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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

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The Keeper’s Introduction

Here is my fic for @levihan-drabbles Fluff Friday!

Prompt: "I know I just broke into your apartment in the middle of the night but there are some bad people after my special power over alternate universes and I've decided to put all my faith on you to save everything."

They looked oddly at home, expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.

"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"

The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."

Levi had just settled in for the night when a loud echoing crack sounded in the street below.

It was well past midnight, far too late for such a racket. The sudden violence of it was almost enough to make him spill his tea. He waited with his breath held, his heart shamefully hammering in his chest. Levi prided himself on being the type who doesn't scare so easily—but one can't be blamed for being alarmed by an unexpected noise in the dead of night, can they?

The world remained mercifully still and quiet. Levi approached the open window slowly (carefully, not frightfully; there is no indignity in being cautious) and peered out into the night. The sky outside was almost full dark, saved from the pressing black by only a smattering of stars and the moon, a papery sliver of a thing hooked high over the distant rooftops. The window, open only an inch, gave entry to a gentle breeze, still balmy despite the lateness of the hour. The town was drowsy, dozing; only the occasional candle flickered in the darkness, and no sound, prior to or following the thunderous clap, could be heard.

The street, three stories below, was empty. Levi scanned the road, but found nothing unusual. The strangest thing, perhaps, was that his face was the only one peering out. None of his neighbours had deemed the explosion worth investigating.

It was, for all the world, a night as perfectly normal as any other. Levi had seen no reason to expect anything out of the ordinary might occur.

He blew out a breath. Maybe he had imagined it. He had been quite engrossed in his novel, and it was well past time for him to be sleeping. It isn't unreasonable to assume that the sound of a cat, perhaps, rattling the bins in the alley had startled his tired, occupied mind. Resolving to finish his chapter and go straight to bed, Levi gave the street one last cursory glance, and turned away from the window.

He had just settled back into his chair and picked up his tea cup and his book, when the doorbell rang.

The chime in itself was yet another oddity, for Levi received visitors only very rarely, and never at an hour so late as this.

He set down his drink and lowered the book to his lap with a frown. Better, he thought, not to answer straight away. Then they might leave without causing him any trouble—and if they rang a second time, and even a third, Levi would suppose it might be something urgent and might finally be pressed to receive his unwanted guest.

Much to his pleasure, the bell did not sound a second time. Levi waited, poised to stand, but minutes passed by with no sound at all, and eventually, mildly disgruntled now by the persistent interruptions, he settled back and tried, once again, to read.

He turned the page. Picked up his now lukewarm tea, and took a sip. Sunk down more comfortably into the plush armchair. He felt himself begin to settle. The peculiarities of the night drifted from his thoughts as he read, mind too engaged with the story in his hands to think too deeply over the strange events that had occurred.

And then, without any warning at all, a godawful shriek rent the air as Levi's window was wrenched open from the outside, the wood frame protesting with a violent screech. Levi jerked in his seat, book falling from his hands and his tea cup shattering as it struck the stone floor.

There was a person, making no efforts at all to be quiet, unashamedly clambering in through his window. Levi watched, too shocked to move, while they pulled themself over the sill and crumpled in a heap to the floor.

Levi could do nothing but stare as the intruder heaved themself up. They unfurled long limbs, straightening to their full height, and turned quickly to poke their head out of the open window. They looked left, then right, down, and most peculiarly, up, before pulling themself back inside and slamming the window closed. They drew the curtains shut, and turned to look into the room, casting their eyes about the place as though inspecting it.

They walked with a relaxed gate, seemingly unbothered by their rude intrusion. Levi couldn't be sure if they had noticed his presence, for they made no show of knowing he was even there, and Levi was still too stunned to announce it. He watched the stranger rotate in a slow circle, looking everywhere from the ceiling down to the floor. Satisfied, they slapped their hands to their hips and nodded once, and then their gaze fell on Levi, still sitting stiff as a board in his chair. The light from Levi's lamp cast half their face in shadow, glinting off the lenses of their glasses. Their mouth stretched in a wide, manic grin.

Levi swallowed hard. His courage returned to him swiftly, urging him to his feet. He faced the stranger head on with his face twisted in a scowl.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The intruder's grin only widened.

"Oh, Mike was right after all!"

They crossed to him quickly in two great strides. Levi twisted his head this way and that to watch them as they circled him. This close, Levi could better see the sharp hook of their nose, the angle of their jaw and the whiskey colour of their eyes, with strange, dark markings around their irises, like the face of a clock. He could also see the fingerprint smudges on their lenses. They wore all black, from their muddy boots up to the overlarge hood draped over their shoulders like a small cloak.

"Shitty four-eyes, answer me."

They let out a gleeful laugh.

"Oh, Mike my friend, you are a genius!" They said. And then, to Levi, they added, "Mike can sniff out you Guardians half a universe away, I swear."

Levi had no idea who Mike was, or what a Guardian was, and frankly, he didn't care. He levelled his home invader with a sharp glare. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. "I said, what the hell are you doing climbing through my window? How? I’m three stories up!"

The stranger's smile finally faltered. They tilted their head. "I did try the doorbell."

"Why did you want to be in my house?"

"Ah, well, you see—that's kind of a long story." They turned on their heel and strode into the kitchenette. Levi watched on, incredulous, as they filled his kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. With one hand, they reached into the cupboard above the sink and rifled through the boxes until they found Levi's stash of chamomile tea, and with the other they reached for the draining board, and plucked up two clean cups by their handles. All of this, while they watched the water begin to simmer in the pot.

They looked oddly at home expertly navigating his kitchen. As though they had been there before. They grabbed the honeypot from another cupboard, and found a spoon in one of the drawers.

"Oi," Levi said. "How'd you know where I keep all my shit?"

The stranger waved their hand flippantly, "Oh, I'm well acquainted with your layout. It never really changes, wherever you are."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean, shitty glasses?" Levi tried to inject an air of disinterested anger into his tone, but the stranger’s words, said so plainly, raised goosebumps on his skin.

They chuckled. "I can't tell you how many times we've had this conversation. I'm Hange, by the way."

Hange brought the tea over to where Levi stood, and held one cup out for Levi to take. He clenched his fists by his sides instead. The tea, upsettingly, smelled perfect; brewed at the right temperature, for the right time, and sweetened with just a drop of honey. When he didn't take the cup, Hange shrugged and set it on the little table by the armchair. They spied the broken china on the floor and smirked, "you never have much luck with that one."

"Excuse me?"

"That cup. It's the one with the gold rim, right? And all the little forget-me-nots around the outside?"

Levi said nothing. Hange, irritatingly and unexplainably, for the cup was in many pieces now and the lighting was too poor to see it in any great detail, was absolutely right.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said.

"Right, right. Like I said, it's a long story. Do you want the unabridged version or are you happy with the footnotes?"

"A summary is fine."

Hange took a great slurp of their tea. "Long story short, I pissed off some very bad people, and now they are after me for my, ah—abilities."

"But why my house?"

"Mike told me where you'd be. And boy, am I glad he did! I barely made it in time. I was aiming to land right in your sitting room, but I guess my calculations were a little off…" they trailed away with a frown. Levi watched their lips work quickly, as though they were running numbers in their head. Then they stopped, and shook themselves off. "Doesn't matter now anyway. I didn't wake you, did I? World hopping can be pretty loud."

That, at least, accounted for the sound Levi had heard outside. But...

"Hange," Levi said. "You've explained nothing."

"Give me a minute, Levi. It's complicated! There's a lot of history and I already know you don't want to hear any of it. Besides, we wouldn't have the time. We'll have to leave early in the morning."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Sure you are," Hange said. "I have to meet up with Erwin, and I need you to get me there."

"Where's there? Who the hell is Erwin?"

Again, Hange waved their hand at him. "Unimportant. Look, what matters is this: I might've messed with the timeline in another universe, and that may have caused some….upset, with some very important and very powerful people. I only changed a little bit!! I met this guy, Onyankopon—he's so cool, you know? Smart as hell. He had this idea that—well, it was the base model for an airplane."

"A what?"

"Well, see, that's the thing. Onyankopon asked the same question, and I just...told him. A little bit. I went a little too deep into the mechanics of it all, and he...well he might have developed a model that works. Two hundred years before it was supposed to exist in his universe. And now the Bureau is looking for me, but I’m not done with Erwin’s mission yet and so I am putting all my eggs in your basket. I need you to get me out of this in one piece.”

Hange looked more sheepish about this insane indiscretion than they had about breaking and entering.

"You're fucking insane," he said. Hange let out a bright laugh.

"So you've told me, more times than I can count."

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He felt a headache coming on.

"You look stressed," Hange said, sounding almost sympathetic. "Drink the tea! It'll help, though it's probably a little cold by now."

"You're the reason I'm stressed, idiot."

"Sorry about that," they said, not sounding very sorry at all. "I know the circumstances aren't...ideal. I'd much rather have come to you another time and explained everything properly, but—well, I was kind of in a hurry, and Mike sniffed you out, said you were the nearest you to my location. I didn't have much of a choice."

"Who the hell is Mike? Some kind of mutt?"

"Sort of," Hange said with a grin. "He's a Seeker. It's his job to locate people like you—people like us—when the Bureau needs us. Fortunately for me, Mike isn't overly loyal to our dear overseers—his allegiance lies with Erwin, as does mine. And Erwin is decidedly less strict about most of the timelines."

Hange circled around Levi and set their hands on his shoulders. Something strange sparked there, a heat that sunk through skin and muscle and settled right in his bones. They had already ushered him into his chair by the time he shrugged them off.

"What does any of this batshit garbage you're spewing have to do with me?"

"You are a Guardian. It's your role to protect people like me from harm."

"The hell does that mean, people like you? I’m not fighting anyone to save your scrawny ass from anything. You fucked up, you deal with it. "

Hange stood up straight and puffed out their chest. "I am a Keeper. I'm supposed to keep order in the timelines. According to the Bureau, at least. Erwin has other ideas—but that's a story for another time. For now, we should rest. Like I said, we've got to leave early in the morning."

"To go where?"

"To Erwin!" Hange said brightly. "I don't have my pocket watch anymore, so we're gonna have to take the traditional route. There's no way I'll make it on my own. And don’t worry, you won’t have to fight anyone. I’ll explain it all on the journey."

"Look,” Levi said. “Can't you just...drop out of the sky whenever this Erwin guy is? I'm sure he's got his own window you can climb through."

"No can do," Hange said. "I can only hop between universes. I need my watch to move fast within any one universe, and mine took a dunk in a river, during my escape."

"Magic bullshit technology that lets you, what, teleport across the damn globe? And it can't survive a dip in a river?"

"They aren't watertight," Hange said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And they still run on batteries. Moblit is working on improving the technology."

Levi's head throbbed. He rubbed his eyes and glowered up at Hange, who was watching him with a soft smile. Levi deepened his scowl.

"What's that shitty face for?"

Hange's expression softened further. They looked at him with so much fondness, Levi felt his face grow warm.

"I've missed you, you know," they said. "Well, not you, but—you. It's been...a really long time."

"That makes no sense," Levi said. He meant it, too—nothing Hange had said to him made sense at all. It was the stuff of storybooks, fairy tales; the product of an imagination run wild. And yet, Hange's presence, alarming as it had been and frankly still was, felt oddly familiar. The warmth of their hands still rested on his shoulders. In spite of himself, Levi felt the corner of his lip begin to curl into a small, absent smile. He wrestled it back down.

Hange laughed, a light, lilting thing, and yawned. They crossed the room to Levi's small dining table and dropped heavily into a chair.

"I suppose you're right," they said with a lazy grin. "It doesn't make any sense at all. You'll just have to trust me."

"You broke into my house. You're not selling your reliability very well. And don't even think about it."

Hange looked over at him, surprised. "Think about what?"

"Putting your filthy feet on my damn table."

"Whatever gave you the idea I'd do something like that?"

Levi opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it closed swiftly as the thought, which had come to him thoroughly unbidden, fully registered in his mind. You do it all the time.

Levi pinched his eyes, staring at Hange. They sat with a curious little tilt of their head, watching him with an open, analytical look. Levi squirmed under their gaze.

"I don't know," he said. "Seems like the kind of shit you'd do."

"Like something I've done before?"

Levi flinched, and Hange smiled all teeth at him, a strange mix of impish and pleased. They propped their elbow on the table and rested their chin on their palm. "There it is," they said quietly.

"What?" Levi asked. Too eager. Hange looked thrilled as they straightened up in their chair, eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

"There are a lot of you's, one in every single universe, just like there are a lot of Isabel's, and Farlan's, and Petra's—"

"How do you—you know what, nevermind. Go on."

"But because you're a Guardian, all your you's are linked. And because you're my Guardian," Hange looked weirdly proud at this pronouncement, "it's only natural that you remember me. It'll happen a lot, I'm sure. Try not to freak out."

Levi snorted. "You say that now?"

"Would it have made a difference if I said it earlier?"

Levi mulled that over for a second. No, he supposed it wouldn’t. He’d have thought them completely unhinged either way. Instead of answering, he picked up the tea from the table and drained it in three gulps. When he looked back at Hange, they were smiling brightly at him.

"Just how you like it, right?"

"I prefer it hot."

Hange kicked their heels against the floor and shot him an affronted look. With a petulant pout of their lip, they said, " So unfair, Levi! That's not my fault."

He shrugged them off. He would never admit it to them, but he took some bizarre delight in watching Hange's tantrum. It felt all too natural. They slumped back in their chair, head tipped over the back rest to stare at the ceiling.

"Ah, you're as cruel as ever," they said. "It's good. Very you."

Hange pushed their glasses up to their forehead and rubbed at their eyes. The scene looked painfully familiar; Hange, smiling sleepily, bleary eyed in the low blush of candlelight. Only, in the image forming in his mind, they were resting against a plump, well-fluffed pillow, and their hair was down from its ponytail, still messy and falling over their face. In the image forming in his mind, Levi's own hand reached out to brush a few strands from their cheeks, and Hange turned into his palm, their lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

Levi shook his head, face a little warm. Hange was watching him again. He scowled at them for good measure, gathering up his own cup and theirs, and washing them in the sink. He let the water run cool over his hands for a long moment.

"You should rest, if you're tired," he said. From the table, Hange hummed.

"Good idea," they said. "The bed's big enough for two, right?"

Levi turned sharply to refute them, but Hange didn't give him the chance. They had already heaved themself up out of their chair and kicked off their boots, and now, with the practiced ease of someone who had lived in the house for years, they were wandering down the hall and straight into Levi's bedroom, leaving the door open behind them.

Levi dried his hands slowly on the dish towel. He looked at the armchair, big and well-cushioned, spacious enough for him to recline in for a few hours rest. It wouldn't be the first time, and he had no doubt it would be the last. And then he looked down the hallway, where Hange must have lit the lamp; warm light spilled out into the corridor, and Levi was reminded abruptly of his strange thoughts.

This Hange, they were crazy. Talking the most nonsense Levi had ever heard come straight from another person's mouth. He would be better off resting his eyes in his chair, and kicking Hange out at first light.

That was the logical thing to do. The reasonable thing. That was the desperate plea of his better judgement.

Instead, he blew out his lamp, and stormed down the hallway after them.

"You lie on my fresh sheets in your filthy clothes and I'm throwing you back out the window, Guardian or not."

#levihan #snk #my writing #aaaah I didn't know what to do for this but I ended up having a lot of fun!!!

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kjack89 · 3 years

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An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 1/?)

Because nothing says ‘independence day’ like writing the participants in a French rebellion as members of the British upper class...

The Bridgerton AU that no one asked for. Will be at least 4 chapters, probably, to be published on a schedule only God herself can predict. Developing E/R, hijinks and shenanigans. All of the shenanigans.

One might recall when, not too long ago, the author of this paper hung up her pen and retired from reporting on the drama that each new season of fresh-faced debutantes and their endlessly anxious mothers brings. But alas, dear Reader, the excitement of this season has proven too much for this Author to suffer without company – which is why the pen has been passed to a new scribe.

But the fortuitous timing of the season has not been met with equally thrilling events for sharing here, as indeed, the most recent ball, hosted annually at the start of the season by the ever-insufferable Thénardiers, was positively under-attended. Not by the eager mothers that are the backbone of any season or their equally eager daughters, but by the young, eligible men who usually at least deign to make an appearance, dance a few dances, and exchange niceties as is expected for men of their station.

Instead, the only poor sap who wandered into the Thénardiers’ den of matchmaking was the Baron of Pontmercy, who was positively beset by hopeful ingénues, the most brazen of which was undoubtedly the Thénardiers’ eldest daughter, Éponine. While this Author notes that Miss Thénardier has had a patchy history with suitors and thus cannot be fully blamed for attempting to sink her claws into one as eligible as the baron, this Author must also sympathize with Baron Pontmercy, who seemed only to find himself with one moment to himself.

Then again, rumor has it that his single moment was interrupted by an unknown young lady with an equally unknown chaperone who whisked her away posthaste. Her identity is one mystery both this Author and Baron Pontmercy are equally eager to discover, but the more pressing question is where the others of Baron Pontmercy’s gender were when they should have been equally beset by potential brides.

Never fear: Whatever answers I find, dear Reader, I shall certainly share with other enquiring minds. For a nominal fee, of course. While there are rumors of young men meeting in the backroom of a certain gentlemen’s club to discuss the overthrow of society, capitalism, and the King himself, this Author, being of the gentler sex, finds herself unable to obtain an invite, and as such, alas, cannot bring herself to comply with their lofty goals. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 20 MARCH 1831

The air in the backroom at the Musain Gentlemen’s Club was hazy with smoke and thick with plentiful conversation as its guests, all young men dressed in their dinner best, traded stories and jokes in between sips of their drinks.

At least one among them was not drinking, though – Enjolras, who sat in an overlarge armchair towards the back of the room, his back to one of the large windows that spanned almost the entire height of the wall. He alone was also not joining his friends in their merriment, his brow instead creased as he read over something.

When he had finished, he glanced up. “Combeferre,” he called, barely raising his voice despite the cacophony of the room.

Not that he needed to: the moment he spoke, the room fell quiet as all eyes glanced at him as if waiting for him to continue. In return, he just arched an eyebrow at them. “Well, don’t let me put an end to your fun.”

A dark haired man sitting at a table in the far corner playing cards with two others raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Worry not,” he called in return. “You won’t.”

Laughter broke out yet again at that, and most of their number returned to their previous conversations as Combeferre pulled up a chair next to Enjolras’s. Enjolras pursed his lips, looking unamused. “Why is Grantaire even here?” he asked Combeferre, who, quite to the contrary, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I imagine because you have not yet told him that you wish for him to leave and never return,” Combeferre said evenly before giving Enjolras a rather assessing look. “Assuming, of course, that is what you wish.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “That’s not the point—”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “No, the point is that you had a comment, I assume, about the pamphlet I gave you to review.”

Enjolras still looked disgruntled, but seemed more than willing to allow the change in subject. “The pamphlet is fine, but I imagine you already knew that.” He handed the pamphlet draft back to Combeferre before asking, “What do you imagine the distribution schedule to look like? With Parliament sitting this week—”

He was interrupted by a thin, rather-nervous looking man appearing at his elbow, the doorman to the establishment who was paid a decent sum by each man inside the room to not interrupt them and to report nothing of their comings and going to any who might enquire. When Enjolras had made that arrangement, he had been thinking of the police; when his friends had followed his lead, most were thinking of their mothers.

“M’Lord Enjolras, I do beg your pardon—” he started, sounding almost as nervous as he looked.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed again. “It’s fine, what is it?” he asked, a touch impatiently.

The doorman bobbed his head and cleared his throat. “There is a, ah, a woman seeking entry.”

Bahorel, seated nearby, let out a wolf whistle. “The young ladies of the season are getting restless!” he crowed, to much laughter.

“Restless, and bold, if they are coming into the city to seek their groom, and without a chaperone to boot,” Bossuet said with a grin.

“Leave to Enjolras to be the one to cause all tradition to break,” Jehan sniggered.

Enjolras could feel his ears burning red but he studiously ignored the jeers and catcalls from his friends, instead frowning at the doorman. “May I ask why are you telling me this?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “Last I checked, it was your policy to restrict admittance to men, despite my protestations to the contrary.”

“Of course, M’Lord, it’s just…” The doorman quailed slightly at the look Enjolras gave him. “The woman in question claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, all jokes ceased as identical, horror-stricken looks crossed the faces of each of his friends. Enjolras blanched, all the blood draining from his face. “Did you confirm that I was inside?” he asked, a little desperately.

The doorman shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, of course not, m’lord’s discretion being of utmost importance to this establishment.” He hesitated. “That said, she did not appear to believe our denial, and is threatening to come inside and verify for yourself that you are not here.”

Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is,” he sighed. He glanced at Combeferre as if considering asking for his assistance, but seemed to think better of it, instead standing and drawing himself up to his full height. “Right,” he said. “Well, I think you’ve got everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll just go, er, handle this situation.”

Combeferre again looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “And, if you do not return, I shall call upon you later this week, shall I?”

“Yes, but the question will be more whether you should call upon me at my house or at the hospital,” Enjolras muttered, and it was to Combeferre’s credit that he still somehow managed not to laugh.

The same could not be said for Grantaire, who started humming what Enjolras recognized vaguely as a funeral dirge as soon as he headed towards the door, and Enjolras gave him the nastiest glare he could muster. Of course, Grantaire was unaffected – if anything, it only caused his grin to widen, and he raised his cup in yet another mocking toast as Enjolras swept out of the room to go deal with his mother.

It was anyone’s guess whether his mother or Grantaire irritated him more.

He started to ask the doorman where his mother was, but found that he did not need to ask – her voice was echoing all the way from the entrance hall. “I am the Dowager Marchioness of Enjolras,” she was practically shrieking, and Enjolras winced, mentally calculating how much money it would take to smooth this particular incident over. Certainly less than when Courfeyrac almost burned the place down, but almost certainly more than when Bahorel and Grantaire had gotten into a fistfight and broken two statues and a chandelier.

He really needed better friends.

And a different mother.

“I demand to speak with my son!” his mother continued, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “And do not give me this nonsense that he is not here, I know quite well where my son is!”

“M’lady, I apologize, but as I have said, we cannot confirm that your son—”

“I shall confirm it for myself,” Enjolras interrupted, saving the poor proprietor, who had never looked more relieved to see him. “Mother, kindly stop screeching at these gentlemen for doing their jobs.” His mother spluttered incoherently but Enjolras knew better than to allow her the chance to regroup.

Instead, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to the door, glancing over his shoulder to nod his thanks at the proprietor. As soon as they were outside the building, Enjolras dropped any pretense at propriety. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, not releasing his mother from his grip. “Coming all the way into the city to find me? Pray tell what could possibly have been so important to cause such a scene!”

His mother yanked her arm from his grasp and glared up at him. “A scene?” she repeated, her voice deathly quiet. “My dear son, if you consider that a scene, you are ill-prepared for what is soon to follow.”

Enjolras sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “There is no need for theatrics—”

Without warning, his mother slapped him across the face. “Theatrics?” she hissed. “When I have spent every waking moment these past several years trying to ensure your future and the future of our house!”

She made as if to hit him again but Enjolras caught her wrist, staying her hand. “Madam, you may be the Dowager Marchioness but I am the Marquess of Enjolras, and I will not permit you to assault me in the streets, my mother or not.” He released her arm before adding sardonically, “Besides, think of the gossip.”

Again his mother gave him no warning to gird himself, but this time, she burst into tears, sobbing into his shirt. “Oh, for the love of—” Enjolras took her again by the elbow, gentler this time, and led her to where her carriage waited. “Get a hold of yourself,” he snapped. “You have already made enough of a scene this evening.”

“Perhaps a scene is what it will take!” she half-shouted in return. “For you to finally listen to me, to hear what I have been telling you!” Enjolras rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to help her into her carriage, but she stubbornly refused to move. “Since you clearly don’t listen to me when I make arrangements solely for your benefit.”

“I assure you, you have never once done anything solely for my benefit,” Enjolras said tiredly. “But if it will stop your screaming then please, tell me the latest way in which I have ruined your plans for my future.”

“The Thénardier ball!” his mother wailed, crying again. “All those eligible young ladies, and you could not even deign to show your face! How am I to get you married at this rate?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he half-feared he would pull a muscle. “Hang the bloody Thénardier ball,” he ground out, hesitating for only a moment before picking his mother up and placing her inside the carriage, swinging up after her before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she cried as the carriage moved off at double speed, and Enjolras thanked whatever higher power there was that his mother’s driver also clearly did not wish to linger.

Enjolras sighed. “You wanted me attention,” he said tiredly. “So you have it, albeit not in public where you clearly wanted it.”

For one long moment, his mother just glared at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Then she sighed and sat upright, her pose turning almost prim as she drew a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Very well,” she said calmly, all traces of earlier hysteria gone in an instant, and Enjolras realized immediately that he had been duped, that he had played directly into her hands.

She had anticipated that making a scene would be the easiest way to get him to leave with her.

And now she had him as a captive audience for however long it took for her driver to reach her house. And while he was not a betting man, he would wager all his money and lands that she had directed her driver to take the long way.

His mother was smiling at him, a cold, unpleasant smile, and Enjolras groaned, tipping his head back against the pillowed cushions. “Please don’t tell me that you really pulled all of that because you wished to discuss the Thénardier ball.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said before tapping his knee. “And sit upright, you will cause your clothes to wrinkle.” Enjolras groaned and reluctantly sat upright, glaring balefully at her as he waited for her to continue. “No, I merely wished to discuss something and this seemed the easiest way.”

“Then by all means, please tell me: what do you want to discuss?”

“Why, what else?” she asked, a small smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. “Your marriage.”

----------

There were few things that Enjolras loathed more than being hoodwinked by his own mother into a conversation he’d been spending the past several years avoiding, but as he stood staring up at the rather imposing façade of a house he had been to only perhaps a handful of times, he thought this just might rank.

Still, his options were decidedly limited, and he hesitated only a moment more before climbing the stairs to the front door, knocking briskly. In telling of a house less used to visits during the season, it took a moment for the butler to answer the door, and Enjolras shifted uncomfortably on the stoop as he waited.

“May I help you?” the butler asked as he opened the door.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. “I’m here to see Grantaire.”

The butler eyed him warily. “And who should I tell Mr. Grantaire is here to see him?”

It took everything in Enjolras not to roll his eyes. “Tell him that the Marquess of Enjolras requests his presence,” he said dryly, hating the way the butler’s eyes widened when he realized just who was standing in the doorway.

“Of– of course, m’lord,” the butler said, immediately opening the door wider to usher Enjolras indoors. “Beg your pardon, m’lord. I’ll just, ah, go fetch Mr, Grantaire.”

He retreated up the stairs and Enjolras finally did roll his eyes, sighing heavily as he wandered a little further indoors. He had spent half his life, it seemed, going from one grand house to another, so very little surprised him, but he was intrigued by what he might find in Grantaire’s house. While his own park-adjoining manor had been in his family for generations, and was decorated accordingly, Grantaire came from new money, and this house had belonged to a different family entirely not even a decade before.

He paused to examine a small portrait of two young children, a boy and a girl, when he heard footsteps clattering on the stairs and he turned to look up as Grantaire joined him, a jacket rather hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly.

“My Lord.”

Grantaire’s voice was pitched just slightly higher than usual, in a way that indicated genuine surprise at finding Enjolras standing in his foyer, but somehow still retained the telltale lilt that Enjolras had long since realized meant Grantaire was making fun of him.

He scowled automatically. “Enjolras,” he corrected with an exasperated half-sigh.

Grantaire inclined his head, a smirk twisting his lips. “My lord Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“Just Enjolras,” he said flatly, not waiting for Grantaire to escort him into the house, instead crossing the foyer to peer into the front sitting room.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Grantaire said, following him.

Enjolras twisted his head to give Grantaire a smirk of his own. “As you seem so keen to remind me, I outrank you,” he said. “And believe me when I say this is one time I will feel no guilt using the trappings of the nobility to my advantage.”

Grantaire just snorted, brushing past him into the sitting room, ignoring the tea that had been set on the table and instead making his way over to the drink cart against the far wall. “Forgive me, but I can think of many instances where you undoubtedly used your title and your family to your advantage without any guilt,” he said dryly, pouring himself half a glass full of amber liquid before pausing, considering it, and adding another finger. “But let’s save that particular fight for a different time.” He turned back to Enjolras and raised his glass in a mock toast. “For now, before I forget my manners any further, let me say welcome to my home, and please, allow me to pour you a cup of tea.”

“I am capable of pouring my own tea, thanks,” Enjolras said, a little stiffly, and he sat down on one armchair before leaning forward to rather stubbornly do just that.

Grantaire did not join him, as if he thought keeping physical distance between them might keep things civil. “Only you would think that hospitality was an insult.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “The way you said it, it was.”

“You underestimate my capacity for being genuinely polite,” Grantaire said dryly, taking a large sip of his whiskey.

“Do I?”

“Tell me, my Lord—” Enjolras gritted his teeth but chose not to interrupt him. “—if not to insult me to my face in my own home, what brings you here, and at tea time no less?”

His voice was calm, pleasant even, but Enjolras felt himself flush in realization that he had done exactly that. And no matter how frequently he might wish to throttle Grantaire with his own hands, that was offensive even for him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his tea as he stirred it. “I have been rude.

Grantaire looked briefly surprised, as if he had not expected an apology. But then his smirk was back in full force. “All is forgiven...my lord.” Enjolras really might shatter his teacup at this rate. “But you still didn’t answer my question as to why you are here.”

Enjolras set his teacup down and straightened, looking Grantaire in the eye. “I came to ask for your help.”

Grantaire laughed. “So you come to my home, uninvited, you insult me to my face, and you still have the audacity to ask for my help?” He drained half of his whiskey in one long gulp. “You are lucky you have been granted the face of a Greek god, Apollo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras sighed, though he knew it was a losing battle. Grantaire had called him that on the first day they met, when Grantaire was finishing college and Enjolras just beginning, and he had continued to call him that for all the years since. “Look, I am sorry, and not just because I need your help. I am ill suited to polite society and the longer the season drags on, the more foul my temper becomes.”

Grantaire made a small noise of agreement. “You and I both,” he murmured, draining his glass and pouring himself another before finally joining Enjolras, settling into the armchair across from him. “Very well. You have my attention.”

Enjolras leaned forward, sudden urgency in every line of his body. “Word has it that you were instrumental in helping Lord Joly and Mr. Lesgle avoid scandal last season when both were in love with Lady Musichetta.”

“Well, we avoided a big scandal at least,” Grantaire said, eyeing Enjolras carefully. “There must always be a little bit of a scandal or none would believe it.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, all three are happy, and living at Lord Joly’s estate, and not a word about them has been wasted in Lady Whistledown’s papers this season.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I am astonished to learn you have read any of the newly-revived Lady Whistledown’s papers, let alone with enough frequency to speak with such authority on the subject.:

Enjolras flushed a mottled red and looked away. “It’s an easy conversation topic,” he muttered, “when I am forced to speak to those with whom I have nothing in common.”

“Such as the twittering nitwits your mother foists upon you at every turn?” Grantaire asked lightly.

Enjolras met his eyes evenly. “Exactly. And exactly why I am here.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to better learn how to talk with women?” he asked, almost certainly purposefully obtuse. “I admit, I am an expert on the subject, but—”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped. “Not to mention if I did need help in that arena, you would be the last person I would turn to.”

Grantaire laughed. “Your loss, he said cheerfully. After all, to have bedded as many women as I with a face like mine requires quite the expert hand at wooing.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before taking another sip of whiskey. “Very well. If you are not here for my help in speaking to young ladies to finally secure a marriage match, then why are you here?”

“Because I do need to marry someone,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “But I need it not to be real.” Again he met Grantaire’s eyes. “And you are the only person I can think of who can help me pull that off.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras's mother #les amis #les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #lady whistledown #developing relationship #hijinks and shenanigans #and eventually #fake marriage #canon era sorta

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evening-starlight · 3 years

Text

Daddy’s Best Friend

Oh my god, these last few days have SUCKED. Will mostly likely be the only chapter tonight because I can hear the computer dying with each letter I type. Thank you all for being so patient with me!

Tag list is still open! Comment or DM to be added

All Works Master List

DBF Master List

Word Count: 1610

Tom had been gone three days, and Amaris already missed him more than anything else. After her talk with Will, she couldn't help but feel hopeless. Her dad explicitly said that his daughter couldn't be with Tom, the man Amaris wanted more than life itself. Maybe Armel was the only option she had left for a happy ending. He was a good guy, most of the time.

Armel had developed a habit of talking over Amaris, ordering for her when they ate out, and acting as if he knew everything. He would talk about business as if she hadn't been majoring in it for six years. Armel had changed his major from art to business within the first month of being in New York, trying to impress Amaris with his newfound knowledge.

The dress sits perfectly on Amaris's curves, dark red and sensual. She stared at herself in the full-length mirror. Something felt off. She was going on a date with Armel, but a feeling deep inside yelled at her not to go. It wanted her to stay in bed and wallow until Tom came home.

Her boyfriend walks out of the ensuite bathroom, smiling brightly as he sees her. "Mon Amour, you look lovely." Armel places a soft kiss on her cheek, stepping back to look her up and down. "Have I told you I love this dress on you?"

"Every time I wear it," Amaris giggles. She could fake it, at least for tonight. Armel deserved that much out of her, considering she was cheating on him nearly every night with someone she's told him not to worry about. "Let's get going, yeah? Don't want to be late to our reservation." Armel offers his arm, which Amaris wraps her hand around gently.

The restaurant is crowded when the couple arrives. It had been a twenty-minute ride from the house to here, Armel going on about things Amaris didn't care for, and she was already tired and ready for some sleep. Amaris wanted to love Armel, she did, but his mere presence drained Amaris's social battery quickly.

The hostess seats them and asks for their drink orders. Armel orders an expensive bottle of wine to split between the two. Amaris wasn't the biggest fan of wine, opting more towards hard liquors, but she'd drink whatever Armel wanted. Especially when he ordered a whole bottle without conferring with Amaris first.

"So, Mon Amour, what have you been up to all week? I've hardly seen you," Armel remarks, setting a hand on top of Amaris's. Guilt gurgles in her stomach. What has she been doing? Sleeping with Tom and spending nights at his place instead of her shared room with Armel.

"Sleeping over at Cleo's, mostly. Not much else. How's school going?" Amaris changes subject. Armel talks more about school, causing Amaris to zone out. It wasn't that she didn't care; it was that she'd rather count down the minutes until she gets to see Tom again.

As if Tom could sense her thinking about him, her phone dings with a text from the man. She checks her phone quickly, seeing Tom's smiling face in front of the Brandenburg Gate followed by a text detailing how much he missed her. Amaris smiles widely, saving the picture into her phone.

Dinner rolls by smoothly after that, Amaris gaining enough energy from Tom's picture to continue faking a romantic spark between Armel and her. She threw smiles and jokes where they were supposed to go, trying to enjoy her time with her boyfriend but continuously thinking of Tom.

Amaris was dying to leave by the time dessert finished, her patience wearing thin with the amount of noise around her. She felt like her tolerance for people was halved when she was with Armel versus Tom. Armel wears a cheesy smile as they get up to leave the restaurant. "What's that face for?" Amaris asks, leaning into Armel as they exit the building.

She's immediately blinded by the flashing lights of the paparazzi, who were waiting right outside for the couple. Amaris holds a hand over her eyes to keep her vision intact as she ducks and moves swiftly through the intruders. Amaris's heart was pounding, and her hands balled into fists as she pushes past them, not caring about who she hurt or what cameras got broken on her exit.

The Clarke's weren't famous, but the press seemed to think they were newsworthy. They were a typical American family, besides the abundance of wealth they procured throughout the years. Nothing about the family was worth the front page of a tabloid, in Amaris's eyes. They lived life like regular people and didn't appreciate the flashing lights and overwhelming questions.

Armel waves and smiles for the cameras, trotting along behind his girlfriend. Amaris sits in the driver's seat when they get to the car, pulling the visor down to cover her face. Armel follows suit, though he smiles the entire time. "I fucking hate those perverts," Amaris seethes as she pulls out of the parking lot.

"I assumed you'd be used to them," Armel says, rubbing his sweaty palms along his thighs. Amaris glances over at him, noticing his nervous mannerisms and his inability to look at her.

"Armel, do you have something you need to tell me?" Amaris prompts, putting her attention back on the road as she gets to the main street. Armel sighs. There was no use in lying; he had already been caught.

"I thought you would find it romantic. You know, first public outing and all?" He admits. Amaris unleashes all the frustration from the past months onto the poor boy.

"Romantic? Are you on fucking drugs? When has flashing lights, yelling questions, and crowds ever been romantic, Armel? I have told you a thousand times how much I hated those pricks, so why the hell did you think it would be a good idea, huh?" Armel sinks further into his seat, avoiding Amaris's angry gaze. "Do you even fucking listen to me anymore? Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. I don't like wine, but you ordered an entire bottle that I had to pay for because you chose the most expensive restaurant to be your favorite.

"I can't fucking believe you, Armel. You have been so fucking selfish all damn night. So you're sleeping on the fucking couch tonight. Or go back to your fucking dorm. I don't want to see you when I get out of the shower. Do you understand?" Amaris finishes, looking at Armel as he gives a timid confirming noise. His eyes are red and brimming with tears, sniffling as he looks out the window.

Amaris sighs, seeing that her words hurt the man she's supposed to be in love with. "Look, Armel, what you did was totally uncool. I don't feel like you're listening to me anymore, and it's getting irritating." Armel nods, keeping silent as Amaris turns onto mansion road, as she calls it. It's an estate, hundreds of acres long, filled with mansions and other typical rich people attractions, like country clubs and gardens. "I need some time alone after this. So, please leave me alone while I shower, and we can talk more after I cool down, okay?" Armel nods again.

They sit in silence until Amaris pulls into the garage. Armel is the first out of the car, rushing inside while the engine is still shutting off. Amaris sighs again, resting her head on the steering wheel. She made Armel cry. She made him fucking cry because she's struggling with her own feelings.

Maybe it was time to break up with him. Amaris wasn't happy with him. She tried to be, but it wasn't working. Every time she tried, it was like Armel was trying to push her away. It was time to break things off as cleanly as she could.

After a long, hot shower, Amaris sits with Armel to talk about the things said in the car. He agreed he was wrong, and Amaris agreed his heart was always in the right place, which made this next bit the hardest.

They sit on her bed with a pillow space between them. She needed distance from him when she's going to break his heart. "Armel?" She asks, eyes trained on the TV in front of her. He hums, looking up from his laptop quickly before setting it between them, top half-closed.

"Can you hold that thought, Mon Amour? I have to use the restroom." Amaris nods and watches as he dashes into the bathroom. As she shifts her attention to the TV again, her eyes glance over the screen of Armel's laptop.

Her heart drops into the pit of her gut at the sight. Amaris finds the next breath hard to take as she moves the computer screen, trying to get a better look at what she thought she saw. Maybe she was tired and was seeing something that wasn't there.

But it was there alright. An entire site of engagement rings, silver and shining like the sun had moved from the sky onto that page. Amaris closes the lid back where she found it when the sink water runs, sitting back in her spot. She was sure she looked like she saw a ghost.

Armel walks out, smiling widely and sliding onto the bed again. "What did you want to talk about, Mon Amour?" He asks, slipping the laptop on top of his lap again.

"I forgot," She laughs off. Amaris wiggles under the sheets, back to Armel with a quick goodnight. Things just got a lot more complicated than Amaris ever planned for.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos @kingtwhiddleston @cynic-spirit @end-up-well @xoxabs88xox @k-reads7

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tumblingdowntheway2019 · 3 years

Text

Sleepless Nights, Part Two (2).

Hello my lovelies, how are we today?

💕🤗💕

As promised, here is part two (2) of Sleepless Nights. If you have not read the first part yet, I shall link it here.

WARNING: BELOW THE CUT, THIS POST WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERS, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION/PTSD/PANIC ATTACKS/GORE, CHILD TRAUMA, TRAUMATIC EVENTS, ETC.

I MAY NOT BE GOOD AT WRITING THESE BUT EVEN THEN, IT IS BETTER TO WARN YOU JUST IN CASE.

Now then. Let's continue, shall we?

DONNA'S P.O.V (IN THE DREAM)

Unlike their parents, her sister did not hold a look of anger or malice. Instead, she stood there as radiant as ever.

It almost looked as if Bernadette had a soft glow around her as she gave of a radiant smile to Donna.

Almost as if a gentle breeze had blown, the entrance to the Beneviento Estate blew open.

Almost as if she were a statue, Bernadette did not react as all as she glides backward and through the doors. Her dress blowing gently in the unseen breeze.

Donna followed close behind as she called her sister's name, jumping down the steps and toward the path in front of her.

The faster the girl ran, the faster her sister seemed to have gotten as well.

As soon as she got to the outside elevator, Bernadette was gone. With no choice but to continue, Donna proceeds downward.

Halfway down the elevator shaft, a sudden scream was heard, scaring the girl as she tucked herself into the furthest corner and covering her head and ears.

A soft jolt indicated that it stopped, but Donna did not want to leave. She may have seen what was to come next before, but she was never prepared for what lies ahead.

She can't wake herself up. She desperately wanted to wake up. But she can't!

Another scream. Donna knew she has no choice in this nightmare and stood.

She saw the wooden doors that lead to the gardener's huts, then a suspension bridge and straight to Potter's Field and Garden.

The closer to the door Donna got, the clearer the sound of tearing flesh alongside the moans and groans got.

Pausing at the door, Donna took a different approach rather than go straight through the door. She wished she just ran past them.

The gravestone was no longer there. Instead, a massive clump of tumor lumps and tendrils with limbs stood in it's place.

The limbs and tendrils twitch violently with every gag the creature took. If it weren't for the torn pattern on the dress, Donna would not have know who that was.

A flock of crows appear and fused together to create a form of a woman. She wore dark robes, with black feathers and a golden bird head shaped mask.

"M-m-Mother Miranda....I-I-I did as you a-asked." It spoke.

"No.... Bernadette." Donna almost chokes out.

But she wasn't quiet enough.

Miranda shot her head up in Donna's direction, instantly spotting the young girl peaking through the letter box.

With a single finger, Mother Miranda pointed toward the girl as a silent order for the monster to pursue her.

Donna had no choice this time than to run back toward the elevator and upwards. The wooden door slamming open and the elevator began to ascend.

She bolts straight out and upward.

In a terrifying twist of fate or worse imagined scenario, her bloated and drowned father made his way out the basement and began stumbling towards her.

Her mother was fidgety in her movements, a stumble to the left here, a jolt forward immediately after it.

Donna made her way toward her right, up past many trees and up the path. Nearly and actually losing her footing over the tree roots and stones.

It felt like forever before Donna found herself at the top of the waterfall.

They say that if you get killed in your dream, then you would also die in the waking world too.

She turned to see all three (3) of her family member's grotesque form coming closer.

Taking a few steps back, Donna used the extra space to bolt off the edge of the cliff and fall toward the water below.

But halfway down, a huge murder of crows began to swarm around her. Swirling around her that she saw nothing but pitch black feathers.

A tight grip on her wrist startled her. Donna turned to look and saw Miranda, who's form was protruding from amongst the crows.

Extending her other arm, Donna saw the Cadou in Miranda's grip, placing it over her eye.

That's when she woke up, panting and sweating. It felt all to real.

She got up to go to the bathroom to change, hoping that the cool water will settle her racing thoughts.

As she soaked her face in water, a distinct growl was heard. She reluctantly looks at the mirror and saw ... Nothing but herself.

Her Cadou was completely flat now, nothing but it's shape remained. Along it's edges was where her older scar was barely visible. But her eye was now fused shut and no longer visible, but Donna didn't care now that the curse was gone.

Believing it to be the drain, she looked down to turn off the running water.

Before looking up again to Bernadette's Cadou mutilated form charging up into view!

LADY DIMITRISCU'S P.O.V

Lady Dimitrescu was now standing outside of her chambers, focusing on sharpening her hearing to get a better sense of where the whimper came from.

A few tense seconds go by, before she heard another one coming from her right. Or below her? She follows the noise.

Lady Dimitriscu strides downstairs, more worried than anything, but kept a calm demeanor upon her face.

She listens again when she had reached the row of chambers below hers. Another whimper was heard, echoing slightly, in the large bathroom located at the very end of the hallway.

And a very faint smell of blood.

With fear rising, The Lady of the Castle rushes toward the bathroom door and forces her way in, ready to attack whoever dared invade her castle and dare to try harm her daughters.

Instead she was met with a pitiful sight.

There, laying curled up in the corner of the room with her arms over her head and knees tucked in, was Donna.

The mother within Lady Dimitriscu took over as she rushes to the young woman, who refused to even leave the safety of the fetal position.

Alcina tried to coax her out of it, but Donna wouldn't budge. Instead she kept repeating, "My fault, it was my fault. They're right."

The mother held back tears as she gently placed a hand on Donna's shoulder. The latter having nearly scrambled back further into the wall.

She quickly realised it was Lady Dimitriscu.

The crouching 9ft 6 tall woman nearly fell back onto her back with the force the smaller woman jumped at her with.

She quickly embraced her back in assurance that everything was ok. She was there and she won't leave her down here alone.

The smell of blood was stronger now, causing the vampire lady to quickly examine the room. This was when she notices the broken mirror with thin blood trailing downward and along the cracks.

Motherly instincts took over as she gently pushed Donna back to get a better look at her.

It was heartbreaking, the poor woman breathing was hitching while trying to catch her breath.

Her white gown had splotches of red liquid on it, but mainly on the front and right sleeve.

Without another word, Lady Dimitriscu gently scoops the Doll Maker up, grabbing some cloths and another clean gown as she leaves the bathroom to take her back to her chambers.

Back in the chambers, the women were now sitting on the huge bed. Donna's injured hand was hovering over a cloth and basin of water as her adoptive mother gently removes the remaining shards of glass out of her hand.

Poor girl didn't even flinch. Just sat there, curled up with her head on her knees with her uninjured arm wrapped around them.

The wound now treated and bandaged, Lady Dimitriscu gently asked what happened.

It was here that tears were shed by the Lady, as Donna recounts her nightmares, a few hiccups and pausing in between to choke back tears

The part that finally had Lady Dimitriscu in tears now was when Donna admitted that there were many times she followed in her parents footsteps in their demise.

Many a times did she find herself of the waterfalls edge, looking into the the mist that hid the jagged rocks below.

Even after the events with Mother Miranda, she found herself there with what she thought was nothing to lose.

When she finished, Alcina took a moment to let it sink in. The fact that it had actually been going in for a MONTH was horrible and brought up a lot of guilt for not noticing sooner.

She quickly pulls the Doll Maker into a protective yet loving embrace that a mother can give. Apologising profusely for not noticing and the promise of always being there.

It was then Lady Dimitriscu clicked that a month ago, Donna had talked about her family and their demise. The poor girl had yet to actually accept that it happened and talking about it brought in the horrible guilt.

She felt the small hands grip onto her arm, it was... desperate? No, in fear of letting go.

It felt like forever before Donna looked up at her mother again, tears staining down her even more paler cheeks.

Once again, motherly instincts had The Lady gently wipe the away with her thumbs, as Donna leaned her head into the bigger hand. Which meant that thankfully, she was calmer now.

Alcina knew this meant that Donna will now be now submitting to her instincts to become mute and elusive again for a while. But it was ok, she will always stay nearby to assure her daughter that she is there when she is needed.

She finally let go of all her bottled up emotions, frustrations and fears that now meant that the path to recovery can finally begin.

Alcina noticed Donna's heavy eye closing and leaning into her hand more. She places the medical equipment and clothes onto the cabinet beside the bed, before positioning herself to lean against the pillows and pulling Donna into an embrace before turning off the oil lamp.

And so for the first time in a month, the Weaver finally had a peaceful slumber, wrapped up in the protective and loving embrace of the Dragon's wings.

____________________

As promised my lovelies, Part Two (2) of Sleepless Nights.

The reason behind this was to bring up awareness that just because someone who experienced traumatic events, mental illnesses or had thoughts of/attempted suicide, etc, may seem happy, that may very well may not be the case permanently.

Those sort of things will always lay dormant and all it takes is a simple trigger to bring about those thoughts all over again.

As was the case with Donna here.

But it may also effect those closest to you because the could end up feeling so guilty in not being able to help and not noticing. Even if it's just by listening.

As I had said before, I may not be the best writer, but I did want to bring some awareness about the dangers and effects of mental health.

Remember guys, you are not alone. Yes, the world ain't all dark clouds and rain, but it also ain't all sunshine and rainbows either. It's those little rays of sunshine that makes all the difference to one's day really.

There will always be one person who will be there to listen, as will I.

💕🤗💕 💪😎💕

There will be one more part to this, but it won't be called "Sleepless Nights". I'll get that out as soon as I can in the coming days.

If you wish to use the H.Cs for art, stories and such, always feel free to! All I ask in return is credit for the H.Cs and to be tagged to see it when it is done! 💕🤗💕

Love you guys and I hope you have a pleasant morning/afternoon/evening/night. 💪😎💕

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #donna beneviento #resident evil #video games #alcina dimitrescu #re8 headcanons #headcanon #awareness #mental heath awareness #family dynamic

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 4 years

Text

Regret - Nik

I feel like I make the joke of “whoa who is this?? every time I post Nik.]

CW: captivity, stress position, intimate whumper, noncon touch (non sexual), possessive language, brief suicidal ideation, death mention, blood, broken whumpee.

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A sound. It’s so sudden and unknown that Nik tenses. Was it real? There have been sounds creeping around his awareness lately, sounds and lights and shapes in the darkness of the blindfold. He whines slightly, testing to see if the sound responds.

Sometimes they do.

It’s worse when they do.

He swallows thickly, jaw throbbing with the ache of being held open for so long. How long as it even been, locked immobile in the darkness? Nik’s internal clock had been destroyed long ago, smashed to bits by the fake sunrises and tauntingly inconsistent days.

“Feeling remorseful yet?”

A voice. Real voice; he’s sure of it. This one is different, echoing off the stone walls.

The voices from his head can’t replicate that.

A frantic, begging whine. Yes, yes I am. Please, please just let me move. Let me go back to the vivarium. I’ll never disobey you again, I swear. Nik tries to nod, tries to show the Sorcerer that he’s sorry, but he can’t move. The metal around his forehead and neck keep him securely locked onto the wall.

How long has it been since he moved even an inch?

A hmm and Nik stills immediately. His heart is pounding in his throat, threatening to be the end of him he’s sure. He can feel his own trembling, but it’s vaguely distant, separate from him.

Footsteps, there are footsteps. Nik’s breath hitches as he feels tears pricking behind his eyes. Please, please I’ll do anything. I’ll never disobey again.

In one motion, all the cuffs disappear entirely, freeing him from the wall. Nik falls forward, unable to catch himself. Free, but still unable to move his locked joints and muscles. His skull cracks against the hard, stone floor, sending the darkness spinning. He groans brokenly, chest expanding farther than it has in, in… since the darkness. He can feel something warm bubbling up from underneath his skin and drip onto the floor.

The Sorcerer smiles down at him, reveling in the wrecked, thin body that he’s made Nik into. He crouches down, cupping the side of Nik’s neck. The creature shudders as he strokes his thumb across its jaw. He can feel its response, the curling tendrils of violation that course through its blood. He knows the pathetic little thing would try to flee if it could, but it can’t. It can’t – not only because it’s too weak, but because there’s another part of itself that craves the touch. Craves the comfort and stimulation that even this minuscule movement provides.

And wouldn’t it? It hadn’t felt anything in nearly a month.

The Sorcerer admires it for a moment more, before sending a blast of lightning through its body.

Nik screams behind the muzzle, muscles atrophied by stillness now forced to contract, to move by the electricity pumping through him. He can feel his joints creak at the sudden change, a body so frozen in one position now forced into movement.

Muscles tear and he screams.

Sobbing, Nik sprawls limply in a new position but still unable to move. His limbs throb, laying useless at his sides. He still wants to move, he wants to crawl away, to heave his body away from the man that he knows will only bring more pain, but he can’t. Even unrestrained, he can’t move.

“Did you really think I was going to let you off that easy, hm? Just a little time in the dark? Poor stupid thing; you’re not close to done.”

The man’s arms dig around him and lift him bodily from the floor. He can’t help but sob; couldn’t stop even if he tried. He’s aware of every inch of his body, the aches and hurts and deeper pains that radiate from them. His consciousness is a spinning, swirling, intangible thing that Nik couldn’t even hope to grasp. There’s nothing outside of this moment. No understanding that the pain will eventually end, no hope for comfort, no ideals of a better time. Only pain that radiates with each breath and the general motion of being dragged to another room.

To the workshop.

He’s dumped on the floor as the Sorcerer moves to gather the items he needs. Nik’s lungs are burning, his throat feels tight and pained. He tries to heave for another breath, tries to focus on the cold stone here. It’s familiar, having spent so long laying upon it, wishing for death.

His fingers twitch, and he nearly begins to cry a new. They twitched, he moved them. It’s the first inkling of movement, of control that he’s felt in so long. The slightest movement, maybe not even visible to the unknowing observer, has become the only glimmer of light he can even fathom.

Before he can try to move farther, a loop of rope is circled around his neck. It doesn’t cinch, but pulls upwards. He coughs, the rope pressing on his windpipe, and hands come to help guide him to his feet. He’s shocked that he can stand at all, considering the weariness and shaking of his legs. The rope around his neck stops rising, but keeps taunt. He either stands or chokes, and it feels like no matter what he does they will both happen.

After a moment to balance himself, his hands are grabbed and tied in front with yet more rope. They’re pulled down, the rope attaching to the ground and adding more strain around his neck. Breathing is difficult, standing is difficult, everything hurts and is too much - but also there is nothing surrounding him, nothing that he can recognize and use as an anchor. It is too much and not enough, all at once.

The hand lights around his neck again and he whimpers.

”Do you know why I can do this to you? Because you’re mine.”

Nik shuddered. He could feel another hand roaming over his back as the other continues with the horrifically gentle motions on his jawline. No matter what he does, no matter what he tries, he can’t escape. He knows. Knows that there is nothing for him to do now but suffer.

A thought forms on the outside of his awareness, a fleeting bit of logic that tells him he’ll go back, he’ll be returned to the little sprite, that things will get better.

It’s gone before he can really believe it.

The hands retreat and he’s torn. He’s thankful, grateful that they’re no longer on his skin and touching him, but he misses them at the same time. They were grounding – real, when nothing else feels real right now.

The first lash across his shoulder blades shocks him, knees buckling with the surprise and sudden pain. A strangled keen fills the air, but it’s choked off by the loop as it presses into his throat. Hands reposition him, and something else. A clink against his wrist and a faint feeling. So very faint, but noticeable. Just a little more of his magic is accessible, just a fraction more. But it’s enough. It’s enough to give him back a bit of strength and stand.

To continue to be tormented and tortured.

The next lash mirrors the first. The third crosses them both. Another, then another, and another. Nik cries out for each one, but his voice is so broken and rough from unuse that it feels as if there’s glass in his throat. It burns and cuts like the whip, cutting him open.

When the whip does stop, he’s fighting for every breath. He needs the air desperately, but the shift of his back is unthinkable. He needs the air, but the cost is high.

“You’re mine, little forest creature. Only mine. Others may look, might even be allowed to touch, but you’re mine. Your tears are mine, your blood is mine. Your magic, your life is mine.”

Nik’s chin falls to his chest, unable to keep it up any longer. He’s waiting, waiting for the familiar feeling of buzzing under his skin. Of the emptiness that comes with his magic being drained away. The Sorcerer is predictable - is greedy. He wouldn’t leave this opportunity to get such misery tainted blood that he could use on his enemies.

So Nik waits. Wait for the relief that the numbness brings.

He waits, and waits, and breathes and regrets the motion it brings, and waits. But nothing. No relief, no emptiness to take the pain away; even for just a little bit.

“How long do your kind live, I wonder? I’m sure longer than us. Well, normally,” the man chuckles, cupping the boy’s cheek to lift his head. He admires the blood that stains the blindfold, the intricate looking sash that the boy had made. Cute designs.

“How long will you live? Kept in the dark away from your precious trees, your lifeblood being taken from you drip by drip?”

Nik shivered as the man tilted his head side to side. The touch was more invasive than the words. It was nearly impossible to focus, to grasp any information being presented to him. The words themselves didn’t sink in, but the air of possessiveness needed no words.

Nik got the message.

“I’m sure more than long enough. Besides, once I gain more control over these idiots who call themselves Kings I’ll find somewhere better for you. Just as secure, of course. Would you like that? To be kept outside someday?”

The man’s fingers traced the edges of the muzzle and Nik felt himself crumbling. Slowly falling apart; past what he ever thought he could be. Pieces ground into dust under the man’s shoes.

“Who knows; you might even outlive me. Doubtful, but possible. Fear not, little thing, I’d find someone to take you if that happened. There’s power in a weapon that no one else has. Power is using it to keep people in line and fight to get their own hands on it.”

He sighed. “You’ll prolong my life, this I’m sure of. Shame it’ll drain yours, but I’m sure you understand. There’s an order of class, of importance in life. Some things are just not quite as important.”

Nik was crying again. Please. Please take the pain go away. Just for a little bit; please. Please. Take it, take it I don’t want it anymore. Just let me fall asleep, let me escape this if only for a little bit.

The man took no notice of the way the boy in front of him trembled and shook, instead focused on carding through the dark hair. It was dry, graying slowly from the roots. Interesting. Worth getting a sample from later.

He reached back and undid the knot behind the boy’s head, drawing away the blindfold. Nik squeezed his eyes shut in fear. The Sorcerer brushed over his eyes with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the tears and crust that had formed after so long.

“Now, are you ready to behave again?”

Nik whined and nodded the best he could, trying to look up at the man. He didn’t want to see the smirk, the glint of possessiveness in the man’s eyes, but he very much wanted to see something. Anything. Anything at all.

The Sorcerer admired the eyes; a dull yellow instead of the shining, strong gold he saw that first day.

“Good. Then let’s put you back where you belong.”

tagging @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @as-a-matter-of-whump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @whump-me-all-night-long @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @whumpeesblog

Plz let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the taglist! Also thanks for waiting lol.

#whump #Nik #captivity tw #stress position #intimate whumper #non con touch tw #possessive language tw #suicidal ideation tw #death mention tw #blood tw #broken whumpee

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hxseok-honee · 4 years

Text

peripeteia | part 20

a/n : AHHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS PLS LMK WHAT YOU THINK also this is the longest thing ive ever written ever im so tired it took all week so i hope its good!

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Y/n is sitting down by the Black Lake when she feels herself becoming faint. A cold sweat breaks on her skin just as her brain starts to feel foggy, and she knows it’s time. It was normal for students to skip class and find a comfortable place to wait on their Clock Day -- Hoseok had told her that it feels a lot like a dream, one that leaves you unable to move or do much of anything until the process is complete, and it was only after a few unlucky souls had fainted in class or on the stairs that professors started allowing students to take the day off in order to ensure everyone’s safety. Of course, lots of students still had the unfortunate experience of being caught off guard in corridors or on the stairs while trying to find a safe place to sit until it passed, so Y/n had traveled in an especially hurried manner while she was coming down to the lake. Luckily she’d picked a great time to settle down because not even ten minutes had passed since she’d arrived. She had been trying not to think of Namjoon on a day like this, but she can’t help that her only thought when she starts to feel sick is that she wished he were there with her.

The cold sweat turns to extreme warmth suddenly and almost violently, and she has to steady herself by putting a hand in the grass and breathing deeply until the world stops spinning. She can tell the edges of her vision are leaving her, the impending blackout looming dangerously close. Overcome by the heat sticking to her like a thousand burning hot knives, she starts to crawl over to the edge of the lake, desperate for something to cool her skin. She makes it there, but not quite with enough time to do anything else. The last thing she sees is her own reflection in the water beneath her. The sight of her eyes clouding over completely -- reminding her not coincidentally of the murky color her divination professor’s eyes turn when overtaken by a vision -- is all that’s left before her eyesight is completely lost and she’s forced to surrender to fate’s will.

The darkness in Y/n’s mind stirs, and she’s filled with the sensation of free-falling. As she drops through space with no end in sight, a small gray dot appears from below. It grows as she approaches it, transforming into a cloud of smoke very rapidly and enveloping her completely as she passes through it. She can feel that this cloud is meant to steady her, slowing her movement until she’s no longer falling, instead floating -- where she’s headed, she has no idea, but as long as she’s no longer falling to her death, she’s happy.

The smoke around Y/n begins to clear, and she notes that her feet are placed gently on hard ground, not far from where she’d been floating for those few moments. The rest of the smoke fades away, the last wisps of it sticking to her surroundings in order to solidify the world she’s landed in. She realizes immediately that she’s standing in the Hospital Wing, only noticing that everything around her is gray and colorless, much like a memory, as an afterthought.

Glancing around, she finds that all of the beds are unoccupied except for the last one on the left side. The curtains are drawn, and Y/n can hear Madame Pomfrey rustling around inside, the matron’s voice carrying over to Y/n. The student inside, a young male student by the sound of it, is whimpering slightly. As Y/n approaches the curtain, she notes that in between noises, he’s breathing heavily, almost sighing in pain.

“It’s alright dear, it’ll pass in no time, I swear it -- oh, there’s no use. Poor boy can’t even hear me.” Pomfrey pushes the curtain out of her way as she exits, carrying a small tub. Y/n watches her walk across the room to a sink, where she pulls a wet towel from the tub and wrings it out, dumping what looks like ice water down the drain when she’s done. Humming softly, Y/n glances back at the curtain and sees it’s been left slightly open, allowing her access to the student inside.

When she peers in, she’s met with the sight of Namjoon -- more specifically, an 11-year-old Namjoon -- lying in the bed, looking much too small and much too ill.

No, he’s not sick. He just looks sick.

The thought crosses Y/n’s mind when she takes him in fully -- when she takes in his eyes. Clouded over completely, staring up at the ceiling as if lost in time, Namjoon is drenched in sweat and is letting out small, periodic whimpers of pain, but he has no idea. He’s experiencing his Clock Day, and there’s no way for him to know how he looks until it’s passed.

Approaching him slowly, Y/n tries to process the information alongside everything she’d believed about Namjoon’s soulmate experience up until this moment. If he’d always known who his soulmate was -- if he’d known since first year -- why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he let everyone believe he was only just having his Clock Day? Why was he hiding his soulmate from them?

Standing over him, observing the emptiness in his gaze and wondering if that’s how she looked right now, somewhere outside of all of this, she can’t help but bring the back of her hand up to the side of his face -- he was just a kid. He had no idea of the man he’d become.

The moment her fingers graze over his cheek, sticky with sweat and unbearable heat, his whimpering stops and his shoulders start to fall, all the tension in them leaving. His eyes shut slowly, and a long sigh leaves him. A chill runs down Y/n’s spine, and she feels a deep panic forming in her chest -- had she hurt him? Was she not supposed to touch him? Did she just affect something and change the future in some way?

Just as she’s starting to truly fall into a pit of despair, Namjoon’s eyes are opening, his eyelashes flickering as he readjusts to the light of the room. His eyes are no longer clouded, but he’s still staring off into distance, trying to process what he’d just discovered. Y/n sits in the armchair beside his bed, watching intently as he blinks a few times before sighing. He looks too serious for a first year.

Hobi was right. No child should ever have to go through this.

The sound of the Hospital Wing doors slamming open shatters the moment of contemplation, prompting Namjoon to crane his neck to try to see past the curtain. Y/n finds herself doing the same. She can hear Pomfrey’s stern reminder for quiet, followed by footsteps -- only one pair, but they’re very hurried, almost a full run. The curtain flies open, and all of the breath in Y/n’s lungs leaves her in an instant.

She’s staring at herself -- a smaller, cuter version of herself. A version of herself that remembers this day with striking clarity. Hearing from Hoseok that Namjoon had felt sick that morning and gone to the Hospital Wing just as dawn had broken, 11-year-old Y/n had raced down to see him, skipping first hour, completely unconcerned with anything that wasn’t the boy lying in bed before her. 17-year-old Y/n remembers the fear that had taken her younger self, her head filled with thoughts of only Kim Namjoon, the smart but troublesome boy she’d met on the train just a few months prior. Y/n remembers the pain that had filled her that day, wanting nothing but to be next to him, and she’s hit with a sudden realization.

Whipping her gaze around to watch Namjoon, she sees that he has yet to say anything to her younger self, simply gazing at her with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s one of immense turmoil, but there’s a glimpse of something else just underneath his pain -- something that looks a lot like hope.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n’s watches the girl with her own face make her way slowly over to Namjoon, setting her bag on the ground before standing beside him. Namjoon remains silent, just watching her -- taking her in with eyes that first year Y/n had never seen before. Taking her in with eyes that she would continue to see over the years but never understand -- eyes that could only start to make sense to 17-year-old Y/n in this moment.

She watches -- the pieces of Kim Namjoon starting to fit together in her mind -- as her younger self becomes uncomfortable under her friend’s gaze and breaks it by reaching out and taking his small hand in her equally tiny one. Y/n watches -- her memories of Kim Namjoon finally forming one coherent vision in her mind -- as young Namjoon stares down at their interlocked hands, her palm sitting perfectly in his, before looking up at her, a smile lingering on the edges of his mouth.

Y/n watches as one of her most prominent memories of Namjoon takes form before her eyes, finally making sense after six years. Staring down into her lap, she tries to make sense of every other memory of him the stands out, but she realizes fairly quickly that there’s no use. Every memory of Namjoon stands out to her. Every single one. Closing her eyes, she lets out a deep sigh, her brain an endless mess of smoke and confusion.

When she opens her eyes, she’s no longer in the Hospital Wing. Everything is still gray, but it’s too dark to tell exactly where she is. She can, however tell that she’s sitting on the edge of something soft -- something that reminds her of her bed. It takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust, but she’s able to see eventually that she’s sitting in a bedroom. However, it isn’t her own.

Skimming her fingers along the blanket around her, it takes no less than ten seconds to find him. Namjoon is sleeping beside her, looking much taller but not much older.

Third year. He grew a foot over summer holiday but still had the face of a kid.

Glancing over at the bed across from her, she confirms that she has the right time when she sees a blond Hoseok -- an experiment they had all regretted participating in -- fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and his limbs all over the place.

Returning her gaze to a 13-year-old Namjoon, Y/n notices with concern that he’s frowning deeply in his sleep, small sighs reaching her ears every few seconds. Leaning in to see him more clearly, she has to hold back a scream -- even knowing full well that he can’t see or hear her -- when his eyes open suddenly. He looks a bit shocked, but more obvious is the expression of sadness on his face. He blinks a few times before sitting up, staring down at the blanket while he thinks. Eventually, he wraps his arms around his knees and hides his face as he curls up. Y/n is overcome with a feeling of immense sadness.

After a few minutes, Namjoon lifts his head, and it pains Y/n to no end to see that he’s been crying. He sniffles once, drying his face with his shirt, before reaching over to his bedside table for his phone. Squinting when the light of his screen tries to blind him, he opens his text thread with 13-year-old Y/n and starts to type a new message. Present Y/n peers over the top of his phone and reads the words upside down, knowing that she probably doesn’t even need to.

NJ : you okay?

Y/N : how did you know i was awake?

NJ : you’re always awake

Y/N : okay well how did you know that im not okay

NJ : i had a bad dream

Y/N : you sound like my grandmother

NJ : got the bones of a grandmother, too

Y/N : you do crackle a lot when you move

NJ : are you going to tell me what’s going on

Y/N : ,,, diana’s sick,, like really sick

Y/N : pomfrey’s trying to treat her

NJ : omw

Y/N : ???

Namjoon throws the blanket off of himself and, scooping up a sweatshirt from on top of his trunk, slides his feet into his slippers and heads out of the dorm as quietly as he can. Y/n follows, knowing exactly where he’s headed. Watching these memories from his point of view, however, is filling in all the gaps in her own, so she can’t help but be intrigued by every moment -- every step Namjoon takes, every time he speeds up a little bit as he covers the distance between himself and the Hospital Wing, every time he slows down as he’s turning corners, still careful of the prefects roaming the corridors. When he finally turns the last corner, Y/n watches as he stops in his tracks, staring down the corridor at a younger Y/n, one who’s been sobbing for hours as she paces in front of the Hospital Wing doors, one who’s already encountered three prefects who have all given her a free pass because of how distraught she is. It’s two in the morning, and Namjoon is staring down the corridor at a Y/n who’s been here since ten and hasn’t said anything to any of them.

Sighing, Namjoon shoves his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, making his way down to her. She notices him when he’s about halfway there, offering him a weak greeting before resuming her endless pacing. He stops right beside her, watching as his friend passes him once, twice, and then twice more. He finally puts his hand out, latching onto her arm and gripping tightly when she tries to pull away. Wordlessly, he pulls her toward him, bringing her into his arms and securing her in his hold when she finally falls into him, losing all of her strength.

Throwing her arms around Namjoon, she cries into his neck, needing him much more than he could ever know. All he does know is that he’d been woken from his sleep, filled with an impossible sadness that made him want to run to her, wherever she would have been. He would have run to her even if she’d been in the forest, or off the grounds entirely. He’d needed to find her because he feared his chest would cave in from the amount of pain he felt when he didn’t have her next to him. He’d wanted to take all of her sorrow away, but in the process of finding her he realized that he could breathe again once he had her.

Walking them slowly over to the wall just outside of the Hospital Wing, Namjoon pulls away from Y/n just for the time it takes for them to sit down together, and then she’s back in his arms, leaning against him heavily as he whispers words of comfort to her. They stay like that until just before breakfast, when Pomfrey comes out and sees that they’ve fallen asleep, clinging to each other tightly. Unbeknownst to anyone, 17-year-old Y/n is sleeping not too far away, having drifted off while watching them talk throughout the night.

When she wakes, it’s still dark, but she’s sitting in a well-lit corridor. More importantly, she’s sitting across from an even older Namjoon, who’s perched on a windowsill scrolling through his phone even though it’s well past curfew. Rubbing her eyes as she stands, Y/n makes her way over to him, leaning in to see what he’s up to. There on his screen is a picture of the prefect schedule, and he keeps zooming in and out of the section with Y/n’s name on it. She chuckles, shaking her head as she takes a seat next to him and waits for whatever’s to come.

Only a few minutes pass before footsteps can be heard echoing nearby. Namjoon perks up, putting his phone away and looking toward the end of the corridor expectantly -- Y/n can’t help but smile at how cute he is. Following his gaze, she watches as her younger self turns the corner, wand well-lit despite the castle lighting being phenomenal in this area. She’s showing off her freshly polished prefect’s badge and smiling as she does her patrol. Y/n looks at this younger version of herself and has to hold back a laugh.

Oh, to be fifteen and a total dork.

Y/n watches as her younger self looks straight ahead, completely focused on her duties, and she’s fond of this annoying rule-follower she used to be. She remembers clearly how happy she’d been to be named prefect, and she’d wanted to do her best. So she’d polished her badge and kept her notepad ready and gone on her first patrol in a dweeby kind of excitement. Not even an hour in, she’d found Namjoon.

“Joon? What are you doing?” Namjoon smiles, waving her over excitedly. With a cautious look on her face, she approaches her friend, who she is well aware had become a bit of a troublemaker over the years but still finds him adorable and harmless. He pulls his bag off his shoulder and starts to open it, talking as he does.

“Well, I didn’t know if patrol would be boring or lame, so I brought you a book just in case!” An enormous smile fills her face, and she laughs softly as he pulls out a stack of reading materials. “Okay, actually I brought a lot because I didn’t know what you’d like… hopefully you like books on various niche topics and magical research.” He lifts his gaze, beaming up at her as he holds out the stack of books, waiting for her to choose. Y/n puts her wand away, stepping up him and glancing through the titles. She pulls one out that has magical creatures on the cover and nods decisively as she flips through it.

“This one looks cool.” She stops leafing through the pages to watch Namjoon as he puts the rest back and begins to ramble.

“Oh, that’s a great choice! They have this awesome chapter on veelas and the genetic traits that get passed down to their children, which is super cool when you think about half-veelas or quarter-veelas or even one-eighth-veelas, which are kinda rare, but-” He cuts himself off, realizing that he’s gone on for far too long and taking a sheepish glance at Y/n. She’s smiling at him so sweetly he swears his heartbeat actually stutters for a moment, but he clears his throat and points at the book in her hand. “I should stop talking… don’t want to spoil it for you.” Y/n tucks the book under her arm, aiming her smile down at her feet as she responds.

“Thanks, Joon, I’ll make sure to tell you what I think of it when I’m done… by the way, you do realize you’re out after curfew, right?” Namjoon hums awkwardly, lifting his bag onto his shoulder as he stands.

“I’m only out if you say I am.”

“What does that even mean?” Namjoon laughs at her confusion, reaching out and locating a piece of hair that’s fallen into her face. He runs it back until it’s tucked safely behind her ear, at that point letting his arm fall to his side and taking a couple steps back.

“You suddenly have no recollection of seeing me tonight… that book is yours now. Have a good first patrol, Y/n. I’m proud of you.” Not giving her enough time to respond, Namjoon turns on his heel and disappears down another corridor, one leading to Ravenclaw Tower. Y/n just stands there staring after him, only remembering the book in her arms when it just about falls to the ground.

The older Y/n watches her younger self look back through the book for a bit before lifting her gaze to the spot where Namjoon disappeared, a small smile gracing her features and she starts to wander down her route for the night, almost no attention paid to anything outside of her new book. Y/n knows well that she’d return to her room that night and place it on her bedside table, picking it up every night to read just a bit more, as it was an admittedly difficult book deserving only of Ravenclaw eyes. She would eventually get through it, and then she’d read it again to really feel like she got it all. It still sits on her bedside table, always unpacked at the beginning of the year and put in its own spot next to her.

Y/n waits as the scene fades around her, and the space fills up with new setting -- soon she’s surrounded by the castle staircases.

She knows this scene well -- it’s the day that she’d fallen down the stairs from Tae and Jimin’s prank. She can tell by the crowd of people that’s gathering. 6th year Y/n hasn’t made it there yet, still in a meeting with Dumbledore about prefect matters that was running a little late at the moment.

This was supposed to be the ultimate prank of the year -- and it certainly was memorable, but not entirely for that reason. Jimin had just had his Clock Day not even a week prior, and he and Tae were celebrating their newfound love the only way they knew how. The entire school knew about it, and the professors had long given up trying to stop the two Slytherin troublemakers. Someone steps up beside 7th year Y/n, busy scrolling through their phone. She looks up and is met with the sight of 6th year Namjoon, smiling down at his screen as he bombards Y/n with annoying texts, complaining that she was late. Yoongi’s standing with Jin, Jungkook, and Hoseok not even five feet away, and he calls out to Namjoon excitedly when he spots the Ravenclaw.

“Joon! Over here, over here! We got some great spots to watch the show!” Jungkook bites his lip and looks away, hiding his extremely fond smile. Jin and Hoseok make amused eye contact, and Y/n can see now by Jin’s lingering gaze and their small grins that they’d been dating for a while and that the rest of them were all just blind to their very obvious love.

Yoongi makes his way over to the tall boy beside her, striking up a conversation about his new plant and some fun caretaking methods he’d found online the other day. Namjoon nods along, still slightly distracted as he glances around the massive crowd for his favorite person. He has his back just turned enough to not be able to see that 6th year Y/n has emerged not too far away and is searching for her friends. Y/n watches her younger self make her way along the side of the banister in their general direction, and she’s very aware of what’s to come in the next few moments.

Jimin and Tae had bewitched the staircases to move on their command, shifting them out of their normal rotation pattern in order to lock them firmly into the sides of the walls they’re attached to, effectively creating a cavern more than 10 stories high, giving them room to set off the insane amount of fireworks they’d made all the way from the Slytherin dungeons. The fireworks were supposed to go to the very top of the castle, exploding just before they crashed into the ceiling. They were never set off.

As Y/n was looking for her friend group, knowing they’d be somewhere close to the stair banisters, but having no idea what the plan was, she’d stepped out onto one of the staircases to get a better angle to find her friends. Since her meeting had run late, she’d missed the very aggressive announcement from Tae that no one should step onto the stairs for at least ten minutes before the show started, and the chaotic soulmates were down in the dungeons, just about to execute their plan. They never saw her.

Y/n can’t bring herself to watch what she already has painfully etched into her memory, choosing instead to watch Namjoon converse with Yoongi in the moments before her tragic staircase accident. She’s extremely lucky she’d been watching him.

She knows that the staircases have started moving when she hears people cheering, but she actually knows almost half a second before that. A painful, ice cold chill runs down the length of her spine -- it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, and she’s felt the fear of falling 20 feet off of a staircase.

She realizes that the feeling is coming from Namjoon -- he’s the one feeling that ice cold pain coursing through his veins. It’s as if the world stops -- one second, he’s listening to Yoongi explain how to pick the right terrarium, and the next, he can’t hear anything at all. Y/n also can’t hear a thing -- everything’s muffled, and all she can hear is a heartbeat, thumping so loudly, so quickly that it could only belong to the girl who’s currently tumbling down a set of stairs into a free fall.

Namjoon turns, and Y/n can see that he knows exactly where her younger self is without having ever seen her. With a strength that she didn’t even know he possessed, he shoves past every person between him and the banister, literally knocking some poor Hufflepuff boy to the ground as he rushes to the stairs.

Throwing himself against the side of the wall when he gets there, Namjoon finds Y/n’s eyes almost instantly -- she’s staring up at him as she falls, still in shock at what’s happening. Y/n won’t remember until this very moment, when she’s standing in her own memory, but she’d seen Namjoon take action as she was falling. He hadn’t been quite fast enough -- she’d still hit the second set of stairs and pass out right there -- but he had managed to slow her down before she’d landed.

Namjoon pulls his wand out of his pocket so fast that the older Y/n hadn’t even seen him do it. Pointing it straight down at her, he calls after her, a silent spell manifesting from nothing but the force of his own will -- the force of his complete and total terror that something would happen to her. It’s the first time he’d ever been able to successfully cast a silent spell, having complained for weeks that he wasn’t able to get it no matter how much he practiced. Y/n feels it all in that moment, all of the soul-shattering fear Namjoon was carrying, and she has to lean heavily on the wall to steady herself, wondering how he’d managed to push past that and cast the spell successfully.

The spell hits Y/n squarely in the chest, instantly slowing her fall. It isn’t enough to prevent her arm from breaking, and it isn’t enough to stop her from complaining for the next full week about a backache, but it is enough to soften the landing and keep her safe from something much worse. They’d been lucky, really -- the stairs she’d landed on just happened to be passing beneath her on its way to its formation. If another second had gone by, she’d still be falling into the dungeons.

Y/n watches everything from above, and she can hear everyone jumping into action. She can hear everyone’s cheers turn into gasps of terror, and she can hear her friends all calling for her, all rushing to the nearest staircase to get down to her. She can even see down into the dungeons, where Tae is holding a firework and a flame, where Jimin is calling out to him frantically to stop. But most clearly, she can see that Namjoon is already at her side, having scaled over the top of the wall and essentially taken his chances at getting down to her as quickly as possible without falling. He’s shaking her furiously, grabbing her face and yelling for someone to alert Pomfrey when she doesn’t respond, already out cold. Jin is yelling down at Jimin and Tae, instructing them to move the staircases carefully so Namjoon can get her to the Hospital Wing.

Namjoon holds tightly onto the side of staircase as Tae brings it around to the corridor leading straight to the Hospital Wing, gripping Y/n tightly in his other arm as they go. He doesn’t even wait for the stairs to stop moving -- as soon as they’re close enough, he’s scooping her up in his arms and running full speed into the passageway, disappearing from view completely.

Y/n watches the rest of the room devolve into chaos -- Jimin and Tae fly up from the depths of the dungeon on Jimin’s broomstick, gesturing wildly at their friends as they all barrel down the nearest staircase together in an attempt to follow after Namjoon. Jin is pulling Hoseok along by his hand as they race to the front of the group, Jin trying to get Hoseok to his best friend as fast as possible. Yoongi is clinging to Jungkook’s side, eyes wet, and she can see him whispering mantras of positivity to himself as they go. She can see he doesn’t believe them even as he says them, and Jungkook is the one to take over and reinforce the words as they run together. Jimin is guiding himself and Tae up the cavern and back around as Tae shouts for the crowd to disperse, threatening to set the fireworks off in a dangerous way if they don’t all get lost. He looks very much like the Slytherin he is but never shows to the world.

Everyone leaves just as Dumbledore is running into the space, commanding the attention of the two Slytherins. Jimin looks back at Tae and, knowing full well how much trouble they’d be in if they got caught, they head straight for the headmaster. Landing beside him, they don’t even give him a chance to start reprimanding them -- they both start yelling at the same time, pointing desperately in the direction of the Hospital Wing and begging him to come with them to see if he can do anything. The old wizard is so thrown by the display that all he can do is follow after them as they run to join their friends.

Y/n watches everything from the top of the stairs. She sees everything -- all of the chaos, all of the fear -- and she thinks about the fact that she’d had absolutely no idea any of this had happened. She’d passed out and woken up a day later, in a world of pain but thankfully not seriously hurt. She’d watched her friends come and go every day, and she’d noted that Namjoon only ever left her side to eat and shower when he was sure she was sleeping. It was the only thing she knew about the entire accident, and it wasn’t even close to what actually had happened. She doesn’t even notice when the scene changes, too caught up in her own thoughts to register the smoke filling her vision and flowing into something new.

The smoke clears, leaving her shrouded in trees and darkness. She’s standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the moon full and bright above her. She can’t see Namjoon anywhere, so she starts heading in the direction of the castle, its silhouette visible in the distance. She’s about halfway there when she hears it.

“Namjoon likes me, Namjoon likes me!”

“How did they make you Head Girl? You’re a child!” Unable to mask her smile, Y/n hurries out past the treeline and in the direction of the voices, this memory much more recent. Just there past a grove of trees sits a cluster of rocks, outlining the edge of the lake well. Namjoon is heading over to them now, hopping carefully until he gets to a spot that he likes. Y/n can barely make out her younger self, herself from not even a few months ago, crouched by the lake, running her fingers through the water lightly. Y/n heads toward Namjoon just as her other self is yelling back to him.

“This water’s cold as fuck!” Y/n remembers the feeling that comes next, but it’s a different experience in Namjoon’s perspective. That feeling of adoration she’d felt all those weeks ago down by the lake -- the feeling that had left her wondering what her soulmate was up to at the time -- makes sense now. It makes complete sense to her, just as everything about Namjoon is finally starting to make sense. Every glance, every smile. He’d always known. He’d just been waiting for her to notice him -- he’d been waiting for her to love him.

A quiet yelp followed by a bit of rustling catches Y/n’s attention, and she’s not surprised to find Namjoon has already caught her from wiping out on the rocks and is holding her gently, just a few feet away. Feeling strangely intrusive, Y/n averts her eyes, settling down on the rocks and staring out at the lake while her younger self shares her first intimate moment with Namjoon.

A few moments later, the sound of mumbling, followed soon by paper being slapped on skin, alerts Y/n of her own exit from an awkward moment. Turning back to the scene, she catches herself running away in the distance -- truly a humorous sight indeed -- but her attention is on Namjoon. He’s staring down at the detention slip that had been stuck to his face, chuckling slightly to himself. Y/n’s heart warms at the fondness in his expression, thankful that he hadn’t been discouraged by her behavior.

“This girl, I swear…” He starts to head back into the castle, and Y/n can tell she’s meant to follow. They make their way slowly through the castle, Y/n watching as Namjoon gets lost in his thoughts. They make it all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower, where Namjoon stops suddenly just before the entrance to his common room. He’s still lost in his thoughts, but there’s a smile spreading slowly across his face. It finally reaches his eyes, and suddenly he’s spinning around in the corridor, punching the air and literally bouncing in place as quietly as he can.

“She almost kissed me!” Running up to the door to his common room, he completely ignores the riddle that the eagle knocker asks him.

“Did you hear what I said? She almost kissed me! Can you believe it?” The eagle knocker remains silent while Namjoon parades around in front of the door, eventually opening its mouth.

“How lovely. Please answer the question.” Halting his excited bouncing to glare at the knocker, Namjoon answers the riddle with an impatient wave of his hand. The door slides open, allowing Namjoon to rush into the common room and up the stairs to his room, Y/n following behind in a shocked daze at Namjoon’s display. Throwing the door open and barely managing to get his shoes off, Namjoon hops on top of his bed, chanting happily.

“Hobi, wake up, wake up! She almost kissed me tonight -- wake up, bitch! I’m having a moment here!” Y/n watches from the door as Hoseok rolls over in his bed and reaches for something she can’t see. Their third roommate, a kind but rather quiet boy named Roger, starts to whine loudly, begging Namjoon to quiet down. She feels bad for him -- he’s been put through a lot with them as roommates -- but she forgets about him completely when she sees Hoseok’s shoe fly across the room with shocking speed and accuracy. It hits Namjoon in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground instantly.

“Shut it, you overgrown kindergartner! If I sleep through first hour tomorrow, I’m ripping every single one of your hairs out of your head with my bare hands!” Despite the pout that forms on Namjoon’s face as he sits on the ground holding Hoseok’s shoe, Y/n can’t help but laugh at the interaction, very typical of her two Ravenclaw boys. He sits there for a few more seconds, enough time for Y/n to cross the room and take a seat on the trunk at the foot of his bed. Watching him carefully, she’s pleased to see that his frown soon becomes a smile once again as he recalls the events of that night.

Climbing onto his bed, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, sending Y/n what she remembers to be a very sweet goodnight text. Once that’s done, he tosses the phone onto his bedside table before taking it upon himself to flop back onto his mattress dramatically, smiling dreamily up at the ceiling. The last thing Y/n sees before the smoke pulls her away is Namjoon placing a hand on his chest and scrunching up the material of his shirt -- the material that lies just above his heart -- and closing his eyes, the smile lingering on his lips.

The moment the smoke places her in her next memory, Y/n realizes it isn’t a memory at all. She’s standing in a massive group of people -- her entire class. They all have smiles on their faces, and they’re all hugging one another and taking photos. But this isn’t what she notices - it’s their outfits. All the same, all identical. The cap and gown.

Graduation? But this is months away…

Her own laughter reaches her ears, and it doesn’t take much longer to find herself. She -- her older self? -- is standing with the rest of their friends, laughing as Diana tries to chew on Jungkook’s dress pants. Only five of them are wearing gowns, the Slytherins and Jungkook still stuck at Hogwarts for another year. Hoseok is taking photos of Jin, who looks like he’s suffering not only from the heat, but also from his boyfriend’s scrutiny.

“Come on, Jin! Just one smile for the camera, and I will let this go -- my mom wants a photo!”

“Why does it have to be of just me? She’s your mom!”

“Because she says you’re the most handsome person she’s ever seen, and I completely agree.” Jin waves Hoseok off, unwilling to take the photo. That is, until he makes eye contact with Yoongi, who’s standing just a little ways away. At the sight of his roommate pulling a mini magical cactus from within his robe and brandishing it at Jin menacingly, Jin turns to Hoseok with a wide smile.

“I love photos, let’s take ten!” Confused but pleasantly surprised, Hoseok lets Jin lead him off toward the lake for their photoshoot. Y/n starts to laugh uncontrollably as she watches Yoongi tuck the cactus back into his robes innocently, and it unnerves her to see that her older self has also witnessed the exchange and is laughing alongside her.

Turning back to the larger friend group, almost desperate to avoid another coincidence with herself, she finds Namjoon bent at Jungkook’s feet, trying to keep his cap on his head as he wrestles Diana from Jungkook’s leg. Jungkook is crying out in pain at the claws that have been buried in his ankle -- no one sees that Jimin and Tae are enjoying the show immensely, even going so far as to start recording the entire thing.

When he finally manages to remove the cat from the poor Gryffindor’s limb, Namjoon stands and turns to Y/n, narrowly avoiding a claw to his face in the process.

“Please tell your demon cat that scratching people’s ankles off is rude as fuck.” Y/n laughs, reaching for Diana and cooing at her once she’s safely in Y/n’s arms.

“It’s not her fault Jungkook is such a thicc boy and attracts the attention of anything that wants a bite -- isn’t that right, Diana?” Diana curls up and purrs in response, sending everyone into a fit of laughter and comments about Jungkook’s thiccness as the Gryffindor scowls at the cat. The younger Y/n almost joins their laughter, but something catches her eye before she has time to look away from her older self.

Just there on her left hand -- the same hand that is cradling Diana -- sits a ring, one she’d never seen before. Ignoring the discomfort of being so close to a version of herself that didn’t exist yet, she approaches the girl in front of her, taking the ring in fully. A small diamond is nested in the band of it, shining brightly despite its size. She can’t stop herself from looking up at Namjoon, who stands beside her older self. He’s staring down at her, the smile on his face one of humor from the current situation, but also one of love and adoration, known only to them.

Y/n watches the moment and knows she’s the only one who can see it, despite being the only one who isn’t physically there. She can see how much Namjoon loves her and how happy he is to be able to show it. As the scene fades, she can’t help but wonder if what she’s seeing is really the future -- the image of a Namjoon who hasn’t acknowledged her in weeks comes back to her, only serving to bring pain into her heart. She doesn’t bother to try to see where the smoke is taking her.

She’s staring down at a wooden floor, in a house she doesn’t recognize. Lifting her gaze and glancing around, however, she finds that it’s quite a nice home. The smoke had left her standing in the middle of the kitchen, and she can’t help but run her fingers along the counter top as she makes her way through the room. It’s spotless, but it looks lived in.

Comfortable. Beautiful.

Passing under an archway that opens into the main room, she can see stairs leading up to the second floor, the front door just past them. Taking in everything as she moves through the room -- the sofa draped in various warm blankets, the tattered book sitting open on the coffee table, the array of house plants sitting on the windowsill -- she can’t help but feel like this home is perfect for her. Just as she makes it to the stairs and is putting a foot on the first step, the sound of rustling in a room off to the right calls her attention.

Approaching the room, she peeks her head around the doorway and finds herself looking into an office, lit with the warmth of a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. She doesn’t even see the person sitting at the desk until they lift their head, clearly awakening from an unexpected nap.

Namjoon stretches in his seat, arms reaching high above his head as he lets out a tired groan. He looks older, maybe by 4 or 5 years. There’s a stack of files next to where he’d been napping on the desk, and there’s a smear of ink across his right cheek from his quill. Looking around his immediate area, he swears softly under his breath.

“Where did I put them?” He’s just about to stick his head under the desk to search for his missing item when a quiet meow rings through the room. Y/n looks down just in time to see a very familiar cat entering the room, a pair of round specs dangling from her mouth. She hops up onto the desk once she reaches it, taking a seat on top of whatever Namjoon had been working on before dropping his glasses into his outstretched hand. With a fond smile, he places the glasses on his face before scratching the back of the cat’s ear.

“Thanks, Diana. I knew you’d like me one day.” Y/n watches the exchange, filled with a mixture of disbelief and joy. Never once in the seven years she’d known Namjoon had Diana expressed anything other than complete disdain for the Ravenclaw, and yet here it seems they’ve been friends for ages.

The front door opens behind her, followed by the soft call of a voice that sounds much like hers but more mature.

“I’m home! Joon?” She watches Namjoon smile as he peers through her into the other room.

“In here!” An older Y/n -- 4 or 5 years older -- steps up beside her younger, shocked self in the doorway. She’s wearing business attire, and she’s carrying a bag of takeaway, which she holds up for Namjoon to see. She looks poised, impressive -- but she still looks like herself. She doesn’t look like a stuck-up adult. She just looks… older.

She looks pretty freaking cool.

“I saw you still had a lot of assignments to grade when I was leaving this morning, so I got your favorite.” Namjoon cheers, moving to stand from his seat but taking the time to point cutely at Diana, still seated peacefully on his work.

“Diana brought me my glasses! I think she finally likes me.” He looks very proud of this fact, even reaching out to pet her one last time. She swipes at his hand in anger, scratching his palm slightly. They glare at each other for a moment before Namjoon gets up, shaking his head. “One day she’ll love me.”

“Namjoon, we’ve been married for five years and she only just today did one nice thing for you. You’ve still got a way to go with her.” Rolling his eyes, he approaches Y/n and leans forward, planting a kiss on her lips. Younger Y/n has to look away, slightly shaken by the unexpected display. Only when he’s pulled away does she feel comfortable enough to look again, attributing the warmth in her face the fireplace not too far away.

“How was work?” Y/n sighs, reaching out with her free hand to wipe at the ink on his face, giving away that he’d been napping just before she arrived.

“It was fine. The Minister’s been on us to meet fiscal year deadlines as if we’re not drowning in his debt. I’m just happy to be home.” The tired look in her eyes fades once she starts smiling up at Namjoon, who’s taken her free hand in his own and started leaning against the door frame while he was listening to her. It puts him in the perfect position to bring his lips to the top of her head in a comforting kiss, which only serves to widen her smile.

“Well, Mrs. Kim, you are doing a fine job over there at the Ministry. Meanwhile, I was so confused about the fact that one of my students doesn’t know the difference between transformation and switching that I took a stress nap instead of writing feedback for him.” He laughs lightly when Y/n puts her index finger against his forehead and pushes him away from her. Diana following closely behind, she heads into the kitchen, calling back to him.

“Not everyone is good at transfiguration, Joon -- remember how I was? I would have failed my N.E.W.T without you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if we’d done more studying instead of messing around that night you would have gotten a better score.” Younger Y/n blushes deeply, barely managing to follow behind Namjoon as he heads into the kitchen as well.

“I passed, didn’t I? And if I remember correctly, I’m the one that actually wanted to study -- you just got bored because you’re a know-it-all.” He barks out a laugh.

“Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? I waited seven years for you to love me, I was obsessed with you once we started dating… I still kind of am obsessed with you.” Younger Y/n watches Namjoon corner her older self between two counter tops, smiling cheekily down at her and laughing when she pushes lightly against his chest. Taking her in his arms, he suddenly becomes serious, his smile dropping.

“Y/n?” Both of the women in question keep their eyes on Namjoon, entranced by him, just as it had always been -- entranced by his presence from the moment he’d come into her life.

“Thank you for loving me.”

Y/n can feel herself reaching out to him, disregarding the futility in it, but she doesn’t get the chance to call out to him. The smoke has started to fill her vision -- but it doesn’t transform the room smoothly. This time, something takes hold of the back of her belt, latching onto her and yanking her upwards, out of the smoke entirely. Muffling her scream with her hand, she watches the cloud of smoke shrink below her until it becomes the spec of grey she’d seen when this all started. She screws her eyes shut, dizzy from the climb -- confused beyond belief but finding her resolve in the truth.

When Y/n opens her eyes, she’s staring at the lake, and it’s gotten much darker. She’s also much farther away from the lake than she remembers being when she first fainted -- she can see more of the shoreline, and she’s fairly certain she’s under a tree. Trying to scan her surroundings, she tilts her head up before coming to a stop, registering that there’s something very soft underneath her cheek.

“You’re awake.” The voice, although familiar and comforting, is a shock all the same, so she jumps in surprise, turning her head to locate it. She finds herself staring up into Namjoon’s eyes, and she realizes belatedly that the soft thing under her is his leg. Lifting herself off of him with her elbow, she takes the time to glance around -- there’s no need to examine the grounds, of course. She just isn’t prepared to face Namjoon.

“How did you know where I was?” She says this while glancing around herself still, adjusting her positioning until she’s leaning back against the tree. Namjoon shifts next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin while he stares out at the lake.

“I could feel that it was starting… and I just knew where to find you.” Y/n nods, deciding to just be satisfied with his response instead of questioning the mechanics of it. They sit in silence for a few minutes, simply staring out at the lake together as the sun begins to set. She can feel that Namjoon’s waiting for her to say something, so, gathering her courage, she turns to him, holding her tongue until he’s met her eyes, which he does after a brief pause.

“You knew this entire time?” Namjoon looks away quickly, unable to face her. He nods once, and she takes this as her signal to continue, her frustrations with him over the past few weeks boiling to the surface. “Then why have you been avoiding me? What’s been going on with you?” Groaning deeply, he leans back against the tree, his limbs dropping into a sort of sprawled position beside her. His eyes are shut, brow furrowed. He looks conflicted.

“I was an idiot --”

“That’s a massive understatement.” His eyes find hers, and he turns fully to face her, his expression earnest and a bit desperate.

“I freaked out, Y/n. When Hobi said it wasn’t guaranteed that we’d end up together, my entire world fell apart. I had always assumed we’d be together and that I just had to wait for you to find out it was me -- I thought it was enough that I loved you. But then he started talking about free will and people without soulmates and losing the emotional connection and -- I lost it, okay? I lost it. Everything I’d believed about us for the last seven years was ripped apart… but I was an asshole.”

“Yeah. You were.” His eyes drift down until he’s staring at the ground, clearly humbled and apologetic. “But… I understand --” When he whips his head up to look at her, his eyes appear to have become hopeful. “I mean, what you did was fucked up, the boys are really upset--” His head dips again, his frown deepening. “But I understand why you freaked out. I just… wish you had handled it better.” They sit in silence together, Y/n staring down at the top of Namjoon’s head while he waits beside her, looking not unlike a scolded child.

“Did you think I would be mad once I found out you’d known all this time about us?” He glances up at her briefly before returning his gaze to lap, where he finds great interest in picking at his fingernails. Slowly, and only after a small sigh, he nods, still refusing to meet her eyes.

“Even after everything we’ve been through -- all of the flirting and the deep talks and late nights together?” Another nod. “Do you realize how stupid that is?” He stops fidgeting, choosing instead to examine the ground extensively while he thinks. Finally, he nods, pulling his head up to look into her eyes before nodding again, gaze solemn.

“I know. I’m really sorry. You have no idea how painful it was to know I’d hurt you… I just thought that if you really were going to choose someone else -- or at the very least if you were going to be disappointed in me being your soulmate -- I… just thought I should distance myself beforehand… But I hated every second of it, and I wish I could take it all back... I’m sorry.” He looks like he’s going to continue, but Y/n stops him. Reaching out, she takes one of his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers while nodding.

“Okay. I forgive you -- it’s going to be hard for me to trust you fully again, but I forgive you.” She squeezes his hand, and for the first time since waking up, she smiles at him. Taking her in, Namjoon can’t help but feel overwhelmed with affection, and he knows she can feel it when she starts to snicker at him. Nudging her playfully, he turns back to the lake, sitting beside her as they lean against the tree. Their hands lie clasped in her lap, a slight zap of electricity running through their palms every few seconds. The feeling is new but warm, one of completeness.

“So… what was your Clock Day like?” She doesn’t bother turning to look at him when she asks, knowing he’ll just keep staring out at the water while he ponders.

“It was… a lot to handle as a first year.” She nods, remembering Hobi’s words once again. “There weren’t very many memories, actually. It was mostly visions of the future. We hadn’t known each other that long -- how could I have anything substantial to remember yet? Actually… do you remember coming to visit me in the Hospital Wing?”

“Yeah, of course. That was my first memory.” He hums, thinking about that day a little longer.

“I knew you would be coming. It was the first vision that the smoke showed me.” She smiles fondly at that term -- “the smoke” -- because she knew there was no other way to talk about it. The inner workings of fate and magic were too advanced for any one person to understand and talk about eloquently. “It showed me that you were on your way -- when you showed up, I thought ‘Ah, so my future really has been decided’. But then… things kept changing.” Y/n looks up at him, taking in the expression on his face. He looks lost, confused about the truth -- but there’s something resigned about it, as if he’d accepted that the world was much different than he thought.

“What changed?” He looks down at her before dropping his eyes to their intertwined hands.

“The way I’d seen my future wasn’t the way it always turned out. Eventually I figured out at that the visions the smoke shows you aren’t set in stone -- they’re more potentialities than fact. There was something about the way our reality developed that changed things along the way -- sometimes they were just small details, but sometimes entire events were different… like your accident.” With a furrowed brow and concerned interest, Y/n leans in, urging Namjoon silently to continue. He does so only after a sigh.

“You weren’t supposed to become a prefect. In my visions, we were just normal kids who got into equal amounts of trouble and made it through school without anything remarkable happening. But you were always a high achiever, so when you were made prefect, I was surprised, but happy for you all the same… except… if you hadn’t become a prefect, you wouldn’t have been late to the fireworks show. We would have gone together, and you would have heard the announcement about the stairs because you wouldn’t have been in a meeting that had run late. I wasn’t prepared for you to fall because that wasn’t the reality I had seen… I had no idea that day was going to happen.”

They sit in silence, staring out at the lake together as the words settle in the air above them. It weighs down on them -- the complications of fate and reality, the power of free will in a world ruled by destiny. Things never turn out quite like they’re supposed to, and Y/n can only guess how unimaginably terrifying that would be for someone who’d relied on fate for so long.

“That’s why you were scared I wouldn’t want to be with you -- you were already nervous that things had turned out differently up to this point, so hearing that not even our future is guaranteed tipped you over the edge.” She can see him nodding out of the corner of her eye, and she finally feels like she understands. “Well, even if you have acted like an idiot for the last few weeks, I still want to be with you. I think I always have.” Namjoon squeezes her hand tightly, a breath of relief leaving him -- one that, frankly, she had no idea he’d been holding.

“Well that’s good because I already picked out the necklace I was going to give you at graduation, and it would just be plain awkward to return it.” She turns to him in confusion.

“Necklace? In my vision it was an engagement ring… to be honest, I’m not ready to get married yet.” Namjoon looks at her, eyes shining with mirth.

“That’s also good to hear… I don’t have the money to buy you a ring yet.” She pushes him away, laughter ringing through the air. The word “yet” doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and she tries to hide her face from him as redness creeps up her cheeks. If he catches her blush, he doesn’t say anything about it, instead choosing to move onto a different subject.

“Did you… have a vision about us a few years from now? Living together in a really nice house? I think I was taking a nap?” Y/n smiles and closes her eyes, finding herself leaning against Namjoon as she reminisces on the vision.

“Yeah, you were grading Transfiguration homework, and I was getting home from work… I worked for the Ministry.” He hums, wrapping an arm around her as he reflects on her words.

“In mine you worked at St. Mungo’s -- you were a healer.” There’s a pause, and then he chuckles under his breath. “I think I like you as a healer better. ‘Healer Y/n’ has a sexy ring to it.” With a scoff that sounds a lot more like a laugh than she’d care to admit, Y/n is pushing herself off of him and rising to her feet, leaving him behind as she heads down to the lake. Namjoon’s hand around her wrist a few moments later, pulling her back into his chest, has her laughing openly. Her hands find his waist, where she anchors herself and clings to him, reveling in the fact that she can do this kind of thing now.

They stand there for a while, watching the sun set over the horizon, thinking about their lives up until that point. When the last of the light disappears below the water, Y/n takes a deep breath and lifts her head from Namjoon’s chest to look up at him. Feeling that she’s moved, he glances down at her, realizing only when their noses touch just how close they are.

In a rush of courage that can only be the mark of a Gryffindor, Y/n pushes up on her tippy toes, pressing her lips to his as gently as possible. She isn’t ready for the way the world seems to stop all around her -- she isn’t ready for the way her heart stops, a flame finding its spark within the cavern of her chest. It spreads like wildfire to the rest of her body, getting stronger the longer she kisses him. It burns through her and attracts her to him like an addiction all the same. The love she feels for him in that moment -- coupled with the force of Namjoon reciprocating the emotions, completely in time with her -- is enough to set her skin alight, tearing through every nerve in her body.

Only when it’s too much -- when she feels like she’s going to explode with this burning energy -- does she pull away, breathing embarrassingly hard. She can’t even tell that he’s having the same difficulties as her, having also just experienced the pure collision of forces that had knocked the wind out of her. He barely has time to register that she’s leaning her head against his chest and is whispering something to him in her surge of emotion. What he hears has him lifting her face with his hands as he yearns for another kiss, seven years overdue.

“Thank you, Namjoon… Thank you for waiting for me.”

#bts texts #bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts soulmate au #bts hogwarts au #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon texts #namjoon au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Omertà👄15

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (blowjob); alcohol

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: This thing never ends but I’m not complaining!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You stared in the mirror. Your cheek was swollen and your entire body was sore from his touch. The bathroom was a mess still. Water all over the floor.

He’d left moments before. It had taken too much to get him to go. Thinking of what you’d done, you felt stupid but you didn’t regret. If you could do it again, you’d have choked him harder, sooner.

You touched your tender jaw and whined. Loki would know the moment he saw you. Another gruelling day made longer by his disapproval. Even if he didn’t guess, he might find out from his business partner. You frowned and winced.

Well, you could try to lie, you just had to make it believable.

You inhaled and grabbed your clothing from the table along the wall. You swept through to the bedroom and shoved them messily into the end of your bag, half hanging from the zipper. You took the night shirt and pulled it over your head.

You went to the front room and crossed to the mini-fridged beneath the glass bar. It would be satisfying to add the costly drinks to Bucky’s bill in your deception.

Well, if it worked.

You took out three of the miniature bottles of chardonnay and two of the tiny whiskey bottles. It was almost five. The sun would be up soon and Loki too.

You paced as you uncapped a bottle of the chardonnay and drank it. One bottle would be enough of a buzz to make it believable. As you reached the dregs of the wine, you opened another and poured it down the sink behind the bar.

You swigged a mouthful of the whisky and dribbled some down your night shirt. You checked the time and emptied both bottles down the drain. You washed away the liquor from the sink.

You tested your breath as your vision began to glow. An hour had passed. Loki was an early riser. You expected him at seven, eight if Thor had kept him up late.

You took the third bottle to the bedroom. You messed up the bed and turned the lamp on the night table on its side. You tried to shake off the heady glow which sank into your brain. Maybe a whole bottle was too much.

You went to the bathroom and rumpled up the rug. You pushed over the stool beside the door. You looked around one last time. No sign of Bucky. No hint of him having bent you over the brim of the tub. Nothing but the bile in your stomach.

You tossed the bottle of wine so that it smashed across the tile. You got down, careful not to cut yourself as you laid down beside the remnants. You laid half in the puddle of chardonnay, your feet over the rug as your bruised cheek rested painfully against the cold floor.

You closed your eyes and swallowed. Now you just had to wait. Your eyelids got heavier with every passing second. The smell of wine burned your nostrils and the liquid in your stomach felt thick.

You snorted awake as you heard the decisive banging on the door. You didn’t move and did your best not to tense up. Your eyes felt loose in your head as your mind bubbled from the half-slumber you’d sunk into.

You listened to the distant clamour outside your hotel room and slowed your breaths. Keep your eyes closed and don’t move.

The wait was interminable. Finally you heard the subtle beep of the lock on the door.

“Thank you very much,” Loki said from the front room. “So careless of me to leave my key inside.”

“Not at all, sir,” Another unfamiliar voice answered. “These things happen.”

“Here,” Thor said and footsteps faded away as the door shut.

Soles scuffed over the marble, softened by the rug, and grew decisive as they entered the bedroom. You focused on your heart beat as you listened closely.

“Looks like she had quite the night,” Thor mused as something moved.

Closer, closer, closer. You felt the shadow in the doorway and kept your breath steady.

“Mmm, so she did,” Loki’s heels clicked on the tile as he neared and toed you with his shoe. “Thank god I’m not paying for all this.”

“Is she alive?” Thor asked. You felt a thick hand on your arm as you were pushed onto your back. Your arm fell across the tile limply. “Christ, look at her face.”

Loki sighed as a rough palm settled on your hot, bruised, cheek.

“Wake up,” Thor’s thick fingers rubbed softly as he tried to rouse you. “Honey, honey,” He cooed. He slipped his arm under you and pulled you to sit up. “Hey, hey. Fuck, Loki, you wanna get some water or something?”

You grumbled and your head lolled against Thor’s arm. Fingers snapped in front of your face as you let your eyes flutter open. You swatted Loki’s hand away and belched.

“What’s you doin’?” You slurred.

“What are you doing?” Loki countered as he knelt beside you. “You certainly enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

You frowned and tried to wave him away. Thor chuckled and hooked his other arm under your legs and lifted you. It was frightening how easily he was able to hold you.

“You should’ve invited us,” Thor kidded as Loki stood and stepped aside as you were carried through the doorway. “We can still get in on this, eh?”

“It’s barely eight in the morning,” Loki slithered. “Get her on the bed. We haven’t time for this… mess.”

“Poor thing, you’ve driven her to drink.”

Thor dropped you on the bed, his hand grazing your thigh as he drew away. He paused and shoved his hand further up your night shirt. You flinched, your cunt still tender from the night before.

“Don’t touch her.” Thor’s hand was ripped from between your legs. “She’s barely awake.”

“All the better.” Thor boomed. “I don’t mind it. Easier.”

“You truly are vile, brother,” Loki sneered.

“I can be quick,” Thor pulled your shirt up over your pelvis.

“You are here for business,” Loki snarled and tugged the shirt back down. He tore the blanket from beneath you and covered you with it. “Go. Wait for me in the other room.”

“You are no fun, brother,” Thor huffed but left.

Loki waited for him to disappear beyond the door then carefully sat beside you on the mattress.

“Darling, you must think you’re so clever,” He touched your cheek and you winced. “But when you sober up, you will realise how dumb you truly are.”

He shook his head and jostled you as he rose.

“I expect you will have slept this tomfoolery away by this evening,” He said. “And since you will have missed a day of work, you will make that up to me.” He neared the door and turned back. “And this will not happen again.”

👄

You weren’t sure if you were really hungover or you had slept too deep. Despite your wiser forebodings, you let yourself drift off shortly after you were left alone. You needed the sleep but you also needed to get your shit together.

It was clear after the previous night that you could not go on like this forever. Sooner or later, likely sooner, these men would break you. You weren’t delusional enough to think you could outlast them. Already, you were exhausted and the casino felt too much like a tomb.

It was already two. You groaned as you climbed out of bed. You weren’t going to wait around for Loki. You showered in the glass booth and the hot water eased your body. Your eyes stung but you gulped back the sudden wave of hopelessness.

You dressed. You hurt. A lot.

You pulled on a tea length skirt and a simple sleeveless blouse. The only real mark of your intense night was your swollen face and the rest of it could as easily be explained away as the result of your drunken fall.

You grabbed your phone and shoved it in a small purse along with your wallet and headed out. You hailed a cab and had it drop you off a street away from the casino. You found a cafe and ordered a double espresso. You sipped the bitter brew as you traversed the next block.

The casino was still a hive of activity. You were barely noticed as you passed the men in their hard hats and you kept your head down as you climbed the stairs. It was almost four.

You passed the open door of Loki’s unfinished office, then that of Bucky’s. Both were vacant. Luck, for the time being.

You exhaled and approached the door of your own office. You’d hide there until Loki returned. If you cut him off at the pass, he might not be irritated enough to really make you suffer.

You stopped short as you entered. Behind your new desk, sat a broad figure. Your ledger sat open before Thor as he slipped carelessly through the pages. You clung to the door and peeked out behind you.

“Ah, you’ve recovered. Already?” He smirked as you turned back to him. “Do come in.” He stood. “Apologies, I was told I might use your space in your absence and I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Loki doesn’t appear to be in his office,” You approached one side of the desk as he rounded the other. You kept away from him. “I’m certain he wouldn’t mind--”

“Fun night?” He asked as he strode towards the door.

“I don’t… remember, if I’m being honest.” You lied as you checked your second drawer. The lock was broken. “Not much at all.”

“No? Just got a little carried away, did we?” He swung the door shut and crossed his arms as he turned to lean against it. “Lonely, perhaps?”

“I have a lot to catch up on,” You sat and ignored him as you set your coffee on the desk along with your purse. “And I’m sure you--”

“You don’t remember anything? Not even this morning?” He wondered.

“Bits and pieces,” You sighed.

He slowly traipsed towards the other side of your desk. He planted his large hands by your ledger as he loomed over you. You didn’t look up as you took a pencil from the top drawer.

“My brother’s a prick,” He said. “I get it but it’s no reason to shun me.”

“Thor,” You sat back and placed your pencil in the middle of the ledger. “This is business. I’m doing my job. Go do yours.”

“Fortunately, my work is already done for the day,” He said. “I think, in fact, I have earned a brief respite.”

“Go,” You said firmly. “I still have work to do.”

“Oh, you do,” He said as he stood. “Go on and get under that desk. Show me why my brother likes you so much.”

“Get. Out.” You snarled.

“You really don’t know when you’re punching above your level, do you?” He walked around the desk and you swiveled your chair and stood.

“Thor, I mean--”

He grabbed the back of your neck, his other hand on your shoulder, and forced you into the chair.

“It’s okay, I’ll stand,” His fingers dug into your neck as you whimpered.

His other hand went to his trousers and he tugged the tails of his shirt loose. You tried to stand but he was too strong. You grasped his thick wrist and tried to wrench it for your neck.

“We don’t want to break that face entirely, do we?” He flicked his button open and slid the zipper down. “Come on, honey, I know that mouth of yours is sweet. I’ve seen it myself.”

“Let me go,” You kicked out and his hand slipped around your neck to your throat.

He choked you as he freed himself over the top of his pants. His cock was thick and throbbing. You tried to roll the chair away from him but his grip only tightened.

“Open,” He guided his tip to your mouth and pressed it to your lips. You tried to turn away. “I’ll break your jaw, honey. I’ll break every part of you, now open up.”

Your eyes watered and you gasped as you opened your mouth. He shoved himself inside, his hand quickly swept to the back of your head. He forced his way into your throat and you choked, teetering on the edge of your chair.

“Oh, wow, oh,” He purred as he wiggled his hips. “Amazing.”

You slapped the hand on the back of your head and your body spasmed as you gagged.

“You can do it. I know you can take all of me.” He pushed even deeper and you couldn’t breath. You reached up and grabbed onto his jacket. “Oh, yeah, that’s it.”

He pulled back and you gulped for air around him. He slid your mouth up and down his length, faster and faster as his groans floated around you. The sloppy noises of your mouth made you even sicker and the stone set behind your brow grew even sharper.

“Oh, I think for the first time… I’m starting to understand my brother,” Thor rocked his hips as he fucked your face, gripping your throat and head firmly. “Fuck, I’m already close.”

He kept on. Your breath and throat ragged. You were dizzy and sickened by the slobber that dripped down your chin. You clutched his jacket desperately as he continued to sped up.

“Swallow, honey,” He grunted and shook as his thrusts turned frantic.

He dipped several times into your throat then held himself there as heat flooded into you. You slapped his stomach as you struggled to swallow around him. He pulled out as your throat began to constrict and you managed to gulp down his salty cum.

A string of cum hung from his cock as he let you go and backed away. He turned to lean against the desk and sighed. He took his pocket square and wiped himself clean with it before dropping it in your lap.

He zipped his trousers up and stood as he cleared his throat. You coughed and covered your mouth to keep from vomiting.

“Now, I know my brother is the jealous type,” He strutted around the desk and rolled his shoulders. “So, this stays between us, right?”

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zevlors-tail · 4 years

Text

Stained Glass

Pairing: Villain Deku/Izuku X Hero!Reader

Description: Deku wants the reader to join the LOV, however, he has to convince them to do so first. But honestly, it might not be that hard after the Hell they’ve been through, lately. A year can change a lot in a person.

Warnings: Kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, emotionally vulnerable reader, emotional abuse, mentions of stalking, pretty sure this is basically yandere but without the violence? and of course, Villain!Deku, but softish. No physical violence or abuse, just a hell of a lot of brainwashing and manipulation, tiny mention of blood at the end.

A/N: I’m a sucker for Villain Izuku, and I wanted to try a few different emotional tropes out. This is half a vent fic via reader, and I needed a place to put all of my feelings. Sorry not sorry lol. I really feel like this is utter garbage. I got really tired towards the end and I might go back and edit and extend the ending later. I don’t really know if I like it, but I wrote it and it’s here, so if one single person enjoys it other than me then I guess I did my job! :)

“They broke you, didn’t they? They shattered you into tiny bits and pieces like glass, and then they had the audacity to ask why you don’t smile anymore. But, don’t worry,” Izuku cooed, “don’t you worry one bit, doll! I’ll put you back together piece by broken piece, until all the shards make a beautiful picture- just like stained glass! You’ll be my masterpiece.”

His words rang in your brain, echoing off the walls and reverberating through your ears as the weight of the situation at hand started to slowly sink in. Here you were, hands tied behind your back and legs tied to the chair underneath you, unable to move and speak despite the fact that there was no gag in your mouth. Maybe it was the shock that kept you from speaking, or maybe, after all this time, you just felt utterly exhausted and ready to give up. You had been here for god only knows how long (you weren’t sure how much time had passed; it could have been two days or two months for all you knew), and you had no idea where you were or how you’d gotten here. The last thing you could remember was patrolling around your city when a lesser known villain had attacked, and you had put up a valiant fight against them until they hit you with a blast of their quirk and knocked you out. You guessed that it might have been the work of Deku that got you here, but you weren’t entirely sure what all had happened after you blacked out.

“That’s all you want, right? For someone to notice you, to pay attention to you when you’re hurting, to hold you and put you back together when you come undone. I can be that person, doll! I can be the one to save you when you’re drowning in yourself!” He grinned a cheshire cat grin, his emerald eyes sparkling hopefully at you. “I promise you, I’d never let anything or anyone hurt you, ever. The others- they never cared, did they? They let you parade around with that terrible fake smile while you were dying on the inside. Kachann and Uraraka, they let you suffer. Todoroki, too. I watched you all; I watched as you desperately tried to reach out to them, and I watched as they blatantly ignored you. I saw the devastated look on your face when you realized no one truly cared about you. But you were wrong, because- well, I care about you! I’ve always cared about you, Y/N! Even while I was away this past year, you’re all I ever thought about. I couldn’t stop thinking about you...about you with me, and about us, together.”

You didn’t want to believe any of it. Sure, you’d been feeling really lonely lately, and yes, you had tried to reach out to the others, but...they were just busy, right? There’s no way they had intentionally ignored you. Right...? “You’re wrong,” you replied, though it was weak and did little to phase the man in front of you. Izuku still held that delusional glint in his eye, and you felt yourself slowly starting to cave, doubts swimming around in your head while an empty feeling gnawed on your heart and settled in your bones. “They’re my friends. They’ll come looking for me, and they’ll find me. ” Even as you spoke, you realized that it was a lie you were telling yourself to feel better. “They care about me.” You weren’t sure that they knew you were missing at all.

“Do they, though?” He cocked his head in question, an apprehensive look washing over his features as he placed a gloved hand under your chin.

“Of course they do!” You couldn’t deny the anxiety bubbling up in your chest. Suddenly it was hard to think straight, and you scrambled to back up your claim. “They-they’ve been there for me a lot-”

“Like when?” he immediately countered, his grip tightening on your jaw.

You had a hard time answering for a while, but there was still a sliver of hope in you as you hastily came up with something. With all the defiance you had left in you, you mustered up the courage to look him straight in the eye before replying, “They were all there when you disappeared and left me, Izuku.”

Dead air hung between the two of you for a moment before his hand slowly slid off your face, his thumb lingering on your jaw momentarily. For a second he glared at you cooly, but as soon as you blinked that delusional smile was back, and along with it, a maniacal laugh that tapered off into sounds of frustration. “How many times do we have to go over this, doll? I told you, everything I did, I did for you! Why can’t you understand that!? I joined the League of Villains so that I could become stronger for you, so that I could properly protect you from things even heroes can’t beat. Every little thing I’ve done has always been for you, Y/N! Kachann, Uraraka, and Todoroki...they’re only trying to stand between us. They never accepted us for who we truly are; me, a villain, and you...Y/N, you’re so special. I love you, all of you. Can you say the same for them? Did they really love every broken piece of you? They were only happy when you smiled. They didn’t really want to listen to your pain, did they? They made you feel like a burden, like you were too much for them. So you kept it inside, didn’t you? You carried all that weight around on your shoulders alone. All that disappointment, all that failure, all that hopelessness...”

And he was right.

Lately, you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. Not good enough. Failure. Burden. These were things you told yourself on a daily basis. Your ‘friends’ knew you had been a little down and out recently, but it seemed that no one really knew the extent to which the events of this past year had affected you. With each and every passing day, it was getting harder to fake the smiles. As a hero, it was your job to bring hope to people and save them while making sure they still had their faith in the world, but you could barely believe in anything yourself, and you felt like a fraud. How could you have any faith left when the people you loved and trusted the most kept abandoning you? After your boyfriend, Izuku, had gone missing, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You would give your best fake reassuring smile to people all day, and then at home you would fall apart. Wether it was in the bath, the bed, or on the kitchen floor (you had no dining table since you could barely afford essentials at the moment), you would find yourself having break downs and unable to cope with life. You often tried to reach out to your friends, and yet, whenever you dropped hints that something was wrong, whenever you openly tried to talk, it seemed they were too busy and lacked the time, or simply didn’t want to acknowledge you and your problems. You told yourself that this was because they too were coping from the disappearance of their best friend, and that maybe this was their way of dealing with it. But then you started noticing things, like how they would text each other without you while you were all in the same room, and how you suddenly were left out of most events they planned, or how any plans they did make with you were always canceled or had to be rescheduled to another time. Once, Uraraka even left you on read the whole day after failing to meet up for a simple mall trip. You were growing tired of it.

On top of all of that, your home life was not good either. You constantly felt drained from all the negativity you were drowning in, and it took extra energy just to keep in touch with people outside of your small friend group, if you could even call them that anymore. You barely had the energy to do anything other than sleep and watch TV. You hadn’t heard from your parents in ages either, but that was hardly surprising considering that they had kicked you out of their house last year for “being a lazy bum”. The truth of the matter was that hero work as a sidekick did not pay well, especially if you worked for an unpopular agency such as the one you were currently at, and so your parents had decided to force you out of the house so that you could find a “real job”. Now you were working small part time jobs in your spare time just to make rent. And as if you needed the cherry on top, both of your bosses had been smothering you with extra work and responsibilities for the past few moths. Never in your entire life had you felt so overworked, exhausted, and alone.

When Izuku got no response from you, he frowned deeply and leaned back on the balls of his feet, his arms crossed over his chest and his hip cocked out to the side. His sickly praises clearly weren’t working; you must have still had strings attached from your previous way of life before him, before here and now. Well then, he would just have to cut you down and free you from all those entanglements. Soon you’d join him. He’d make you see. But first...first he had to break what was left of you.

“My poor, poor Y/N. I can only imagine what life must be like for you. You must feel so tired after working those long hours at your second job. And you want so desperately to be a rising hero, yet your boss never seems to notice your effort, does he? But he notices every time you make a mistake, counts them all at the end of the day and degrades you for it. You’ll never be enough for him. You’ll never live up to his expectations, and you’ll never be a pro hero. So why are you still pining for validation? Why are you still trying? You’ll never get it from him.”

You looked up at your captor with wide e/c eyes, tears welling up against your will. Never in your life had you thought the person you trusted the most would say those words to you. You felt a crack form in the depths of your soul as you stared at him forlornly, any trace of hope left in you evaporating by the minute. Seeing the devastated look on your face, Izuku just smirked and continued on, tearing your heart out with every syllable that left his lips.

“Look at you. Those bags under your eyes are hideous, doll. They’ve really been overworking you, haven’t they? When was the last time they gave you a break from anything? The last time you had a day off? I bet all you want right now is to curl up into a nice warm bed and sleep for days, maybe even a whole week. Do you even remember what that’s like? After all, you only have that meager sleeping bag at home. It must be so uncomfortable and stuffy.” He moved to stand behind you, his hands grasping firmly on to your shoulders as he kneaded into them. You let out an involuntary shudder at the pleasant sensation; you couldn’t remember the last time you had been touched before now. “There’s so much tension in your shoulders. How do you even work like this?” Just as you were getting used the feeling of his fingers massaging your neck, he tore away and circled back in front of you. “Aren’t you tired of eating noodles from a cup all day? It’s disgusting, really, and unhealthy for you. You’re barely scraping by on rent, and you must feel so lonely in that tiny apartment of yours with no furniture. How much longer are you going to be able to live like that?” He sighed in mock lament as he carried on. “You’re pathetic, weak, a waste of space to everyone. They don’t want you around.”

A hiccup escaped from you at the insults. “I- Please, sto-” you cried, but he cut you off mid plea.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Y/N. It’s not your fault that you’re weak, not at all! You never asked for them to hurt you. All of this is just so unfair, isn’t it? You’ve only ever wanted the best for your friends and family, and you were always there for them. Every time your mother called to rant about her new boyfriend of the week, you were there. Every time your father went off the deep end, you were there. Every time one of your friends was in peril, who jumped in to save them from the haphazard situations they put themselves in? You, doll! It was always you! And this-” he flung his arms into the air to emphasize his point, “this is how they repay you!? By leaving you alone in the hands of a villain? By abandoning you in your time of need? They never cared about you. They only cared about appearances, about their hero ratings and their popularity, about how many fans they could take from you so their own numbers would go up. Uraraka said it herself during our years at UA; she’s only in it for the money! They’re greedy, every last one of them! They left you alone, broke you down, abandoned you when all you needed was someone to be there. How lonely it must have been for you to sit there and sob in an empty apartment, to know no one was listening as you begged for things to end as they were. But I was there, doll; I was listening! I’ve been listening this whole time! From the very beginning, I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you. I never really left you; I’ve always been there, watching over you from the shadows, making sure nothing terrible happened to you. So many times I wanted to whisk you away and wrap my arms around you, doll, but there was never a right time. That’s why I had to wait; it’s why it took me a whole year to finally save you from them. But I’m here now, and I promise, Y/N, I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

You were full on sobbing now. He had broken you completely, shredded the last of your hope and faith in your friends and family.

“Oh doll, don’t cry! Don’t cry, my love! I’m here!” You watched through tear clouded eyes as he stooped to your level on one knee and gazed lovingly at you, his hand resting under your chin once again. “I know they always made you feel like you were too much for them, but the fact of the matter is that they were never enough for you. They never deserved a fraction of your time, doll. They never loved you. I’m the only one who could ever truly love you. So join my League of Villains, and rule beside me.”

He spoke with such conviction, as if he knew with absolute certainty that he had you hook, line, and sinker. He watched the gears turn in your head, saw the desperate look in your eyes, and decided to give one final push to ensure you would come to your senses about this.

“Say you’ll join me and be mine, and I’ll make all your problems disappear.” He leaned his face in close to you, his lips barely brushing yours before they lightly dragged across your jaw to your ear. The sensation left little sparks of electricity crackling on your skin as he whispered his promises to you. “You’re barely scraping by now, but I could give you so much more. I could give you a place to stay, a roof over your head with no strings attached. I would gladly share my living space with you for free, Y/N. I’ll even pay you if you that’s what you want, and you won’t have to lift a single finger. How does that sound? You wouldn’t have to worry about rent anymore, which means no more sleepless nights on thirds at the local grocery just to make extra money, either.”

You sniffed and blinked back more tears as you considered the idea of not having to drag yourself out of bed every damn morning and evening just to survive the week, of not having to constantly worry about what your boss was going to say or do to you about the declining quality of your work (of course it was only getting worse because of how utterly exhausted you felt all the time).

“Oh doll, you look so tired and worn out... I could fix that too, if you’d let me. I’ll share my bed with you if you’re ever feeling weary. It’s comfortable and spacious enough for us both, and I promise not to disturb you while you rest. It’ll be better than that thin sleeping bag you’ve been using; trust me, your shoulders will thank you, my dear.” One of his hands ghosted down the back of your neck as if to remind you of his touch earlier.

“...Really?” you quietly asked, and he immediately pulled away from your ear to grin at your response.

“Of course, doll! And, if you’re ever feeling lonely-” He gently embraced you in his warmth, his face nestling in your hair and arms wrapped securely around your smaller frame. “I’ll wrap my arms around you, and I’ll hold you, and I’ll listen to you if that’s what you want. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Y/N. It’s okay now, because I’m here.”

You felt more tears spring to your eyes as a new feeling blossomed in your chest. You weren’t entirely sure what it was, but you didn’t really care, either. All you knew was that you no longer had to suffer through the mess of your life. Even if he was a villain, and even if you were broken, the two of you shared twisted love together, and that was enough for you. You were just happy to have him back, to feel some reprieve from the hell that was your life this past year.

“Please don’t leave me!” you begged, your voice hoarse and eyes red from crying so much. “Please stay...”

“Shhh, it’s alright, doll. I promise I will never leave your side, ever. I’ll always love you. Just say you’re mine. Tell me you’ll join me and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ll take you out on dates, I’ll love you more than anyone ever could, I’ll feed you and hold you and take care of you! You’ll see! Just say you’re mine!”

“I’m yours! I’ll join you, please just don’t leave me-!” You wanted so desperately to reach your arms up around him and cling to him for dear life. You were so terrified the only person left in your life would leave, and you didn’t think you could handle it if he did. Izuku, sensing your distress, gave a guttural laugh and pulled away from you, leaving you a whimpering, shaking mess still tied to the chair.

“I knew you would say yes! Oh, doll, I promise to take such good, good care of you! I swear it on my life!” He suddenly produced a knife from somewhere in his coat, the metal already stained with blood and rusting around the edges. You felt a surge of fear rush through you as he slunk behind you with the knife raised, but to your relief, you felt him cut through the binds around your sore wrists. “Easy, doll. I’m just giving you your freedom back.”

As soon as your hands and legs were free, you nearly fell over trying to bolt up from the chair to get to Izuku. You were about to throw yourself on him when he surprised you by picking you up bridal style, and suddenly you were being carried away from it all, away from your troubles, away from all the terrible memories of abandonment and loneliness.

“Izuku? Where are we going?”

“Home, my love. We’re going home.”

#ending sucks #yikes #idk what this is honestly #not my best work for sure #mostly this is practice i think #izuku x reader #villain deku x reader #villain deku #villain izuku #tw: emotional abuse #tw: gaslighting #tw: manipulation #izuku midoriya #deku x reader #izuku #villain izuku x reader #i might fix the ending on this later

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Note

I know you have a lot to write, but I do have one request. I dont normally do that, so if it's not good or something just let me know. But I had this idea. A Bucky and Reader, where they are together for a while and she wants to ask Bucky to move in with her. But Bucky has uncertainties about their relationship and is thinking to actually break up with the reader. I want there to be angst but I don't know how it would end... Whether a fluff ending or an angst one I don't mind :)

This is a wonderful request and I loved doing it! Not gonna lie - it took me a little out of my element. I had to sit and have a long, hard think about how to approach it and do it justice, but I think I may have cracked it. Hopefully you enjoy it!

From Now On - Communication

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST!, Mentions of death/murder, Little Fluff, Sam being a really great friend.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much! Nothing I love more than an angsty Bucky and some miscommunication!

I loved doing this, so please people. Send me more requests!

***

“I think I’m gonna break up with (Y/N).” There. He’d said it. It had been on his mind all week long. He’d kept it tucked away, tried to hide it, but the further he buried it the worse it clawed and scratched at his brain, trying to worm its way out.

“Really? I was thinking about getting a full back tattoo of you riding the cap shield like a surfboard,” grunted Sam, working his way through the last of his set of bicep curls.

“What?” Bucky asked in confusion, looking to his partner.

Sam shrugged, standing and placing the heavy dumbbell back in its place, “Well, I just figured since we were saying stupid shit today, I’d join in.”

“Sam, I’m being serious here man.”

“Oh, I know you are, Tinman. That’s why I think you’ve lost your god damn mind. Why would you want to break up with (Y/N)? She’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you—” Sam walked across the gym, grabbing his water bottle before making his way to Bucky “—I mean, I still can’t understand how you landed her. She’s way too good for you.”

“I know!” The words came out more raucous and forceful than he intended. Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Bucky braced his elbows on his knees, letting his head hang low, “I know. That’s the problem. She’s too good for me.”

“Don’t tell me this is another one of those ‘Poor me. I’m too broken and damaged for her to love me.’ things. Because if it is, I’m gonna’ have to kick your ass,” said Sam, raising an eyebrow at the sulking man in front of him.

“No, no. It’s not that—”

“You know I’ll do it.”

“I know and it’s not—well it’s a little bit of that but—I just…”

“What? Is she too pretty? Too smart? Too nice? Too eager to put up with your shit?”

“No! It’s none of that!” shouted Bucky, beginning to wonder why he ever thought to confide in the irritating man in front of him. Oh right – because he didn’t have any other friends.

“Then what is it?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She wants to break up with me, but she’s too nice to just pull the trigger. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Bucky stood, grabbing his towel and stalking towards the water fountain—his anger and irritation manifesting in the physical need to move.

Sam, hot on his heel, followed him, leaning against the wall as Bucky bent to get a drink. The cool water sent icy chills though his body as it flowed down his throat. “Did she tell you this? Did you physically hear her say that?”

“No, but I’m not an idiot, Sam. I know when a dame is trying to end things without really ending them. As much as people like to think ghosting is a new concept, it’s really not. In fact, if anything it was easier for gals to just disappear and avoid you in the 40s than it is now. Either way – you eventually get the message.” As much as he hoped the cold water would cool him down, his anger continued to bubble. Anger not for Sam. Not even for you. But for himself. This was his fault after all. He scared you off.

Bucky sighed, continuing to stare down at the waterspout below him, the water flowing crystal clear, swirling around the basin and disappearing down the drain, “She’s been avoiding me. She won’t answer my calls. Barely calls me back. When I do happen to get ahold of her, she’s short. Tries to end the call as quickly as possible. I was supposed to come over last night and she cancelled on me. She never cancels on me.”

“Have you tried being direct with her? Asking her what’s going on?” asked Sam, his tone softer, kinder now that he understood the full extent of the situation.

“Yea. She keeps insisting that nothing’s going on. But I—I know she’s lying. Lying about something! I mean, you don’t do what we do for a living and not know when people are lying straight to your face.”

Running a hand over his cropped hair, he looked to Sam for help. As much as they liked to give each other shit, he had begrudgingly come to rely on his partner for the things he used to rely on Steve for. Friendship. Companionship. Emotional support. All that sappy shit. Much to his annoyance, Sam was really good at it too. All the sappy shit.

“Look, I don’t wanna’ pry man, but did something…happen?”

“Yea. I told her about Riga.”

***

The moment kept playing over and over again in your head. Repeating on a continuous loop for the past week. It had started out like any other night – Bucky was sleeping over. He did that a lot recently. Not that you minded. It just meant you got to spend more time with your wonderful boyfriend. You liked having him there. In your space. His familiar presence was becoming a consistent and habitual aspect of your life. Wake up – Bucky. Go to work – Bucky. Get home – Bucky. Go to sleep – Bucky. Some might consider it excessive, but to you it was wonderful. Never had you felt more at ease with someone else.

“Thanks again for letting me sleep here doll,” said Bucky, pulling back the covers on what you had begun to consider his side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling your body towards him. You allowed yourself to roll into his side, draping an arm across his bare abdomen.

You hummed in response, burying your face into the crook of his chest. Wrapping his flesh arm around your shoulders, he pulled you in tight. You felt the firm press of his lips to the top of your head as he inhaled your scent. The heat of a contented sigh brushed across your scalp, causing baby hairs to tickle your face.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than my place.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tracing patterns across the plains of his chest.

“Ehh, upstairs neighbors. I can always hear them walking around,” answered Bucky.

“Too loud?”

Bucky was quiet. His body stiffened under yours and for a moment, you wondered if you had said something wrong. “No. They’re not too loud. I just—”

He stopped, struggling to get the words out.

“Hey—” you laid your palm flat against his chest and rubbed the warm skin firmly “—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to—”

“But?”

“It’s not like how you’d think. The memories.” Oh. You held your breath, listening patiently as the conversation turned to a subject you didn’t expect. “Most assume that I remember the things I’ve done the way you’d remember any other moment. But, for so many years I was just a prisoner in my own body. Watching as someone else pulled the trigger, over and over again. When I remember things – it’s like I’m someone else. Like I’m watching myself from the outside.”

You continued to stay silent, rubbing your hand back and forth across his chest soothingly as you took in his words. Seventy years. Seventy years a prisoner in his own body. So much so that his subconscious had a hard time connecting the things he did with the person he was. “It was my first missions. A journalist in Riga was getting a little too nosy for Hydra’s liking. I was sent in to take care of him. Then cover it up – make it look like an accident. It was simple. Quick. Something to test if I was ready to be sent into the field. I shot him and his wife in their dining room. I remember watching as I walked around their bodies. Just stepping over them like they were nothing. The house was small and old, and the floorboards creaked. My mission was to burn the house and the bodies. I grabbed a can of gas from the shed in the backyard. A box of matches from the kitchen.”

His voice remained steady, but you could feel the strain and guilt he carried emanate from his body.

“I never noticed the cracks in the floorboards. Turns out they had two children hiding in the crawl space below the floor.”

“Oh Bucky…did they?” You couldn’t say it. Your hand stilled.

“No. They managed to get out, after I left. But Hydra found them a few days later and finished the job,” said Bucky bitterly.

“Bucky – that’s not your fault. You know that, right?” Looking up at him from where you laid, you were met with the turn of his head. Unwilling to look you in the eye.

“No, I didn’t kill them, but only because I didn’t know they were there. If I did…I honestly don’t know. And they—they watched me kill their parents. They sat under those floorboards and listened to me walk over their dead parents with no remorse. No regret. Scared out of their minds that they’d be next. Every time I hear those footsteps above me, I can’t help but think about them. It’s like I’m in that crawlspace with them, waiting for the monster come and get me. But I’m—I’m the monster (Y/N).”

You felt a wetness pool on the top of your head, a small warm trickle you quickly recognized as tears. Bucky’s tears. Sitting up, you pulled his body into your lap. He followed without argument, clinging to you desperately, as the tears continued to flow. Rocking him back and forth you did your best to soothe him. Whispering sweet promises and assurances that you were there. That he wasn’t a monster. That that person wasn’t him then and it wasn’t him now. You knew that self-loathing lived within his soul, but never did you realize the depths to which it burrowed and festered until that moment. So disgusted and ashamed of the things his body had been forced to do, his mind had constructed a world in which he was both the victim and the perpetrator. What it must be like – to be afraid of yourself, to be your own nightmare, to be the thing that kept you up at night – you could never imagine. Never could you truly know the extent to which he suffered, but you did know one thing.

You couldn’t let Bucky continue to stay in a place that caused him so much pain.

After that night, you’d began your preparations. You honestly had no idea why it had taken you this long to consider it. You already enjoyed having Bucky constantly in your space. You loved him. Neither of you had said the words yet, but you know you did. To a certain extent you believed that he loved you back as well. He would have never borne himself to you like that if he didn’t. The two of you had been together for a while now anyways. Your apartment was on the top floor. No upstairs neighbors. Asking him to move in with you was the logical next step. The only issue was that Bucky was a proud man. If you asked him to move in with you the morning after his confession, he would expect that it was done out of pity and most likely refuse. That was far from what you wanted. You wanted him to know that you were serious. That you genuinely wanted him there with you.

So began your purge of all unnecessary items – making room for Bucky and anything he might want to make the space feel more like his own. Steve had left some things behind – relics of their past lives that you knew were important to Bucky. Such as an old record player, a desk and chair, a radio. They were things that made him feel a little less out of his element. Unfortunately, you had accumulated a lot of, well for lack of a better word – crap—over the years and the job had turned out to be a lot tougher than you originally expected. Hauling boxes of dusty knick-knacks, bags of clothes, and even a few items of furniture down from your 4th story walk up was no easy job. Wanting to ask him the big question as soon as possible – you spent what little time you had after work clearing and organizing your apartment to a neurotic level. You were exhausted. Exhausted and honestly a little crazy.

Every day harbored a new anxiety that he would say no. That you had done all this work for him to say that he wasn’t ready for this step. However, the rational part of your brain pushed the nagging thought away. If he didn’t like you or your apartment, he wouldn’t spend so much time there. Plus, the more perfect you made the space for him, the less likely he was to say no.

The worst part of it all though, was the lying to him. You were an awful liar. So bad, in fact, that you were known to ruin presents, surprise parties, and on occasion your friends’ ability to tell you secrets. The bigger a secret was, the harder it was for you to keep it. Therefore, you’d been keeping your interactions with Bucky to a minimum. The whole thing had almost toppled over onto you when you forgot he was supposed to come over for dinner and movies that Wednesday night. When he’d left a message telling you he was leaving work in five, you panic called him and told him you had to cancel, leaving him with a vague and certainly awful excuse. Seeing your apartment in shambles would certainly give away your surprise.

But it was only a week, you told yourself. You only needed to hold out for a week. You were meeting him for dinner that night and then you’d ask him. If he said no, you’d take him over to your apartment and prove to him you were serious. If he said yes, then you’d still take him over to your apartment and surprise him with all the hard work you’d done.

Preparing to meet Bucky for dinner, you checked your makeup one last time in the mirror before turning back to your apartment. Taking a second to look around the space, you were pleased with your work. The place looked fantastic. It was clean top to bottom. Empty spaces sat throughout for Bucky to move his things into. A blank spot on the far wall of the apartment was left for his record player. The spare bedroom had a wall free for his desk next to yours. The bookshelf had two whole rows for him to fill with books of his own. You’d cleared out half of your closet and dresser for him to put his clothes. The top of the fridge sat empty for him to place his radio. You could almost image him sitting at the little kitchen table, listening to it on Saturday mornings.

Checking your purse, you smiled at the small box where a spare key sat, a single piece of ribbon tied around it in a bow. Maybe it was a bit much, but Bucky meant enough to you, for you to make the effort. You were meeting Bucky at his favorite pizza place in Brooklyn. You had it all planned out. You’d order his favorite pizza, a few beers, and then you’d take out the box once you finished your food. Wiping your hands on the skirt of your dress, you took a deep breath. You could do this. Nervous energy coursed through your body as you walked down the flights of stairs and onto the city streets. You were only a block away from your apartment when your phone buzzed. Pulling it out, the sight of Sam’s name took you by surprise.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” you asked, answering on the second ring.

“Hey! (Y/N)! Not much, just checking in on you. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Just wanted to see how you were doing,” said Sam casually.

“Oh, that’s so sweet Sam. Sorry I’ve been so radio silent lately, but I’m doing good! I’m actually on my way to meet Bucky for pizza,” you told him as you briefly looked both ways before crossing the street.

“Yea, about that. You know, if you ever wanted to talk about anything, I’m here. You can talk to me. I’m not just Bucky’s friend. I’m yours too.”

“Wow, well that’s really sweet Sam.” The sentiment was really sweet, albeit a tad weird and out of place, but sweet, nonetheless. Maybe he was feeling sentimental? Perhaps he was a bit hurt that you’d been MIA for the last week not just from Bucky, but from him as well. Should you tell him what you had planned? It might make him happy to know the secret before you told Bucky. Plus, there was no way he could spoil the surprise. You were telling Bucky in the next hour or so anyways.

“Actually – Sam. There is something I wanted to tell you.”

“Really?” he asked in surprise.

“Yea, I’ve been trying to keep a low profile this past week because it’s a surprise and I’m such a bad liar, but I trust you not to spill the beans,” you joked as you neared the pizza place.

“Okay…” Sam said slowly.

“I’m asking Bucky to move in with me tonight!” you practically yelled it, the excitement bubbling over.

“What?!”

“Yea! I know, it’s exciting! I’m just worried about whether he’ll say yes or not, ya know? It’s a big step, but I just feel so secure in this relationship and I care for him so much.”

“(Y/N)—”

Spotting Bucky standing outside of the restaurant, you spoke quickly into the phone, “Oh! I see Bucky now. I have to go! I’ll text you later.”

You could hear Sam’s voice from the other end but didn’t quite catch what he said as you hung up and skipped over to Bucky. Flinging yourself into his arms, you hugged him tightly, leaning back to place a quick peck to his lips, “Hey babe!”

He seemed confused when he looked at you, carefully placing his hands on your waist, “Hey.”

“Let’s go inside, I’m starving!”

The dinner was more tense than the meals you usually shared. You found yourself at a loss for words continuously throughout the night. Everything he said, everything you said, heck everything you thought led your brain to the subject of him moving in. Five times, you’d almost slipped up and called it ‘our’ apartment. You were pathetic! Bucky also seemed to be battling something, but you assumed it was mostly likely a response to the weird vibes you were giving off. When the waitress had cleared the tables, you were struck by a wave of nerves. This was it. This was the moment. Reaching into your purse beside you, your fingers closed around the small box and pulled it out, keeping it hidden beneath the table.

Opening your mouth to begin the small speech you had practiced in the mirror that morning, you were stopped by Bucky.

“Listen, (Y/N). There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

Looking up at him, you found him staring intently down at his hands. You pivoted your body back towards him, “What’s up?”

Bucky sighed, heavily, “I…this isn’t working anymore, (Y/N).”

“What’s not working?” you asked dumbly, unable to comprehend the words he was saying.

“This—” he motioned between the two of you “You and me.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—”

“Let’s not pretend, (Y/N). I think it’s pretty clear that we’re not happy here.” You weren’t? Searching through your memories, you tried to understand how you had missed when he became unhappy. Was it when you bored him with your lame reality TV? Was it when you fell asleep too early on Friday nights? Or was it when he noticed your propensity to talk too loudly at parties? Or the way you left coffee stains on his copy of the Sunday Times every week? Perhaps it was simply in the moments when you weren’t looking – too engrossed in your own happiness to notice when his own had faded.

Swallowing thickly, you chose your words carefully, trying to keep your composure in the highly public place, “Well, if that’s how you feel, then maybe we should end this.”

You wouldn’t beg him. You wouldn’t beg and plead with him the way you truly wanted to. The last thing you wanted was to guilt him into staying in a relationship where he wasn’t happy. A short and bitter laugh escaped Bucky, the sound like sharp and jagged glass digging into every inch of your body.

“Yea, I think that’s for the best,” said Bucky coldly.

***

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. It was almost comical how quickly you had agreed with him. It only proved his theory. Things were over between the two of you and you didn’t have the guts to end it. Probably due to pity. Nobody wanted to dump the sad, damaged guy. He watched as you stood suddenly, the movement catching him off guard. At the very least, he expected some kind of pity goodbye – an empty promise to remain friends, a stiff hug with a pat on the back. But the desperate confusion on your face as your eyes darted around the restaurant were not what he expected.

“I um, I have to—I’m just gonna—I’m just gonna go, I guess,” you rambled, voice thick and wavering at the end.

“(Y/N)?” he asked in confusion, standing himself.

“I’m sorry, I just have to—” you ended your sentence, turning from him and darting through the restaurant and out the doors. Bucky stood there, staring at where your figure had disappeared around the corner. He had thought for sure that this was what you wanted. But if that was true, then why did you seem so upset? Why had he seen tears in your eyes as you ran from him? Did you not want to break up? You must have – you agreed to it so easily. So quickly. Throwing cash down on the table, he was halfway to the door when a server stopped him.

“Excuse me, sir – I think your friend dropped this.”

A small red box was placed in his hand, no bigger than a coin envelope and feather light. Thin white ribbon wrapped around the center tightly, forming a lopsided bow. He stared at the strange object in his hand. What could this possibly be? And why did (Y/N) have it? Exiting the restaurant, he leaned against the side of the building and pulled on the ribbon.

At the sight of the contents of the box, his stomach dropped. A small white card sat at the top:

No more nightmares. Live with me instead?

Picking up the card, adorned with your messy, looping script he spotted the silver key that sat below.

Fuck.

Racing down the streets, he’d never been more grateful for his super-soldier stamina and speed. He reached you just as you were getting out of a cab outside your building. Tears streaked down your face, makeup running and eyes red.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned, nearly tripping over your own feet as you did, “Bucky, what are you doing here?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“What?” you asked, bringing a hand up to hurriedly wipe at your face.

“I’m an idiot,” he said again, pulling the box from his pocket and holding it out to you.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, opening your purse frantically to see that the box was in fact not there but in his hand. “This is so embarrassing. You can—I can take that, and we can just forget—”

“Why did you agree?”

“Why did I agree to what?” you asked in confusion.

“Why did you agree to break up when you were going to ask me to move in?” he asked, stepping towards you.

“You said you weren’t happy. I’m not going to beg you to stay with me if you’re unhappy. I love you way too much to do that.”

You continued to talk, but the words drowned out as his brain processed what you’d just said. You loved him. You loved him and you wanted him to move in with you, and he had just broken up with him. He was a fucking idiot.

Your voice came back into the foreground of his mind, swelling to full volume, “And I really don’t understand why you raced all the way here to—”

He cut you off, leaning down and capturing your lips with his. You were soft, sweet, and completely all-encompassing–just like always. His heart convulsed in his chest when you leaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you harder, putting everything he had into that one kiss. The one kiss he could give to say ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Please forgive me’. Pulling away, he rested his forehead to yours, breathing raggedly as he held you tight. Arms wrapped impossibly tight around your middle, fingers digging into your clothes, not an inch of space between the two of you. Hell would freeze over before he let you go.

“I’m not unhappy (Y/N). The only time I am happy is when I’m with you. I love you so much. I don’t wanna’ lose you,” he confessed, feeling the back of his throat constrict and the tears in his eyes begin to form.

“Then why?”

“I thought you wanted to break up with me. I was trying to make things easier for you.”

Pulling away from him, you thwacked him across the chest, “Why in the world would you think I wanted to break up with you James Buchanan Barnes?”

He felt dumb, but he also felt slightly justified when he answered, “I told you about Riga, and then you pretty much disappeared on me for a week (Y/N). What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to believe what I told you, you big dummy! That I didn’t think it was your fault. That you’re not a monster. That I’m here for you!” you said, pacing in front of him. You looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world, and he felt like it too. But he couldn’t help but smile. You loved him. You didn’t think he was a monster. Hell, you still cared enough about him to yell at him and tell him when he was being an idiot.

“Can I still move in?” he asked lamely, unsure of what else to say. He waited on edge as you sighed and tilted your head back. Sniffing away the tears and emotions, you shook your head in exasperation.

“I mean, if I say no, then the sheer amount of work I put in this week to get this apartment ready for you, would be for nothing,” you sighed, smiling at him wryly.

“You’ve been getting it ready?”

“Of course!” you exclaimed. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole week I’ve been MIA? I had to practically force myself to avoid you so I wouldn’t accidentally tell you what I’ve been up to.”

You began to walk towards the front entrance of your building, leaving him to stare at your retreating figure in a dumbfounded stupor. Man, he really felt like an idiot.

“Well?” you asked, turning back to him, “Are you coming or what?”

The whirling sound of wind halted his answer. A roar swept through the air as a gust picked up around them. Looking up in confusion, Bucky was greeted by the sight of Sam in full falcon gear flying towards them before landing on the sidewalk in front of him.

“Wait! Stop! I need—I have to tell—don’t—” he panted “Hold on. I need a minute.” Bracing his hands on his knees, he breathed heavily, catching his breath.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” Bucky asked Sam, “And why are you out of breath? You were using the suit. That takes absolutely no cardio.”

“I couldn’t use the suit to fly to every pizza joint in Brooklyn. It only has so much juice Terminator. I had to run a couple hundred blocks with the suit on.”

You had made your way to his side again by now, intertwining your fingers with his as you both looked at Sam.

“Why were you running between every pizza joint in Brooklyn?” Bucky asked, still unsure why his partner and friend was standing before them in a manic state.

“Because! You’re about to make a stupid mistake, you asshat and I’m trying to stop you before—” he stopped. Looking between the two of you and then at your intertwined fingers. “Wait. You didn’t?” he asked Bucky, trying to communicate with his eyes without alerting you.

“I did,” Bucky sighed, looking down at you apologetically.

“But you’re?” Sam motioned between the two of you with a finger, trying to piece it all together.

“I may have told him over the phone that I was asking you to move in, right before I met you for dinner,” you told him, a guilty expression on your face. Ahhh, that made sense.

“Unfortunately, you’re a bit late to the big, unfortunate scene. We hashed it out. I’m moving in,” Bucky laughed.

“But it was very sweet of you to come all the way out here to try and stop it from happening Sam!” you called to him, giving him an apologetic smile.

“Are you kidding me?! I came all the way out—I tried—You know what—” Sam held up his hands in good-natured defeat “—I’m happy for the two of you. But from now on COMMUNICATION. Falcon out.”

With that, he extended his wings, taking off and disappearing beyond the city scape within a matter of moments.

“I thought he was Captain America now?” you asked, light heartedly.

“Only when he has the shield. When he wears the wings, he insists on calling himself Falcon still,” he informed you, turning with you as you both began to walk back towards the front entrance of your building.

“Interesting…well, ready to go home?” The words from your lips, made him lift – lighter than air as he pulled the key from the box in his pocket and placed it into the lock.

“Yea, let’s go home.”

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#request #request fill #fan fic #fan fiction #bucky #angst #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #fluff #sam being a really good friend

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serasvictoria · 3 years

Text

So @mercurygray had an idea for a Weekend Workshop and the whole point of it was to Set A Scene. To write a piece as if you’re watching a movie and to take the location and surroundings into account.

I really struggled with this and ended up with something that I’m convinced missed the point entirely, but I never know what I’lll end up with when I start writing anyway. In the end, this basically turned into preparation for something that I know I’ll have to write at one point in the future.

This is my location by the way.

The Fall

Waving at her brother as he drove off, she made her way up the pathway to the large building. There always seemed to be a flurry of activity near the entrance. Visitors that came to take their relatives outside to enjoy the sunshine and patients who were being discharged and sent back to the care of their families. Seeing the smiles and hugs always managed to tug at her heartstrings, because she had no idea when she’d be able to do the same thing. She took a deep breath to settle herself before passing through the entrance.

It was painfully obvious that the walls had been painted in colours that had been deemed calming. Yellow at the top. Green at the bottom. The hospital that one of her brothers had been in when he had broken his leg when they were children had seemed to operate on a similar principle, but those walls had been light blue instead of the two tones that they had gone for here. But not even the supposedly soothing colours could do anything about the hospital smell that seemed to waft through the corridors at all times. Antiseptic mixed in with the sweet smell of oranges that were delivered from the orchard nearby. The combination was so odd that it had made her nauseous on many occasions.

As soon as he was well enough, she’d take him outside, park him outside on the green grass so he could sit in the shade of a palm tree. Maybe peel one of those oranges for him that they had a surplus of in this place. First thing he had to do was wake up however and no one seemed to know with certainty when that would happen. If it would even happen at all.

The x-rays look good, they’d tell her. Everything is as it should be.

The doctors, both the older one and the young ones, kept offering her reassurances and even showed her the pictures that she couldn’t make heads nor tails of. The nurses with their sympathetic eyes. Even the young priest that seemed to pass by her husband’s bed more times than he did the others. Always lingering near his bed whenever she came round for a visit, pretending that he was there for different reasons. He was always merely checking up, keeping tabs on the patients, but that couldn’t possibly be part of his job description. Whenever she’d pull up a chair and sit down next to the bed, she’d sometimes catch him shaking his head and frowning. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

Talk to him, they’d say. The sound of your voice will do him good.

So she brought him newspapers yet again, the sinking of the Lusitania by a German submarine was very prominently featured today, but reading to him about the horrors that happened at sea was probably not what staff had in mind when they had told her to read to him. Maybe it would be better to read from the automobile section. She’d seen something about that racecar driver that he liked and a fire truck running 15 miles in 23 minutes when she had skimmed through it that morning. He’d probably like that a lot more than if she told him that a Vanderbilt was amongst the many people that had died when the Lusitania sank.

Making her way through the largely empty corridors, she reached the room that he shared with two other people that were absent at the moment. The older man in the second bed frequently wandered the halls and the man in the first bed had been on one of the benches with his family when she had entered here. The fact that he wasn’t around was a very comforting thought, because he spent most of his time complaining about how ill he was and that he was positive that he was dying when it was clear as day that there was nothing wrong with him. How he could even say such things when there were people in the hospital who were a lot worse off than him was simply mind boggling.

Picking up a wooden chair that stood near the door, she put it on the right side of his white iron framed bed. Always on the right side. Sitting down, her eyes briefly flickered to the 3 that was painted over his bed before gingerly running her hand down his arm and checking the bandages around his head. They had stopped coming away all bloody a few days ago, but she had never seen what kind of mess lay underneath. Shaking her head, she turned the pages until she found the right section, cleared her throat and started to read.

“There’s an article in here about Teddy Tetzlaff. You remember him, right? Terrible Teddy?” He was in that short movie that he liked, The Speed Kings, with that other racecar driver Earl Cooper. “Well, he went on a 1500 mile trip to Big Pine with his Maxwell 25 and got caught in a big blizzard…”

From the corner of her eye, she could see him shift on the bed next to her, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. He had remained passive during the first three days, but after that he had started to move. During one visit the muscles in his leg had spasmed so violently that she had screamed and had to be led out of the room by one of the nurses. They’d taken her into one of the quieter rooms and had called her brother to pick her up, because she was in no state to continue her visit. Not after seeing that.

The car ride back to the house that her brother occupied with his wife and their two kids was still burned into her memory. That was the first time that she had broken down over this. All that time she’d kept herself together, kept pushing herself to stay strong. Not just for herself but also for the man that lay in that bed and for the life that was growing inside her that she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about yet. Surprise.

Her poor brother had taken the brunt of everything that had been on her mind, but hadn’t told anyone about until then. Listened to her scream about how she didn’t know what to do, how to cope with this, didn’t know what he would be like if he woke up, how broken he would be. That was the main issue. What would he be like if he ever came out of this? No one had been able to give her a definitive answer. The doctors who kept going on about those damn x-rays didn’t know jackshit about what state her husband would be in if he ever came to.

He’ll be fine. But how did they know? Just keep talking to him. But did he even hear her at all?

“They were warned to turn back, but Teddy decided to keep pushing on…”

She’d been about to quote his words directly as they had been printed in the paper, something about Teddy saying that it was the worst blizzard they had ever seen in the valley, but the words suddenly started swimming in front of her eyes. Without even realising it herself, she’d dropped the newspaper from her hands, the pages sliding down her lap and scattering on the floor. A pair of bright blue eyes that she hadn’t seen open for eight days were looking right at her and not just that, but they actually seemed to be registering her presence as well.

“Hey.” Reaching up to wipe at her eyes which were already stinging with tears, she then took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Hey, handsome.”

“C-C-Ca- Cath-” He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and sounding like his throat was lined with sandpaper. “Ca-Cat-”

His throat needed moisture. That much was clear. Turning around, she wildly reached for the basin and pitcher that were always right there in the corner, but there was no cup that she could put the water in. Her eyes were drawn to the cup that was on the cabinet on the other side of the bed and it was almost a mad dash to get there fast enough. Her hands shook as she clutched to the ceramic cup tightly and when she was back where the pitcher was, she dropped the damn thing and it rolled under the bed. Swearing under her breath, she dropped down on her knees to pick it up when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking back up at him, he was still trying to find words which didn’t seem to be coming.

“Oh Christ.” Her eyes darted up to the crucifix that hung on the wall and said a silent prayer for using the lord’s name like that. “You had an accident.” Where he wasn’t able to find words, she had no problems and suddenly unleashed a torrent of words on him. “You… you… it was that last job of yours. Your boss told me the scaffolding wasn’t secure, the whole thing just… collapsed. You fell and hit your head. It’s… it was bad. Probably still is, but I’m not an expert. Lord, I should get the doctor. Tell them you woke up or something.”

“R-r-re-” Again he tried to search for words which weren’t coming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. “Fuck.” She couldn’t help but suppress her laughter over that. Naturally that would be the word that wouldn’t cause him any problems. “Re-rel-l-ax.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Reaching for the cup, she got back to her feet and started filling it for him. “It’s just… I didn’t think you’d…”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she held the cup to his lips and helped him drink. His right arm seemed to be fine, a bit shaky, but there was movement there as he reached for her hand to ensure that she didn’t pull the cup away before he had drained it of its contents. When she was finally allowed to pull it away, his eyes kept following her as she moved and his hand had tightened in her dress to ensure that she couldn’t get up.

“Glad you’re back.”

“C-c-co-couldn’t l-l-le-”

“I know.” He didn’t have to finish that particular sentence since it was something he regularly said. A shared joke between them. Unbeknownst to him, those words which he usually uttered without thinking about it, had turned into some kind of indication to her that maybe things weren’t as bad as she had initially thought. Maybe he would be alright. “Can I go get the doctor now?”

“N-no. S-st-stay.”

“Fine. But only for a couple of minutes, okay? They probably want to know that you’ve come round.” A brief look of annoyance crossed his features, but he kept his words to himself. Leaning into him, she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and pressed her forehead against his temple. “I really missed you, Chuck.”

#scenery challenge #weekend workshop #setting a scene #my fic

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unholy-sacrificial-mutt · 5 years

Text

A Reel Catch

Pairing: Roceit (fic and fanart)

AU: Mermaid

Word: 3126

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of death, slight panic.

Summary: Would you smooch a merman?

Merry LATE christmas and birthday @suicidal-maffin

I hope this was worth the wait!

Roman Kingsly loved long walks on the beach, no matter how clich�� it was. It was the time he got to himself after a busy day of working at the theater. He was still dressed in the costume he made himself for tonight’s performance.

A prince.

A regal white and gold outfit with a red sash.

He stood, looking at the setting sun, the feeling of the sand between his toes as the cold ocean runs over his feet calming him. He let out a sigh as he began walking again, letting his stress wash away with every lap of the cool waves against his ankles. He followed the thin stretch of beach, pausing when he saw what looked to be a sleeping person on the beach. The waves crashed over them, obscuring their body from view for a few seconds at a time, though they didn’t move.

“Excuse me, Sir, Ma’am?” The man called out, taking a few hesitant steps forward.

No response.

“Are you hurt?”

Still no response.

‘Calm down Roman, they could just be a deep sleeper.’

He walked up to the still form cautiously, his movements slow - unsure. As the man’s body was illuminated in the dying light of the sunset, Roman let out a soft gasp. They weren’t… human. Or rather, not fully. At least half of his body was that of a human, if a little…. Strange. But rather than legs, a long fin wound around itself in the sand.

“Mermaid?” he breathed out in shock before blinking himself out of his trance.

Something was wrong.

The creature wasn’t breathing.

Tangled up in a fishing net.

Hooks stuck out of their skin.

A large gash on their side soaked the sand in red.

Roman looked around, knowing he should probably call the police, but… what would happen to this poor creature? Who would even believe him? Most people didn’t even think mermaids were real.

Hell, Roman didn’t think they were real until hardly a few seconds ago.

He took a breath, working as quickly as he could to get the not-so-imaginary creature untangled from the netting, and picked all the hooks out of his skin. He looked down at the creature and bit his lip in thought. He couldn’t just toss him back into the ocean. He could die. With shaky hands - and a made up mind - he took his handmade princely coat and wrapped it around the creatures tail, cradling him in his arms as though he were the perfect bride.

“Okay, now to get you to my truck without anyone noticing,” he mumbled to himself.

Thankfully, he didn’t have much issue getting back as the theater parking lot was empty and the lights inside the building were off. Getting the creature home, having broken a few speeding limits, he brought him inside before he risked being caught by any of his neighbors. He quickly rushed to the bathroom, filling the tub with lukewarm water. Resting the creature in the tub for a moment, Roman turned the light on.

He gasped.

The creature was absolutely beautiful.

His gray-violet skin appeared smooth but for a few scales that were scattered over his chest and face, glittering in the light as though they were made from gold dust. Brown hair fell across his forehead, perfectly framing the beauty of the creature’s face. If not for the insanely long and iridescent tail that occupied most of the tub, immediately drawing Roman’s eyes, he would have spent more time admiring his beauty.

He felt bad.

The creature’s tail was all scrunched up, curling over itself to fit in the tub. Roman looked down and saw that the water rising over the creature’s form was a deep red. Cursing to himself, he let the water drain while he dropped to his knees, opened the cabinet under his sink, and dumped everything out until he found a first aid kit. He found some bandages and propped the creature up on his arm before beginning to clean and wrap his torso.

“How did this happen…?” he whispered softly, though he knew he was speaking to no one but himself.

Once the creature was bandaged, he plugged the tub again, watching it fill. He noticed that the creature was breathing - albeit very small breaths - which made sense as to why Roman thought he wasn’t breathing when he had only seen him in the dull light outside. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the floor. Once the water was filled as high as it could go, he turned off the tub.

There was a merman in his tub.

A freakin merman!

What do mermen eat?

He rested his head against the wall, watching the other, eyes feeling heavy. It wasn’t late, but it had been a long day, and god was Roman tired. His eyes slid shut as the creature’s patterned black and yellow tail seemed to shine.

***

Dee awoke to feeling cramped and in pain. He let out a groan, eyes snapping open as water didn’t enter his mouth like it should. He squinted his eyes as the bright artificial light burned and seemed to be brighter because of the white tile walls of the bathroom. When he turned his head to see a human man - shirtless, the unnatural light showing every curve of his muscled form - sleeping against the wall near him, he jumped, trying to get away. His tail writhed in the already-overfilled tub, splashing water out onto the man, which caused him to wake with a sharp gasp.

“Ah! What the hell?!” He shouted, the noise startling a hiss from the merman. The human blinked as his eyes landed on Dee. “Oh. It wasn’t a dream. Mermaids are real,” he said with astonishment. Dee’s chest was heaving, making him wince every time as pain shot through his side. He was as far away from this human as he could possibly be, given the circumstance he found himself in. Roman noticed his fear and put his hands up as if to show he wasn’t going to harm him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured him, keeping his tone soft. “Do you know what I’m saying?” The creature looked at him with a glare, fear still in his eyes, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide it now.

“Of course I know what you’re saying; I’m not an idiot!” He snapped. Roman’s eyes watched the others mouth, seeing the sharp teeth. He gulped, only now realizing that he had brought a creature - that he had no idea what it was capable of - into his home.

Fuck.

“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I just discovered mermaids actually exist. Sorry for not automatically knowing that you speak English,” Roman spat out, trying to not seem suddenly scared. Roman went to stand up, the sudden movement startling the merman as his tail writhed again, trying to push him further away from the moving human, but with a wall there, he had nowhere to go. Roman blinked, sitting back down, looking at the other.

“I’m sorry. I-um…do you have a name?” Roman asked timidly.

“Of course I have a name,” the merman huffed, rolling his eyes. Roman watched as his chest stilled heaved with fear. When the creature didn’t continue, he spoke up again.

“May I know your na-”

“No!” The other snapped again, the tip of his tail rattling slightly, much like a snake. Roman kept his hands up defensively for a second before dropping them in defeat at his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any other choice but to bring you here. You were wounded.” He motioned to the bandage that had a dark red blood stain on it. The merman looked down, touching his side with a wince before looking up in confusion.

“You….helped me?” His voice was unsure, his words coming out hesitantly.

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” It was Roman’s turn to be confused, a single brow raising on his forehead.

“Well, sorry that most humans I’ve met have tried to capture or kill me on sight. Not that most merpeople are any better. It’s more of an every-merperson-for-themselves situation,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. As he did so, he felt the gash in his side throb painfully, and a wince must have crossed his face, because Roman’s eyes softened, looking at the bandage.

“Is that how… that happened?” He looked up to meet the other’s impossibly golden eyes. “Humans, I mean.”

He sighed softly, sinking into the water more, curling his tail into coils so it all fit into the confines of the small porcelain tub. “Both, actually. Some merpeople led me to the fishermen, and then the fishermen tried to kill me from there.”

Roman gasped softly, covering his mouth. “That’s rude. Why would they do that? What did you ever do to them?”

“Well,” he stated matter-of-factly. “They were my brothers. Our mom died giving birth to me.” He shrugged, looking out the window of the bathroom. “Mother’s are the only type of merperson one of us will care about.”

Roman’s heart softened for the snappy mermaid in front of him. “Considering you don’t exactly have anyone to go back to, you’re welcome to stay here if you’d like. Or if you need a place. I can order a bigger bathtub for you. Or a big fish tank? Is that racist? Or…species-cist? I’m sorry if that’s offensive-”

The man’s gaze lowered away from the merman, his hand coming up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck.

He was rambling.

He was definitely rambling.

He had just asked this scarily pretty merman to live with him.

He had just met him.

But it wasn’t like he could just send him back to his brothers.

He would be killed!

A deep, rumbling laugh pulled Roman out of his thoughts in an instant.

He looked up to see the other’s mouth - full of sharp teeth that glinted in the light - wide open in a laugh as he winced, hand going clutching his side over where Roman knew the wound was, unable to stop laughing. Roman’s face warmed, a blush painting itself across his cheeks as he watched the other laugh, his heart pounding as his stomach dropped.

Oh sweet Meryl Streep.

I’m gay.

I’m so gay.

I’m going to die.

This is how I die.

Here lies Roman Kingsly, death by gay.

This is my legacy.

The merman’s laughed calmed down, cheeks flushed a deep shade of yellow as he looked at the man staring at him with wide eyes. The flush in his cheeks deepened and he scoffed.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” he teased, enjoying the way the other’s face seemed to turn even redder. Roman huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to get up. Are you okay with that?” He asked cautiously, to which the merman nodded slowly, watching the other.

Roman stood slowly, watching the other for any sign of fear in his eyes. While there was some, the merman stayed mostly calm. Roman stretched, the merman getting a good look at the human in front of him as he did so. He was fit, tan, and dare he say…cute? For a human, anyways.

The merman shook his head to clear his head.

Roman looked down and held out a hand. “My name is Roman. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Merman!” he grinned charmingly at the other, wanting to ease some of the tension between the two of them. The merman blinked, tilting his head curiously at the outstretched hand before looking up at Roman in silent confusion.

Roman chuckled, feeling his heart skip a beat at the frankly adorable look. “It’s a handshake. Put your hand out like mine.”

The merman put out his left hand. Roman let out a hearty laugh, making the merman scowl and withdraw his hand with a hiss.

“Oh, no, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh; it was just cute. You need to put out the other hand.”

“Don’t laugh at me again…” he said almost defensively. Roman smiled softly and nodded. The merman put out his right hand.

“I’m going to grab your hand. Not hard and not to hurt you, okay?” The sea creature nodded and Roman grabbed his hand, giving him a slow hand shake. “Hello, my name is Roman. Pleasure to meet you. Your name is?” The merman looked at their hands holding each other, his face flushed yellow again.

“Dee. My name is Dee.” Dee looked up at Roman from the tub. “Would you really let me stay here?” It’s not like he had anything waiting for him in the ocean. He kinda hated it. It was boring to him.

“Well yeah. Your brothers are trying to kill you over something you can’t control. I can’t just send ya back out there. Besides it will take some time for you to heal.” Roman blushed, looking down at the others tail, wondering what would be big enough for it. Finally getting a good look at the other, he noticed all the scars and missing scales, feeling his heart ache for Dee.

“Well I’ll give you an answer once I’m healed.” Dee smirked at the slightly deflated look on Roman’s face. He wasn’t completely convinced Roman wasn’t trying to just keep him captured for money or something of the like, but he did need to heal, so for now, he’d stay here.

***

The next month passed with a domesticity that both of them quickly became accustomed to. Roman ended up buying a big fishtank that barely fit in his living room, but it gave Dee room to stretch out his tail, so it was worth the trouble. Roman would go to work and be gone half the day, and at night, he would come home with fresh fish for Dee, making dinner for himself while Dee.

Roman made a steak one day and Dee practically started drooling, making a weird chirping sound. It didn’t take long for the human to figure out that it was the sound merpeople made when they wanted to hunt something, and he decided to give in. After teasing Dee with the meat for a bit, he gave him a bite, and it was immediately learned that he loved red meat.

The two of them got to know each other really well, spending every spare moment talking over whatever tv show or movie Roman had put on. They talked about their lives - Roman’s as a budding actor and Dee’s as a merperson. Roman asked as many questions about Dee’s life as he could, and Dee would give a warm smile for a moment at the thought of someone caring enough to ask questions about him.

Roman took extra care of Dee’s wounds, changing the bandages every day, even having to stitch one one up. He made sure he cleaned them, even when Dee hissed and clawed at him from the strange stinging it caused.

Within the month, Roman came to learn that Dee was part eel - rather than the ordinary version of a mermaid that he had come to think about - as he began to “shed” his slime. It became so bothersome to Dee that at that point, Roman had to jump in the tank with him to help him as there were no rocks or plants to swim through.

Dee’s face was a deep yellow shade at the prospect of Roman having to help him get rid of his slime, but the minute the others hands were on his tail, he let out a gasp and shuddered slightly, his entire tail shivering as his eyes fluttered shut. Roman pulled his hands back, scared he had hurt the other, to which Dee groaned in annoyance.

“You okay, Dee?” Roman asked, feeling the slime that was on his hands from just the little touch. Dee nodded slightly in response.

“Yeah. Just…not used to anyone touching my tail like that.” Dee kept his eyes cast downwards, which was strange for him. Even when startled, Dee always looked at Roman.

“Okay. I’m going to touch your tail again…” Roman said hesitantly, it being made clear by his tone of voice that he was asking permission.

When Dee nodded, Roman put his hands back on the other’s slimy tail and begin gently rubbing the slime off. Dee, who’s entire face was yellow at this point, shivered at every touch of his tail. With how long his tail was, it took Roman a good 10 minutes to finish. The water was a murky grey color and felt almost thicker than before. Roman looked at the water curiously as Dee, breathless and flustered, looked at Roman.

“Ro…?” Dee’s voice was soft - which was also unusual for him, Roman noted to himself.

“Yeah, Dee?” Roman looked up with a soft smile.

“You know that thing that the people in your romance movies do?” His voice shook and he moved a little closer to Roman, making the other blush, now just fully aware at only being in underwear.

“Which thing?”

“The thing with the mouths.” Dee licked his lips as Roman’s face flushed, his eyes took a quick look at Dee’s lips. He was shocked when he learned during one of their movie nights that most merpeople don’t kiss. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamt of kissing him - sharp teeth and all.

“You mean kissing?” Now Roman’s voice was shaky. Dee nodded softly, their bodies flush against each other now, the feeling of the merman’s chest cool against Roman’s.

“Can…can we do it?”

Roman, once the question was muttered, pressed his lips to the other’s without hesitation. Dee let out a very undignified squeak as he turned deep yellow once more before kissing back, quickly learning how it worked. Dee’s tail wrapped around the others body protectively, keeping him close as they kissed softly in the murky grey water of the tank. They slowly sank below the water, neither caring as Dee just kissed oxygen into the other’s mouth. Popping out of the water a few minutes later, Roman gasped for air as Dee chuckled, wide grin on his face. Roman’s red face looked at Dee’s yellow one before they both stopped laughing, going back in for another kiss. Dee pulled back with a chuckle after only a moment.

“If it wasn’t obvious, that was my answer as to whether or not I’m staying.”

At Roman’s gasp, Dee let out a deep, rumbling chuckle before pulling him in for yet another kiss. As new as he was to it, Dee had to admit… he liked kissing.

#Sanders sides #roceit #roman sanders #deciet sanders #rociet #rociet fluff #rociet fic #mermaid au #eel #okay but this was fun to write #draw #oh yeah #rociet art #ts art #sanders sides art #really late present #ghost writes #ghost draws

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