not possible, that he can’t cure sickness but to your relief, he just grins.

“Your wish, my command,” he nods and puts a hand over the animal. Nothing but a smoke of purple signals the magic being done but you believe in it and so does Mark by the looks of it. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it gently.

“Thank you,” he smiles and you smile back. He used to be your best friend after all, it’s the least you can do for him.

Mark convinces you to stay the weekend and there’s no way you could tell no to him, not when he clears his schedule just for you. He never complains about how busy he must be working for his father’s business while being a music major at a local university. All he ever talks about is the places he wishes to show you and he takes you around Seoul as if he was your certificated tour guide. It’s lovely how enthusiastic he is about it while what really matters to you is the time you spend together. He makes sure you two take a million photos to remember by, Taeyong posing on half of them since he joins you on your little trips and sometimes it’s just the two of you watching the wish dragon being genuinely in awe by modern technology, 10 years is a long time after all.

On the last day before you have to go back to Vancouver (thanks to Taeyong’s kind offer to take you the same way you came back since he misunderstood you, you don’t have to sit through a 10+ hours flight and you have more time), Mark not only tries to make you breakfast despite having an in-house chef (his eggs are ugly as heck but you appreciate his efforts and can’t help but coo at his dreamy smile under that grey hoodie when you tell him it tastes yummy) but he also introduces you to his friends in Korea. Of course, they tease you (mostly Mark) about where he has been hiding you but it’s all chill and fun you’re not quite ready to say goodbye. But you should go because the more you stay, the more you don’t want to leave. You’re lucky enough for this chance to reunite with Mark but all good things end eventually.

“Let’s not disappear from each other’s life again, okay?” the boy grins at you as you’re ready to go, Taeyong already working on his magic.

“Yeah, let’s not,” you agree easily, looking forward to your video chatting and constant texting even if it’s from the two opposite ends of the Earth with a terrible time zone difference.

You glance at the wish dragon who’s drumming with his fingers while pursing his lips as if he was waiting for something and you let out a huff before working up the courage to actually do something about these feelings inside of you. You might have regretted not confessing in middle school, you have spent years wondering about the what ifs, so you don’t want to make the same mistake twice but still, you want to give Mark a chance to ignore it all if he wants to. So you step forward and wrap your hands around him as you hug him close. It’s obvious that your action takes him aback, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands and his body tenses under you but it all melts as you say those words that have been threatening to fall from your lips all this time:

“I have missed you.” you confess, honest and based on the hitch in his breathing, Mark must be surprised. You can’t blame him though, you just wanted him to know. You step back with a weary smile, his big Bambi eyes on you but before he could say anything you nod at Taeyong and you feel yourself falling, purple fog pulling you in. A few moments later you’re back in Vancouver, in your apartment, without him.

The first few days pass in a blurr, you can still barely believe what just happened. Your weekend with Mark feels like a too good dream but Mark kept his side of promise and texted you almost immediately as you left. He sends you selfies, songs that remind him of you and you talk about your days like you never did before. Still, it feels like you’re dancing around certain topics which are basically the elephant in the room and maybe that’s why Taeyong tries to cheer you up in his own way. Though, he soon realizes that you not being happy isn’t the problem, you are happy, you just… miss Mark more than you ever did.

“Enough of moping, you still have a wish left!” Taeyong exclaims, throwing himself onto your bed. “Come on, close your eyes, imagine what you want the most in the world and make a wish!" he singsongs. However, before you could even just indulge him, your phone pings with a new notification.

fullsun00 tagged you in their post!

You click on it right away, wondering what Mark’s friend Donghyuck is doing online at 1AM. The uploaded post turns out to be a photo of you and Mark when you all hang out near Han river. You were too busy at the time laughing at how the boy almost lost his whole scoop of ice cream before he could have had a single bite to notice his smile while looking at you. Based on his caption Donghyuck apparently wasn’t.

fullsun00: just old friends, they say. friends my ass @buttercupyn @onyourm__ark

You click your tongue wondering what Mark thinks of the callout but you press like on the post anyways. You put your phone aside before you could see how his other friends join the teasing in the comment section.

“Actually, I do have my third wish,” you speak up as you turn to Taeyong before he could make a remark on your tinted cheeks.

You’ve been thinking a lot about it during the past days. You could wish for anything but you’re at a point of your life where no riches or fame would make you happier because you’re happy enough just the way it is. It might not be perfect but you don’t want to be selfish and you want to make decisions you won’t regret: like catching up with Mark, curing his tiger and bringing happiness into the life of somebody who only ever served other people in his life.

“Ooh, what is it?” Taeyong claps, giddy as if he was waiting for this to happen. He probably did.

“I wish you would go on a vacation and enjoy life,” you tell him but unlike his usual reaction, this time the dragon’s smile fades and he blinks at you, confused.

“You could ask for anything in the world and that’s what you want? Are you sure?” he furrows his brows, not quite believing your words but you just smile, knowingly.

“Yes, Taeyong, I’m sure.”

“Your wish, my command,” he bows with his hands put together and with a twirl suddenly he’s in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, looking as ready for a holiday as one can be. You chuckle and tell him to just go, you’ll be fine.

You’re fine, you really are. Life goes on, you study and work, you laugh with your friends, you video call with Mark regularly and his friends are regulars on your social media, too. It’s just sometimes the feeling of missing something hits you harder than other days. Especially when you’re looking through the pictures you have from your Seoul weekend.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper ahead of you at one particularly good photo of Mark and the sunset, smiling at you behind the camera. You miss his smile, the cute wrinkles around his eyes when he crunches his nose, the sound of his laughter, his hand on your wrist… you miss him.

Ding-dong.

You stand up startled at the sound of your flat’s bell, running to the door to open it even though you have no idea who it could be so early on a Saturday morning. Not having a better idea, you expect it to be either a neighbour of your landlord but on the other side of your doorstep stands a boy who you thought was a continent away. He’s dressed semi-casually this time, his shirt tucked in his jeans, hair lightly falling onto his forehead and a nervous smile on his thin lips.

“Mark! But I⎼ I don’t even have more wishes,” you blink, taken aback, looking around to look for Taeyong in case he came back. But your behaviour just manages to confuse Mark instead.

“What?”

“I just wished you were here,” you blurt out without thinking, your words only processing later in your brain and it’s then when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Mark tries to but can’t really hide his growing smile at that.

“Really? I’m glad then. I just took my new private plane on a test drive,” he says bashfully, a silly excuse for real.

“All the way to Vancouver?” you tease, watching Mark fumble with the hem of his shirt. Your heart beats overtime just because of the fact that he’s there.

“Well, what can I say? I did miss the weather here,” he plays along with a shrug but he’s more serious when he looks deep into your eye and adds: “And you left without letting me answer.”

Oh yes, you did. You were kind of afraid of his reaction but seeing how he was ready to travel across the world just to see you, maybe there’s no reason for you to be so afraid. It feels like deja vu but a reversed one in a way as Mark gently pulls you into a hug, his lips grazing your hair with a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat: “I have missed you too.”

You really wouldn’t wish for anything more.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #stories

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sardonicallys · 3 years

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𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10,072

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: This chapter took forever to write, for literally no reason at all.

[ chapter one ]

The coffee tastes like water.

What you noticed about pondering is that it somehow took all the energy from everything else and redistributed it for its own selfish purposes, in this case you were left wandering your snapshots of last night while your tongue savored liquid that was mute. You wouldn’t necessarily call your behavior appropriate but it was concocted not from pleasure, rather delivered from revenge. It was resentment that fueled your desire — sexual gratification could not fulfill this hunger — it was about power. It was about control. It was seizing back every ounce of pride you let your good for nothing chief of executive operations put out like a lousy cigarette on the ground after you had offered humility. These murky thoughts were the reason you felt no regret for your actions, but you were still subjected to the over seasoned yet tasteless rice balls and the coffee that emulated muddy rain water on your tongue. You felt like shit, essentially, but in the complexity of things you had won. Grinding the ball of your foot into the pavement as rock scraps rolled beneath your sole, you slouched into the backing of the bench while listening to the sprinklers douse the grass, quietly piecing together what you were going to do.

What were you going to do?

Now without a job from a company you bent backwards and jumped through flaming hoops for, your mind raced with the anxious reminder that you were going to have to build your way back up. Convincing yourself it wasn’t so bad because you had attempted, and succeeded, was becoming a struggle every passing second. The flood of contemplation had you wondering if you should have accepted the offers that were given to you while you were being scouted by other companies who wanted to poach you from the market. Had you known you’d be assisting a living piece of shit, you may have resisted less.

Honestly you always wanted to live simply, at least amongst the standards of society. A small one bedroom apartment in the city but not on prime real estate, a middle manager job at a branch of a main company with opportunities, a stray black kitten turned cat, and you, the whole of these extensions. You always did your best and prided your perception off these little views into the whole reflection of you, regardless of what the outcome was because in reality, you expected only this much. This was simple and humble living, and this is all you wanted. You worked hard and you minded your own business, so what kind of karma did this entail exactly?

Pushing yourself off the bench, finally grappling with the sore result of your body, you felt the weight sink to your ankles as they balanced between carrying you and keeping poised on your heels. The walk of shame carried a different meaning to you, and it was that you were unemployed for the first time since university started. Discarding the remnants of your tasteless excuse for a breakfast, you brisked through the park and back towards your neighborhood where you could finally wash yesterday down the drain and start over, perhaps through job hunting. Just a block away from your building, you practically planted into the ground at the sound of your mobile phone as it erupted in your purse. Fishing it out, you squinted at the unknown number and somehow between the second you saw it and the second you answered, you hoped it was a pleasant coincidence that maybe someone you knew was looking to hire. Or perhaps a friend of yours recommended you and someone was reaching out to see if you were interested in a new career path? Better yet, that friend opened a company and needed you on the team for a start-up. Anything, desperation chimed, anything.

Anything but the sound of Mr. Im’s voice that oozed with impatience, instead, surfaced into the canal of your ear, “Why aren’t you in office?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, completely in disillusion to the point where you pulled the phone away from you just to check if you were starting to hear things all on your own. After a brief pause, you curtly responded, “…Because I was terminated?”

There’s silence before a sarcastic laugh sparked from the receiver, “I don’t have any official documentation of that, you need to work until we find a replacement.”

A long pause, “Or did you not know that.”

The last comment was made to be a complete fucking asshole, you knew he was provoking you. Inhaling deeply, assuring not to allow the noise of frustration earn the exact reaction he was seeking, Mr. Im spoke once more, “I’ll see you in fifteen.”

And the line cut off.

Sometimes, you had a habit of taking too shallow breaths and you spoke to a few doctors to which they deliberated that you may have had some form of anxiety that lie dormant between the physiology of your being. Mostly because during these questionnaires, you had a bit of trouble answering honestly and it wasn't that you weren't aware of what you were doing, but you couldn't bring yourself to say the words that were on your mind. Instead you vaguely referred to them, like a directory more than an explanation. You assume the psychiatrist you met with saw through this, but knew how to communicate without causing a catalyst to exacerbate the symptoms. Besides, it wasn't abundant enough for medication but it wasn't quiet enough for you to go through your day to day without feeling a stammering worry that plagued every atom of your body. You remembered reading some time ago that there was a man who had some disease — common or not — and he committed to these breathing exercises that extended his life expectancy tenfold. That was what you wanted, right now in this moment, just to breathe enough to survive this because you were not going to crumble here, not when you were going to prove a point.

Turning on your heel, you started charging back towards the main street only to halt to a stop. But why should you return? It was already decided, just moments ago, to start anew. Right? You had made your resolution the second you slipped your clothes back on and disappeared from the room you shared with Mr. Im that you were going to rebuild this but better. There was no reason to go back to that fucking office to suffer the berating existence that it was to be a secretary of someone who had very little respect for you. There just wasn't. You barely realized how tensed your shoulders were until you exhaled deeply, feeling your muscles release your bones.

I'm going home.

But you can't seem to move because somewhere in the depths of your overthinking, riddled with holes and passages that descended down to nowhere, labyrinths of darkness that encased your every motive you wondered, what if he screws your entire career? What if, being a heavy hand in your industry, he crushes every possible pathway for you and you're left with nothing? Because he knew how much this whole thing meant to you, if it wasn't enough that you were willing to miserably put up with his shit the day before, then at least your work record could prove that much. The worry filled your being, as if someone was pouring water and it was already at your knees. Before you know it, you feel the water climb up your throat and now you're sprinting through the subway as you bite back your tears of frustration because you had never, not once felt that you lacked this much control in your entire life.

Entering the building, the embarrassment crashed into you like a flood, your head hung as you balled your fists up, creating crescents of your nails into your palms, wearing the same navy chiffon dress that adorned you the day before. The several years of pride that you built on your appearance, work ethic, and upstanding quality were crashing down onto you in just a matter of days and you could barely bring yourself to take the elevator up to your floor, the brief glances of your peers and coworkers feeling as if you were scrutinized — regardless if they had noticed your disheveled appearance or not. You're absolutely disgusted as you dropped your things at your desk, no time to even peer at yourself in a mirror, and threw Mr. Im's door open, not bothering to knock.

"Great, you're on time," he doesn't even bother to look up, but you're not surprised. Parting your lips to speak, he finally lifted his head and you could feel his revolting gaze scan over your appearance, causing you to feel nauseated and hold your speech which allowed him to interject first, "You didn't even bother to change?"

There were no words that you could find, or at least, no single formed sentence to use that could have described the frustration that coursed through every vein in your body. Your breathing turned shallow again, reflecting on how your superior had cleaned up — hair slicked back and a freshly dry cleaned suit, the collar of his shirt starched and ironed perfectly to press against his neck. The piercing and judgmental gaze gripped your lungs, forcing you to keep your composure, "...I didn't have time this morning. I had assumed—"

"Your affairs outside of the office aren't my business," sneering your name, you could see half a smirk appear on his lips as he continued, "but it seems you must have had a long night if you were irresponsible enough to show up...Like this."

Leaning back in his chair, you have to program your nerves not to let your jaw drop from his comment. The back of your neck warmed instantly, creating a trail to a migraine as you repeated to yourself breathe breathe breathe because you could feel your throat closing up quicker now.

"My apologies," through gritted teeth, you managed to surface a cruel smile, "I promise it won't happen again."

Rather than wait for his direction, you turned and slammed the door behind you before striding towards your desk, dropping your weight into your chair while quietly gasping for air. I shouldn't have come back, head tilted back as you attempted to ease into steady breathing. As childish as it was, you wanted to blame the whole of this on Jaebeom, every last fucking bit of it. But you can't and perhaps that's what created even more friction, because you knew that this wasn't his fault, at least not entirely. You created this situation yourself, and had you not selfishly decided to seek revenge for something as egotistic as pride, perhaps you could have walked away with your hands clean. This worked in tandem with the arrogance of your boss, of course, but he didn't do anything that was outside of your expectations. You earned this and so you attempted to recenter yourself by focusing entirely on work. There would be no time for your wandering thoughts and regrets, so long as you did what you did best and that was to work. Surprisingly, this is successful, and you managed through most of the day without feeling the combustion of frustration you had that morning, even avoiding Mr. Im as he had several clients to see to that day — all of which did not line up with your schedule, to your relief.

Just as the last two hours of your work day were resolving, greeting you every hour closer to your escape, you suddenly saw one of the sales associates frantically dart towards your desk with a heavy binder in her hands. It's a long explanation you can barely fathom through her shaky sobs, but you managed to piece together that a backorder she had placed had an exponential amount of quantity in contrast to the original form and she wasn't sure where to redistribute it. Apparently she heard you were a savior for these sort of situations at the branch, and now you were her only hope. Perhaps you pitied her tear stained face, and how could you possibly let her be fed to Mr. Im after he put you through the wringer this morning? Assuring her you would fix the mistake, you sent her home and began revising her work. Overtime wasn't new to you, but you hadn't thought this would to be a commitment as someone who was only an assistant. In some ways, you were relieved you were still seen as helpful, and that was honestly the ego boost you needed.

The office was empty, Mr. Im long gone due to some client meeting, the only sounds were your nails clacking away on the keyboard and the hum of the air conditioner every so often to keep the printing room cool. Occasionally, you'd hear the ice maker in the break room, but otherwise you were savoring the paradise of peace you were draped in while you began sorting the order. The work wasn't difficult but tedious, as you sent several notices to the global order management team, making them aware of certain changes you needed to override and why it was so sudden. The familiarity of work offered a sense of comfort to you, so much so, you didn't realize the figure hovering near your desk, "You're still here?"

The recognizable tone rekindled nausea as you focused on your screen, not bothering to look at the owner of the voice, "Yes, why are you here?"

"A meeting got moved and I thought I'd work on something..." the tone is flat and suddenly your vision blurs, fingers cold and unmoving, wondering why he's still looming before he suddenly grabbed the bottom mount of one of your monitors, turning it towards him. The silence indicated to you that he's probably reading, and you prepared yourself to hear him blast you with his uninvited criticism.

"...You know for someone who was at your managerial level, but unable to delegate, it's no wonder why you're a secretary now huh?"

"Excuse me?" Turning your head to look at him for the first time, you felt your blood pressure spike, "You do know you're in charge of overseeing the sales associates right?"

"It's not my job to clean up someone else's blatant mistakes, and it isn't yours either," turning the monitor back, he spoke his words firmly, "But someone who can't create a boundary on what their job title is..."

Sucking in a breath between his teeth, he folded his arms across his chest, "Certainly will do the work for them, huh?"

"Maybe, if you knew how to do your job better, they could follow," folding your fingers together, you leaned across the table, offering a sickeningly saccharine grin, "That way there wouldn't be any mistakes to clean up, don't you think, Mr. Im? You are only as strong as your weakest link."

"That's why you have to learn to strengthen those links, not baby them and do their damn work for them," leering at you, head tipped down, you have no other comments to make and there isn't time for it, because Mr. Im took his leave almost immediately after. It takes everything in you not to throw the monitors out the window behind you, use the computer itself to break through Mr. Im's door to trash his office, light the chairs and shelves lining the walls as a starter for a fire that would burn the building to a crisp. It takes everything in you not to boil over and cry every tear you had been holding in all fucking day. You pace back up to speed while continuing your work, still struggling to breathe.

A mug is delivered onto your desk by the devil's spawn, and you can't help but offer only disgust as he sips his own coffee. You dream a hundred different ways to splash the hot beverage at him as he lies in waiting, you assume, for you to take a sip, "Please tell me you put poison in it."

"You really think too highly of me."

"Trust me, I don't," rolling your eyes, you scanned through the worksheet, scrolling down towards a row in question.

"Drink it."

"No."

"Drink it and don't show up looking like you did again this morning."

Glaring at him, you begrudgingly took a sip before slamming the mug back down on the desk, holding your eye contact. If he was anyone else, you wouldn't have been so aggressive, stubborn. You would have certainly expressed your gratitude, but because he wasn't anyone else, you would never let him hear a single thank you for the rest of your life. It's close to midnight when you finish, and you depart without saying anything, letting the blur of catching the last train and of how you get home consume you through the sticky night air. You can't even recall a hint of how you washed up and got into bed, so drained you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

Water is the most pure and present representation of neutrality, a concoction that occurs only as a reaction. Though many physicists would argue otherwise, its state is a result more than a stable initiator. The temperature of water is adjusted due to exposure of heat, an outside conductor, its movements are recorded through the tectonic plates that grapple against one another hidden beneath the earth’s surface, another outside conductor. With the ability to control small increments in the human hand, it can also be a significant abundance and in mass amounts, water could flood whole cities, countries. Water brought life just as easily as it swept it away and as you float in an endless sea that had no horizon, blended to reflect the ash sky above, you wonder just how much of this is a reaction to you.

Though you were never particularly good at swimming, you could at least float. Fingers parted while exploring the viscous space, head bobbing just above the surface, the water that filled your ears and kept you recording your breathing in silence, soft licks of waves creeping beneath your inhales. Your body must have acclimated to the temperature since there was no particular differentiation when it came to heat and chill. Dipping down as you closed your eyes, you held your breath but soon realized while being under just slightly and seemingly too long, there was no reason to be doing so. Soft dancing bubbles escaped your nostrils as you looked up to see the dim light cadence against the reflective surface, glimmering for your return.

Instead, the urge to sink into the dark abyss intrigued you while you curled up and felt your weightlessness create some form of mass that drifted your being down. Lulling your eyes closed, the shadow depths began to creep over your skin as the gentle shifts in the water turned and rocked you at its will. Each breath you drank let no salt touch your tongue as you listlessly floated through limbo, no particular attention towards anything yet all things, all at once. Opening your eyes once more just to observe how far you fell, now in utter darkness. A deeper smudge of obsidian seemed to cloak your vision the deeper you descended, something stained the water, and what was once faulty oxygen in your lungs surged as you observed the surface growing closer before you broke through the ceiling. Gasping suddenly as the flesh of a palm cradled you in its confines, you were horrified to watch as the fingerprints began to unravel, skin coiling and peeling back. The nails decayed in slivers and crumbled into the water, ribbons of the epidermis effortlessly withering away as the imagery instilled panic — not because you would revert to sinking once it had completely peeled apart but the rotting flesh itself was enough. Ready to abandon ship, you felt your ankles locked in place as the vibrant crimson began crackling in desperation, forming vertices through the bone structure before dying the boards of a small paddle boat to carry you in. It happened so rapidly, vividly, your unease became a beacon of confusion once more as the vessel gently turned in a counter clockwise motion.

Suddenly, you're shivering. You weren't the least bit cold earlier, but between then and now, there's a draft. Craning your head back to peer up at the sky for clues, you notice not even a change in the cloud's structure has budged. It's as if air had no presidence here, not a requirement for you and certainly not present. Left without an oar, you clenched your teeth and leaned over the edge of the boat before scooping water towards the direction the head of the boat was pointed in an effort to escape. Hands cupping the frigid liquid, as if freshly melted ice had made its home in your hands, you continued to part your way before seeing a dark object in the distance. It swayed heavily and must have had some weight to it, creating its own ripples that licked at the bottom of your boat. Flicking the water off your hands as best you could, you squinted while shielding your fingers around your eyes as the vessel drifted closer. It's sinking now, whatever was peeking at the surface began bobbing lower and lower, circumscribed by the buoyant surface of the sea as it swallowed up the mass. When it finally broke the pendulum swing, it sunk and the fibers of protein that warped as the clear reflection finally imprinted on your gaze had you fully forming the inference.

It was Jaebeom, and he was sinking.

Humans like to think — in a hopeful sense — that we could independently peruse this lifetime without a need for others. It's the selfish and human thing to do. But in reality, we all pour from our cup, to another's cup, to another's cup, and to another's cup. We pour a little of our responsibility, our support, the love we share, our sanctity, and humanity all in different people's cups whether we like to acknowledge that or not. In a way, no matter how selfish an individual is, there is somehow a rift created from them that inherently has helped someone else, and that's the beginning and ending of it all. Because of this human response to how we accept the traumas that we experience through others, it really is no surprise that you didn't hesitate for a moment as you stood at the edge of the boat and screamed his name.

Im Jaebeom.

There's no sound. Gently reaching your frozen fingers around your neck, you amplified with what you could, kicking your diaphragm up as you felt your throat quiver in desperation. Still no sound. Panicked, you plunge into the water on a whim, swimming with what clumsy form you could remember — what your body could remember — as your fingers grasped through the intangible material with haste. Every time you reached to propel yourself forward, you realized that the image of Jaebeom would crystalize and somehow turn into fragments before resorting into one whole piece. At first, you assumed it was the water that was claiming your vision, but it wasn't, it was as if his entire existence was shifting before you. With each paddle, his physical being was disintegrating. As you grew closer, seeing the unconscious body drift lower and faster, you reached forward in an attempt to grab him as your mouth opened and struggled to claim any kind of volume you possibly could.

But somehow every time your fingertips drew forward, he was reeled backwards just as far. Kicking your feet faster, harder, aggressively attempting to bring yourself closer, you continued to desperately shout into the abyss, no water and certainly no sound departing or returning. A shadow from above began to cloak over as you watched the onyx shade creep up from behind the descending form in front of you, screaming even more frantically now.

Wake up! Wake up!

Every nerve in your body jolted forward as you sprung from your mattress, awoken by the perilous screeching of your own voice before desperately gasping for air. It was just a dream, but that doesn't comfort you as you felt an overwhelming chill bite at your skin while your alarm ripped through your bedroom walls.

Were you appreciative that you were still employed? Sure. Were you desperately looking for a way out? Absolutely. Wanting nothing more than to escape this reality you had little to no control of, you decided on your commute that you would create a deadline for yourself that would shape the rest of your time as Mr. Im’s assistant. That is, if he didn’t throw some fit and cut your contract short. Though confident in your work and abilities, on the off chance you could not make your way out, you would leave when the allotted time was up. It was a way for you to look forward to something, anything. Settling in your chair as your rolled it towards your desk, one of the sales managers strutted towards you, her elated but professional grin painted on her lips. Though you couldn't recall her name, how could you forget the most gorgeous employee at the main office? A stunning beauty, you were half surprised when you were introduced and told that she was responsible for many of the large trades and shipments that were from overseas; she looked more like an actress or movie star than another one of the pencil pushers here, like yourself. Residing with the top numbers for countless months, she was easily one of the top sales managers after her training period.

Resounding your title and last name formally, she gently placed a hand on your desk as your gaze followed her beautifully glazed nails up her neatly ironed dress, engaging in her glance finally as she spoke, "Is Mr. Im free today? I would like to discuss something with him."

Typically, you recited — like some kind of voicemail message — that he would be unable to take any appointments and you'd have him take a look at whatever was the subject of said request when he was free and return the documents or inquiries after the fact. This was, of course, full of shit and he really just didn't want to meet with anyone and especially not a woman one on one. After what happened the other day, you couldn't really blame him. But you could blame him for the past few hellish days where you listened to his condescending tone beat into your skull and insult any sort of work you did that didn't follow his organization — which you realized was a lot more picky than you initially suspected. With a saccharine grin, you beamed at her, "I am sure I can find some time for you. What did you want to discuss and when would you like me to pen you in?"

The expression that plagued her every feature was priceless, absolutely appalled that it was that simple because in the past, you were sure whoever was the makeshift scheduler refused to have anyone meet the CEO without obstacle and challenge. Leaning into your desk, a patient and friendly smile masquerading your expression, you tilted your head as she stuttered through her words, something you never imagine you'd witness, "...It's just some numbers with a new brand we're working with, just to double check."

The end of her sentence faded into the air similarly to how her tone wafted away, an almost sheepish grin now forming on her lips. It was made clear that she may have had a crush on your boss, how funny. This would make for an interesting meeting, you began jotting down buzzwords that held seemingly more importance than what she was spouting about. Nodding vaguely while she spoke, you peered up at her, "He's free in an hour, if you're available, I can have you meet with him then?"

With that, she fervently thanked you before departing back to her desk. What could you say? You told Mr. Im you were good at you job, which included but wasn't limited to, helping him grow and supporting him. If that meant you were going to help him through his phobia — or condition? Whatever it was — why wouldn't that be considered growth and support? Chuckling to yourself, you mentally began the countdown to your most exciting encounter of the day.

Or so you thought.

Somehow — and you had a feeling that the sales manager must have let that elation loosen her lips — you had a ton of inquiries from every female identifying human in the building to see Mr. Im. What a surprise. You let them come in and deliver him tea, host meetings with him in person and not over e-mail or some poorly streamed video, bring his mail to him personally, and even do their presentations in his office. The rest of his week was fully booked with more or less, mundane and useless appointments with the women of the office who wanted to court him. The current quarter was always notoriously slow, so it's not like you were sabotaging anything of importance. Rather, you filled his time with your very own unpaid therapy and for that, he should be thankful.

By the end of the week, you could tell he was on his last leg, his expression depleted of energy and yet somehow it roused with rage and frustration you knew was targeted at you. Feigning innocence, you went by each day carefully avoiding him in spaces where he could scold your behavior, even going as far as having your lunch out in the courtyard. You were as close to paradise in hell as you possibly could have experienced, as if you had begrudgingly crawled through a desert — famished and dehydrated — and somehow the mirage in the distance had fabricated into a tangible scenery, why hadn't you decided to floor him earlier? Forget fucking him, this was a hundred, no ten hundred, times more satisfying.

Honestly, you expected him to call you into his office at some point, though you were surprised how patient he seemed since he picked Friday and right before you were about to clock out. This may have been his own oversight though, based on the fact that he knew he'd be dipping right into your weekend. Just to add to your misery, why would he not eat up your time?

"Are you insane?"

"...According to my health records, no, not clinically," pausing, you let your eyes wander a bit as you hummed, creating an illusion as if you were thinking through something. Scoffing in response, palm resting at the edge of his desk, you watched as his fingers curled around the margin. Gripping the furniture, you wondered just how agonizing his week had been while his knuckles surfaced an alabaster tone that was wreathed by a rush of blood beneath his skin. Honestly, you only complied to the last minute meeting just to have him relive his entire week through the festering wound you created, "You have got to be fucking crazy."

"Well you aren't a doctor, are you? So what do you know?"

He shot you a look as you smiled at him sarcastically.

"I didn't tell you all of that in confidence, but I didn't think you'd act smart with me," wedging his lip between his teeth in frustration, he finally released the desk as you barked out a laugh. It's the first time either of you hear this curdling trill, and it's rather frightening because you never once imagined that you'd be laughing in the presence of Mr. Im and he certainly never thought he'd be hearing it either.

“...You know, for someone who’s got some kind of issue around women, you seem to know how to fuck them,” lulling your head languidly to the side, you eyes traced over the features on his face as they contorted into a strange expression, “…I said I didn’t know how to interact with them, not that I didn’t know how to have sex with them.”

“All the more reason you should thank me for helping you,” shrugging your shoulders, a smile graced your lips, implying directly that you did him a favor. Which he obviously did not consider. Exhaling a halfhearted laugh, one that does not fill its full resonance, he grit his teeth as he spoke, “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid it sounds that you know how to have sex with women but not talk to them?”

Silence. Because it was stupid.

"...It makes a lot more sense than you imposing your so called help onto me," folding his arms over his chest, he narrowed his eyes while glaring at you, your smile never leaving your lips. You learned, in a matter of days, your actions held more weight than your words. It started on the very first day and his impression of your preparation, it was as if he complimented you when he arrived at expressionless silence. And it also didn't help that the language you both used seemed to be littered with spite alone. It was how you adjusted his schedules so he wouldn't constantly be parked at his desk for twelve to sixteen hours a day, or how you knew that he liked to stand on the right side of the elevator when you accompanied him to meetings. Even how you arranged his pens and documents in the morning to suit his left handed preference, all these little actions that created a warped way of understanding that held no flames to how you responded to him or would call him by his first name as an insult. It's how Jaebeom worked.

"I'm here to guide you Mr. Im, don't question my methods. I'm supposed to be both your support and mentor," placing a hand at your chest, fingertips gently grazing your necklace as you played victim, your sarcastic tone dug right into him as he sneered.

"You're doing a shit job at it."

"Well, I haven't been terminated yet have I? So I might not be so bad," wandering towards the bookshelf beside him, you peered at the generic picture frames that were made into partitions before glancing over your shoulder.

"Well don't get too comfortable," Leaning into his desk, arms still crossed tightly, his stoic expression reeked of rage as you mimicked his stance arrogantly. It really was all about action with him, and it had a lot to do with how well he read others. Watching his eyes roll as he exhaled yet another frustrated breath, your gaze incidentally found that his condition was acting up. Forcing your laughter back down your throat, you decided on a whim to instead, provoke him first, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really have to ask? Don't get comfortable where you're at."

Realizing that his exasperation to your behavior must have circumvented any other physical response, the receptors in his head simply overworked by the onslaught of cortisol it must have been pumping this whole week, you discern that he had no idea he was straining in his slacks.

"...Speak for yourself," a stride forward, and you impetuously tucked a finger into his belt before pressing your other palm up against his very obvious erection. The sudden tension that plagued his face leaked down every feature until it dripped down his body, his skin instantly searing beneath your touch, "You're getting a little too comfortable, don't you think?"

The impulse trip kicked up again as you squeezed him through the fabric, guiding yourself just a breath closer. Just as you inhale, you captured the blunder of tobacco and pepper cease your senses before feeling the familiar hand grip at your hip, his thumb finding the slope of your protruding bone.

"...That's your best apology for the bullshit you did this week?"

But, that's how Jaebeom worked, his actions were always alluding to his true intentions. One curved revolution and your positions were reversed, your back creased along the edge of his desk as he trapped you with his hands along the margin. Unflinching, your pupils must have been flooded as you locked your gaze with his, fingers gliding up his silk tie before you gripped the fabric and yanked him a little closer, "That's the best you're getting from me."

In one deft motion, he hoisted you up onto the edge of his desk while dipping forward, the perimeter between the two of you filled with only anticipating breaths. It was as if you were both expecting the other to give in first, a quiet war that sparked a flint that was igniting a swarming fire that could be used to burn the other. But in some ways, you were the guilty verdict, and you took that as a victory rather than a loss. Palms settled behind you, you were ready to recline as you abruptly felt Jaebeom's hand press into your spine to restrict your movement, "As much as I'd love to watch you crack your head on the edge of one of my monitors, I'm not really in the mood to clean it up."

It half surprised you that he read your motion even before you committed to it, but he was always a little too observant anyways. Narrowing your eyes at him, the grimace on your lips deepened when he drank in your expression, his fingers gripping the plush of your cheeks as your mouth rested at the valley between his thumb and index. Crooning in the most unbearable tone you had ever heard, you rolled your eyes at him while he spoke, "Don't be a brat, aren't you supposed to be apologizing to me?"

A brat? Wrinkling your nose, you sneered at him, "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Forcing his thumb into your mouth, you were half tempted to bite down — you heard that all it took was the pressure of splitting a small baby carrot with your teeth to detach it from its joint. You decide against it belatedly as you heard sharp droplets littering the wooden surface before rolling onto the plush carpet, peering down at the lost buttons of your blouse, you groan in displeasure before using your tongue to push out his finger, "You fucking idiot, how the hell am I supposed to go home?"

"Not really my problem," shrugging, a shit eating grin plastered over his mouth, he continued his own handy work as he dove into your shoulder while reaching up to cup your breast in one of his hands.

"You're such a fucking jerk."

"Mhmm," savoring the way your jasmine infused perfume clung to the cotton of your shirt, he reached around and unclasped the hooks of your bra as the garment fell. Pushing the sleeves of your shirt away and discarding your bra along with it, you begrudgingly yanked on his tie — harder this time — as you drew him in and pressed your forehead against his, "Are you really not going to apologize for ruining one of my favorite blouses?"

"I don't remember you apologizing to me yet," and he sealed his sentence onto your mouth as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, causing you to freeze up, brows furrowing, "...I told you not to do that."

"I told you not to schedule anyone without my permission."

"It was important."

"You want me to believe you thought it was that important?"

Lies were always a struggle for you to vocalize, they just never seemed to fall from your lips without some sort of awkward contradicting action, and even now you were fumbling with the silk fabric around Jaebeom's neck as you tried to pull it loose, "It could have been."

Sliding his index finger into the knot, he pulled the loop with one swift movement before grabbing ahold of your chin to induce eye contact, "But it wasn't, was it?"

"...I wouldn't know, I wasn't the one meeting with them."

The snarl you heard blossom in his throat had you flinch, Jaebeom taking advantage of your staggered movement by gripping your wrists and bringing them to his belt as he began carefully slipping the buttons of his shirt through their respective holes, "Then I can assure you, they weren't. So no more scheduling useless appointments, right?"

The tone he used put you off, and your decision to push him came into fruition almost immediately when your thumbs simply line the leather and silver plated buckle of the logo, as if memorizing the design. You weren't so keen as to drop your hands, but they certainly were not moving at the pace of his impatience. With your jaw in his hold once more, the empty eye contact held your silence between the two of you, as he articulated with more emphasis, "Right?"

"...Right."

Rather than succumbing — much to his desire — you instead only respond to give him the answer he was seeking, because in all essences, you were the one in control. If Jaebeom wanted to create an opulent fantasy where he could overrule your decision, he certainly had not learned about you the way you had learned about him. Pressing the hook through the hoop as the plate and metal hinge knocked against one another — the only sound that seemed to be reverberating between the short and shallow breaths you both shared — the belt came apart in your hands, a touch of fabric against the suede lining whistling in your ears as you let it descend. The dull thump of the heavy buckle hit the carpet as you kicked your heels off along with it, struggling to shimmy out of your own slacks before feeling your weight lifted up. Tucking you against his sturdy frame with one arm, he effortlessly helped you out of your pants before setting you back on the desk unceremoniously, "You're slow to undress, even this time."

"...You just always know what to say, don't you?"

"I'm rather good with my mouth," the smart comment instantly invoked a heavy desire of wanting to redress yourself and leaving without a single word more.

"Are you? Jokes are only funny when you're not lying."

"Do you think I'm lying?"

You weren't sure what your initial intention was but that was a threat, you were sure of it. But a threat you were tempted to see through. There was a prominent suggestion swirling in your mind as you contemplated whether to guide it into vocalization or to simply continue and slice through his ego, perhaps gaining a more intense result if you committed to the latter. The performative action of how you uncrossed your legs decided for you, "I don't believe things until I see them."

"Since when did your apology turn into me doing you a favor?"

Mouth agape, you feigned shock, "A favor? Mr. Im, it's only a favor if it's good."

And you receive the response you were eager to be in through the presence of a brute and concise expression of competition that riddled the perimeter of his whole face. Though he seemed to be composed, you realized early on that Im Jaebeom was a competitive bastard and a few carefully plucked nuanced words were all you needed to get his ignition going. You also realize, in the few moments where you let him finally rid you of the last garment on your body, he doesn't know how to take a joke the same way he delivers them and when he flattens his tongue ardently against your bundle of nerves, you suddenly realize what they meant when they said there were 8,000 of these endings in the clitoris alone. Dipping backwards, you winced as you felt Jaebeom yank your hips closer to him, skidding along the smooth wood and his teeth sinking into your inner thigh as he spoke into your skin, "I told you to be careful your hard head might crack one of the monitors."

The only noise you could utter in response is a groan as he stiffened his tongue back against you, causing an instant slur of moans to escape your lips. As much as people liked to credit the heightened experience of alcohol induced sex, there honestly was no comparison to sobriety, not when you felt every fervent breath between the calculated way Jaebeom used his tongue against you. Even the gentle brush of his teeth against your skin caused you to squirm in absolute delight, feeling yourself drip over every lick you received. Pure euphoric noises passed your lips as your fingers threaded through his hair the moment he slid a finger into you, and even he noticed how hard you were clenched around him. The labored breaths that sunk your lungs was his indicator that you weren't going to last, unraveling at his hands as he pulled away, timed perfectly before your uncoiling. Gasping desperately, you peered at him with a dazed expression as the words fell out on their own, "Why did you stop?"

"To check if it was good."

The violent desire of having his mouth meet your fist was all that roused your thoughts as your hazy expression began to take a tumble, absolutely speechless at his childish action. But he reassured you that he was simply the same asshole, nothing quite so new, you thought he was when he cleared his throat, "...If it was, you can tell me, and I can finish the job."

"So you got a praise kink, now?"

Earning yourself a deadpanned eye roll you can't help but expel an amused laugh, watching him hover over you with an acrid and unimpressed expression, "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised...What with you being an only child, mommy and daddy showering you in all their attention, right?"

There was a fleeting spark of something that crossed over his eyes, just for a moment, and if you had not been staring directly at him you may have missed it. It was a strange chill that emulated an emptiness you had not felt in ages, but you don't address it as he readjusted the banter back towards a boundary you had not meant to cross, realizing you may have not learned all you thought you did, "Call it whatever you want, but unless you say it, you're going to be the one dealing with your own mess."

"Mess? At least when I put my pants on, it doesn't look like I have a weapon on me."

"...So you think it's that big?"

Sucking in your lips, you held them in place with your teeth, a tight line bit down desperately when you realize your words were getting clumsier the more you spoke. Though he wouldn't be lying, you weren't willing to disclose that information with him just yet, "...You did good."

"That's it?"

"Very good," your eyes turned like a dial as you nudged your knee at him, "Are you going to let me cum now or what?"

"I don't know, it doesn't feel as convincing when you say it..." The provocation is supported by a warm growl that you recall from several nights back, a sound that easily caused a kindling and lust filled response. Typically, he spoke with a natural timbre and tone that even the occasions when he cleared his throat to speak during presentations caused your mind to stray and wander far from your reality. You let him win the round, "Could you please? You were right, your mouth is not just for talking shit."

You couldn't help the latter, honestly. But instead of taking offense he bellowed a laugh of disbelief, "Are you seriously begging and insulting me in the same breath?"

"Will it get you to go down on me again?"

"If it was that good, I thought you'd be more desperate."

Pride in humans was such a complex concept that molted and formed where it needed to, and it found a home between your legs at this moment, your knees kissing to relieve some of the tension you had pent up inside you, "...I need you to do it again, please? It was good, and I honestly don't know if it will feel the same if I try and get myself off."

The words jumbled when you attempted to feed them back into your own ears, the sound of distance in your own voice causing confusion in the strange tone and desire that lost to your human will. But the moments you have to feel any last shred of embarrassment is dispersed as soon as you felt Jaebeom's grip on your thigh, spreading your legs once more before continuing his ministrations. Pleasure instantly washed over you as he worked his middle finger back in, lips encapsulating your swollen bundle of nerves as he worked in tandem to let you meet your peak once more. Convulsing as your abdomen tightened, your fingers card back through Jaebeom's messy hair as you gripped hard and bucked your hips forward. When he referred to how apparent your arousal was by calling it a mess he should have simply referred to you instead, your reaction was intrinsic but your movements and inherent being were falling apart before him. A final exhale and you choked out his name while a high pitched moan managed to gather and release from your tongue.

The moment you found to steady your breath is the same one that Jaebeom used to turn you over on his desk, your chest against the wood surface as he propped your knee up at the edge. Hissing as you attempted to adjust for comfort, he selfishly began pressing against your overstimulation as your arms gave out from your position, "Why are you always so impatient?!"

"Can you not comment once in a while, I let you cum already."

Your hips react differently to the way he lined his tip up and down your folds as opposed to your tone, back arching to meet his touch with wanton abandon as you shuddered when he finally entered you. If you were still in the mood to tease him, you liked to think you would have turned around and retorted some well thought out remark, but even then that could have lost to the possibility that the results would be the same. You had him inside of you recently, but somehow it felt like the first time again, the stretch sudden but coercing adrenaline in a way that blinded any initial soreness by raw pleasure. Fervent fingertips traced up your hips and finally to your waist, you plant one hand to pitch you up on the desk but the other curled around his bare wrist — if you grabbed his watch, you knew you'd leave a bruise on him with how tightly you're holding — giving it a squeeze. With no surprise or hesitation, Jaebeom took his cue and pushed his length entirely into you as you moaned.

The pace is slow for only as long as you can sneak a respiration, but his rhythm easily picked up to suit his impatience, and the string of obscenities that left your lips was growing in volume and length. Dousing the back of your neck with his breath, your sensory overload had you losing the last bit of control you had, submitting even your pleasure over to him as he thrust into you with perfect strokes, back and forth. The only focus you had left was to not cum too early and give him new ammunition to use against you, because he seemed to take pride in what he could manage to squeeze, whether that was a reaction or a way to beg him to fuck you, you now learned.

Without intention, you managed to complete his request of not commenting, simply relinquishing noises of delight and pleasure. Reaching for your neck with his free hand, he gently wrapped his fingers around your throat as you felt your skin blister from anticipation — it was sick how much he must have paid attention the first time if he noticed that you got off with how he choked you. Refusing to react, you simply pushed your hips back at the same rate he fucked you against the desk before his grip fused against your skin, pressing the column of your throat to capture your breath. You quietly thanked him for having turned you around because you weren't sure what kind of face you were making, lost in bliss the way every inch of his cock stretched you and how his rough hands were keeping the last bit of controlled ownership to himself.

Stifled moans are the last emission you can manage as you feel the quick snap of your core, completely unwound as Jaebeom crashed his hips into yours. By now, he knew exactly what you felt like when you were cumming, clenched around him and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't an insatiable desire that caused him to chase it every time. Not slowing his pace, he released your neck while pulling you closer towards him, his warm skin greeting your own while you rode out the last bit of your orgasm with soft whines, "You've cum twice and I still haven't gotten an apology."

There it was. But you don't have the energy to argue rather, you languidly reached around and draped your hand over his neck while catching your breath, peering up at him, "...I'm sorry I let all the nice and pretty girls in the company bother you this week. Don't be too mean, they just think you're cute."

Your words snuck between labored breaths as your half lidded eyes shut, your body still drowning in a post high you weren't quite sure you would come down from. There isn't any effort from you as he continued to thrust up to meet your hips, a smudged bout of laughter leaving his throat, "Never thought I'd hear you actually apologize."

"Then why'd you mention it."

"Just to mess with you."

"...You're such a fucking jerk, you know," while you mumbled, he moved his fingers that were originally inside of you against your lips, allowing you to taste what was left of when you soaked his skin and it's enough to make you want to cum against his cock again. You still hadn't figured out why he lasted so long and you decided it was because of his reverse erectile dysfunction, it had to be. When you managed to finish catching your breath, reality no longer lapsing you between a euphoric lust led fantasy, you alternated between how tightly you squeezed him with each thrust — hoping this would usher him to his end, but he doesn't react how you expect, instead his hands traveling over every inch of your skin and causing you to shudder.

It wouldn't be right to cum again, you keep telling yourself, but the way he's groping your breasts or how his fingertips were dug into your thigh was convincing you otherwise, "...I'm gonna cum."

You think the admission is at least better than not mentioning it at all, now for the third time, but you decide it's much worse once his lips pressed against your neck — just below your ear — and he whispered in a tone so gentle that the way he said it probably was what caused you to unravel rather than the way he fucked you, "Go ahead, cum."

Instant gratification was at his disposal as you leaned forward, only held in place by Jaebeom's arm around your waist as anything below your hips grew hot then numb, your toes curling in response to your body's reaction. Mentally you chant and beg for him to finish because you can assure yourself you're not going to be conscious for much longer, and though he could read others well, you started to wonder if he pretended he didn't know your intent especially when you felt his finger against your clit, "Wait!"

The yelp is instant as you shivered against him, torn between a mix of succumbing to every pleasurable desire you ever had being fulfilled or stopping to catch up with how your body’s reaction. Jaebeom, of course, ignored your request as you puddled out moans from your throat. Teeth in your shoulder, the onslaught of sensations were overwhelming every one of your receptors because it really did feel that good yet you couldn't savor any particular moment because it happened all at once.

Lost in a haze, your body felt as though it no longer belonged to you, every extremity inherently detached from the organic state and so heightened by pleasure and tension that they were simply extensions hanging from a frame. If begging could get Jaebeom to finish, you would have done it but you didn’t have the slightest idea how to coax him to cum. What was so intricate about the male physiology, anyways? Yet, through contradiction, you were the one spent over and over. The sudden rough grip on your breast forced you to hiss as the erratic tempo of Jaebeom’s thrusts offered a possibility of an end — finally — while your eyes pooled, festooning your cheeks with tears that were gifted from overstimulation.

The ragged breathing into your skin was your relief as you felt his sudden pull, but in your panic — especially from his disorganized way of spilling and leaving behind his mess — you gripped his wrist, “Just cum inside.”

“What?” A disgusted expression plagued his face as he seemed to lose his rhythm, “You really are fucking cra—”

“I’m on birth control so get over yourself and it’s gonna get on the carpet and your desk,” narrowing your eyes at him, you spoke quickly through your breathy pants. With a contorted expression, he rolled his eyes as he simply nodded, and not a breath later you could hear his painstakingly elongated growl. Shivering at the tone and how he held your hips in place, you finally released a sigh of relief before reaching over the desk to grab the tissue box near his keyboard. While his grip loosened, you secretly savored the warm and viscous feeling of how he filled you.

Watching your fingers tremor as you carried the cardboard container, you realized just how tense you must have been the entire time. Focused on gaining a proper grip back, you witnessed a flash of white as Jaebeom snatched several sheets and did the cleaning himself — much to your surprise and a tinge of embarrassment. You'd mostly expected to have done it on your own, and though this was already the second time you were allowing yourself to be completely naked and blissed out from being fucked by him, something about this action had induced some form of shyness. Gentle swipes over your skin and you listened to him discard the sheets as you whimpered while removing your knee from the desk, a heavy red mark along your thigh and your hip searing with initiated soreness.

The marks and fatigue would fade into an ephemeral glimmer, the same way your high would only last those fleeting moments more, but now in your sobriety you were left with an impression you weren't quite so sure would emulate the same transience. Several nights ago, you barely remembered how you managed to get your dress back on, how you purchased your breakfast, or even how you ended up at the park. Now, with full clarity, you were pulling on fabric over your skin with amplified sensory, listening to how every zip and clasp reattached itself in utter silence. It left your mind to wander once more, why you let this second time even ensue, better yet with your initiation. Two for two, right? You hadn't felt such a deeply mortifying realization until this moment as you awkwardly attempted to figure out how to wrap your blouse so you wouldn't be committing some form of public indecency.

How the hell were you supposed to get home?

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myrandomfandomramblings · 3 years

Text

The Beach - a The Rookie/Chenford Fanfic

“7-Adam-11, show us responding,” Jackson said over the radio as Lucy leaned back against her headrest defeatedly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this but I really don’t want to go to the beach.” “Like ever again,” she added even as she took the first turn towards their destination.

LA was 4 days into a record heat wave and over that time Lucy had learnt a few important things 1) Unsurprisingly, extreme heat causes everyone to flock to the ocean. 2) It also makes people extremely irritable. 3) Lots of irritable people packed together in large groups leads to chaos and 4) wool uniforms are not ideal attire for patrolling beaches in temperatures around 100.

So after 4 days she was over it. She had spent Monday with Jackson getting sworn at, honked at and nearly run over as they directed traffic at the busiest beaches in the city. She spent Tuesday with Tim breaking up beach brawls, confiscating contributing alcohol and watching bikini clad woman flirt with Tim. At least 8 different woman had asked him to rub sunscreen on them or suggested he take off his shirt to cool down. She had rolled her eyes so much she had given herself a headache. Although it may have been the sun. Yesterday, her and Nolan and responded to a report of a missing child who was feared drowned or kidnapped but turned out had followed the music of an ice cream truck four blocks and was found, about 30 minutes after the officers arrived, happily eating a fudgiscle. However, they were kept at the beach for the remainder of their shift by various citizens with complaints ranging from seagulls, wasps and possible sharks to thieves, streakers and possible melanoma.

Now her and Jackson were headed back to a beach where the adjacent shrubbery was currently being consumed by a blazing bush fire, which was in all likelihood human caused and spreading fast. Therefore all hands were on deck as the LAPD worked with the LAFD to keep civilians safe, extinguish the fire and investigate its cause.

The rest of her shift passed in a blur as they interviewed witnesses, cordoned off the area, issued evacuation orders, ensured those who needed it got medical attention, joined a production line passing large buckets of water from the ocean to where the fire was burning and debriefed with their team which included Nolan and Tim, and Lopez and Harper. Luckily in the end, the fire was successfully extinguished, those living nearby were safe and happily back in their homes and the perpetrator, a cigarette butt flicker, was caught. But not until nearly 11pm by which time the entire team was exhausted, scorching and covered in soot and ash. With their job done the team of 6 headed away from the scene back along the beach to where they had parked their shops. They were right on the sand where they left them to create a barrier preventing people from wandering toward the fire and the beach around them was abandoned. Likely due to a combination of the late hour, the fire itself and the fact that the stretch of beach they were on was only accessible by walking about a mile from one of the main beaches on either side or by scrambling down the steep cliff behind them.

“Anybody want a cold one,” Nolan asked when they reached the vehicles, “well a hot one I guess” he amended as he pulled out a six pack he had confiscated earlier in the day from the trunk of his shop. Everybody made a face at the offer of hot beer but since the only light around came from the shops headlights shining in the opposite direction Nolan didn’t see them.

“Screw it, I’ll take one,” Angela said.

“Wesley and Patrice took the baby to meet the extended Evers clan so I have nowhere to be and now that I’m no longer breastfeeding I can have whatever I want. Even if that’s gross beer that’s been sitting in a hot car all day,” she explained.

“If we dig a hole near the water line it will fill with cold seawater and we can make a makeshift beer fridge,” Jackson suggested but Angela had already opened her can and was sipping away.

“I’ll help dig the hole,” Nyla offered. “I’d rather hangout here then go back to the station to do paperwork and Lila’s with her dad so I also have no where I have to be.”

“I’ll call Grey and tell him we’re clocking out and will do the paperwork in the morning,” Tim offered.

“Your staying?” Lucy asked a little too excitedly, “what about Kojo?” she quickly added.

“Tamara called several hours ago and offered to give him dinner, take him for a walk and put him to bed.”“She saw the fire on the news and rightly assumed we’d have our hands full,” he finished.

30 minutes later they all sat in the sand around their makeshift beer fridge. Shoes, socks and button up shirts discarded and pants pulled up to their knees. 3 flashlights were in the middle of the group, pointing skyward, their handles buried in the sand. They laughed as they went around and told stories.

“How is it still this hot?” Lucy asked a while later. It was after midnight and the temperature had yet to even consider dropping below 90.

She pulled her white t-shirt away from her skin fanning, herself.

“I’m going swimming,” she declared ready to stand up.

“Your going swimming? Right Now? In that?” Tim asked gesturing to her cotton tee and woolen pants.

Lucy shook her head. “I was just going to go in my underwear but now that I think about it I don’t really want to have to drive back to the station in soaking wet underwear.”

Tim nodded as if this is what he expected but Lucy didn’t see him and continued.

“I guess I’ll just skinny dip,” she concluded.

Tim managed to both spit out and choke on the sip of beer he had just taken.

Everybody else’s faces were turned towards Tim and wearing amused expressions but they were saved his annoyance due to the limited light and the fact that his attention was still fully on Lucy.

“What?” She asked Tim, “It’s not a big deal. It’s dark. Plus everybody here has already seen me naked.”

“Well except you,” she added, which earned another spit take from Tim.

Lucy rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved seeing Tim flustered, especially when it was her doing.

“What?” He finally managed to ask in a strained voice after a few harsh coughs to clear his throat.

“Everybody here’s seen Lucy naked but you,” Lopez offered, “although that was bound to change sometime soon,” she added.

Lucy and Tim both turned to look at her wide eyed. Nolan and Nyla were both hiding smirks and Jackson wore an expression of mainly panic as he spoke.

“She’s drunk. She has no idea what she’s saying,” Jackson offered before turning to look daggers at Angela and whisper something in her ear.

Lucy thought she heard the words bet, interference and disqualified but she couldn’t be sure.

When he finished Angela addressed them again. “Sorry, apparently my tolerance took a nose dive since pre-pregnancy. I didn’t mean anything by that I got you mixed up with Smitty and what’s her face,” she finished waving her hand disparagingly.

“Hmm,” Lucy said clearly not buying her lame excuse but Tim still had his mind on other things.

“Why has everybody else here seen you naked?” he asked, his tone almost suspicious.

Lucy laughed. “Are you jealous?”

He fixed her with his best TO look. “No.”

Lucy suppressed the urge to roll her eyes yet again and answered.

“Communal showers at work,” she began gesturing to Nyla and Angela. “Best friends and roommates” she added pointing to Jackson. “Life gets crazy. Sometimes closing doors or throwing on clothes just isn’t a priority,” she explained seeing Tim’s confused expression. “Also we had to help each other into and out of the bath after we were injured.” She didn’t have to specify her kidnapping or the beating Jackson took to take down Doug Stanton. This group knew. “It’s kind of ironic that when everything hurts all you want is a warm bath but when everything hurts it’s nearly impossible to get yourself into and out of a bathtub,” she finishes. “Oh and Nolan and I used to date.” She says it as almost an afterthought, super casual. But all the former TOs still look at her with shock.

“You and Nolan?” Nyla asks with a laugh. “Really?” “No offense,” she adds addressing Nolan.

“Ah, none taken?” Nolan replies, clearly confused by her reaction.

“When?” Lopez asks looking between the two P2s.

“For a couple months while we were in the academy. We called it off shortly after we started at Mid-Wilshire,” Nolan supplied.

“Wow, I just can’t picture it,” Angela continued shaking her head.

“Why would you want to picture it?” Tim spat. Then seemed to catch himself and schooled his scowl back into a blank expression.

“Why’d you call it off, anyway?” Angela asked. Half actually curious. Half just trying to do her friend a solid and take the attention off him.

“Bishop warned me that dating a fellow cop would brand me and could ruin my career,” Lucy answered and thought she saw Tim flinch. It was impossible to tell for sure with just the flashlights, nevertheless she added, “Somethings matter more-“ she was staring right at Tim now “-are worth the gossip, the assumptions, the risk.” As she said it she saw his expression change but she couldn’t read it. “But our relationship wasn’t one of those things. We’re better as friends, anyway,” she finished addressing the whole group but looking at Nolan specifically for confirmation.

“Agreed,” Nolan nodded holding up his beer.

“To friends,” Jackson said clicking his to Nolan’s.

“To friends,” everybody joined in clinking their cans together.

“So who’s coming skinny dipping with me?” Lucy asked as she started to make her way back to the vehicles where she could leave her clothes in a place where they’d stay sand free.

“I will,” said Angela, “pregnancy and caring for a baby really makes modesty go out the window. The two beers I’ve had don’t hurt either.” She began to follow Lucy to the cars.

“I’m in,” Jackson offered, “with you two practically glowing in the dark nobody will even notice me.” He teased as he got up to join them, earning a playful shove from Lucy.

“Nobody’s here to see anything anyway.” She retorted.

“Go ahead. I might join you later.” Nolan said and Nyla and Tim nodded in agreement.

10 minutes later. Lucy, Angela and Jackson’s clothes were inside Jackson and Lucy’s shop and they were out in the ocean. It dropped off quickly so they weren’t that far away from the beach even though the water came to just below Lucy’s shoulders. After four days of blazing heat and the fire on top today, the cool water felt like heaven to her. She dipped and dove through the water, relishing the cool and wiped at her face and hands to remove the soot that had coated them earlier. Beside her Angela was trying to show Jackson what her son does when they put him in the water. This led to reminiscing about childhood summers spent at the beach or in backyard and community pools. And before they knew it they were playing old games from those days. John and Nyla had joined them by this time. Claiming some combination of escaping the heat, joining the fun and more beer as the motivation. They were currently having breath holding contests.

“I win!” Jackson exclaimed as he came up for air to find everyone else already up.

“You cheated,” Lucy argued, “I saw you come up while I was still under. I had my eyes open.”

“I did not. Plus it’s pitch black under there you couldn’t possibly have seen anything.”

“Did Jackson come up?” Lucy yelled at Tim who was still sitting on the shore.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching,” he replied casually with a slight shrug.

“Yes you were,” Angela argued, “you haven’t taken your eyes off Lucy since she got in here,” then realizing what she said she quickly ducked back under the water.

Everybody still above the surface froze.

Then after a beat. “So did he come up or not. I need to know if I won,” Nyla asked, all business.

“He floated to the surface but didn’t lift his head up. He won,” Tim offered defeatedly.

“Told you!” Jackson bragged.

“Rematch. 3,2,1 go,” shouted Nyla as everybody ducked back under the water. Lucy a split second behind everybody else as her attention was still on Tim.

She came up about 30 seconds later just as a wave was passing by her and managed to swallow a good serving of water. She coughed and sputtered but before she knew it Jackson and Nolan were beside her and she was assuring them she was Ok just needed a bit of time to catch her breath. As she swam towards the shore to rest in the shallows she noticed Tim was just sitting back down and his pants were wet to just above the knee. But she didn’t let herself focus on it.

She swam to just in front of where he sat laying on her stomach on the ocean floor, head just above the water.

“You OK?” He asked shifting his eyes to her for the first time since she swam up.

“Ya fine, just swallowed a little water,” she assured him.

“Looks like you guys are having fun out there,” he nodded indicating the group still farther out.

“Ya the water feels amazing. You can’t honestly tell me that you aren’t hot.” She had meant it literally. He was sitting in above 90 degree weather with wool pants on. But then she realized he had taken off his white shirt and his muscled chest and stomach were currently on full display and the word took on an entirely different meaning. She was thankful for the darkness as it hid her blush but even that couldn’t hide the fact that she was definitely staring.

“The ladies on the beach the other day will be so disappointed they’re missing this,” she teased gesturing to his bare upper half, hoping to give a probable explanation for the staring.

He gave a short laugh. “Not as disappointed as the meat bags who were wolf whistling at you will be that they’re missing that.” As he gestured at her he finally let himself actually take her in. Her hair was still up in its low work bun leaving her entire back exposed. The upper half of which was completely taken up by a tattoo, he had never seen before, although the light was too limited for him to make out the design. The rest of her body was hidden in shadows except her face which was now free of soot and make-up making her look young and vulnerable. Freckles brought out by the last few days of blazing sun were speckled across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was twisted in thought and her eyes sparkled in the light of the flashlights. She really was beautiful.

While those thoughts flew through Tim’s mind Lucy was thinking about his comment about the wolf whistlers. That had happened at the very start of their shift and lasted no more than two seconds. Lucy wasn’t even sure they had been whistling at her and she had completely forgotten about it until Tim brought it up just now. Funny that he would remember.

They were both pulled out of their thoughts by a sudden commotion further out in the water:

“DID YOU NOT THERE IS NO PIE!”

“DO NOT THERE IS NO DIE!”

“DO OR DO NOT THERE IS NO TRY!”

Were being yelled over each other.

“What are they doing?” Tim asked looking at the group out in the water.

They were in a circle. Jackson had just given Nolan a high five then they were under again.

“I think they are playing the guess what I said under the water game,” Lucy chuckled.

Tim was about to reply but he was cut off by “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood” being shouted in unison followed by bickering about who said it first.

“I’m going back out to join them. You going to come?” Lucy asked turning her attention from the group back to Tim.

“I don’t need to be a part of that.”

“Come on Tim. You’re hot and dirty.” She still meant it literally. Really. He was covered in soot. Stupid double entendres.

He raised is eyebrows.

“Just get in the water,” Lucy said splashing water at him to vent her frustration with how flustered she was getting.

He wiped the water from his face and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Fine.”

Lucy beamed back at him as he stood up and walked back to the shop to discard his remaining clothes then turned her attention back to her friends.

“It’s not Angeles Direct, you’ve already guessed that three times,” Nyla was saying to Jackson

“That’s what it sounds like,” he argued “and it’s definitely closer to that than ‘embroidery period.’”

“That was my first guess. I heard wrong,” Nyla shot back.

“Oh ya cuz ‘and was dressed’ and ‘indoors divest’ were so much closer.”

Any further argument was cut-off by Nolan. “I’ve got it: Angela’s the best,” he said confidently.

“Yes and yes,” Angela confirmed.

“Your turn Nyla.”

There was a brief silence as they all went back under the water followed by a flurry of screamed “this is stupid.”

“Happy now?” Came a quieter voice beside her and Lucy nearly jumped out of the water. She had been so wrapped up watching her friends she hadn’t even noticed that Tim had made his way back down the beach and was now sitting beside her in the water.

She smiled and nodded. “Aren’t you?”

He gave a non-committal shrug. “We’ll see after I get roped into whatever’s going on out there,” he offered but there was no bite to it. He was even smiling, although mostly with his eyes, as he looked at their friends.

“Well let’s go find out,” Lucy replied as she led the way into the deeper water.

As they approached the group they watched them go up and down and listened to their guesses.

“And further than game”

“Comforters at game”

“Temperatures endgame”

“Stanford is endgame”

“Checkers is a game.” “At least that’s a real sentence”

“Bradford has game?” “That can’t be right he most definitely doesn’t”

Then just as Tim and Lucy joined the group “Chenford is endgame!” Shouted by Angela who upon realizing Tim and Lucy had joined them turned to Jackson.

“This ones not on me it was your sentence.”

Jackson stood stunned for a second looking desperately between Tim, Lucy and Angela then swiftly closed his eyes and yelled “MARCO.”

There was a brief silence then Nolan yelled “POLO” and everyone was swimming away from Jackson at top speed. Everyone except Tim who was giving Lucy a look that said. “See what you got me into? I told you so.”

But she was busy swimming off with the others, grateful for the distraction. So he rolled his eyes and joined the game. The water did feel amazing although he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

Calls of MARCO POLO and laughter filled the air as everybody took their turn being it: Jackson tagged Nolan who tagged Lucy who tagged Nyla who tagged Jackson who tagged Tim who tagged Nolan who tagged Angela who tagged Jackson who tagged Tim who tagged Lucy. Well he meant to tag Lucy. He reached his arm out and jumped towards her “POLO” but she was closer than he thought and instead of the tips of his finger tagging her shoulder he jumped right into her. He hit her hard and she responded to being knocked off her feet and down into the water instinctively by reaching for the nearest thing to prevent drowning, which happened to be him. So when he opened his eyes her arms were around his neck and her legs around his hips and her face was only about an inch from his own as she coughed up water for the second time that day.

“Are you ok?” He asked moving a piece of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear.

She nodded but continued to cough as he absentmindedly stroked her back.

“You caught me by surprise,” she breathed “I didn’t know we were playing full contact Marco Polo.”

He let out a relieved laugh, “I’m sorry.”

“A real Tim Bradford apology I never thought I’d see it in person,” Lucy teased earning an eye roll from Tim. This close Lucy could see all the different shades of blue in his eyes even in the dark.

“It was an accident.”

“So it wasn’t some sort of Tim Test to see how I would handle a fight in the water?”

“No. You got your last Tim test a year ago when you stopped being my rookie.”

“I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” she said. “Then again we’ve been through enough for an entire career,” she added as her hand reflexively moved from his neck where it was playing with his hair to the tattoo on her her ribs.

That’s when it dawned on her just how close her and Tim were, pressed together without a shred of clothing between them. She had felt so comfortable and content she hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation and what it could lead to. She was about to put some space between them when his hand covered hers over the tattoo marking her supposed day of death. The day he saved her from being buried alive. Although he would say it marked the first day of the rest of her life. The day she saved herself.

And the desire to move away died in an instant.

“I kept it,” she said quietly, “because of what you said.” “Because it’s a reminder that I’m a survivor. And that my team will always have my back.”

Tim was looking at her with an expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I have one of those,�� he replied softly lifting her hand up and moving it to rest on his lower left abdomen. She was confused at first but as she felt the skin beneath her finger tips she realized it was scarred. The scar from when he was shot on her second day and she pulled him out of the line of gunfire.

She smiled and looked directly into his eyes.

“It’s a good thing we have each other in our lives,”

“Sure is,”

She was just about to lean in and close the distance between them when a voice interrupted.

“Hey you two. Keep it PG or get a room. This is a family outing.” It was Nyla.

Lucy laughed as she untangled her self from Tim and in that moment she realized two things. 1) this was most definitely her family and 2) she would very happily come back to the beach. Maybe next time she’d just bring Tim, maybe even as her boyfriend.

#the rookie #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #nyla harper #angela lopez #jackson west #john nolan

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