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minsyal · 3 years

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The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg imagine #lord heisenberg

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heyheyloki · 3 years

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All Because Of You

Summary: The reader goes to find Castiel before the angels get to him.

Castiel x M!Reader

Castiel being human, losing his grace, was perhaps one of the most interesting yet hardest thing you had faced yet. Forget God. Forget Lucifer. Castiel human topped all of those for a simple reason. Now, it was incredibly hard to keep down your own human feelings that had stirred up for him a long time ago, and plus, yanno, all the Angels and Demons on the hunt for this one Angel who rebelled against Heaven and all that.

It's been a few days since you left the bunker to go look for Castiel. Sure, Dean and Sam weren't happy, but you knew you couldn't wait any longer for them. It's been weeks since Castiel went on the run and sitting around doing nothing but worrying about him was not good for your mind. You needed to see him, protect him, and make sure he was safe and by your side.

It took a three days to get to Detroit, the last place anyone saw Castiel or 'Clarence', as he called himself. You got the led from a group of homeless individuals that talked to Cas before he picked up a ride in on a truck that was heading to Detroit. This was probably the hardest part of the search. Lucky for you, growing up with the Winchester boys helped when it came to this kind of situation. Still, with all your skills, it was Detriot. A large city with many people, but the people may be your advantage.

"Excuse me," you hummed out to a man who was currently making burgers on the side of the road. The only thing that led you talking to him was Castiel's vessals love for red meat. Now that he was human, Jimmy was probably talking to him a lot more now. "Have you seen a dark haired, blue hair man around here? He would have probably acted a bit out of it?"

"Uh," the man thought for a moment. "Nah, sorry, no one really comes to mind."

"It's alright, thank you." You sighed, parting from the man and getting back on the move.

You took the rest of the day nonstop looking for Castiel with no leads whatsoever. Person after person either said they didn't remember someone like that, or saw so many people that day that it was impossible to even try to remember one man. This race against the clock was getting harder and harder, and frankly, it was getting irritating. All you wished for was Castiel to be safe. He could be hungry, or homeless--but safe was all you wanted cause in the end you knew you could fix both of this issues--all of his issues-- if you just found him.

As you were deep within your mind to try and make up a new way to find the fallen angel, the rain that touched your skin shoved you back into reality. Your eyes gazed as the raindrops that wet your skin before looking up at the dark clouds that surrounded you. A deep sigh filled with worry released from your lips before taking a few steps forwards. Perhaps those few steps were all you needed. Well, that and the rain. When you took those steps you heard a noise, one that would capture almost anyone’s attention. You paused, stood still before turning your head down an ally that seemed to be behind a restaurant.

Down the dark and rainy ally was a man who wrapped himself with this black hoodie he wore. His hair was soaked, not to mention his clothes, but that freezing cold look in his eyes broke your heart beyond anything you've felt before. The darkness obscured the man's face until you took a few steps down the ally. At first you were going to offer the man some food and direct him to a nearby shelter, but the minute he quickly shot his head up to see who was approaching him, everything changed. No matter how much time apart you have from him, you can never forget his face but you noticed that the first thing to go about a person was their voice. You thought that was the saddest thing to ever exist but when you heard it call out to you of all people, remembering his voice again was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

"[Name]?" Castiel croaked out.

You didn't speak but instead nodded to confirm it was you, and not a part of his imagination.

With the weather, you didn't waste any time to get both Castiel and you some shelter. A few minutes of pretending to be someone else and using another's money got you a relatively small but sufficient apartment for the time being.

When Castiel entered the apartment was dark given the time of day, but you quickly turned on the lights after you shut and locked the front door.

"Wow, it’s beautiful." Castiel commented as he looked around.

"It's an apartment that cost a 2,000 dollar deposit, it better be beautiful." You replied as you began to lock and shut all the entrances which included the windows as well.

Castiel kept his eyes on you as you did so, but when he noticed you were finished with your task he asked, "How did you find me?"

You turned to him and placed your hands into your pockets. "Oh, yanno, all my hunter skills went into work and here I am."

"Why aren't Sam and Dean with you?" He asked curiously.

You sighed at the question before taking a seat on the sofa that was provided with the apartment. "I didn't want to wait around. They thought it was dangerous, and it probably was but I don't know, I just couldn't stand being in that bunker wondering if you’re alive or dead."

Castiel's head went down for a moment, his own human mind now spinning with thoughts he wondered if he would ever have if he was still an angel.

"I apologize for worrying you." He suddenly said in more quiet tone. "That was never my intention."

"I know." You smiled before patting down the space next to you. "Come sit and lemme see what you got there."

Castiel's head went on a tilt before he remembered the wound he had on his left upper arm he got from fighting one of the many angels that were out on the hunt for him. The former angel complied with the request, mostly because of his trust and fondness of you.

When he sat down, you turned towards him and began to unbutton his white shirt after he took off the soaked hoodie. Castiel watched your attentively as you did so. The way your hands played with his shirt and the focus that was seeped deep into your eyes as you did so. Once his shirt was open, you gazed back up and into his eyes. He watched a faint smile, a comforting one, stretched across your lips before slipping the shirt off his shoulders and exposing his entire upper body.

Your eyes shot to the bloody rage he used around his arm, mostly just to stop the bleeding. Worry of an infection took place in your mind, but luckily that didn't seem to be the case.

"Look at you," you whispered. The words catching Castiel's attention quicker than ever before. "You're lucky this isn't infected."

"I suppose so." He replied under his breath as he continued to watch you, never once looking away.

You hovered your finger over the wound that was slanted across his bicep. The fact that it hadn't healed wedging itself into your mind making you say, "You really are human."

"Yes." Castiel said. "The whole experience has been very tiring."

You laughed at that, the chuckle that came from your chest making the former angel experience something that he hasn't before. Sure, he got chills from the cold or rain, but never from a simple laugh.

Next, you began to examine the wound. Overall, it seemed to be healing fine but you really wanted to clean up the dried blood that pooled around the actual cut. So, you grabbed a cotton pad and dabbed some rubbing alcohol on the surface.

"This may sting a bit," you warned Cas before gently patting it against the wound. You watched his face scrunch up a bit as he got used to the stinging sensation. Though, in the end it seemed like he took the pain rather well.

You smiled as you placed the pad on the table next you, your hands picking up some proper bandages before commenting, "You took that better than Dean. You getting used to being human?"

"Ah, it's all new to me. Hunger. Cold." He explained, his eyes meeting yours as he said, "This feeling of being alone."

You stared at Cas for a moment. Yes, he was still the same, and yet so much about him was different. He was learning how to understand human emotions, and after all this time it just took being human to truly get it. To you, it explained how truly complex human emotions were. Something about this Cas pained you in more than words could explain, and for some reason the desire to comfort him was absolutely overwhelming.

"You aren’t alone anymore." You said. Your mind focusing on one action, and one alone. You knew it would disappear until you acted on it, so, you carefully leaned in and gave the man a gentle kiss upon his cheek. The stubble he grew while away tickling your skin. When you backed up, you gave a kind smile and said, "I won't let you be alone, I promise."

Castiel remained silent, yet his eyes remained connected with yours until something clicked in his mind and they darted right down to your soft, vulnerable lips. He would be lying if he said he never studied them before, but right now the urge he wanted to act on for so long was stronger than ever. When he noticed you doing the same, something snapped. Castiel didn't waste any time to lean in and connect his lips with yours. At first, something told him not to rush or else you'd get scared away. So, he waited for you to make the next move and when he felt your lips sensually move against his, his next move was to do the same. At first, he really had no idea how to go about kissing and all he wanted to do was to impress you in the best way he could. So, he mimicked you, but if you had your eyes open and noticed his furrowed brows, you would instinctively tell he had absolutely no idea what was going on. All he knew was that with you, it felt better than he could have ever imagined.

Exploring your body was perhaps one of the best things he had gotten to experience as a human. Everything was so overwhelming in a way that he never would have dreamed. Though, perhaps the best thing about the entire thing was that it was with you. The way your squirmed underneath him, the sounds you made when he pleasured you, not to mention the way you made him feel was something he wouldn't trade up for the world to the point where he felt almost saddened when his body tired out on you.

Both of you laid on your backs, the sheets covering up to your abdomens, with this dazed looks in your eyes. Still, with that look something in your human mind wanted him to say something. Say anything.

You turned your head to him, his gaze still aimed up. "Well? Say something."

Castiel took in a deep breath, his eyes darting around as you noticed him try to think of something until he said, "There aren't words."

You stared at him before turning on your side, your body still facing him. "So, it was okay?"

This was the time Castiel turned to make eye contact with you. His injured arm raised, the palm of his hand against the back of his head. He stared at you for a moment before saying with a small smile, "Very much so."

You smiled a bit to yourself until you noticed his face go from happy to concerned, which prompted you to get a bit more serious for him. After all, you didn't want to make him feel embarrassed.

"Um.." he mumbled out. His eyes darting down and up again in a nervous fashion as he asked, "What I did, that was, uh.. correct?"

You couldn't help a large smile to snake itself across your lips as you nodded with a soft, "Very much so."

"Good," he said with a look that mirrored yours. And the smile he shined was almost designed to make you even more infatuated with him. And that laugh after--God that laugh--hearing it was everything to you.

You stared at him for a moment before calling his name. His head turning to you as your prompted yourself up and into his chest. He couldn't exactly make eye contact with you, but just having you right next to him, especially in this state, was more than he could ask for.

"Before, my promise? I'd like to add on to it." You suddenly said. The words confusing Castiel greatly, after all, the promise you made to him before was like music to his ears. What more could you say that could make him even more of a fool for a human like you?

"You don't have to." Cas said.

"But I want to." You cut him off and took a deep breath. You turned your head a bit, snuggling into him more and giving him a soft, loving kiss on his chest before saying, "I promise to protect you. To the end of the line because you mean more than family to me."

Castiel didn't waste anytime to take his arm around you, holding you closer if that was even possible. The words you spoke probably meant more to him than anything he's heard in his life. After all, with you, it was like you changed him from the inside out in ways that he never even imagined when he first met you.

"I promise as well, [Name]."

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x male reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural male reader #castiel fluff #castiel fic #spn fanfiction

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persephoneyss · 3 years

Text

Fool.

Pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, heartbreak, office au.

Summary: ❝The fool is one who rests dreaming of doing things beyond his reach, instead of making it come true, pathetic.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking / harassment, quite a bit of voyeurism, implicit murder, naming of non-consensual sex, forced pregnancy, somnophilia, jk drug a reader, extremely complicated relationships, sexual tension between mxm characters, naming of homosexual relations mxm.

Number of words: 5000+

︙ Author's note: My second fic here, thank you very much for all the support you gave to the first one. Enjoy!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en español.

They say, out there, that monotony is boring.

What everyone vaguely forgot, is that we live in it. It is an endless loop between what we do, and what we want.

So, nobody wanted to change it.

Jungkook lived in a routine. He liked his personal independence and, likewise, he never changed anything in his life. He was a man of habit, worthy of admiration and imitation. But he never considered himself capable of guiding someone as his own person, he just seemed boring to him.

Perhaps his complexity of seeing things in different ways was what made him such a genius.

People who break with the custom or the conventional can be called differently in the eyes of everyone, crazy or genius. Jungkook considered himself to be in the middle of both terms. He was madly in love with his genius.

But nobody said that love was for everyone, Jungkook was also in love with another person that he considered that he was worthy of his love, the obsessive and sick, misunderstood love of him.

Jungkook was a genius, but he never wanted money wasting his time on useless things like building an empire and being a millionaire. He looked at other directions in life. His salary was minimal, he worked hard under Kim Taehyung's whip. His boss was successful, just as he has imagined since he saw him go by one fall day.

He couldn't remember the date, but he knew it was fall. The cool breeze was a seal of love.

The clumsy little Jungkook, always with his head down looking for a chance at life. When he could have anything he wanted with his inner genius. The porcelain cup swayed in his hand, watching people rush past, just as he thought it would, everyone had their own business in this time of change. Taehyung really fell from the sky like an angel, or that's what he wanted to remember the day he watched him pass a coffee shop with his phone in hand ordering a cold American coffee even though the wind was blowing strongly in the streets. Jungkook watched him fervently, he was enigmatic and undoubtedly managed to get his attention almost immediately. His tall, firm figure made her want to clench her thighs.

His father always told her that pleasure was fun on unfortunate occasions.

Perhaps because of that, he took enormous pleasure in seeing Taehyung walking close to him.

He felt, in a disgusting way, good about himself. It was as if just by looking at his face and his dark eyes, he would manage to make her cum on his pants. Jungkook searched for him for days, until in an insignificant magazine, which he found by chance, he read about one of the most sought-after businessmen in the nation. Much money, and above all an elegant demeanor. They were the perfect combination to create someone like Kim Taehyung, however, Jungkook missed everything when he saw a photo of his beloved unknown to him.

It was a matter of time. He now named himself to be an excellent worker, always by Taehyung's side wherever he went, he felt euphoric just hearing him say his name with his voice so silent. His personal secretary was jealous of him, she even insulted him for a simple smile that young Jeon showed her. She obviously was fired from her, she being replaced by Mrs. Jang who was an older woman, married with two children.

However, no one ever noticed or simply turned a deaf ear to Jungkook's constant provocations towards the former secretary, just as her mocking smiles seemed to be ignored by conveniently blind eyes.

Jungkook was a man who knew how to play. He loved being the mouse for Taehyung, getting caught up in his whims. But he loved even more being the cat marrying the prey.

And just when he could already feel himself on top of the iceberg, almost close to touching his beloved boss. You arrived. You were an intern, nothing special considering that thousands came every year and you didn't have a permanent position unless you did your job well. Jungkook didn't even notice your presence, not for a year. Mrs. Jang sick from one day to the next, Taehyung had a considerable appreciation for her so she did not take away his job. Only covered it with a temporary vacation.

Jungkook was used to walking into his boss's office being greeted by the harsh but sweet voice of the older woman. But his steps seemed to stop in automatic mode when he heard your voice, it was sweet after sweet. His gaze fell quickly on your figure, you were ethereal, with a hint of mischief that he noticed, questioning if your perfect form was normal to see in a person.

And ironically, he proclaimed you a beautiful and heavenly Angel.

His heart pounded when you seemed to notice his presence, your eyes fell on his face in confusion. Jungkook bit his lip, his breath caught and unconsciously, he clenched his thighs to cover his growing erection. He thought he looked ridiculous standing in front of you without saying anything.

He felt strangely pathetic next to you.

"Who are you? Where is Mrs. Jang?" He asked defensively, surprising your innocent figure. But you never let your guard down.

"I'm sorry, but I'm only a substitute until Mrs. Jang manages to recover. Can I help you with something?"

Jungkook frowned, but only managed to nod with no idea what to do. He took a few steps back, realizing that he had invaded your personal space and cornered you between him and your desk. Anyone who saw them would think that they were close and even that they were having a lovers' quarrel.

I didn't want that. Taehyung was close to being his.

Jungkook looked at you with disdain, you were like a viper trying to tempt his masculine weakness.

But I am not unaware of the fact that I could smell your perfume of roses and vanilla. He was offended that Taehyung will not tell him that he is against someone young again. For a moment he feared that you would steal his position as his boss's right hand man, but that would be ridiculous. Thought. Taehyung was happy by his side, he appreciates him like a ... Little brother. He was trusted.

Nobody said Lucifer couldn't be a woman ...

The next few days weren't any better. Jungkook had his eyes glued to you at all times, counting the minutes when Taehyung called you at his office. How long will it take to leave from your entrance. And when it seemed like too long, he knocked on the door pretending to bring some important documents to sign. I could see you, when you were near your boss you had your head lowered. You were a submissive to him.

Jungkook felt envious, and far beyond, in a reprehensible jealousy of Taehyung. You never lowered your head when he came to greet you every day, nor when he ordered you to bring him a coffee and even less when he tried to embarrass you in front of the other people in the office.

But without a doubt, Jungkook came to hate you more than anyone in his monotonous life. You were a thief to him, you did your job so flawlessly that Taehyung had no choice but to give you the job of secretary. Your secretary. A smile was what adorned your lips every day, Jungkook cursed you a million different times.

You were a competition on their way to the heart of your beloved and perfect boss.

Nothing really changed after your acceptance as a secretary. Jungkook was cruelly trying to ignore you, but you never said anything to him or gave him a sign that he will affect you. Maybe deep down, I expected to see you destroyed by her rejection. Possibly, he thought ironically that he would seek him out asking forgiveness for any mistake you have made for such contempt, seeking to be to his liking again. However, nothing changed for you, you greet him politely, always with that charming look and smile of yours. Just like every day.

Then Jungkook did what seemed the least complicated to him.

He slowly gave up, walking straight to your table to start a conversation every morning, this time, ignoring calls from his boss needing him.

Taehyung was perfect. He put it on a pedestal, admiring its beauty every day as if it were a God.

But with you it was different. You weren't a Goddess to him, that would be stupid. For Jungkook to have you by his side, it was like giving him the privilege of being born again. You were more than his love, you were his life.

Jungkook lived for you. I existed to watch you, love you, make you happy. In its twisted and sick reality, everything you did revolved around his discretion. For he should always have been like that. Taehyung was nothing more than a cruel and beautiful distraction that fate put on him, proving his loyalty to you. Unfortunately he fell into it. His heart felt heavy in his chest, thinking of how long you must have been waiting for him. You must have been alone all that time.

Jungkook cried for you.

"Good morning, Jungkook-ah" Your voice, again.

His gaze was lost on your face. You were the most beautiful thing he had seen in his miserable years of life. He wondered if you, too, could feel his appreciation for you, or could you hear his rampant heartbeat.

Almost unconsciously, like the first time he clenched his thighs biting his lips to avoid being tempted to look past your fragile face. He had never been able to look at your body in a dirty way, but he did not deny wanting to do so. So he did it. His eyes inspected all of you, drinking in your sensuality as if you were a glass of water in front of him. Under your neck that was proud, you had a small necklace with your name written on it hanging and shining beautifully. Your collarbones rose beautifully, Jungkook felt an unreadable desire to want to bite the soft flesh of your neck leaving its marks on it as a sign that you were his. Only from him. Your white shirt was buttoned making a pout to form on her face, I wanted to see what color bra you were wearing that day. Maybe you were wearing something sexier under that stupid uniform, I guess you were ready for him, with some hidden lingerie, tempting him to take you to a bathroom in the building and fuck you foolishly while saying you were his over and over again.

"Are you feeling okay Jungkook-ah?" His gaze followed your body, which rose from your seat to approach him. For a moment he thought he could see your thighs protrude from the black fabric of your skirt that clung exquisitely to your body. His mind created thousands of scenarios where he would remove that garment to make you feel good, hitting you with his cock mercilessly.

Maybe I would let you touch it under the table at employee meetings that were held every week, if you let it mark your entire body with bites and bruises.

"You seem distressed, let me see if you have a fever." You say, without even realizing how his eyes are resting solely on your lips that he was dying to kiss and bite at will.

Jungkook knew that if he touched it, it would be the end. His cock stood up proudly creating a tent in his pants, he was grateful that you were so clueless that you never noticed that small but big problem. His eyes squeezed shut and his hand squeezed his crotch, he hunched over so you wouldn't notice he was coming into his pants with your gentle, harmless touch.

"I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" You asked again, even more concerned than before.

Jungkook smiled, trying to breathe normally again. Really naive.

He made fun of you, he liked to play pretend to be the mouse just like with Taehyung. In front of you, he was a sweet and gentle man.

It was fun trying to keep his intentions true, but clearly this was starting to get tedious.

A week had passed since the incident, that day he had to ask permission pretending to be sick in order to go home.

You had been worried about his condition, thinking that you could have helped him. That same night, you called his phone wishing him well soon and apologizing once again.

You were never smart enough to notice that Jungkook had his hand inside his pants touching hard just hearing your soft voice saying how sorry you were, you sounded so weak and vulnerable to him. He dreamed of hearing you again, this time begging for him to make you cum on him a thousand times, he knew you would be perfect for his big cock. Taking him like a big girl, like her perfect little one.

Jungkook was a greedy person. Below being a caring and kind man, he was selfish with his desires. He got bored seeing you for so little time during the day, it seemed as if you ran away from him when you left the large company building. Perhaps it was his greed that led him and condemned you to follow you every day, treading closely in your footsteps.

You lived in a small apartment complex, your house had one bedroom and one bathroom. Jungkook thought it was essential for you, you earned almost the same as him and you were certainly a practical person. Making him fall in love with you even more, he felt identified in a funny way. Ironic. When your figure was lost inside your apartment he felt furious, he could not help feeling angry for not being able to see more of you.

But his eyes noticed almost immediately that your apartment had a window, one that just faced another in front of the neighboring building. An enormous satisfaction invaded him. He collected as much money as he could, managing to raise two months of rent for the apartment in front of yours. That would be enough until he would bring you to his feet, and then he would move in with you living together as a normal couple. The man who owns the building was surprised by the persistent attitude of the young man in renting a specific apartment. But he quickly forgot about it when he saw the money in his hand.

"I hope you are not bothered by the noises, the walls are thin and there could be problems with that." The owner babbled, explaining and talking about things that honestly didn't matter to him as long as he could be around you.

Jungkook watched your apartment from the window, the window looked directly into your room. He felt a smile grow on his face, he could see your perfectly arranged bed and the products on your dressing table. Mentally he wrote down all the marks, he had become obsessed with your smell. Wanting to imitate everything about you as much as possible, he even followed you to the mall to see where you always bought your clothes. He began to wear the same brand of clothing, the same style and in the same way, your personal things. Like your skincare products, even your lipstick.

Their love had now turned into a sinister game of catching the helpless mouse. He followed you day and night, it was only a matter of time before you were at his feet begging not to be eaten by the evil cat.

You never liked the night blanket, you felt that the worst things could happen in the dark of one night. Your steps were hurried, you constantly felt a presence following your weak form knowing that you would do nothing to stop it. You were not capable. You only got to feel calm and let out a sigh when you got to your little house, it was cozy for just one person. You liked it, it had a unique charm. Your shoes fell to the ground, as did your coat and bag. You were exhausted, Taehyung was not the best boss. He seemed to have an obsession with making you run around for coffee or a simple napkin.

Secretly, it was obnoxious.

"You're here, little one ..." a voice whispered, watching you from a camera lens.

I had bought a whole spy gear, between cameras, lenses and more just to see you, possibly to take some photos as a souvenir as well. Jungkook smiled, biting his lip impatiently. He had arrived at his department at the same time as you, but his work was not finished yet, not until you lay on your bed turning off the light and preventing him from seeing you any longer. "Good girl." His eyes never left your figure, the first garment fell to the ground.

You had a habit of going straight to the bathroom to relax for a few minutes after a tiring day. You were not yet aware that dark brown eyes were watching you from afar. Jungkook had adorable eyes according to many, they were like those of a defenseless and tender deer, but they would surely change their opinion if they knew what he does and sees with them.

"_____..." Your name left his lips in a moan, his face heated feeling his cock grow slowly at the sight of your naked body so exciting, you walked to the bathroom, losing his sight. But his imagination did the rest.

He sat in front of his camera, pulling down his pants along with his boxer shorts releasing his cock that rose proudly, crashing against his stomach. The presemen came out of his reddened tip, he moved his hand using it as a lubricant to be able to touch himself, imagining that you were looking at him too, calling him and begging him to come to your house to be able to fuck you in your bed. Your neighbors probably wouldn't like the noise. But I would still screw you so they can hear who made you feel good. Who you belonged to.

Just those thoughts was enough for him to come all over his hand, staining his stomach and part of the ground. His chest rose and fell with a laugh. It sure was pathetic.

But now I felt like I had some kind of power over you. Maybe it was always like that, you were his from the day you greeted him for the first time. He refused to think that you could see him cheated on with his boss. It was ridiculous, you clearly loved him.

So, for Jungkook you were his lovers in body and soul.

He could and had the power to do whatever he wanted with you. Taehyung walked in front of him, but for the first time in two years he didn't feel happy or euphoric to see him, and less excited.

He also didn't feel different when he called him into his office.

"Sit down Mr. Jeon, I have some business to attend to with you."

He obeyed immediately, realizing that even he had a power over his weak form. No one was superior to the great Taehyung.

Ironically. He likes irony.

"Lately I was going through the files of my employees and noticed something very unique." He spoke fully focused on his speech, Jungkook felt uncomfortable under his dark and empty gaze. "You have been working here for more than two years without taking a vacation or leaving your position something very exceptional and admirable. Thank you very much for your commitment to us, Mr. Jeon."

A sigh left his lips, he wondered vaguely why his breathing seemed to fail thinking that they could fire him. That would be terribly chaotic, it could not be close to you if it were to be roofed by the company.

It was a relief for him and a condemnation for you.

"It really isn't important, Chief Kim. I will continue to do my job fervently and do my best." He responded with a smile and a bow, trying to get out as soon as possible. He wanted to see you and Taehyung was starting to make him more nervous than usual, he felt that characteristic feeling of having damn butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

He felt like vomiting.

"That seems incredible to me, I would like to celebrate your great achievements. You think if after work, I can buy you a... a drink." He offered remarkably animated.

Funny, he had never been interested in doing that even when Jungkook followed him around like a puppy seeking approval. Did change something now? "I think it would be fair."

Everyone fully says that Lucifer is a man, Eve was very tempted by the apple of sin ...

"I would be delighted, only if I can bring one more person. He is someone important to me, and I would like him to celebrate in the same way." Jungkook smiled, he was delighted.

Taehyung looked surprised, genuinely surprised. But still, he managed to maintain his composure. "Of course, it would be a pleasure to meet that special person to you. You can go now."

Jungkook nodded, giving another bow and walking patiently to the door.

Taehyung watched his figure get lost, he felt strangely curious. He had never seen Jungkook interested in anything other than his job. However, now he spoke of someone special in his life. He frowned, searching his desk for the keys to his drawer hidden from anyone.

It was a bit personal.

He opened it, taking out the only thing inside. A red letter, the envelope was charming and eye-catching. He remembered it just like that day, Jungkook kneeling on the floor of his office where silence reigned. I knew that little Jeon waited for everyone to leave so he could confess, he said nothing at all, his gaze on the ground and his hands held the letter in the air hoping that he would take it.

He never read it.

But he knew it was a confession of his unforgivable love, that Jungkook would think he could fire him for something so heinous. But it was never necessary, he never read the letter so there was never a mistake on anyone's part. But now he was curious.

Maybe jealousy, he wanted to have power over everyone within his company and if a puppet left his strings, it would be like losing power over everyone.

He was lost so much in his misery that he did not notice that you had entered without permission, you were in a hurry because he answered a call from an investor from China that you could not wait for him to answer.

"Mr. Kim, you have a call ..."

Business dinners were boring for you, you knew it was just a stupid look covering up a night in a restaurant where they met to drink as much alcohol as they could. Especially men, according to your criteria. You didn't feel comfortable being the third person on a date between a boss and an important employee. However, I politely accept Mr. Jeon's invitation.

You looked for the table, where dinner and a toast to all the achievements of the aforementioned was supposed to take place. It was one number in particular, table 69.

"Miss _____..." Jungkook was the first to get up from his place to say hello. Taehyung stayed still in his seat, not even looking up from his wine glass. "Have a seat please welcome."

You felt uncomfortable, again. You were the third wheel on a date of two, to say you were a hindrance was to be a joker. Your chair was closer to Jungkook, as if your boss wanted not to be near you by mistake.

"Do you want to order something? Some wine?" Jungkook seemed strangely nervous, as well as attentive to any of your movements.

As if he were afraid of something certainly improbable.

"A-water is fine, thanks." You whisper overwhelmed by so much attention from one person. His hands seemed to shake as he got up from his seat running to bring your precious order.

Taehyung looked at everything with skeptical eyes. He was an observer. His gaze fell on your clothes, you weren't necessarily wearing something revealing or provocative to have so much attention from his former platonic lovers. You were dressed in a black skirt, a honey colored blouse and a white scarf along with some black shoes. You looked comfortable with your clothes, but quite the opposite with the situation and the environment.

Jungkook was dumb. Very silly, he thought, reading your thoughts. You clearly weren't interested in him and still, he was struggling to get your approval as if you were better than Taehyung.

Did you even think about what you were so valuable?

Your name left his lips, drawing your attention right away. "Bored?" His question surprised you, perhaps he was more than observant.

"No, no ..." You reply nervously, waving your hands in the air to give yourself more credibility. "I just think I'm not the most appropriate person to take this place at this dinner. It's weird."

"I get it. You are nobody, just an employee trying to do your job ... not impressive, by the way." Your face was distorted, you were not the most correct person in a matter of manners but you were sure that that was completely offensive and rude. Your inner voice whispered for you to leave, it wasn't worth it. "You are free to go, I will tell Mr. Jeon that you felt bad and had an emergency."

Doubt grew within you. Right now you felt that everything that came out of his mouth was trying to attack you and hurt you in some way. You frowned, refusing to indulge in his game. To say that Taehyung was surprised was an understatement.

"I'm fine, but thank you Mr. Kim."

"Listen damned-..."

Jungkook returned to his place sitting next to you, Taehyung closed his mouth automatically fearing the worst of him. The glass of crystal clear water sat in front of you, it seemed as if it had searched for simple water for days when only a few minutes passed. He looked eager for you to bring him to your lips and drink from something brought by him.

It was terrifying.

Your hand refused to take the glass, your conscience screamed uncontrollably for you to drop it on the floor pretending to have an accident. It was a horribly euphoric feeling. When the water wet your tongue you felt dizzy, your nerves calmed down noticeably.

It was just water.

Jungkook kept smiling the entire dinner, talking about things you honestly didn't understand. It was as if he and Taehyung had a special language to speak to each other, one in which you weren't welcome.

"It feels good?" Your vision became blurry, you had drunk half a glass of wine but your head felt like a whirlpool. Strangely familiar. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, your breath failed and your eyes surrendered.

Jungkook screamed in horror when your body fell to the ground, Taehyung smugly watched as the people around you tried to get up scared by your state. He did not care much about me, nor did it affect him that Jungkook went with you to a hospital. He just sat there, finishing his glass of wine and his special dish. Curious eyes watched them intrigued.

A truly unique man.

Your head rested calmly on his shoulder, he finally smiled away from the pressure of the people in the restaurant. You seemed so peaceful with your steady breathing and calm rhythm, you were so close to him that he was afraid he couldn't wait until he got to his new home. The man who was driving observed in the rear-view mirror, they seemed like a very calm couple and it certainly created a chilling sensation as the young man sitting in his car touched your face as if he feared breaking you by accident. On cold nights like these, he preferred not to ask any questions of his clandestine and unknown clients, but he would always take that doubt about who he helped to escape his own problems.

The room specially chosen by him was decorated, every detail seemed to reflect your darkest tastes and those that everyone knew. It was beautifully scary like the books and pillow was a replica of what you always wanted. Jungkook was proud to have been able to get everything, his bank account was now just zeroes. He learned how useful money was if you saved enough, he hated people who used it without knowing or measuring what it might be worth later.

Your body fell on the giant bed, the sheets were soft and honey color like your blouse. Jungkook knew that you liked colors that will make you relax but you had no preference for one in particular. His curious eyes glowed in the dark, his hands daringly touched your body without fear of being rejected because you simply couldn't do it.

"You are mine, now." He whispered, his voice mingling with the silent screams of the night. The moon was shining hungrily illuminating the room, but not enough to impede what was impossible to stop. "Sleep, sleep a lot. I could wait for you forever."

His promises remained in the air and on deaf ears. With selfishness in his heart, he rose above you positioning himself above you allowing his face to fall on your neck where he sipped from your charming scent that tempted him to follow. Your legs were side by side on his hips, he brought his body closer to yours. He couldn't bear to go on pretending to be the good guy, he was the only one.

"Please do not leave me..."

His sobs were trapped between the four walls, he was sick. He begged for forgiveness. Mercy he did not deserve. I was hoping that you could see him again directly as always, with a smile and your soft voice wishing him a good morning.

His calm, gentle kisses turned desperate, angry, and somewhat cruel. Leaving exaggerated marks all over your body, I wish it long ago. However, he was never heard.

Now he had what he wanted.

He felt complete by your side. His parents loved him as if they depended on their love, but they were certainly false in his head. Jungkook happily recalled how they prevented him from using his own money, how they seemed to put walls in front of him to prevent him from going to live alone, and how they rejected that he was in love with someone of the same gender.

His father called it disgusting and a shame, his mother was silent crying in his hands covering her grief.

Their bodies were never discovered. The police felt useless in front of their eyes, they apologized for their incompetence. They had fallen off a bridge where they always went to pray, where Jungkook knew they were asking for forgiveness and then committing the same sins again.

He planned his move cunningly, moving his pieces one by one.

He amused himself like a child killing a pawn of his competition.

He made an account of his crimes, his parents, Taehyung's best friend who was the harmless Park Jimin, his boss's former secretary who after being fired was strangely run over by a car that was never discovered, also remembers your insolent neighbor who seemed to enjoy stalking you, Jungkook remembers how I completely hate him. His hands on her neck made it clear when she hated him, he was disgusting.

He applauded happily, he felt very good about himself seeing that he made up his mind about so many people who for him were a plague in this world. It was like a child receiving a gift, his hands took the pen on his desk writing the last name on his list for now. Red ink stained the paper, a smile invaded his face.

𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓣𝓪𝓮𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓰.

A gasp left his lips watching your figure move on the bed, he got up from his seat to watch you wake up. You looked so innocent, but now you were stained.

You carried her future child within you, he tried very hard to get you pregnant. You never noticed how he always managed to put powdered sleeping pills in your food every night since he got tired of just looking at you. Then he only had to enter your house like a ghost, his moans of pleasure were silent as he collided with you, fucking you hard with the thought and idea that you would carry his son in your womb.

So, you would never want to leave.

You will learn to love the monotony of being the wife and mother of Jeon Jungkook's son.

After all, he was never a fool.

#bts #bts yandere #yandere bts #bts smut #jungkook yandere #yandere kpop #yandere bts au #yandere!bts #yandere #jungkook #jungkook smut #kpop #jungkook bts

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mssirey · 4 years

Text

Kara had never allowed herself to imagine a life with a partner who thought so deeply about her. So much of her existence was taking on the weight of the world, shouldering it alone and shielding others from the toll that took. But Lena was the keen sort, and stubborn in her pursuit of care, heavy handed as she poured her heart out for Kara.

There were days when Kara questioned if Lena was better adjusted to the changes Kara made—to her hair, to her body, to the language that suited her—and it seemed silly to be out of sorts about it. After all the circles Kara had run, trying to justify her preferences, trying to find meaning in the simple things that had become so personal and consuming; Lena grounded her, reminded her that her life was hers, that her body was hers, that her expression and presentation were not for anyone but herself.

There were many ways that Lena reiterated her support, but nothing so direct as when she touched Kara. When she pressed a thigh between Kara’s legs during a hug just to put pressure against Kara’s crotch, reminding her that her cock was there, Kara would melt. When Lena draped herself against Kara’s back as she brewed her morning coffee and a hand trailed down Kara’s front to sneak into her briefs, Kara would forget her worries. When they watched a movie together and Lena’s hand just lazily rested on her cock, absently squeezing, it became that much more normal.

Kara let her hesitations slip, felt less like an imposter in her own body, and her cock began to feel more natural in her thoughts. And Lena was increasingly casual in her gestures of appreciation, spending more and more time between Kara’s legs, fostering a comfort Kara hadn’t been aware she needed, but was endlessly grateful for.

It wasn’t always sexual. In fact, most often it just felt intimate, without the pressure to be one thing or another. Lena would spend lazy mornings sucking on her, humming blissfully, her cheeks lightly flushed, her lashes drooping slow and easy. It could be so peaceful, inviting calm into Kara’s otherwise turbulent thoughts, coaxing her to relax and reshape her image of herself with gentle hands, massaging out the stiffness in her overburdened frame.

There were times when Kara’s body wasn’t centralized, when Lena would climb into her lap and they would make out—sometimes feverish and urgent, but other times tender and blissful in each other’s company, sighing together—and there would be no thought of what was between either of their legs. It had grown so comfortable that Kara didn’t need her attention drawn there, just naturally settling into each other’s embrace with no other thought than loving the other.

And then there were the times when Lena was naughty beyond belief. She had gotten into a habit of blowing Kara when she visited LCorp for lunch, and even on the occasions that Lena ventured to CatCo. The dance of tension and pleasure was intoxicating, and Kara welcomed it more, encouraged it, even. She felt hot, her confidence building upon itself, and she began to lean into it—wearing tighter pants, packing with a larger bulge on occasions she was feeling particularly into herself, sitting with her legs wide for Lena, ensuring that she would take notice.

Everything had grown into an easy swing, and still it took Kara weeks—if not months—to notice just how light she felt. It was a hard stop in the middle of an inner monologue, a double take that had her staring into nothing, zoned out and still searching, trying to put her finger on what was different. She hadn’t realized how much she needed the security in herself or how far simple gestures from Lena would go towards building her up.

The work Kara had done to untangle her feelings was her own, but Lena had provided an environment of safety, had afforded her the room and the encouragement she needed to take a deeper look at herself—to really scale away the layers of scarred flesh that covered old wounds. Lena sat with her as she healed, brought her comfort, let her talk, and at some point she had shed a lot of her burdens.

Kara found her way to a mirror, looked at the reflection—her short hair mussed and wild from sleeping right after showering; her thick sweater cozy and warm, settled a little crooked on her broad shoulders, set squarely with ease; her hand lifted her sweater enough to see the tufts of hair that trailed up from the waistband of her briefs, looking right on her skin; her cock, the one she thought of as hers even when she had a number of options, formed a perfect bulge.

Lena found her there, staring, tears in her eyes, her image blurred and swimming. Tender lips kissed her neck as Lena slipped in behind her, rested her chin on Kara’s shoulder, wrapped loose arms around her ribs, and marveled alongside her. “Beautiful,” she whispered, and Kara agreed, and it had never been so easy to think of herself as beautiful.

#gnc!kara #butch!kara #packing au #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #my writing

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angelictaehyun · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: richboy!kang taehyun x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: He’s been a pain in your ass since you began working at the club. He’s arrogant and insanely wealthy, and you’re struggling to simply pay tuition. Needless to say, it’s not quite the match made in heaven… or so it seems.

WC. 11,200+

GENRE: rich kid au, country club au, e2l au, crack, fluff

WARNINGS: mild language, illegal activity, y/n’s an actual dumbass, and taehyun’s kind of a dick lol

You repeatedly tapped your pen against your sticky, worn checkbook, awaiting a response from the refined, old lady sitting comfortably under a patio umbrella. You, on the other hand, felt the scorching heat of the summer sun against your back, making you sweat uncontrollably—you could only hope you didn’t resemble a drenched pig. The woman eyed you, a bit too judgmentally for your liking, before pointing her perfectly manicured nail at the menu in her hand, “I want this pasta, but make it gluten-free. Throw in another iced tea, too… extra lemon, of course!”

You winced at her shrill voice.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, all of our pasta is made from flour,” you explained patiently. Her right eye twitched. You were an obstacle in her way of getting what she desired, she was angry. Lovely. However, above all, she was confused, “Just tell the chef to make it without flour, let him know it’s a special request. I don’t see the issue.”

“Ma’am, I’m telling you… there’s no way to make it without flour, we just don’t have the type of noodle you want in house.”

She drummed her hand on the table, absolutely fuming. She glanced at you like you kicked a puppy, it was absolutely infuriating. She grasped for nothing as her brain formulated any response, “This is outrageous! I want to speak with a manager. Now!”

You sighed, “Gladly.”

It was astounding, truly, the lack of self-awareness and consideration some people had... or, didn’t have. You wished, so badly, to tell them off, but you desperately needed the cash. After all, college wouldn’t pay for itself and the bills piling on your coffee table wouldn’t just magically disappear. You swiftly turned around and trudged away, scanning the vast garden for your manager, Yeonjun, but unsurprisingly, he was nowhere to be found. You’d known him long enough to assume he was hiding in the manager’s office, his poor attempt to flee from the overbearing, entitled crowd. How he scammed his way into a managerial position, a position of authority… that was beyond you.

You were halfway across the floor, pushing past another server when you felt an intense stare land on you. You halted in place, knowing exactly who the gaze belonged to. You glanced at the table stationed in the far corner of the garden, instantly meeting his piercing stare. He eyed you shamelessly, a signature habit of his, before throwing you a smug grin. You weren’t going to kid yourself, he wore the smirk well.

Too bad he was a pompous ass.

Kang Taehyun. You hated saying his name, it humanized him and he was anything but human. Rather, he was an evil, irritating demon spawn simply disguising himself as human. And the cherry on top? He was the absolute bane of your existence.

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but you didn’t necessarily want to. He opened his mouth to call you over, but much to your dismay, decided against it and instead rose from his seat to saunter over to you. You tried fleeing the scene the millisecond he stood up, but the elderly lady directly in front of you shuffled quite slowly, blocking your exit and trapping you in place. You tapped your foot impatiently as he approached you.

“You look… sweaty,” he observed, chuckling at your less-than-appealing state. Truth be told, though he didn’t like admitting it to himself, he thought you looked beautiful.

“Taehy—” he forcibly cut you off by landing his slender finger on your lips. You ignored the spark you felt from the small contact. He let his gaze travel to your Cupid’s bow momentarily, a part of him wanting to kiss your frown away.

“Ah, not Taehyun,” he reminded you smoothly. You considered biting his finger off, but you prided yourself on your outstanding professionalism. Granted, it significantly dwindled every time you spoke to him.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled monotonously. “Mr. Kang… if you don’t remove your hand from my mouth, I will shove a menu so far up your ass, you’ll choke,” you snapped, a pretty smile adorning your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Your customer service and approachable personality never fail to amaze me,” he stated, drawing his finger away from you. He continued despite the growing, fiery rage in your eyes, “I’d like another fork, mine’s a bit dirty.”

“That’s your problem. I’m not your waitress, I have my own customers to deal with, so if you don’t mind…”

He completely disregarded your subtle plea for him to leave. “For your information, I’d much rather prefer you as a server and not him,” he admitted, throwing a spare glance at his server—Hyunjin, if you were guessing from the blond hair.

“That’s too bad…” you trailed as you mustered up the fakest sympathetic pout you could. You continued, “Anyways, I really hate to cut this short, but I’d better get going. I’m sure you’ll survive with your fork. You probably won’t get tetanus, but fingers crossed.”

“Yeah, best of luck with Cinderella’s stepmom,” he mumbled, gesturing to your awaiting customer. He flashed you a confident wink before whirling around and returning to his seat. You scoffed, your lips tilting downward into an ugly grimace. The snapping sound from a couple of feet away brought you out of your disgusted daze. The lady you had spoken to was repeatedly snapping her fingers in an attempt to grab your attention. You were met with an expectant gaze when you directed your focus back on her. She was poised, her spine in perfect posture and hands folded properly across her lap; her body language exhibited no sign of emotion until you reached her watchful glare, clearly telling you to hurry along. You inhaled sharply before plastering on a fake smile. You resumed your hunt for Yeonjun, but once again, you felt the weight of a cocky stare land on your back.

He was challenging you, silently. You knew it. Unfortunately for him, you had no interest in playing his silly, childish game, so you clenched your jaw and walked away.

· ──────────────────── ·

As odd as it was, you and your best friend had a favorite bench. It sat a block from the country club and in the middle of a hidden, rugged park, but it was your safe space; it’d been your favorite place since you both found it in fourth grade. After every grueling shift, Kai would meet you on the bench with dinner. The food was almost always inedible, but you weren’t there for his cooking, rather his company. He was already perched on the bench, kicking at a pebble beneath his feet. He heard you approach but kept his focus on the fascinating rock.

“God, took you long enough, I’ve been here forever. I started to think you ditched me for one of those rich boys,” he complained. When you didn’t retort with a snarky comeback like you normally would’ve, he turned from his spot and glanced at your disheveled figure, immediately letting out an obnoxious laugh.

You looked like shit.

Your hair was a disaster, the wisps of hair framing your face no longer considered stylish, but rather unkempt and as Kai liked to put it, “homeless-like.” Not only did you look bad, you felt unclean. The sweat behind your knees was quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky and your mascara was rubbing off, making you look like a rabid raccoon.

Despite all that, you were happy to see Kai, his bubbly personality never failed to cheer you up—but you’d never let him be privy to that.

You shot him the nastiest glare you could muster, but that proved difficult considering the little energy you had left.

“Aw, Y/N…”

“I’m going to quit, I swear to God. If I have to hear one more soccer mom complain about her salmon being too fishy, I’m going to have to start perfecting my mugshot pose,” you grumbled through clenched teeth. He made a noise of disagreement, “Let’s not throw your ass in jail just yet. Orange makes you look like a traffic cone.”

You shot him an indignant glare, “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Anyways, I made us some hamburgers and managed to grab some extra soda cans before leaving home. So bone app the teeth or whatever.”

You snorted. He always brightened your mood, just a simple sentence could lift your sad spirit. You had to give it to him, the burger looked pretty appetizing… but you’d learned that with his cooking, much like anything else, appearances can be quite deceiving. Despite this, you inhaled your burger, ignoring the fact that the meat was undercooked and the mayonnaise was likely expired. You paid no attention to the fact that your soda was lukewarm and flat—you sipped on it regardless. Your mind was elsewhere, easily drowning out whatever Kai was ranting about.

“... I know you probably had a bad day ‘cause of your boy,” he observed quietly.

You snapped your focus back, “My boy?”

“Yeah, your boy. The one you think is a self-righteous prick, but secretly think is really hot. Hm, what was it… Terry? Tyler? Taeyong?... Oh, I got it. Trash can.”

You scoffed, “Taehyun, most certainly, is not my boy. I can’t stand him. His head is so far up his flat ass, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.”

Kai nodded in feigned understanding. He tilted an eyebrow quizzically before opening his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“And I don’t think he’s cute!”

“... And I’m Beyoncé.”

You didn’t respond, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you let out a small noise of disagreement before resting your head on his broad shoulder, contently sipping on your warm soda. He knew how tired you were; everyday he watched you wear yourself down to practically nothing, it hurt him. He leaned his head against your own, placing a hand atop your thigh and squeezing reassuringly. You allowed yourself to relax, breathing in the humid, summer air. You stayed like that until he let out a small laugh.

“Let’s rob him,” Kai suddenly suggested. He was joking, obviously, but you still perked at the idea. You turned to face him expectantly, straw loosely hanging from your mouth. He visibly retracted, “Jeez, Y/N, I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“… I’m not robbing someone.” He threw you a cautious glare before aggressively taking a large bite of his burger and chugging his flat soda. You were losing your mind, he was sure of it. You poked curiously, “So I’m assuming your stance on graffitiing is the same.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line before letting out an exasperated sigh, “Obviously.”

You turned away, sulking, and he couldn’t help but snicker. You were his best friend and had been since second grade, but if he said he didn’t think you were a dumbass, he'd be lying.

“Come on, it’s time to get you home, you have an early shift tomorrow,” he reminded suddenly, mouth still full. You smacked his arm, disgusted by his lack of basic manners. He opened his mouth to showcase all his unchewed food.

You gagged.

“You’re disgusting!” you screeched, shuffling away from him. He chased after you, catching you almost immediately. His long legs made it easy. He effortlessly tossed you over his shoulder, ignoring your squirming, and carried you to his car, “Hush, I know you love me.”

“Gross. Never.”

He slapped the back of your calf and you squeaked, “Kai! Put me down! Now!”

“No, not until you say it. Make it believable, too.”

He wasn’t joking, you knew that. Eleven years of friendship and he was still as shameless as the day you met him. More so, if anything. Yes, his eight-year-old self was quite the charmer. You grumbled monotonously, “Kai, what can I say… you’re the light of my life, my hero, my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Probably die. I love you, I guess.”

“Too sarcastic, but it’ll do,” he conceded. He set you down and held in a laugh. Your hair looked even worse than before. He slung an arm around your shoulder, “Okay, get in the car. Hurry. I’d rather not listen to you complain about your lack of beauty sleep… again.”

· ──────────────────── ·

You mindlessly typed in a complicated order as Yeonjun watched your gaze drift over to the garden.

“You’ve pressed that button so much, the console’s probably broken. Cool it,” he reprimanded gently. Your attention snapped back to the screen which was littered with incorrect orders.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what has me so distracted today,” you mumbled sheepishly. He chuckled and gave you a comforting nudge on the shoulder, “I think I know exactly why.”

Your gaze followed his and instantly landed on Taehyun. As much as you hated to admit, he looked good. Great, even. It looked like he’d just walked out of a rager, especially with his tie undone and shirt untucked, which he pulled off beautifully. His hair was slightly disheveled and you suddenly had the strongest urge to run a hand through it.

Your eyes widened at the sudden thought and you aggressively shoved it to the back of your mind. “I don’t like him!”

“I never said you did.” he argued, suppressing a mirthful grin. Yeonjun reminded you of Kai, especially with his insistence on your attraction to Taehyun, or as you believed, lack thereof. He continued, “Just a reminder, though. The line between love and hate is so, so thin.”

Rather than responding and saying something that would surely get you fired, you huffed and turned your focus back on the order, unaware of your aggressive punching on the console’s screen. You were already having a rough day, but everyday spent at the country club was considered less-than-stellar. Yeonjun gave you a reassuring smile before sulking off to deal with another whiny, overbearing customer. You unconsciously let your gaze travel back over to Taehyun and was instantly met with a genuine smile, just not one directed to you. He laughed at a joke, oblivious to your longing and thank God, if he caught you staring, you’d never hear the end of it. His smile was just so pretty, you couldn’t help but feel giddy. Sure, you hated him—that’s what you told yourself—but you could appreciate a handsome face. As if on cue, Taehyun turned in your general direction and you quickly scrambled out of sight. As you turned, Hyunjin scrambled by you, the heavy tray resting on his shoulder nearly beheading you. His long, wavy blond hair, which was in a nice, neat half-ponytail at the beginning of his shift, was now splaying in every direction—he was beyond stressed. If the messy hair wasn’t enough, his hooded eyes were getting darker. You approached him as he grabbed a checkbook, “Hyun, you look like a mess.”

“Hey, Y/N! Yeah, I just have a lot of floor to cover, and they’re all extra demanding today,” he explained, short of breath. He groaned as he watched another set of people sit in his section and continued, “God, please cover me. I’ll owe you one. I’m already overwhelmed with my current table number.”

You laughed understandingly, “Of course.”

“You’re the best, it’s table thirty.” He squinted to get a good look, “Oh! I know that customer, he’s a great tipper. You should be just fine.”

You shifted your attention to the table in question, immediately deflating as you saw Taehyun sitting with a friend. You turned around to protest, but Hyunjin was already gone.

You internally screamed before trudging over to his table, gathering all of your dignity... kissing his arrogant ass wasn’t necessarily on your agenda for today. When Taehyun saw you approach his table, he did little to hide his pleased smirk. You undid your balled fist.

“Hi. My name is Y/N, I’ll be your server today,” you monotonously stated, an unenthusiastic but convincing smile plastering your face. To any other guest, it would’ve been believable, but Taehyun knew better; your server persona didn’t fool him.

“Y/N. What a pretty name,” his friend observed, a bit too flirtatiously for your liking. Taehyun noticed too, judging from the way he narrowed his eyes and tongued his cheek. And also the way he obviously kicked his friend’s leg under the table. You mustered a sweet smile, hoping to mask your disgust, “Thank you! That’s so… nice. Anyway, what would you like to drink? We got in a new Italian wine, just delivered today.”

“That’s alright, just water.”

“Water.”

Cheap. Especially for a pair of chaebol children.

“Alright! I’ll be back momentarily,” you informed, smile dropping the instant you turned away. As you trailed back to the kitchen, you heard Taehyun give his friend a hushed reprimanding making you smirk. You passed Yeonjun, noticing he looked as if he was about to lose his sanity. You gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder—for someone so young, he managed well. Of course, he used his handsome face and charm as often as possible; his attractiveness and charisma was dangerous. He managed to grasp the attention of everyone and it aided him greatly. You pressed quizzically, “Jun, you don’t seem good.”

“Says you. You’re lover boy’s server. What a shocking, juicy turn of events. I’m on my toes,” he teased impishly. You stared at him vacantly. Yeonjun continued to poke fun, enjoying the lack of response you gave as you procrastinated to avoid returning to Taehyun’s table, but sadly, there was only so long it could take to fill a glass with water. Yeonjun pouted sympathetically, “Good luck.”

You didn’t need luck. No. To spend a precious hour or more, waiting on a privileged, disgustingly wealthy teenage boy, specifically Kang Taehyun, you needed patience, self-control, and temper management. You reminded yourself of just that as you approached him, placing his water near his plate, “Gentlemen, are you ready to order?”

You jotted down his friend’s order, ignoring the growing complexity as he piled on request after request, no sign of stopping. “... And I need it lukewarm. Not room temperature, but lukewarm.”

You diligently suppressed the eye roll that nearly bubbled up. Honestly, you’d dealt with far worse, Taehyun’s friend didn’t even scratch the surface.

You had to wonder though, did people like this ever feel shame?

You faced the cocky redhead, “And for you… Mr. Kang?”

You cringed. He didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible flash of disgust that crossed your expression. He grinned, “Just the lasagna. While you’re at it, I’d like another glass of water.”

“You already have a full glass,” you seethed, glancing at the glass you had just set down. He enjoyed this: testing you, pushing you, slowly dwindling your sanity until you snapped. He wanted to get a reaction from you, anything other than the bored, disinterested expression you gave him every single day. He smiled innocently, “What can I say… I like staying hydrated.”

His amusement was irritating. Unsurprisingly, his torment was based on the stupid, outdated notion that a boy has to show interest by picking on his crush, but you weren’t privy to his inner thought process. You suppressed another eye roll as you turned to grab a pitcher from Hyunjin, the boy sprinting behind you with a full tray. You felt bad for him, at least, until you remembered he pawned Taehyun’s table onto you and your pity became short lived. You filled an empty glass, increasingly aware of Taehyun’s piercing stare. Your emotionless expression would’ve given him no indication as to how nervous you felt if it weren’t for the slight blush that painted your face.

He smirked victoriously. You hated it.

A breath of relief escaped you as his attention turned to his friend. He leaned back in his seat and lifted a hand to rest behind his head, accidentally smacking the pitcher, causing you to spill the cold water onto his lap. He flinched at the sudden icy contact.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, fishing a stray napkin from your apron. Normally, he would’ve brushed it off, considering it was his fault, but he felt pressured under the expectant gaze of his snobbish peer. Plus, he gained the reaction he wanted from you... something other than disgust. He feigned offense as he dramatically pushed his seat back and stood up, easily towering over you, “Next time, try not sucking at your job!”

He immediately regretted his outburst but he showed no sign of remorse, not when he had a reputation to uphold. God forbid, he could actually be a considerate person.

More importantly, though, he pushed too far this time and there wasn’t much turning back. You winced at his tone, withering back from his harsh statement, though you quickly replaced your hurt with unadulterated rage. Your blood boiled as your vision went red, steam practically fuming from your ears. Your pained expression broke his heart and he nearly dropped his act, but before he could do or process anything, his silk shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his body as ice water seeped through. His slacks were drenched and his designer loafers were completely ruined. He didn’t pay much attention to that, though... not when you were an inch from his face, holding an empty water pitcher over his head.

“I quit,” you lowly hissed. You firmly shoved the pitcher into his hand and scoffed as he stumbled back from the force. All eyes were on you as you stalked off, hastily tossing your apron into the nearest trash can. Yeonjun gave you a quick nod, his subtle way of telling you he was proud.

He’d get your resignation letter another day.

Taehyun helplessly called after you but it was useless. You were too far gone to care.

· ──────────────────── ·

You slammed your car door shut, absolutely fuming. You blankly stared at the frog keychain hanging from your rearview mirror. Normally, you would’ve smiled at the small figurine, but in the moment, you wanted to punt it into another timezone. It’s cheeriness pissed you off to no end. You quickly fished your phone out to dial Kai’s number, the line ringing thrice before he picked up, groaning, “I’m trying to sleep.”

His voice seemed muffled, likely from the thirty plushies he insisted on sleeping with.

“It’s dinner time.”

“It’s called a nap, genius.”

“Alright, well, I just quit my job… and I might have dumped a pitcher of water onto Taehyun’s stupid, privileged ass.”

The line fell silent. You wouldn’t have been surprised had he hung up on you—your tendency to act impulsively drove him up the wall and he was nearing his limit. You patiently awaited his response, likely a reprimanding scold.

“Y/N, what the fuck.”

“He had it coming, I swear,” you promised. In detail, you explained your biased side of the story, ignoring the obvious judgement emanating from the opposite line. The minute you finished, you spotted Taehyun’s panicked figure run into the full parking lot, frantically searching for you; you ducked behind your steering wheel, praying he didn’t see you. You squeaked, cutting off Kai’s tangent, “Oh my God! Oh my God! He followed me!”

He sighed. “If you dumped ice water on me, I’d be chasing after you too.”

You peeked curiously from your spot, seeing he had yet to find you. The cogs in your mind churned slowly, mixing in with your rage, “What if we graffitied his house?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious, I want to do it! He can’t just get away with humiliating me in front of the entire club, waitstaff, and my manager. And graffitiing isn’t illegal… ish.”

You could practically picture his narrowed gaze, “It’s definitely, most certainly, illegal. Sunshine, I understand your anger, hell, I’d be outraged, but revenge isn’t always the answer. And graffiti isn’t the most… sound idea.”

You crossed your arms defensively, “It’s a genius idea.”

“It really isn’t.”

“I’m going to do it, regardless of if it’s a good idea or not. You’re either in or out.”

Once more, the line fell quiet. His mind churned, concluding there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d follow through—you were simply too chicken. He laughed, “Fine. I’m in.”

“Great! Find his address, I’ll be over soon.”

You hung up and regained your composure. Taehyun spotted your car as you buckled in your seatbelt, making direct eye contact with your enraged figure. You were surprised, he didn’t seem angry, rather regretful. Almost apologetic.

But you didn’t care.

You sped off the lot without sparing him a final glance.

· ──────────────────── ·

“Have faith in me! Finding his address isn’t going to be hard. You know, I’m a tech whiz, it runs in the family.”

You snickered, “Beomgyu getting accepted into the computer science program at his university doesn’t mean you got the tech gene. You’re the worst with technology, you can’t even remember your laptop login half the time.”

He eyed you challengingly, before cracking his knuckles and typing furiously. Only a single minute had passed before he was yelling, “Jackpot! I found it!”

You were thrown for a loop. He was quite technologically inept, he couldn’t even open a browser without some trouble, let alone find an address. You stared at him quizzically, a smidge of doubt crossing your mind. He deflated, avoiding your hard gaze, “Okay… maybe, just maybe, I called Gyu before you arrived and had him help.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You sighed and tossed yourself back on his plush bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on his ceiling. You laughed quietly, you remembered putting them up there—it was really only a year ago. See, Kai had this whole star-sticker-related schtick or as he liked to put it, “Inability to have them as a child which subsequently caused emotional damage.”

You had just returned from a grueling shift and you were exhausted, weak, and insanely pissed—reason being Taehyun, of course.

It was always Taehyun.

In a frivolous attempt to cheer you up, Kai suggested pasting the stickers onto his ceiling. Honestly, it was more stressful than fun. He constantly wobbled around the bed, nearly dropping you several times as you sat perched on his broad shoulders and stuck them up. It kept you busy though, and thus, kept your mind off of Taehyun.

It was funny, honestly. For someone that swore they hated him, you sure thought about him a lot. He took residence in your mind and you felt like the landlord trying to evict him.

Even at that moment, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Of course, you were in denial. You told yourself it was natural to be thinking about him; after all, you were going to destroy his property. There was absolutely no other reason as to why he ran free in your mind… none at all.

Kai knew you were overthinking. It wasn’t hard to tell, especially since your forehead usually tended to crease in the ugliest manner when you did. He tried reeling you out of your daze, “So, we’re going to commit a crime.”

“Yep.”

“... There’s no turning back.”

“I know. I’m not going to chicken out.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, of course you’d chicken out. You always did. He didn’t see any harm in indulging you with your idiotic plan, so he found the address. No harm, no foul. Right?

· ──────────────────── ·

You anxiously picked at the leather seating beneath you, nearly tearing a hole in the worn fabric.

“Yo, cool it. Jihyo is already pretty fucked up,” Kai warned. Oh, Jihyo. You still couldn’t believe he named his old, rickety car—let alone after his ex. His car looked as if it had a mile left in it before it ultimately broke down, but you had to put some blind trust in Jihyo. After all, she was your getaway car if everything went south. You’d been sitting in Kai’s passenger seat for half an hour, coming up with nearly every excuse not to proceed with the crime.

“We really don’t have to do this. Not to mention, I don’t want to do this,” he grumbled.

“Then why are you here?”

Imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door, decked out in all-black, stealthy gear, hope and adrenaline coursing through your body. He truly believed you would’ve backed down by now, and a small part of him hoped you still would, but the odds weren’t looking in his favor.

“I’m not letting you go to jail! I can’t get through the school year without you, especially now that Jihyo—human Jihyo—is starting to spread her stupid, little personal agenda against me. Like, yeah, I broke up with you and that’s rough, but maybe next time, try not being manipulative… or a cheater,” he rambled. You flashed him a sympathetic smile; he said he was over it but you knew better. You patted his arm comfortingly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, a flustered, shy smile replacing his pout.

“Guess what? I think I know exactly what’ll make you feel better,” you whispered sweetly.

His smile instantly turned down into an exasperated frown, “Mhm, let me guess… robbing the rich boy you have a crush on.”

“I don’t have a crush on him! Why would I like him? He yelled at me in front of the entire club! And we’re not robbing him, we’re simply… graffitiing his house. Tastefully.

“So you admit, you had a crush on him.”

“No! I’m just saying!”

He pointedly rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the castle-like house across the street, not wanting to have that conversation with you. He mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like idiot but you let it slide, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, so the gate code is probably something stupid like his birthday, his mom is probably sentimental like that,” you mumbled to yourself. You tapped your foot anxiously as you tried to formulate a coherent plan. You slowly continued, “The only problem is the crazy amount of security cameras around his house. Like, who needs that many cameras? People are dying.”

“God, I hate you,” Kai grumbled.

You ignored him, “There has to be a blind spot, somewhere a camera won’t cover. Hm…” you studied the perimeter, searching for that camera-free sweet spot. At that moment, you found a tiny patch of grass, hidden under a massive oak tree.

Bingo.

You shook Kai’s arm aggressively, “Look! Right there, that’s the spot. That tree has to cover the camera.”

He rested his head against the steering wheel, “Let’s get this over with.”

As you both climbed out of his car, you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. The street was littered with fancy, expensive cars while Jihyo looked like she belonged in the dump, making you even angrier. Kai crept over to the sidewalk, insisting on creeping in the shadows like a vigilante. You, on the other hand, struggled to carry your duffel bag full of equipment, constantly getting slowed down by the exceptional weight. That was your fault though, you packed it full of necessary, outstandingly heavy equipment (necessary being a loose term). Alongside the many cans of paint sat a bag of Goldfish, three juice boxes (because Kai is a massive baby), a faulty navigation system, a not-at-all threatening ski mask, and a broken hammer.

You didn’t remember packing that hammer.

You settled in front of Taehyun’s gate, hoping your birthday theory was correct. Of course, simply because it was you and your luck was awful, it wasn’t. You began pressing random keys, hoping something would work but it was fruitless. Nothing worked, not even the basic combinations. You huffed, “I guess we’re going to have to climb our way in.”

You mentally prepared yourself as Kai sent a couple of prayers out for good measure. He eyed your duffel bag curiously before opening it, instantly met with a multitude of spray paint in all shades. He narrowed his eyes and scoffed, “Jesus, Y/N! Where the hell did you get all this shit?”

“... Craigslist.”

“Bullshit, you were kicked off Craigslist years ago.”

You winced, insulted by his easy remark—he knew how sensitive you were about that. You kicked a pebble sheepishly, mumbling softly, “Fine, I bought the paint from Soobin…”

His eyes widened comically as his heart practically ripped out of his chest, “Soobin?! Choi Soobin?! You can’t be serious. No, there’s no way you bought from the school drug dealer! He’s a criminal! He probably tried to toss in some of that devil’s lettuce with your purchase, huh? Or worse… crack!”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your head back, he was always so dramatic. “Kai, he’s not a criminal. He’ll occasionally sell an edible or two, but that’s it! He didn’t try to sell me anything. Actually, he gave me a pretty good deal on this stuff.”

“Lovely, a modern-day businessman,” he grumbled sarcastically.

“Whatever, just help me climb the wall,” you huffed, zipping up your bag before tossing it over the blockade. Hesitantly, he got on one knee, muttering something you couldn’t quite hear—not that you wanted to anyways. You delicately stood on his knee as he pushed on your thighs in an attempt to boost you over.

Honestly, you struggled. Your weak muscles did little to aid in your quest, but Kai’s strength helped.

“God, take your sweet time, it’s not like your flat, piece of plywood ass is dangling in front of my face or anything. I’m about to throw up,” he gagged.

You scoffed, “Yeah, yeah, complain all you want but this is the most action you’ll ever see.”

“... I won’t hesitate to drop you on your face.”

However, before he could follow on his threat, you managed to hoist yourself over the brick wall. You offered a hand to Kai but instead of accepting, he eyed it mockingly, knowing you weren’t strong enough to lift him. He stretched his legs before taking a step back, giving him a running start, and surprising you both when he successfully lifted himself.

You placed your hand over his mouth, “Shh.. whisper. We’re in enemy territory now.”

He licked your palm, nearly making you screech, “Gross!”

He childishly stuck his tongue out. You shook your head and began scrounging the duffel bag for the perfect paint color. Of course, you wanted to create a masterpiece worthy of Kang Taehyun... you even considered tagging it. Kai silently sat on the grass, aimlessly picking at the freshly-cut blades as he watched you happily paint.

You were pleased to say that in the half an hour you’d been painting, nothing had gone awry... yet.

“The fuck is that supposed to be?” he questioned curiously, leaning closer to inspect the vulgar work.

“Taehyun,” you said easily.

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like a dick.”

“It’s called symbolism, Kai.” You stepped back to admire your work as if it were hung in the Louvre whilst Kai scrunched his nose, clearly offended by the unpleasant art.

“You know, it’s funny how you have the biggest crush on this dic—” Before he could further elaborate, he was interrupted by an awfully familiar voice.

“What the hell are you doing on my front lawn?”

You cringed. You’d been caught red-handed.

Kai turned slowly, surrendering with his hands up. You, however, kept your back turned, considering just going to hell with it and continuing your tasteful artwork. He glanced at you anxiously, silently pleading for you to put down the paint can.

Only because Kai looked a second away from fainting, you huffed and turned around, mimicking his pose, the only difference being the bored expression plastered on your face.

Taehyun stood in front of you, his arms crossed and irritation painted all over his body language, but as much as he tried to hide it, there was a glint of amusement behind his eyes. You hated how his obnoxious, stop sign hair managed to look amazing under the glow of the moonlight—it was beyond irritating. Arguably, his entire being was irritating. You held his gaze, silently challenging his presence. Kai, on the other hand, was sweating profusely and dramatically hyperventilating. He clutched onto your shoulder, failing to catch an actual breath, “Oh my God! I feel like my heart is pumping out lukewarm sewer water.”

He placed his hands on his knees as he hunched over and continued, “Please, Taehyun. Please, don’t hit me with your Lamborghini. I’m begging you.”

Taehyung blankly stared at the younger, completely forgetting he was even there. You rubbed your temple and hissed, “Will you shut the fuck up? You’re making this worse.”

“I don’t want to go to jail! My face is too pretty for jail, they’d murder me on sight for being the most gorgeous boy they’ve ever seen. God, please don’t call the cops… I’ll do anything,” Kai shamelessly begged. You were so close to punting him into the Pacific Ocean. Taehyun’s annoyingly gorgeous lips twisted into a smug grin as he directed his attention back on you, “Hm, and what about you, Princess? I don’t see you begging.”

You scoffed, “I’d rather eat Kai’s shoe.”

He simply hummed, “That’s too bad. You know, I have a family friend who’s a cop… I’ll convince him to go easy on you in jail.”

“The wealthy wielding control over the justice system… how unexpected.”

“Oh my God! Y/N’s kidding, she’ll do anything,” Kai blurted quickly, shooting you a death glare. Taehyun’s eyebrow lifted curiously, a satisfied smirk settling comfortably, “Is that true?”

“What the hell do you want?” you questioned hesitantly.

“A date.”

You briefly considered his words before shoving Kai forward, “Yeah, go nuts. He’s all yours.”

“... With you.”

You threw your head back and let out an inappropriate, hearty laugh. Even Kai let out a small snicker before replacing it with a fake cough, but Taehyun didn’t seem amused. He watched you expectantly, awaiting an answer.

“So this is the only way Kang Taehyun can score a date… by blackmailing them. You know, that actually makes sense,” you theorized to no one in particular. You simmered in silence for a short moment before Kai cleared his throat, hinting at his obvious discomfort. Taehyun was enjoying this, you just knew it.

That broken hammer never looked better...

“Fine,” you conceded. You glared at him, biting your tongue to prevent you from going off on his pompous ass. Taehyun’s eyes lit up with hope.

Kai let out a breath of relief before mumbling an apology and dragging you off the lawn. His grip on you tightened as you turned around one last time to shoot daggers at Taehyun. He stood comfortably in the middle of his manicured lawn, the porch lights behind him highlighting his pleased smirk, yet all you saw was red.

· ──────────────────── ·

Kai splayed across your bed, mindlessly picking at a random throw pillow while you spritzed a hint of perfume on your forearm. His gaze trailed over your figure curiously, “You’re quite dressed up for someone who’d rather sleep in a dumpster than go on this date.”

“Well I’m not about to walk into high society wearing a stained sweatshirt and joggers.”

He snorted, “Right, that’s the only reason.” You smoothed your shirt and gave yourself a once over, feeling quite confident in your choice of clothing. Kai wasn’t blind, he thought you looked nice, but he’d let pigs fly before he told you that. He continued, “You don’t look… that ugly.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that was the closest you’d ever get to a compliment from him, “Thanks.”

“Do you know where he’s taking you?”

“Nope.”

If you were being honest, you didn’t care where he took you; you didn’t set any conscious expectations.

“Oh! Before I forget…” Kai smirked as he dug around his backpack. He tossed you a small, blue bottle of mouthwash. He winked cheekily, “You never know… mayhaps you’ll kiss him.”

You nearly threw up, “I most certainly will not be kissing anyone tonight, especially not his pretentious ass. Besides, you know about my rule.”

He groaned. He definitely knew about your rule, it was all you talked about after getting dumped by your last ex. After your last failed relationship (or four) you created a no-kiss policy for your first three dates. You wanted to make sure your kisses weren’t in vain, and honestly, it was fun just watching them work for it.

“The rule is dumb,” he reminded.

“... You’re dumb.”

You were busy dodging a pillow when your doorbell rang, signaling Taehyun’s arrival. You were shocked he didn’t just notify his presence by honking his horn—for a pompous ass such as himself, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

“It’s time,” you mumbled somberly.

“He isn’t the Grim Reaper. This is a date, it’s supposed to be a happy thing!” he tried encouraging sweetly as you stalked down the staircase, but to no avail, your mood didn’t lighten in the slightest.

You aggressively swung open your front door, nearly knocking Kai unconscious. Taehyun dressed simple but pleasant; his expensive, black sweater was expertly tucked into a nice set of slacks and the Cartier bracelet that adorned his wrist, perfectly accentuated his veins. His bright, red hair was styled messily and his cheeks were flushed, beautifully highlighting his angled nose and sharp jawline. Your mouth gaped, just slightly, as you drank him in—while he was always attractive, this specific look had you stunned. He held a single rose against his chest and it only made him look more ethereal, if that was even possible. When you looked up, you instantly noted the hint of panic in his eyes, which made you feel at ease.

“Taehyun,” you blankly addressed.

“Y/N! You look amazing, so beautiful…” he trailed as he handed you the rose. You grabbed it and immediately shoved it into Kai’s chest.

“Let’s get this over with,” you grumbled, pushing past him and harshly hitting his shoulder.

“... Right.”

“Hey, try not to murder him, I can’t afford bail. I make minimum wage,” Kai reminded, flashing Taehyun a sympathetic smile as the older trailed closely behind you. You were about to open his car door when he came rushing by, insisting on opening it for you. In return, you sent him a nasty glare, “I’m capable of opening my own door.”

“I’m just trying to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman doesn’t go off on someone in the middle of a public space,” you reminded.”

He sighed. A mere five minutes into the date and he already felt defeated. He wished he could form a proper apology, but it would be futile—you’d just shut him down. So he decided to express his apology in the form of something he knew you’d accept; needless to say, he had a trick or two up his Gucci sleeve.

You kept your gaze focused on anything but him. Your arms were folded across your chest, the evident frown on your face doing very little to hide your irritation. Despite that, he still thought you looked beautiful… granted, every single time he spoke to you, you wore a frown so this wasn’t new to him.

“You look so pretty,” he complimented as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I know.”

Of course he deserved every ounce of your cold, unwelcoming demeanor, but it still hurt. He was flushed but you didn’t notice since you made an obvious effort to scoot as far away from him as possible, practically pressing yourself up against the car door. However, the painful silence quickly overwhelmed you, so you hesitantly threw him a bone, “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise but I know you’ll like it. It’s my way of apologizing.”

“This better be a hell of an apology.”

“I promise you it is.”

You noticed his sincerity. His usual cockiness was replaced with shyness and a twinge of guilt, and you found it endearing. You stayed quiet for the remainder of the car ride, only a small sound of confusion as he pulled into a half-empty parking lot of a local carnival. A young employee approached the car and gave Taehyun a permitting nod, making you suspicious. He drove past the entrance gate and straight into a private space, parking next to a dinky, old ice cream truck. The space was close to a nearby forest, a bit too secluded for your taste.

“So you’re going to kill me,” you observed, scanning the dark environment around you.

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“That’s what a murderer would say,” you mumbled.

You were so stubborn, he knew that, yet he still let out an exasperated sigh. He frowned and climbed out of his car, shuffling to your side, only to find you were already halfway out. You didn’t say anything, choosing to send another hard glare his way instead.

He headed in the direction of the carnival—not the forest—and gestured you to follow him. You trailed behind, ignoring the damp mud that stuck to the bottom of your cheap shoes. You felt a bit overdressed, but when you glanced at Taehyun, you felt better. However, the more you thought about it, his outfit likely cost more than your college tuition, putting a slight dent in your ego. You focused your attention on the glowing moon instead of him, and when he turned to look at you, he was in awe. You seemed peaceful, or at least, not as pissed.

It was nice.

He led you down to the middle of the fair where you saw a crowd gathered around a massive dunk tank. He seemed antsy, constantly shifting his weight and picked at the hem of his costly shirt. He momentarily abandoned your side and walked to the dunk tank operator, speaking briefly before grabbing a bucket filled of unknown stuff.

When he walked back, you stared curiously at the bucket which was full of heavy baseballs. “This is my apology.”

Vague.

As if he read your mind, he gently placed his hand on your shoulder and turned you to face the tank, pointing directly at the chair above the pool. “I’m going to be sitting on that chair. Your job is to throw them,” he gestured over to the bullseye, “at the target, until I’m submerged.”

You couldn’t suppress your smile. He was right, this was an apology you’d accept, an apology in the form of embarrassment. Smart boy.

He didn’t necessarily look forward to ruining his cashmere sweater, but he would’ve done anything to make it up to you, and your bright smile told him he was on the right path. You let out a light laugh, picking up a baseball and tossing it carelessly.

He spared you a final glance before shuffling off to his fate. He seemed to garner a lot of attention, the crowd had grown significantly larger since you first arrived. You held the ball in your hand as he climbed onto the chair—you were arguably a little too excited to send him into the cold, cold water. He seemed shaky, but you didn’t care. You threw the ball with no hesitation.

Strike one. You missed by a long shot.

He suppressed a laugh. You shook your body, ridding yourself of any anxiousness before trying once more.

Strike two. You were closer. Barely.

You had an unlimited amount of attempts, but the longer you failed, the more embarrassed you felt. He now seemed comfortable... prideful, even. Your face was flushed red from humiliation, but you tried to keep it from affecting you as you threw once more, this time, significantly more aggressive.

Strike three. This was outright shameful.

“C’mon, you can do better than that…” he baited. He couldn’t help but tease, it didn’t matter that you were on a date. The crowd let out a collective laugh. You scoffed indignantly, cracking your neck and back, your stare darkening. You were about to hit the winning shot, he knew it. He loosened his grip on the chair and leaned forward.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

The longing, heartfelt expression in his eyes had you flustered. You nodded understandingly, reeling in his genuine apology, and flashing him a sympathetic, sincere smile before throwing the baseball straight at the bullseye, sending him (and his expensive outfit) straight into the tank.

You pumped a fist in the air as the crowd cheered. He emerged from the stale water, completely drenched. He shook hair away from his eyes before climbing from the tank and into a changing room, but not before finding your figure in the crowd. You wore a gentle, soft smile; for the first time, you looked at him with something other than hatred.

It gave him hope.

After changing, he appeared by your side as the crowd slowly dispersed, dressed a lot more comfortably. He changed into a pair of fitted (and designer, you just knew it) joggers and a clean, simple sweatshirt, pulled together with a silver chain hanging from his neck. He went from runway to streetwear yet he managed to look absolutely fantastic and it irked you. He seemed expectant yet nervous, constantly shifting his feet and biting his bottom lip. He needed reassurance and suddenly, you weren’t hesitant to provide it.

After a minute of painful silence, you conceded. “I forgive you.”

A deep sigh of relief escaped him. He’d practically been holding his breath since that day and all of a sudden, this weight had been lifted off his chest. A wave of solace washed over him, “Thank god. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if that didn’t work.”

You giggled softly. He short-circuited for a mere second; being the cause of your melodious laugh had him speechless. It was all new to him. Your laugh was so sweet, soft, and a drastic contrast from the person he was used to. He yearned to hear it again.

You peered up at him without saying a word.

He coughed awkwardly. “Right, uh, that didn’t take long at all. Let’s get you home, this was a waste of your time, I’m so sorry,” he rambled, turning in the direction of his car. You tilted your head questioningly. The night was still young and you had no interest in going back home. You were pleasantly surprised, all it took was a simple apology for your hidden, buried feelings to surface, though you knew how hard it was for him to apologize. Maybe that’s why you were so easy to forgive. You reached for his sleeve and gently tugged him back, “You asked me out on a date, so let’s do it.”

Going on an actual date was the last thing he expected. His plan for the night was to pick you up, try his best not to offend you more than he already had, and get dunked into some dirty, stale water. Of course he couldn’t refuse, seeing as his heart nearly soared from his chest. He nodded eagerly, “Y-yeah! Yeah! Okay, let’s have a date. Okay, uh, this is a carnival, right? I have to win you a plushie then, that’s just basic, carnival date knowledge. That’s the rule.”

You snorted. “Can’t break the rules then.”

He led you on over to the strength machine, eager to showcase his brawn—he hoped to impress you. His boyish mentality made you laugh, as endearing as it was, you couldn’t help but find it primitive and a bit childish. Nonetheless, you indulged him. He fished change from his wallet and you couldn’t help but notice the shiny, heavy, black card sitting comfortable in his wallet’s compartment; you suppressed an instinctual eye roll. He held the massive hammer in hand, attempting to hide the fact that it slightly weighed him down, despite his muscular build. He flashed you a confident wink before raining the hammer down on the target, sending the marker less than halfway up the pole. You coughed in an attempt to hide your laughter, you didn’t want to embarrass him, he’d already been dunked into a tank of mucky water.

He stood dumbfounded, “Okay, this is rigged.”

“Mhm, right.”

“Fine, hotshot. Give it a whirl then,” he challenged. You raised an eyebrow cockily, yanking the hammer from his hand. It was simple, all you had to do was send the marker higher than his. You smugly grinned before trying your luck, the marker barely rising an inch.

He slapped his knee and cackled. You were offended.

“This is rigged,” you mumbled.

“S’ok, love. There’s plenty of other stuff to do that isn’t rigged,” he encouraged, throwing a side eye at the gamer operator who simply shrugged in return. He slung an arm around your shoulder, choosing not to dwell on the way his heartbeat sped, “Let’s go get you a prize.”

· ──────────────────── ·

For him to win you a singular prize, it took a game of whack-a-mole, a shared slice of pizza, a tuft of cotton candy, a vigorous pep talk, and sprinkle of beginner’s luck. It was a cheap, funky-looking ring, but you wore it with the utmost pride.

You both talked excessively, really getting to know each other, and with each new detail, he fell harder. Your shy smile, adorable laugh, witty sense of humor… they were all just a bonus. Normally, you weren’t one to fall, if at all, but you found yourself going against your instinct and doing just that. In hindsight, though, it’d been a long time coming. He was hesitant to initiate any sort of skinship, considering you’d forgiven him an hour prior, but you proved opposite after you mindlessly reached for his hand the second you spotted your favorite ride.

“The spinning teacup! That’s a must!” You both felt the spark from the contact, it was unmistakable, but you both chose not to say anything. He let you drag him over, despite his aversion to the particular ride; he just couldn’t say no.

“Fine, but promise me you won’t spin fast.”

“Pinky promise.”

As the cup turned, albeit at snail pace, he admired the light wind that flowed delicately through your hair. You had a certain aura, he couldn’t help but notice. It was enchanting. The moonlight kissed your skin beautifully, it had him watching in infatuated awe.

“You’re staring.”

“Pssh, I’m not staring.” You eyed him and he crinkled his nose, “Fine, I was staring. I can’t help it, you’re beautiful.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confidence came from, perhaps it was just the motion sickness, but he didn’t regret it. You turned away from him, clearly flustered, and it made him smile. The ride ended quicker than he expected, but it was a welcomed relief, considering his well-being. The second he stepped from the cup, he fell to the floor.

“I barely spun the cup! It turned, like, a mile an hour!”

“I’m sensitive! I get sick easily.” He lifted himself off the ground, just slightly, continuing with a corny joke. “Look at me on the floor, I guess some might say… I fell for you.”

You snorted, not at the cheesy line, but the aggressive finger-gun that accompanied it. He tried to wink but failed, immediately hunching over from the queasy feeling in his stomach, “Oh my God, I’m going to die.”

He made an ugly, inhuman noise.

“Jesus Christ. Are you okay?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m great. I just think it’s my time to go.”

He reminded you a lot of Kai—both of them had an affinity for being overly dramatic.

You rubbed his back soothingly. He felt so embarrassed, but the feeling was overshadowed by the sickly feeling. You continued caressing, making sure to glare at anyone that dared judge him. You crouched down until you were eye level and brushed his hair from his forehead, giving him a small smile. At that moment, he could’ve sworn you were an angel of some sort. He felt better instantly.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, waving his hand carelessly, telling you not to worry.

“Let’s just head home. I’ll have Kai pick us up, he’ll definitely do it.” You paused, crinkling your forehead in thought, “Scratch that, he just got his license and ran over a cone yesterday.”

He stood up slowly, waving his hand once more. “In the recipe for a perfect carnival date, the ferris wheel is a must.”

You didn’t like where he was going with that.

“You’re going to hurl if we go on that. For real, this time.”

He rested his hand atop his heart. “I won’t! I swear.”

“I don’t know...”

He laced his hand with your own and pulled you to the carnival’s main attraction. He fiddled with the ring on your finger, proudly glancing at it every once in a while.

Just your luck, a slightly younger couple was paired with you on the ferris wheel. The ride operator shoved the four of you into the cramped, tiny compartment, ignoring the silent plea Taehyun sent her way. The other couple sat hesitantly with a noticeable distance between them, awkwardly shifting every now and then. The young men—one blond, one with raven black hair—stayed quiet and you couldn’t help but think they were also on their first date. They often glanced at each other but didn’t talk and Taehyun had to hide his amusement. All four of you simmered in uncomfortable silence for a good portion of the ride.

Taehyun unconsciously threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close as you laid your head on his shoulder. It was a subtle display of affection that made you blush, but he didn’t notice. Out of the corner of his eyes, Taehyun watched the blond boy copy his movement, just significantly clumsier—the poor boy accidentally smacked his boyfriend square on the nose. It took a lot for Taehyun (and you) to suppress an amused laugh.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” whispered the blond. His boyfriend let out a small, nervous laugh, “It’s okay.”

The black-haired boy gently rubbed his nose before reaching for his boyfriend’s hand—a simple compromise. The blond avoided eye contact with you and Taehyun, choosing to shift his gaze to the carnival below. The black-haired boy spoke first, “We’re kind of… new to dating.”

The blond cringed, still looking at the fair, before nodding in agreement. You giggled at the obvious tension, quickly comforting, “It’s cute! You two seem like an adorable couple.”

The couple smiled fondly at each other. The blond squeezed his boyfriend’s hand reassuringly and it made you smile. They seemed so in love, you were swooning. The remainder of the ride was silent and the couple chose to get off the ride after the first go-around. The blond meekly nodded his head in Taehyun’s direction and your boy gently returned the gesture with a shy, caring smile.

As soon as they were out of earshot, you both broke into a fit of laughter, “Oh my God! He was totally copying you, that’s adorable!”

Taehyun gushed, “They both were so flustered! Too cute.”

You both spent the next go-around giggling, conversing about nothing, and sharing sweet, longing gazes. The carnival beneath you slowly began shutting down, each area turning their lighting off one by one. You kept your hand laced with his and while you glanced down the dying fair, he lovingly gazed at you.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave.” You gestured below. He trained his gaze to the lack of vivid lighting around the carnival and sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. You didn’t want to part from him so soon and he shared your exact sentiment.

· ──────────────────── ·

As Taehyun pulled into your driveway, you instantly spotted Kai’s silhouette lurking in your bedroom window.

“Jesus Christ,” you grumbled.

Kai had spent his night waiting for you to come home, eager to hear your nightmarish tale. He planned to head to his house and simply wait for your inevitable call, but when he left to grab takeout, he found himself straying back to your house. Your mother must’ve let him in, granted he was also gifted a key and he used it regularly. Your mind suddenly short-circuited by the feeling of Taehyun’s hand atop your own. If you noticed his tremble and clamminess, you didn’t mention it.

He cleared his throat, “Let me walk you to your door.”

You sheepishly nodded, anxious to speak. If yesterday, someone had told you you would be this shy at the end of the night, you would’ve laughed in their face. He rushed to open your door and you let him, much to his surprise, without any snarky remark. The short distance to your front door didn’t stop him from holding your hand, leaving you a giggly, flustered mess.

You could practically feel Kai’s smirk.

Taehyun stood awkwardly, frequently shifting his weight, while you nervously picked at your fingernail, both waiting for the other to break the silence. He took the first leap of faith, “I had a great time tonight, I hope you did too.”

You were too focused on his calloused thumb tracing soothing circles along the back of your hand, making you lose your train of thought, “Yeah! Yes! So fun!”

You winced at your overly enthusiastic response. The luminous light, hanging haphazardly above you did little to hide your anxiousness. He chuckled softly, glad he wasn’t the only nervous one, “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m sorry you nearly threw up.” You both cringed at the recent memory. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, “Don’t worry. Weirdly, that’s not the worst thing to happen to me on a date.”

You tilted your head curiously, you wished to hear his story. Frankly, you found yourself wishing to hear everything about him, but before anything, you needed to get some stuff off your own chest. “I’m also sorry about other stuff. I have more to apologize than you, even before the incident, I was always so abrasive and mean, and I want to apologize for that. And, I, uh, also kind of broke into your house… so obviously I’m sorry about that too. Not to mention, I thin—”

He placed his hand on your cheek and caressed softly, making you quiet. “It’s water under the bridge.”

You shyly smiled, looking away from his adoring gaze. He tried mustering up a cheesy line but he found himself losing focus, his eyes constantly straying to your lips; he couldn’t help it, he really wanted to kiss you. He sucked in a deep breath, gathering the courage to just do it, even though he knew you’d likely reject his advance. After all, it was just the first date and you only forgave him three hours ago.

Not to mention, Kai stole your phone to get Taehyun’s number just to inform him of your strict no-kiss policy.

He hesitantly brushed your hair behind your ear before leaning in slowly, his plush, attractive lips easily tempting you. Unfortunately for him, you kept to your rule. You splayed your hand across his chest before pushing him back gently, “Nice try, Romeo.”

He wasn’t surprised, it was a long shot anyways. He’d just regret it if he didn’t try. He nodded understandingly before leaning in once more, this time to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t hide the obvious blush that dusted your cheeks, making him grin. Maybe you weren’t as tough as you liked to seem.

He felt hopeful.

“So for our next date, I was thinking mini golf,” he said enthusiastically. His eyes sparkled with excitement; he seemed thrilled, you couldn’t help but giggle, “Easy there tiger, I don’t recall ever saying anything about a second date.”

He leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek, pulling away only slightly to whisper, “I think I’ll be getting another date.”

He was right. He was definitely getting another date… and maybe, just maybe, you’d break your no-kiss rule.

#will sell my soul for these tags to work ahaha tumblr ur so sexy #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt scenarios #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #huening kai #txt x you

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years

Text

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 26 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; ... Chapter 25)

The Last Chapter - May 1946

Emily’s mother frittered about smoothing the creases of Emily’s dress and plucking at non-existent lint.

“Mom, mom...mother!” Emily waved her mother away. “Let it be, I’m fine,” she tried to keep her voice calm.

Her mother took a step back with her mouth pursed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Mom,” Emily raised her eyebrows in warning.

Her mother had the decency to direct her judgmental look at the floor. “It’s just,” she said in a hushed voice, “a divorcee?”

“Yes,” Emily said dryly, somehow this subject continued to come up. Emily probably wouldn’t have told her parents that Nixon was divorced if it could have been avoided. However, between the end of the war and the scramble to prepare for their future, the last year had been a whirlwind. “But let’s not forget, he was also a Captain!” That title had originally excited her parents when she first broke the news of their engagement, before they had learned the wedding had to be postponed until Nixon’s separation from Kathy was finalized.

That reminder seemed to perk Emily’s mother up slightly, “yes, a Captain. It was really quite nice of Lewis’ family to contribute as much as they did,” the compliment sounded obligatory. Emily’s mother would never truly comment on the Nixon’s wealth, it was undignified. But Emily was sure that fact somewhat amended Lewis’ disgraced martial status in her mother’s mind.

“Your father wasn’t pleased about it but you know how he can get. He wants to be the one to give you everything,” her mother continued. Emily began to tune out her mother’s ramblings. Once again she found herself wishing for more female friends so that she didn’t have to endure this time alone with her mother. Unfortunately, her cousins all had babies to attend to and had already excused themselves from the dressing room.

A knock at the door sounded and Emily felt instant relief. Finally, some sort of distraction from her nerves. She moved to open the door but her mother beat her to it. The door opened to the apprehensive face of George Luz, “uh, hi,” he said to Emily’s mother. Then his eyes landed on Emily. George let out a low whistle, “wowza, you look incredible!” he said appreciatively.

Emily blushed and smoothed her skirt, “thank you, George.”

“I got somethin’ here for ya,” George held up an envelope. He glanced at her mother for permission and her mother stepped aside to let him in. “Well,” George said, “Joe had it for ya but it was easier for me to run it over, because, well you know,” he shrugged and handed her the letter heavy with postage.

It was addressed in Marwa’s handwriting; her sweet friend had remained in Europe and was unable to make the trip to Chicago. But Emily and Nixon had made plans to meet up with her over their honeymoon

“Who’s that from, dear?” Emily’s mother asked.

“A friend, remember the nurse?” Emily responded already opening the envelope.

“Which nurse? I don’t remember a particular nurse.. oh that Arab girl?”

Emily shot George a look. “Mrs. Rooney is it?” George interrupted, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Emily mouthed her gratitude to him as he directed her mother to the settee. George winked and held up a thumb behind her mother’s back. “You know I’ve never been to Indiana, are there many churches there? I wouldn’t want to go if there wasn’t anywhere to attend mass on Sunday,” George’s flattery faded away as Emily turned her attention to the letter.

Marwa’s beautiful calligraphy transported Emily back to the last time she saw her friend. Their goodbye had been tearful, mostly on Emily’s part. But the friends had stuck to their commitment to write. It was in a letter to Marwa that Emily first put into words Nixon’s unconventional proposal.

Nearly a year ago Emily had stood beside Nixon looking down into the breathtaking Bavarian landscape from a balcony in Hitler’s Eagles Nest.

“Lew,” she placed a cautious hand on his hip, “what’s next for you?” It was a loaded question. Deployment to the Pacific was still an option. Emily was free to return to the states when she pleased but so many things between her and Nixon remained unresolved. The past few weeks had been a dream supplemented by good food and beautiful scenery. Emily had felt hope return to her - hope that extended beyond the end of the war. She wanted to know what life would look like next year, five years from now, and beyond. The first step in preparing for the future was to find out where Nixon saw himself.

Life had returned to Nixon the past few weeks; the receding war and his submission to Emily’s love had begun to heal him. Their time in Bavaria had been a relative heaven, but a temporary heaven.

Nixon pulled his gaze away from the captivating view to look into the grey eyes that had guided him through so much. “Dick and I are going to re-deploy to the Pacific,” he said matter-of-factually. There was no sugar coating it. He and Emily had found their sweet spot of upfront honesty.  

Emily nodded as if she had expected as much, “and then?” she asked.

Nixon had hoped she would ask that. He had seen the footage coming out of the Pacific - he needed her hope to get him out alive, he needed her to have a vision of ‘after’. “Well, I’ll go back to New Jersey, marry you and I don’t know, buy a house or something,” he leaned on the balcony.

An impulsive smile spread across Emily’s face, “marry me? Di- did you just propose to me, Lewis?”

He smirked, “I suppose I did.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully at him, “you suppose? Do you even want to marry me?”

“People get married all the time for many different reasons, they’re lucky if it’s for love. You should understand that better than anyone,” Nixon said, “and I love you, so yeah I want to marry you.”

Emily bit her lip to keep the smile from overtaking her face, “well who say’s I want to marry you?”

“If you were smart, you’d marry me now and hope I get blown up over Tokyo. Take me for everything that I’m worth,” Nixon joked darkly.

“Lewis!” Emily smacked his arm. He chuckled. “That’s terrible,” she admonished him, “besides I’m pretty sure Kathy beat me to that.”

“Touche.”

“That is the question though…” Emily’s tone turned serious.

“Yeah,” Nixon turned back to look out onto the landscape, “are you up to waiting for me?”

“I’ve already waited years for you to come around, what’s another few?”

Luckily, they only had to wait a year. Now, Emily found herself standing at the entrance of a grand room dressed in white holding onto her fathers arm for dear life. The loss of the marital sacrament had been a blow to her parents but after a lot of tears they had accepted that their daughter was getting married in a club hall, not a church. Emily couldn’t be bothered where she got married. Planning the wedding had been exhausting and distracting from what she’d actually been interested in planning: the honeymoon. Emily had spent far too much time mediating between her mother and her future mother-in-law.

The first couple of months back in the states, Emily had been a guest at the Nixon’s many properties along the eastern seaboard. New York City had been fun, until her mother came to visit and meet her future in-laws. Though cordial, the mothers seemed to agree on very little. However, they did manage to unite in order to bully Emily into wearing the gaudy ring Lewis had bought her out of obligation.

But Emily didn’t consider that her real engagement ring - it was simply for appearances sake. The ring she would wear as his wife would be a gold band engraved with flora. Nixon and Emily had picked it up in Paris on their way home to the states. That was all Emily had wanted. It was more fitting; a simple testament to how they had grown as individual’s and in their relationship. An ornate diamond strongly juxtaposed the world in which they had fallen in love.

As the wide doors to the hall swung open, Emily’s father squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. Emily looked up at him in shock but her ever stoic father was already looking straight ahead as if nothing had been said. But his words were monumental, that’s all she had ever wanted to hear from him.

The view down the aisle seemed incredibly long. The people who sat closest to the door were the people Emily knew the least; family friends from her parents church, the Nixons’ obligatory invitees. Emily’s hand grew sweaty around her bouquet as she gritted her teeth into a smile. She didn’t want any of them to see how nervous she was.

She began to relax as her father led her past the faces of her friends who sat closer to the front; her first co-workers from the O.S.S., the grinning faces of Harry Welsh, Frank Perconte and Babe Heffron. Emily’s throat closed with emotion as she passed Bill Guarnere and Joye Toye who wobbled, but leaned on each other, both determined to stand for the bride. Joe Toye smiled and nodded slightly from where he stood, “not just a work-wife,” he whispered jokingly as she passed. Emily’s giggle sounded nervous but confidence surged within her at his acknowledgement. Finally, the view of the altar was clear in Emily’s vision; she saw Dick Winters standing proudly beside Nixon. Suddenly, she felt so overwhelmed by emotion that she could hardly bring herself to look at her future husband.

George Luz was the first person to greet them at the end of the aisle. Emily focused all of her nerves on his steady smile. With a wink, he took Emily’s bouquet and made room for her mother to adjust her train. And then Emily was looking into the face of Lewis Nixon. The rest of the world melted away as he gazed into her sparkling grey eyes.

Everything that had happened to them the last couple of years had culminated into this very moment. It was in the moments without each other’s touch that they had learned to love each other; they had grown wiser with each fight, stronger with each shared moment of vulnerability, and in deprivation they craved only to give the other the world. Neither of them would have expected that they would end this way. That’s because this was by no means an ending; this was the beginning of life renewed.

Nixon took Emily’s trembling hands in his steady ones. “Finally,” he said with a smirk.

The End.

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who read this story. This was my first long fanfiction story and all of your support kept me motivated and encouraged to keep writing. Love you all <3

#As Far As Friends Go #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #george luz #joe toye #dick winters #emily rooney #fanfiction #completed fanfic

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laurore-stormwitch · 4 years

Text

Here is 2219 words of plotless angst and yearning and emotional pain because I’m freaking out over row coming out in eleven days and I’m terrified. I used the quote which came out the other day “Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.” Shoutout to the amazing @claudiarya and @not-just-human for the support.

for other people, for other lives - ao3

Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.

Not for the one she was living now. Not for her, certainly. Those words were only meant to wither in her memories, now. This life had been a succession of wrong choices when it came to men she found herself to believe in. An absent and unaffectionate father, a manipulator and mass murderer. And now, of all the men she could let herself feel for, she chose the damn king of Ravka. Zoya did not regret believing in Nikolai, fighting for him, trusting him. He had never let her down. But caring like this for him? The epitome of bad choices. She felt the urge to rip her thrumming heart out of her chest. Her hands went to press on her temples: even the muffled sounds coming from the ballroom were unnerving her. The hope for fresh air drove her to the balcony, along with a pressing need for quiet and solitude. She was sick of everything that was going on; the party, the music, the false and hollow laughter of ambassadors and dignitaries throwing themselves at the king’s feet like their country was not on a brink of destruction. Nikolai’s charm sticking like sap on the people, a pretence of confidence and normality, with his hand on Ehri’s arm while his look stayed trained on Zoya’s sapphire eyes. It was all way too much to handle on a clear and sober mind. The voices increased as the door opened, to be swallowed again when she heard the lock. The steps that echoed on the marble floor could only be of one person who had enough of a suicidal strike to follow her when she had clearly wanted an escape.

“Get back inside, Nikolai.”

She exhaled without even bother to look back at him. Nikolai chuckled and came to stop at her side.

“You’re really attentive.”

“You’re really not subtle. I ought to teach you how to properly sneak up on people.”

He shrugged, letting her have the last line, and dangled a glass filled with a liquid the colour of amber. As close as they were standing now, their shoulders brushing, she could feel his scent meddled with a spiking note of alcohol. Nikolai was not one to indulge in drunkenness in such a delicate night, but it still had to appear like a party, and he clearly looked like someone who had needed a couple of drinks to survive the evening. She could not blame him, as a matter of fact. Still, his ruffled state only added to the treachery of being together like this. Last time they were alone, it did not exactly go down well, a moment that haunted her every waking hour since it happened.

“Weren’t you having fun inside?”

“Not particularly. It was tedious and sickening. “

“Why, my dear general, I even saw you dance with a handsome sergeant.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, scowling at him. He was grinning, but he had an edge to his voice only Zoya could sense. Do you really believe it means anything, she wanted to ask? It was true, the boy was handsome, and at any other moment she wouldn’t have thought twice on getting herself some hard-earned distraction. She had felt Nikolai’s eyes studying her the whole time, as the soldier’s hand slipped on her lower back and he spun her around. Zoya knew it was not about jealousy, or rather not the kind of possessive sentiment people would assume of. She knew because she felt it too with Ehri; what bothered her was not the affection they could share, but the way they could be together in public, how easy it was for them. The absence of barriers, propriety, and obstacles. Everything her and Nikolai could not afford to have, that simplicity. Everything he must have envied too about that common man holding Zoya’s waist.

“Genya asked me to pretend I don’t loath everything about this. But believe me, I do.”

It was as close to a reassurance she could manage to give him, without betraying herself too much. The king lifted the glass towards her in an offering gesture.

“I’m on duty.” The raven-haired general glared at his smug expression. “You know, trying to avoid people running a blade through your chest.”

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders, downing with little ceremony the content she had refused.

“I’m starting to think that being alive may be thoroughly over-rated.”

“What exactly is over-rated about a king’s existence?”

“It comes with heavy responsibilities and too many boring dinners.” His eyes looked like they were taking her vision in, intensely scanning her features. They lingered a moment too much on her lips, before darting back up to lock on her blue glowing irises. “And it forces me to give up on a lot of things I’d like to be free to pursue.”

She shifted, uneasy, a shiver running through her spine. The wind rose slightly at her nervousness and tugged at the hem of her silk embroidered kefta, lifting it off the ground. Zoya smoothed it, grateful for the decision of keeping her uniform tonight. It made her feel a bit more like herself, a bit more in control. The frustration and anger building inside her put venom in her voice, though the exhaustion and defeat creeping through were clear enough to catch.

“What are you doing here? And cut to the chase, please.”

“I saw you leave. You looked – “ He stopped, exhaling a long breath. “Weary. Upset. I wanted to check on you.”

Without yielding away from her eyes, he took a tentative step toward her; the ghost of their almost kiss, or rather barely avoided disaster, flooded the back of her mind, along with the ushered and frantic words he had spoken to her. She clenched her jaw, tension running through her veins like a fire scorching a barren ground.

“We’re facing battle on countless fronts and still wasting time on worthless charades like this” She gestured to the closed doors and the lights beyond them, the whirl of dresses and laughter. “Of course I’m weary and upset.”

“Nothing else?” Was he really coming back to this? To being hopeful and stubborn?

“No, Nikolai. Doesn’t it seem enough to you? Besides that, I’m perfectly fine.” Clipped words and pretty lies. “I don’t need anyone to check on me.”

“What do you need, then?”

You. And it terrifies me in a way you cannot fathom. How quick was her mind to betray her. Take the dreadful truth and smash it into a proper deceit.

“I need a break, and to be left alone for some godforsaken time.”

He cocked his head to one side, considering her. One of his hand ran through his golden flocks, messing them up even more. Zoya had rarely seen him so deprived of his usual bright endeavour, so taken on by fatigue. He still managed to flash a smile in her direction, one that did not reach his eyes but died on the curve of his mouth.

“They were asking for you. They always are, the nobles, ambassadors, all of them. They want to gaze at the gorgeous squaller, the ruthless grisha who serves as the king’s right hand. They talk of you, and me, how the king has secured himself the most beautiful mistress in the palace.”

Nikolai was almost speaking to himself, his posture hardened, the despise he had for these people clear enough in his voice. Even though she couldn’t care less about the court’s hypocrisy and judgement and she had never asked Nikolai to defend her, he had always felt he needed to it somehow. Sarcasm tainted his speech, Zoya trying to assess where he was heading with this.

“They dare ask me sometime, even. How is it that I conquered you, assuming that I did, like you are some kind of prize to be taken. I told them you are nobody’s property. That you’re a general and they should hold you to that position without insulting you with their petty gossips.”

Her vindictive heart wanted to punish him for making her legs buckle with wanting, for making her heart race up in front of the rumbling rage he had for the people who did not respect her enough. He released his clenched posture, straightening. His eyes caught back their focus on her, turning soft and growing dark with desire.

“What I didn’t tell them tough, is that while it’s not true that I have you, you do hold the king’s heart in your dangerous hands.”

Zoya stilled. The hate she felt grew inside her like a tide. Hate for how much she wanted him, for how simple it was for him to speak these truths she was refusing to accept and ignore the grave reality they were living in. How natural and right it looked, coming from his mouth. How hard he kept making for her to drive the knife in him, again and again. Zoya used that familiar emotion to fuel her resolve.

“You shouldn’t talk like this. We can’t afford it.”

“What if I don’t care? What if I can’t keep on pretending anymore, if I can’t do this anymore?”

What if? What if, in another life, she would have been brave enough to tell him?

Stay. Stay with me.

Take the truth and twist it. Again.

“You should go.”

“Zoya -”

Pure anguish coursed in her at the sound of him pleading her name. Zoya felt like she was already mourning him; he was a couple of feet from her and still miles away, a distant memory blurring away with time. Nikolai turned silent and lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing the line of her jaw, floating against her neck, trailing her arm, and coming to rest on her wrist. He circled it with his fingers, tightening his grip.

Hold me. Again.

“Let me go.”

She hissed, a cold resolve in her voice. An order. He glanced at her under his lashes, pondering himself for a second, then left the hold on her wrist, his look unreadable under the night sky. Zoya turned away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore either, Your Highness.”

To her shame, her voice came out cracked with unshed tears. Would she be able to cry again, some day? She could not remember the last time she fought back the urge and her eyes just went dry. She could feel the prickle now, the pain, but the water stayed still in the endless well she dug inside herself. They were sparring, Nikolai trying to win this round and drag her to acceptance, Zoya holding her fortress. Zoya kept her eyes trained on the midnight sky beyond Os Alta, but she felt felt him move behind her, his body barely an inch from hers, his hand grazing the kefta over her hips. Nikolai leaned towards her, tilting his head and hovering with his lips near the shell of her ear. His breathing was ragged, warm against her neck, sending tremors in her body. She shut her eyes, thinking of how easy it would be to let her back rest on him, to turn and catch his mouth and tangle her fingers in his hair, to let herself be redeemed by his affection.

“Where does your heart lie, Zoya?”

It lies in the thought of your lips on mine. The wrenching need I despise of losing myself in your arms. The buried desire of a life where I could find comfort and peace, the need to give a voice to whatever this warmth and searing longing I have inside is. How your hand feels in mine, how your touch sets my skin on fire. The light in your eyes when the sun catches them, the endless nights spilling away like seconds when I’m with you.

The words came with the fury of a thunderstorm and drowned in her throat, scraping it.

You need someone different. You need someone loving, full of light like you are. He would only have found heartbreak and misery in her, a kind of affection too stiff and cutting on the edges for a soul as bright as his. Zoya pulled herself away from his hold and turned to face him, the closeness almost intolerable; Nikolai’s eyes were on her, bursting with the same yearning and despair she could feel in herself. It was gutting to see her feelings mirrored in someone else. She trailed at his side, breaking their connection; her hand brushed on his lightly as she got past him, the touch so soft and swift it could almost look unintentional to an innocent bystander.

“Some truths are better off unspoken, Nikolai.”

Zoya whispered under her breath, taking another step to get back inside. Sweet words and grand declarations were meant for other people, for other lives. Zoya was a soldier, and that was the choice she made every morning, day after day, until it would not be a choice anymore and the course of her life was set. She could not help the things she dreamed of, but not even the things she was made of; she was meant for waging wars and havoc, and she would rest in the secured loneliness and gilded cage she had built for herself.

#im sorry but i cant deal with them #i love angst and emotional pain #yes im crazy like that #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #zoyalai #manifesting #grishaverse #fan fiction #my writing #nikolai duology #king of scars #rule of wolves #post kos #please let them be happy #im slightly terrified

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kimetsunoyaibawritings · 3 years

Text

Introspection

[AO3 Version] | [Original Request]

Rating: General

Summary: When a rainstorm threatens Tanjiro's travels through the countryside, he takes refuge in the home of a kind stranger. During his stay, he discovers that not only is his host of half-demon blood, but their mother had also been a member of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Tanjiro is nothing if not curious, and learns more about the multifaceted world of demonkind, hopefully growing ever closer to undoing the curse upon his sister.

Tanjiro could tell that something was off. From the moment that the man had entered into his physical perception he knew that something wasn't quite right. The man -- you -- weren't entirely human. Neither were you entirely demon, but he couldn't get much detail behind the simple fact of otherness that permeated the air around you with every shift of your body.

It wasn't a bad smell either. In fact, when you bowed in greeting, he found the gesture scented with honesty and friendliness instead of hidden malice or insincerity. He bowed in turn, and the two of you exchanged names. It didn't take long before you took note of his weapon, and much less after that to realize that the wooden case hefted against his back held something far less trivial than one would have assumed. Not something, but someone.

His nose was sharp -- for a human, at least. Yours was just as honed, though the ability came from your mixed blood than from a rare natural gift. It took but one breath with a defined focus to realize the young man you'd met was hardly a normal person.

Demon Slayer.

The words held some semblance of meaning. Nothing with coherent form; they were words passed down to you from your parents, spoken with such fearful vitriol that you had to wonder what kinds of people became such Slayers of Demons. Surely they would be bloodthirsty, heartless souls that would so willingly strike down such simple people without due thought or consideration to what their sins truly were -- assuming that existence itself wasn't a sin for a demon.

But as Tanjiro stood before your eyes, you had to reconsider the image that had built up behind the words. He did not look bloodthirsty. He didn't even seem aggressive. But he still carried the nichirin blade that you'd been warned of, and you had to wonder how many demons had been killed at the mercy of its sharpened edge.

So you, a half-demon standing before one so named a demon slayer, do the careful thing:

You invite Tanjiro to stay with you for the night.

Truthfully, Tanjiro isn’t in a position to reject the offer. he’d been traveling for several days through the rolling landscape between the mountains, and he could smell a thunderstorm coming in. For all that he couldn’t understand you or your strange scent, Tanjiro really had no reason not to trust in his kindness.

The house you called your own is humble, too far from the nearest village for anyone to randomly stumble upon you without incredible forewarning. Tanjiro is actually quite the rarity, one that you find some manner of joy in meeting — the last person you’d met was half as kind and barely a fraction as patient.

“Are you a demon slayer?” you find yourself asking barely a moment after the two of you have stepped into the narrow threshold of the front doorway. Beyond is a home consisting of a few rooms at most, minimally furnished but meticulously cared for.

Tanjiro barely has the chance to set his gear down, but he flashes an earnest smile in your direction.

“I am,” he says. There’s pride in his tone. “Though I’m a little surprised. Not a lot of people recognize us that quickly, unless…”

“No. I don’t have any connection,” you quickly dash his assumption aside. “But I recognize the uniform and weapon you’re carrying. Nichirin blade, correct?”

Tanjiro blinks, but the look of warmth never quite fades from his face even as he nods to affirm your suspicion. It sates your surface curiosity, but it doesn’t offer any sort of clue as to what is in the box he’d carried upon his back. For a moment you wonder if it would be rude to inquire about it, but shrug the notion off quickly when you remember how strange the box smells. Not weapons, not rations, but something softer.

“What’s in that box of yours?”

Tanjiro’s entire frame stiffens. In barely a breath’s worth of time, his demeanor tightens up and leaves the young man looking tense and unsure. With one hand gently laying upon the wooden surface of his cargo, he says, “Something… very important to me,” he then reaches his other hand up, fingers splayed open and shaking as if to ward off concern. “-but I promise it’s nothing dangerous.”

You can smell a soft trace of anxiety around him. While the unexpected reaction incites a spark of curiosity within your chest, it’s not without a resounding sense of restraint and mannered respect for Tanjiro’s privacy. If he doesn’t wish to share the nature of it’s contents with you — someone who is little more than a stranger to him, admittedly — then he is under no such obligation. Still, you purse your lips for a moment in disappointment before lightly gesturing for him to step further into the house with you.

“I’d been cooking food when you arrived,” you say gently. “Clean yourself up and I’ll serve us both something hot to eat.”

It doesn’t take very long before the two of you are sitting together, sipping at the brothy soup that had been bubbling away for the entirety of the earlier afternoon. Though the majority of the meal is somewhat silent, Tanjiro’s eyes move about the room, taking in every detail that raises above the floor and out from the walls. It doesn’t take a genius to realize how well he fits into the ideal of a Demon Slayer — Tanjiro is perceptive and foolhardy with at least some basic talent for the blade on his hip.

Beyond that, however, you’re not quite sure what is to be expected of him as a slayer. He’s very kind and respectful… but those are hardly the traits you’ve come to associate with the title. Everything about the young man demands curiosity, so much that you don’t realize how his gaze has settled onto one particular spot on the wall behind you. By the time you remember what is hanging openly, Tanjiro’s lips are already forming a question -

“Whose sword is that on your wall?”

You don’t even turn your eyes around to look at it. The object has taken a defined place within your memories — you can’t forget the shape of the blade, the texture of the hilt, or the soft smile of it’s previous owner even if you genuinely wanted to purge them from your thoughts.

A sigh escapes your lips after a few moments. “It belonged to my mother,” you explain after a moment. When Tanjiro’s rust-colored eyes light up, you decide to answer the question just behind his lips. “And yes, it’s what you think it is. She was a demon slayer herself.”

“Oh,” the syllable falls with a sense of understanding of was rather than is. A misjudged understanding, given the ambiguity of your answer, but a respectful one nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”

A moment passes.

“And… your father?” Tanjiro asks.

The speed at which you shake your head is almost comical. No. No. The visual image is a joke in itself, and Tanjiro doesn’t even realize why his question is so humorous to you.

“My father was not the kind of person for that line of work.” a gentle chuckle does manage to escape the poised line of your lips. “…I doubt he’d be able to wield a blade like that in the first place.”

It feels as if the conversation is going to continue out from there, a gentle rolling of waves upon the edge of a beach after the brief storm of near-realization to what was hiding just beneath the surface of half-dodged answers. But it doesn’t manage to get farther than another breath before a noise sharply echoes out from the wooden box set out near the doorway and shocks both of you into a gazing silence.

“Tanjiro,” your tone is careful and your eyes hone in on the item. Caution prickles in your fingertips and against your tongue as claws and fangs slowly emerge from behind a carefully-kept glamor. “what is in that-”

“What are your thoughts on demons?”

You blink, turning to face the man again with a look that does not hide an ounce of your confusion. It takes a few moments for some of the dots to connect to one another. The reason for him asking your opinion is hanging right above your head, a heavy reminder to half of your heritage — but it doesn’t quite match all of the points of confusion all but emanating from Tanjiro and the strange box he carried with him.

Still, his question deserves an answer. And even as your eyes settle carefully on the square shape across the room, you offer one.

“Asking my thoughts on demons is no different than asking my thoughts on humans,” you say, words careful and tone oddly tight. “Some are good, some are bad, and none-” a sharp breath passes over your lips. “-none are perfect.”

Tanjiro’s eyes linger on you for a long while, longer than what feels comfortable for the silence between you. For a few moments you wonder if his question was a test and your answer had failed it abysmally, but it didn’t change your feelings on the matter in the slightest. Nothing ever will.

Another sharp noise echoes from the direction of the box. Your eyes begin to dart towards it, but the motion of Tanjiro’s body commands your attention towards him instead, he as if ready at any moment to launch himself towards the box, but his eyes meeting yours openly and earnestly.

“So you’re saying you think some demons can be good, right?”

You watch him, but sense no malice in the young man’s gaze.

“Of course.”

Relief seems to flood across his expression. When another, more rhythmic sound comes from the box, he doesn’t so much jump towards it as he does shuffle to his feet and step across the room. Before he’s able to reach it, however, the door suddenly opens to reveal a shape of pink fabric spilling out from within. You blink and watch as the fabric moves, and ever so quickly does your mind realize that there is a person within it, wearing the kimono that reminds you of cherry blossoms in springtime.

By the time Tanjiro is at the side of the wooden box and holding out an outstretched hand, you’ve come to realize that it’s been a young girl inside of it the entire time.

A demon. The scent doesn’t escape your nose for a moment, though it lacks the underlying sharpness of iron you’d come to expect from others of her kind and yours alike.

And Tanjiro regards her with tolerance, nay, respect. It seems to take the young woman a few moments to orientate herself to her surroundings, but he smiles at her with all the same gentleness.

“It’s okay, Nezuko,” Tanjiro says brightly, pulling the woman onto her feet. “This is a safe place.”

Despite all the words that press up behind your tongue, you can’t help but stare at the young duo. Tanjiro smiles and gestures towards the young woman beside him, Nezuko.

“This is my… younger sister,” he says at last. The air settles around the room in a nonverbal confirmation of information that doesn’t take more than a heartbeat to confirm, but it leaves you equally confused and curious all the same.

“Tanjiro,” you murmur, words finally picking up a semblance of strength. “This may be a stupid question, but are you aware that your sister is currently a demon?”

Though it’s not clear what would have been more surprising of an answer, Tanjiro’s honest nod does seem to do plenty to throw you for a loop. A demon slayer traveling around with a demon at his side? The notion vexes you completely, even if the demon in question is a member of his familiy. Unless…

“Was she born a demon?”

Tanjiro and Nezuko both look at you, the former with a more defined look of confusion across his face.

“Born…?” he asks. “As in turned? Turned into a demon?”

“Ah,” you suddenly feel a bit silly and more than a little embarrassed as his confusion seems to be genuine. “I think I misunderstood a few things. I’ve got my answer in any case but, no, I did actually mean born as in physically birthed.”

While Nezuko loses interest in the conversation and begins to roam about the room, her brother slowly settles back onto his spot across from you — albeit shooting a glance to his young sister every once in a while which is admittedly endearing. The two of them seem barely old enough to be out on their own, and you’re not sure if the demon slayers even have a minimum age requirement to begin with as long as someone can hold a weapon and defend another.

“How could someone give birth to a demon?” Tanjiro finally asks. “I thought they were only created by… uh.” he pauses for a few moments, waiting as if to catch something in your eyes. Recognition perhaps? “…A man named Muzan Kibutsugi.”

He’s not bothering to conceal his befuddled expression as, behind his eyes, you can see the threads of thought and logic try desperately to put an answer together from the bits of information he already knows about demon-kind.

“Most are,” your words taste bittersweet on the tongue. “But not all of them. Some demons can create other demons if they’re strong enough.”

Tanjiro nods as the faces of both Lady Tamayo and Yushiro appear in his mind’s eye. Though she had been a demon created by Muzan, he recalled that Yushiro was created by her hand in the continuing search for a cure to turn someone human once more. It had been the only instance where he’d come across a demon not created by the demon king himself, but it’s a clear enough example that Tanjiro doesn’t need to stretch his mind very far to understand your words.

Seeing this recognition, your hand raises to gesture up towards your chest, fingertips barely skimming across the wash-worn fabric of your kimono.

“You asked before about some demons being ‘good’.”

Tanjiro nods. Even Nezuko has moved her attention towards you, though she stands solemnly in one of the darker corners of the room as her eyes glow like shimmering sakura blossoms.

Considering the nature of whom was sitting in front of you — the organization for which Tanjiro allied himself with — there was a part of you that wished to simply lie between your teeth and wait out the night until it would be socially acceptable to all but kick the young warrior out of your home. That part had good reasons to be cautious and fearful, but another part of you found something hopeful behind the young man’s eyes. You aren’t naïve enough to call it ‘trust’, but the emotion is certainly within the same pond.

“My father was a good man,” your hand lingers, stilled against your chest and all but faintly feeling the thrum of your own heartbeat. “An odd man, but a good one. Tended to the fields, took care of my mother when she fell ill, even managed to make friends with some folks of the local village. He respected everyone around him.”

Even as he remains politely silent, something starts to click in Tanjiro’s eyes, even before you finish the point of your words.

“…my father was also a demon created by Kibutsugi.”

Tanjiro blinks with wide surprise and shock stilling the words that otherwise press against the back of his lips. While there had been a growing hunch forming somewhere within his thoughts, he can’t help the suddenness of the question needed to confirm them when he finally can speak again.

“Does that mean that you are-”

“Half-demon, yes.”

"How does that even...happen...?"

You chuckle, "I'd imagine how most people go about having babies."

Tanjiro's cheeks turn a dark red, and he quickly drops that particular line of questions.

You try to offer the young man a comforting smile, but he continues to stare in a summation of awe and disbelief. He’d never even thought that a demon and human could have a child together. For the longest time since learning of their existence, Tanjiro simply thought that demons couldn’t have children at all — like an extension of the curse befallen upon them, leaving them wanting for human flesh and blood, feral and wild and-

It is then that Tanjiro’s thoughts click into place once more. No. He’s not without multiple examples to the contrary, strengthened each and every day by the knowledge that his own sister is of the same creation as many of the demons so easily vilified and hated. But, even then, it doesn’t change the fact that Nezuko is a rarity — her lack of bloodshed is, as far as he’d learned, a genuine oddity among other demons.

“… Have you killed anyone?” he finally asks. His eyes glance towards the floor, looking almost ashamed in having to speak the words.

You shake your head. The question is hardly a surprise — you actually would have been more caught off-guard if that hadn’t been the first thought on his mind. But oddly enough, the question is something of a comfort. It allows to you answer it honestly.

“I haven’t hurt or killed anyone before — since part of my blood itself is human, my diet is relatively lackluster.” with a sweep of your hand, you gesture out to the empty bowls in front of the two of you. “I can be out beneath the sun, but my skin is somewhat sensitive to it; just a short while in direct sunlight can leave me with a terrible burn.”

Tanjiro nods. He brings up a hand to his chin for a moment to ponder over the details and new information as what appears to be every thread of his thoughts devote to try and weave it all together with what he already knew. One detail into another, filling up the ever-growing sense of curiosity that he had for demons and those around them. If nothing else, it proved that there were still things that not even the Demon Slayer corps understood properly — or, if they did, they certainly didn’t admit to them. The Hashira’s response to Nezuko solidified that well enough.

After a few moments, Tanjiro’s attention flicks back up to your face.

“Your… mother was a demon slayer, right?”

You nod politely, though it doesn’t take more than a quick glance back up to the nichirin blade hanging above both of your heads on the wall behind you to be reminded of the fact.

Tanjiro’s gaze tilts ever so slightly with his head to one side. “How did your mother and father meet?”

You shrug. “I never learned much of the details, though I do know that he was at one time a demon she was sent out to kill.”

Tanjiro chuckles after a few moments.

“I think I can guess what came after that,” he says. “So was your father… around much after you were born?”

“Of course!” your expression all but beams at the gentle memories. “Just because he was a demon doesn’t mean by default he was a bad or neglectful father. Though I suppose he so often seemed sickly to others; not able to go outside during the day, having to hide himself when there was company… I admit there is a lot about my father I still don’t know.”

For but a flicker of a moment, you are absolutely certain that there is a sadness within Tanjiro’s eyes. A mutual bitterness, empathetic beyond words. But the look is gone ever so quick, so much that if your perception was but a moment slower it would have been missed entirely.

But what remains is yet a soft expression.

“Thank you,” he finally says. “I am trying to learn as much as I can about demons right now.”

“I assume as much, being a demon slayer.”

“No, no it’s-” the young man looks suddenly flushed. “I promise I’m-… I’m not going to tell anyone about you. I just, think that… there’s a lot that I don’t understand. But I would like to. You see, my sister and I-”

And so, Tanjiro tells you the story of how he and his sister began traveling together — the murder of his family, his sister being turned into a demon, his promise to himself and those he lost that he would try to right all of the wrongs that had been done to them. He explains how he joined the demon slayers, how he had met other demons who had been kind to him in much the same way that you had been. Though the names Tamayo and Yushiro held no recognition, they did bring a sense of warmth to your chest in the confirmation that being a demon didn’t truly mean one had to give up their sense of humanity and kindness.

One topic moved onto another as the night continued on and the rainstorms moved in. Through the soft pitter-patter of water against the roof, you did your best to answer as many of Tanjiro’s questions as you could despite the fact that your knowledge of Muzan went no farther than simply hearing it once or twice and having a basic understanding of his role in the origin of demons themselves. There is also something admittedly humorous in watching Tanjiro’s expression when your glamor falls just a little, revealing sharp claws at the tip of each finger and fangs barely hidden behind the press of your lips.

“Neither my father nor I had any semblance of combat ability, but they’re useful for hunting.” a moment passes. “Animals, I mean. Me and mother still had to eat something.”

Perhaps it’s the reminder of your mother, and her lack of presence in the house with you, that finally encourages the question forth, “How long have your parents been…?”

“Dead?” you don’t fear the sound of the word or the notion behind it. “It will be twenty years this coming spring.”

“Twenty years?” Tanjiro gawks. “H-how old are you then?”

“I was born in 1857, so…” you do the math in your head, giving Tanjiro several moments to try and come to terms with the fact that you barely look older than your mid twenties at most. “This year I will be fifty-five!”

Your bright, sharp grin is in hilarious contrast with the shock all but painted across the young man’s face. After giving him a breath to take in the information, you point out, “I am half-demon. Time doesn’t mean as much to my health as it does a normal demon.”

“I… see,” Tanjiro’s eyes return to normal, but there’s no hiding his lingering awe. “So will just a nichirin blade… kill you?”

You have to laugh at just how shy the question is for the severity of the words. “Trying to plan my demise already, demon slayer?”

Though Tanjiro immediately begins to shake his hand and try to babble out an apology and explanation alike, you aren’t cruel enough to let it linger for more than a moment before explaining, “A normal blade could behead me and I would die. I could drown in a lake or perish from a high enough fall. In all things but old age, I’m still very mortal, Tanjiro — for better or worse. I can’t speak for any other half-demon you may come across, but I know that much.”

A moment of silence passes between you. Tanjiro thankfully doesn’t ask about your parents or their passing. In fact, he seems rather satisfied by the amount of information he’s gotten already, so much that his mind constantly looks as if it’s rolling about within his skull, putting together a puzzle with far too many pieces missing for most people to even bother in the first place.

The rain continues to fall. It’s a gentle white noise, ceaseless, and punctured only by the dull rolling sounds of thunder as it moves across the edges of your perception. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the time either, knowing even without looking out the door or window that the moon is high into the night sky and that, furthermore, it was not hospitable of you to keep your guest from getting a good night’s rest.

“If you have no more questions, I think it would be a good idea to get some sleep.”

There were more questions — there is always more questions — but Tanjiro can’t ignore the fact that it’s late and, yes, he would need to be moving along to his next destination early in the morning. It doesn't’ take long to ready a place for him to sleep, and less so for Nezuko who seems content to simply be near her older brother. Though she doesn’t speak a single word to you, the look in her eyes seems soft and curious, perhaps even grateful.

It’s understandable why Tanjiro has such a moderate view of demons despite being among the Demon Slayer Corps himself.

That fact in itself is something of a comfort as much as it is a curiosity, one that lingers with you even when you see the young man off the next morning, so early that the sun has barely crested above the hills and mountains on the horizon.

And Tanjiro, as he leaves, finds himself renewed with energy and questions alike. Every time he thinks he has a strong grasp on the world around him, something new emerges that throws it further into perspective in an ever-growing map of knowledge. Though the edges continue to get blurrier, there’s something nice in familiarizing himself in it. To Tanjiro, it brings him further hope for the future of not only himself, but for the Demon Slayer Corps and the greater world around them.

Maybe, he hopes, he’ll run into you again one day.

And maybe then he’ll be able to introduce his sister to you as a human — or perhaps the world will have grown in such a way that, like the union of your parents and the makeup of your own blood, it won’t even matter in the first place.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #fic #male!reader #sfw #sfw fic #writing #sfw writing #gen fic #gen writing #no ship writing #no ship fic #readerinsert #readershot #tanjiro #tanjiro kamado #request fill

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otonymous · 4 years

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Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins. How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful for commissioning this Victor piece from me. You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣 I really hope you enjoy the read! (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives. It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written. That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler. Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips. And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that. Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling. Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room. However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind. She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company. Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request. Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor? Not very gentlemanly of you. How do you put up with him?” Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room. “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot. They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry. You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression. And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.

No, there’s no way. It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you. The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet. You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart. The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction. You smile to ease his concerns. He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date. He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away. “Soryu. How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind. In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I. Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood. It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed. My father sent for me shortly afterwards. I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames. And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts. You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night. But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff. “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor? Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London. It’s a win-win situation. Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement. It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet. Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks. Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor. All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?! Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him? But that wasn’t even the worst of it. If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels. You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask. Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s. And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so. Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.” Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation. Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his. Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face. And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company. So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse. Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents. And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today. The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional. Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way. My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir. “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong. Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart. Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore. The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman. Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!” He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places. I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim! Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!” Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!? I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face. And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor. Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table. The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke. The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone. I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck! Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute. And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool. “Really. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away. My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage. “This is a bad time, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road. And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?" The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out. I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features. He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu. Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster. On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst. Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones. What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City. While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did. I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure. It’s too accurate to just be guesswork! Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones. It’s incredible. I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him. If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show! But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe. The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news. God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence. Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same. “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.” I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show. You should’ve seen him! He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall. Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top. What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you. Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation. Victor Li didn’t belong to you. Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana. Diana and Victor. A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit. And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side. Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors. And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay. You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself. And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor? You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster. Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight. Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li. And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same. But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places. Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink. Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg. I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me. Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down. “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?” I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff. She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor. A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic. All work and no play, all the time. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer. That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume. I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart. She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot. I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. She’s not my lover.”

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening. In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert. The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair. The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman. And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch. And why shouldn’t she be surprised? I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting. Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor. And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut. She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds. The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She is looking at me curiously. I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking. “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes. Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me. “Of course. My apologies, you’re absolutely right. Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl. With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster? You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere. He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more. You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones. But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss. Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones. It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones. He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough. Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you. After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up. No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you. Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.

“Please, just call me Luke. Vitamins and water are all I need to survive. I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.” You smile, taking another bite of wagyu. And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table. What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo? You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind. After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red. That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive. Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me. If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you. Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words. Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you. You pass it across the table to him.

“Here. Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse. And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation. It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late. By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch. And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message. And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text. That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here. An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still. Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late! What are you doing here in Tok—”

“Why did you ignore me?” My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again. The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me. “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply. “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey. On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does. I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink. The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm. Bold. Since when did you start drinking whiskey? I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance. Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her. She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip. I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with. Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there. But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?” She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us. It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster. The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory. I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo? Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business. But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go. In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time. At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink. Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely. Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms. We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind. I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on. But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words. Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date. I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush. Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?” Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested. That is all. He’s never touched me, not even once. I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty. Sheepish. I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words. Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it. Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips. And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss. You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart. Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble. Being with Victor Li feels right. And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion. The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter. Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar. And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

* * *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck. His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours. Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday. And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet. You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips. Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest. There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.” Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices. As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new. I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you. I know because I was the same way. I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle. Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed. The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him. “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving. Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit. And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal. The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock. The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet. See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds. See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex. Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock. And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings. A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked. He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light. You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm. I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off. We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face. It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Okay. Pretty good, actually.” It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands. Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 7

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FIVE DAYS LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE TEMPLE

Eivor cradled the basket in his hand, meticulously examining its contents to ensure that everything was in order.

At the moment, he was preparing to make an offering to Thor as thanks for their good fortune on the day of the ambush, and had arranged a humble collection of different gifts for the mighty god.

Inside the basket, he had placed a variety of meat, beer, mead, sweets, and a dagger from his own personal armory. Normally, Eivor wasn’t the type to depend entirely on the gods for safety, but considering recent events, he wanted to secure a strong relationship with them in case a tempest were to strike the village. He had no idea if Kjotve was planning any other attacks in addition to the ambush, and he could think of no one better to appeal to other than the Defender of Midgard.

He just worried that his offering might not have been sufficient. It was a well-known fact that the thunder god enjoyed things in great quantity, and Eivor didn’t have that much to give at the moment. Ingrida always said that no offering was too small, but even then, the man prayed that his gift wouldn’t be considered measly. Things were precarious enough in Bjornheimr as it was; Eivor did not wish to vex the gods as well.

Working his way up the hill, the Wolf-Kissed spread a layer of cloth over the basket’s opening and held it tightly underneath his arm, careful not to disturb its contents.

He could hear the drinks sloshing inside their bottles to the rhythm of his footsteps, and a handful of scattered clinks reached his ears as they softly bumped into each other. Meanwhile, tiny snowflakes began to gather on the fabric lying above, and sunk into the cloth’s neatly-knit threads. They dotted the surface with jeweled specks of ice and clung onto Eivor’s skin, giving him a slight chill.

The weather wasn’t exactly ideal for spending any time outside -- the snow seemed to be piling up higher than usual today -- but the young man carried on with his plan nonetheless.

Reaching the top of the hill, Eivor strolled past the charms decorating the sides of the path, only to stop in his tracks when a nearby pair of voices caught his attention.

Up ahead, Eivor saw Ingrida and Sigurd talking with each other underneath the roof of the temple, just barely avoiding the snow that came blowing their way. The prince wore a wary expression on his face and spoke to the seeress about a matter of deep concern, causing a sense of anxiety to swell in Eivor’s chest.

It was fairly clear to the Wolf-Kissed that his friend spent a lot of energy concealing the many troubles in his life, but the fact that he felt the need to reach out to their völva worried him to a significant degree.

He hadn’t seen Sigurd ever since their conversation in the tavern after all, and he was oblivious to any new issues that may have risen during their time apart. It was unusual to see the prince in such a state, and Eivor had to admit that his curiosity was beginning to get the best of him.

He only hoped that Ulfar wasn’t the source of his perturbed nature. The man made his feelings about Sigurd quite plain back in the tavern, and Eivor had never known him as a person to shy away from confrontation. It was a blessing of a trait in most situations, but a hinderance in this one.

“...You’re certain there’s no other explanation?” Sigurd asked, clearly unhappy with the response he got.

Ingrida crossed her arms, reiterating her point. “I will tell you the same thing I told Eivor. I cannot speak in absolutes, for I do not know the gods’ intentions. I can attempt to decipher the messages they convey, but ultimately, it is impossible to offer anything unambiguous.”

The prince let out a troubled sigh. “I... I see.”

“I realize this must be disturbing news, but look at it this way. At least you are prepared now. You have an inkling of what to expect, and sometimes, a mere suspicion can be enough to save one’s life. Obviously, I do not mean to stoke any paranoia within you, but a little caution would be wise.”

Sigurd nodded, taking the woman’s words to heart. “Of course, but you understand if I say this is difficult for me to accept. I don’t doubt your prediction, seeress, but... I just can’t fathom why anyone would--”

The man came to an abrupt pause, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Eivor in the distance.

“--Oh,” he said, his voice still laden with unease, “Eivor. I didn’t see you there.”

Ingrida followed Sigurd’s line of sight, smiling in the Wolf-Kissed’s direction. “Ah, hello, little cub.” She eyed the basket in his hands. “Come to make an offering?”

Eivor hugged the object close to his chest, admittedly growing somewhat weary of bearing its weight.

“Yes, seeress. I hoped to thank Thor for our survival in the forest.”

The woman appeared pleased. “An excellent idea. Go on and present your gift to the gods. I will ensure that nothing disturbs it.” Ingrida brought her eyes back to the prince. “As for you, Sigurd, try not to let this revelation suppress you. You are a man of many responsibilities. Your clan needs you to stay focused.”

“...Of course. You’re right.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ingrida began making her way back inside the temple, strolling through the arch. “This war is nearly over, but the battle has not ceased. Do not surrender just yet. Either of you.”

Shutting the door behind her, the seeress disappeared behind the temple’s walls and returned to her duties, leaving Eivor and Sigurd alone. Meanwhile, the younger man approached his friend and glanced at him in an inquisitive manner, hoping to calm his nerves somewhat.

“Sigurd?” He asked. “Are you alright? A cloud of unrest hangs over you.”

The prince took a moment to gather his thoughts, not wanting to alarm his companion too much. “I’m... I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” He glanced at the basket in his grasp. “What’ve you got there?”

Eivor lifted the cloth. “Just some food and drink for Thor, and a blade as well. I figured I should bring something of great quantity considering our luck that day. What about you? What brings you to the temple? You looked... frightened when I arrived.”

Sigurd sauntered towards the other man, speaking as he walked. “Nothing of immediate urgency. I’ve just been having these strange dreams lately. Visions.”

“Visions? Really? Of what?”

“A wolf.” He answered. “At first, I merely dismissed the dream as a simple nightmare, but it’s been occurring over and over again. In the same way, and in the same order. So, I came to Ingrida for answers.”

Eivor’s interest was hooked. “Tell me about this wolf. What did it do? What did it look like?”

“The wolf was as white as snow,” Sigurd described. “Its eyes split the darkness with a predatory glare, and its stature challenged that of a fully grown man. Its snout and teeth were stained red with the pigment of fresh blood, and hiding behind its features, I... I could almost... recognize someone.”

“Recognize?” Eivor repeated. “What do you mean? This was a wolf, was it not? How could it resemble a human?”

The prince shrugged. “I have no idea, but... I felt it. There was something familiar about the wolf’s face. It was a sensation that I have no proper words to describe.”

The young man tilted his head towards the temple. “And? What did Ingrida have to say about these visions?”

Sigurd was quiet for a second, hesitant to tell the truth.

“...She believes this vision foretells a betrayal.”

Eivor’s eyes widened in surprise. “A betrayal? At whose hands?”

“She doesn’t know, and neither do I. I have no reason to suspect anyone just yet, but somehow, that almost makes it even worse.”

“How did the seeress come to this conclusion?” Eivor questioned. “What makes her believe betrayal is the only answer?”

“Because she had a similar vision,” Sigurd explained. “Ingrida tells me the gods sent her a dream the night before I arrived. Apparently, she saw a man who looked just like me. He bore the same mark upon his neck, and his eyes glowed with a raging fire. The ground beneath him was soaked in blood dripping from the stump of his own arm, and standing behind him was another white wolf, prowling in the shadows.”

A thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “...I suppose that explains why she called you ‘the one who walks with Tyr.’ It also explains why she was skeptical of you when you first met.”

“I suppose it does,” the prince agreed. “But what connection could I possibly have with Tyr? And why me? What makes me so special?”

Eivor shrugged. “I don’t know. You mentioned you used to have dreams about a kingdom constructed of iron when you were a child. Do you think that could be related?”

“...Perhaps? But I don’t see how it would fit into all this. The kingdom I saw looked nothing like any of the places I’ve ever heard about. Not Helheim, and certainly not Valhalla. It likely originates from a place beyond this realm, but the purpose of its existence continues to elude me.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, resting his hands on his hips. “...Forgive me. I don’t mean to dump all of this onto you. You probably have enough on your shoulders.” He switched to a lighter subject, deciding to put his fears to rest for the time-being.

“How have you been, Eivor? Is your wound feeling any better? I planned to check on you multiple times, but I fear that my duties always got in the way.”

“No worries. It’s just started to heal. Ingrida says it’s going to leave quite a prominent scar in its absence, but well, it’s better than dying.”

A smirk twinkled on Sigurd’s face. “...I like it.”

“Really?”

“Why not? It gives you character. It makes you look like a warrior.”

Eivor chuckled. “That, or a fool who wasn’t able to handle himself in a fight.”

Sigurd’s smile only brightened. “Nonsense. Each scar you bear is a battle that you survived. Wear it with pride.” He patted his friend on the arm. “But enough about that. I was actually planning to visit you after speaking with the seeress.”

The Wolf-Kissed quirked a brow. “What for?”

“I wanted to take you up on your offer. For fishing. I was down at the docks earlier today, and saw some decent-looking fish roaming in the water. Still in the mood for it?”

Eivor nodded, grinning joyously at the man. “Without a doubt. We can find a boat and take it into the fjord. There are plenty of spots I can show you. Just let me finish my offering for Thor first.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll gather some supplies. See you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE DOCKS

Pacing eagerly towards the pier, Eivor strolled excitedly through the village with an unusual spring in his step, smiling to himself as he briskly made his way past all the other buildings.

It had been a while since he last got the chance to spend any time with Sigurd, and he imagined that the two of them would have plenty of catching up to do. Even though they hadn’t bumped into each other for the past few days, Eivor always spotted the prince zipping back and forth around Bjornheimr, tending to his never-ending list of duties.

The man always looked so busy. Eivor was well-aware that a prince’s life wasn’t nearly as laid-back as other people expected, but even Sigurd’s schedule seemed to be overflowing with a ludicrous amount of responsibilities. He hardly had any time to even sit down, and the sockets around his eyes had darkened slightly due to a lack of sleep.

Eivor just hoped Sigurd was okay.

Finally arriving at the docks, the Wolf-Kissed came to a halt and gazed at this surroundings, trying to single out the prince’s head of red hair from the crowd. He eventually located the tall man standing at the edge of the pier with a basket and a pair of fishing rods, but to Eivor’s surprise, he wasn’t alone.

Dag seemed to have also joined the party, in spite of the sour expression plastered on his face. He was conversing with Sigurd in an agitated tone, and his brow had crinkled in a manner that displayed obvious annoyance. Strangely enough though, the prince didn’t appear to mirror his temperament.

Just what was going on?

“Sigurd!” Eivor called out, causing both of them to turn their heads.

“Ah,” Sigurd replied radiantly, “Eivor. There you are. I was just asking Dag if he wanted to join us. I hope that’s not a problem?”

The younger man would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat disappointed, but he didn’t have the heard to tell him “no.” He knew Dag was a close friend of Sigurd’s after all, and he didn’t want to interfere. But still... part of him had been looking forward to spending the day with the prince alone.

“No,” Eivor lied, “not at all. He can come if he likes.”

“Great.” Sigurd brought his gaze to Dag. “So, what do you say? Care to go fishing with us?”

To Eivor’s relief, the man refused.

“I appreciate the offer,” Dag said flatly, “but I can’t accept. I have other things to do. You two go on without me.”

“Are you sure?” Sigurd asked, somewhat put off by his friend’s dour mood. “The weather has calmed down since this morning. Now’s the perfect opportunity to take a break. We’ll only be gone for a short while.”

Dag nodded in a dismissive fashion. “Yes, I’m sure. I have many things to take care of, and I’m afraid they cannot wait. Like I said, you two can go without me.”

Sigurd’s eyes dimmed at his friend’s response. “...Well, alright. If you’re certain.”

“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Storming off like a pouty toddler, Dag practically stomped away from the scene and swiftly made himself scarce, leaving Sigurd and Eivor with an uncomfortable silence. The two of them watched in confusion as the man disappeared in the distance, and not too longer after he vanished, they exchanged glances with each other, bewildered by what just happened.

“What was that about?” Eivor asked. “Is something wrong with Dag?”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, reaching down to grab the basket. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Dag’s been acting this way ever since the feast, and I don’t know why. This kind of behavior is unusual for him.”

“Have you talked to him?”

The older man lifted the basket onto his shoulder, walking towards the end of the pier as Eivor followed him from behind.

“Not yet, no. And even if I did, I’m not sure he would give me a straight answer. Dag’s never been the type to open up so easily. I’m just wondering if it’s because of something I did.”

His friend was quiet for a moment. “Does Dag always behave like this?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, actually. He’s still the same man I know most of the time, but... recently, he’s been going through these random bouts of anger. And they’re always directed at me.”

The prince placed the basket down on a boat waiting beside the pier, carefully stepping onto it as it gently bobbed up and down with the water’s movement.

“I just wish he would talk to me. Dag is a dear friend of mine, and I don’t want anything to be wedged between us. Especially not after hearing Ingrida’s prediction.”

Eivor gave him a sympathetic look. “Try not to let it worry you. I’m sure Dag’s just stressed out from the constant battling with Kjotve. I know we all are. He’ll open up to you when he’s ready.”

Sigurd let out a breath. “...I hope so. I have enough on my plate at the moment. I don’t have time to be running around in circles with Dag. The sooner he opens up, the better.”

He suddenly glanced up at his companion, deciding to leave the subject alone. “But push that aside. You came here to fish, not to listen to my life problems. Are you ready to go?”

The younger man stepped off the dock and took a seat across from Sigurd, excited for the ride ahead.

“Ready when you are.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for coming with me, by the way, Eivor. I apologize if I seem more stern than usual. I fear that this past week taken a toll on me.”

Eivor took no offense. “There’s no need to apologize. We’re all going through a lot. It’s only normal. Just try to forget about it for now.”

“I’m glad you understand. You seem to be the only one these days. But... you’re right. Today is a day meant for relaxing. Let us not spoil it. Come on, why don’t you show me those fishing spots you mentioned? I’m eager to see them.”

The Wolf-Kissed grabbed the oar and smirked at Sigurd, pushing their boat away from the pier. “As you command, my prince.”

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE FJORD

Venturing deep into the fjord’s divine embrace, Sigurd and Eivor traversed across the water’s glassy surface, steadily gliding along with its rippled waves. They made sure not to put too much distance between them and the village as they did with the waterfall, but even then, the sheer size of the fjord was enough to make them feel as if they had stepped into another world.

All around them, mountains extended into the sky for what seemed like miles, and appeared to kiss the base of the clouds. Their peaks were frosted with fresh snow that floated down from the heavens, and their base remained concealed beneath the ocean, forming a basin fit for the gods themselves.

Meanwhile, a thin curtain of fog draped itself over the mountains’ rugged forms and obscured the landscape waiting ahead, encompassing the world in a layer of mist that stood as a barrier between the two men and the secular village they left behind.

It was the perfect place to clear one’s thoughts, and Eivor could see that Sigurd was already beginning to unwind. The disquieted expression that once hung on his face had vanished, and at the moment, he was currently sitting peacefully on the boat, watching contently as fish poked their fins out from the water’s surface.

They were completely alone out here, and Eivor wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“So,” the younger man said, “what’ve you been doing these past few days? I haven’t had the chance to talk with you in a while.”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Sigurd answered, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve joined your father and Ulfar at the war table quite a few times now, and I’ve also been getting to know Randvi more. It’s difficult to juggle between the two, but things have been going according to plan so far.”

Eivor threw a puzzled look at him. “What about your father? Does he not take part in your conversations in the war room?”

The other man hesitated for a second. “Oh, h-he does, but... well, he’s been occupied lately. Sometimes I take his place.”

Eivor couldn’t deny that he found the response a bit odd, but he decided not to pry any further. “I see. And what about Ulfar? I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.”

It was Sigurd’s turn to be confused now. “Ulfar? No, none at all. Why would he?”

The Wolf-Kissed sighed sheepishly, unsure of how to explain. He assumed Ulfar would have already expressed his concerns to the prince about his ability to be a leader, but evidently, he was wrong.

“I, well... I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know. The day you and I went to the tavern, Ulfar stayed for a drink after you left. Initially, he was in a rather foul mood, and it was directed at you. He said you almost got me killed in the forest.”

A look of guilt spread across Sigurd’s face. “...Ah, I see.”

“I spoke with him, though,” Eivor reassured. “I convinced Ulfar it wasn’t your fault, and he told me he’d withhold any further judgement for now. That’s why I asked if he had given you any trouble. I was curious to know if he still harbored these doubts. But don’t let it bother you. Whatever Ulfar does, it’s only to keep me and my siblings safe.”

Sigurd shook his head in disagreement. “No, he’s right. I should’ve been more careful that day. I made a foolish decision, and you nearly paid the price. It’s a good thing you’re a skilled warrior. Otherwise, I’d probably be responsible for your death by now.”

Eivor’s expression sank with pity. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault what happened in the woods that day. You could’ve run off at the first sign of danger, but instead, you risked your life to save me. And everyone knows it. Even Ingrida.”

“Well, I may not be at fault,” the man conceded, “but I was ill-prepared for such an ordeal. If I’m going to be king someday, I need to be able to protect people. That includes you.” Sigurd shifted his position slightly, sitting more upright. “I promise, Eivor, I won’t endanger you like that again.”

The young man grinned. “I appreciate it, but we’re in the midst of a war. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice. Anything can happen at any time.”

“True, but I’ll still do everything I can to keep you and your people safe.” Sigurd displayed a small smile. “Death may be inevitable, but that’s no reason to let it take us so willingly. That’s why we have shields.”

Eivor chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

The two of them trailed off into silence briefly, only for the prince to bring up another topic.

“Hey, speaking of Ulfar, did you hear his report?”

“No.” Eivor said.

“Well, apparently, he and his men found two camps in the woods not too far from where we were attacked. They both belonged to Kjotve.”

“Really? How many men were there?”

Sigurd conjured a rough estimation. “About ten each.”

“Ten?” The Wolf-Kissed repeated in alarm. “That’s nearly two dozen in total. That’s enough men to carry out a small raid.”

“Indeed. We’re lucky Ulfar was able to drive them out before their numbers grew anymore. Thankfully though, he didn’t uncover any plans to attack Bjornheimr. He believes these particular men were just scouts sent here to keep an eye on the village and send information back to Kjotve. Our encounter with them wasn’t coordinated. A few of his people simply decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Eivor found some comfort in that. “Well, that’s a relief, at least. Still, I wonder how Kjotve will respond to this.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If these men were sending regular reports to Kjotve, he’s going to realize something’s wrong when they come to a sudden stop. He might even send reinforcements.”

The older man couldn’t help but admit he had a point. “Hmm. That does sound likely. I’ll have to warn your father and Ulfar about the possibility of retaliation. We may be preparing for a wedding, but Freya knows that won’t stop Kjotve from spilling blood.”

A shiver traveled down Eivor’s spine. “What if... what if he comes to Bjornheimr? What do you think we’ll do?”

The answer seemed fairly clear to Sigurd. “We’ll fight, of course. What else?”

“No, no,” his friend corrected, “I didn’t quite mean it like that. I just...” Eivor gazed down at his father’s axe, tracing a hand down its grip, “...I’ve spent so many years thinking about how I would take my revenge on Kjotve; for what he did to my parents. I’ve convinced myself that I’d slit his throat without a second thought, but... if he actually shows up, I don’t know if it’ll be that easy. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

A sense of empathy softened Sigurd’s eyes. “It won’t be easy. But whatever happens, make sure you fight for what matters. Ideally, Kjotve will never set foot on your shores, but if he does, fight not for revenge. Fight for the honor your father lost. Only then can you know true peace.”

Eivor stared aimlessly at the water surrounding them, trying to block out the memories of that horrible night. “...I’ll try. Even if it kills me.”

The younger man watched the soothing rhythm of the waves dancing around them and fell into a deep train of thought, only to be pulled out again when Sigurd’s voice reached his ears.

“Hey,” he said gently, leaning closer to his companion, “are you alright, Eivor?”

The Wolf-Kissed blinked a few times, still somewhat lost in his own past. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just... difficult to think about, you know. My parents were killed over a decade ago, and yet, their words from that night remain fresh in my head. It’s hard to ignore them sometimes.”

“Of course,” Sigurd replied. “I understand.”

“Anyway,” Eivor said, not wishing to dwell on the grim subject any longer, “you mentioned you’ve been seeing Randvi more earlier. How are things going between the two of you?”

“We still don’t know each other that well,” Sigurd confessed, “but she strikes me as a kind woman; an honorable one. I think we can make this marriage work. Although, I must admit... it’s bizarre to think about how she’ll be my wife in only a week from now. The future felt so far away when I first got here, and yet, these past seven days have fleeted by within a heartbeat. It just makes me wonder how fast the wedding will arrive.”

Eivor caught onto his tone. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, and so is Randvi. But I think we’re both slowly coming to terms with it.” A glint of curiosity formed in the prince’s gaze. “What about you, Eivor? Have you ever considered marriage?”

The man laughed. “Me? No, not really. I’ve had partners in the past, but... nothing serious. It’s difficult to imagine someone marrying me, if I’m being honest.”

Sigurd scoffed. “Psh. Nonsense. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their spouse.”

“You think?”

The older man shrugged. “Why not? You’re compassionate, humorous, handsome, and--” Sigurd suddenly froze in shock, utterly embarrassed by his own words.

Meanwhile, Eivor simply gave him an appreciative smirk, undeniably amused by his slip-up.

“You consider me handsome, do you?” He teased.

Sigurd stammered bashfully and brought a hand to the back of his neck, barely able to hold eye contact with the Wolf-Kissed anymore. “Gods above... erm, f-forgive me, Eivor. I... I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” He interrupted. “The truth is, I think you’re handsome too.”

The prince paused at Eivor’s remark, calming down somewhat. “You... do?”

Eivor chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, you fool. Who wouldn’t? You’re strong, kind, caring, and you...” the young man caught himself before he could say anything else and stopped mid-sentence, abruptly retreating from his comments as Sigurd watched him quietly.

“...No,” Eivor said, his tone much more sullen now. “I can’t do this.”

Sigurd found himself growing concerned. “What’s wrong?”

The other man sighed in despondency, looking shamefully away from his friend. Eivor assured Ingrida that he wouldn’t allow his emotions to interfere with the upcoming wedding, and yet, he had barely been able to stop himself just now.

His thoughts slipped free from his lips as if they carried a mind of their own, and if it weren’t for the fact that everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance, Eivor had no idea how far he truly would’ve gotten.

His ability to restrain his desires was already being crippled just after a week of knowing Sigurd, and the looming reality of his feelings was enough to send Eivor into a state of panic and loneliness.

These next few days were going to be nothing but absolute turmoil for him, and sooner or later, he’d have to accept it. He just didn’t know how.

“Sigurd...” Eivor whispered sorrowfully, “...can I be honest with you?”

The older man nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed looked him directly in the eye, taking a deep breath. “...The truth is, ever since we met at that feast, I’ve been infatuated with you.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in shock. “...You have?”

“Yes. Whenever we’re apart, I’m always thinking about when I’ll see you next, or how you’re doing. I care about you, and I worry about your well-being despite being no more than an acquaintance.”

The prince knotted his hands together in thought. “And what about when you’re with me?”

Eivor showed a faint smile to him, but its facade was quickly betrayed by the pain in his gaze. “I feel at peace. I feel like nothing in the world can touch us. I feel a certain way that I’ve never felt before with anyone else, and it... it frightens me sometimes.”

The young man continued. “But I can’t allow these feelings to develop any further. No matter how persistent they may be. We’re both bound by our duties, and yours is to secure an alliance with my clan. The only thing I can provide for you is a distraction that you can’t afford.” Eivor slunk back to his end of the boat, hiding inside the shell that he constantly wore. “...I’m sorry, Sigurd. But our relationship can’t go beyond this.”

Sigurd offered nothing other than silence in return and simply delved into his own thoughts, gazing downwards in a desolate manner. It was clear that he mirrored the same affections that Eivor expressed, but he felt even more reluctant to share them now that he knew about the other man’s views.

It was the burden of being a prince, he supposed. Everyone always told Sigurd that his choices were his own, and yet, he was being forced to repress something that others would’ve been more than happy to admit. His life had been nothing more than one big preparation to rule the kingdom someday, but he felt as if he hardly had any control over his own life.

Still, Sigurd knew Eivor was right, and he knew he couldn’t afford to deviate from the path set out in front of him. The war with Kjotve was much bigger than either of them, and everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance.

“I... understand, Eivor.” He said quietly.

The younger man hung his head low, unable to ignore the guilt settling into his mind. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Sigurd.”

“Don’t be. What you’re doing is noble. Not everyone would have your restraint.”

Eivor’s mood barely lightened at that. “It doesn’t feel noble. But I know it’s necessary.”

Sigurd nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say anymore. “...Indeed.”

Having had enough of this place, the older man took hold of the oar and stuck it into the water, eager to return to solid land.

“We should starting heading back.” He said abruptly, earning a tilt of the head from Eivor.

“Already? Are you sure? We haven’t even been out for that long.”

“I know, but I fear that my free time is rather limited today. An abundance of tasks awaits me in Bjornheimr, and I’m almost certain that my father will require my presence as well.”

Eivor peered at Sigurd with concern, clearly able to see that he had been affected by their conversation.

“Okay.” He agreed tentatively. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Come on, I’ll row you back to the village. Just sit back and relax.”

Guiding their boat away from the fjord, Sigurd steadily drove them back to the shoreline without uttering another word as Eivor sat quietly on his side, admittedly feeling somewhat remorseful for having dimmed the mood.

Initially, he had been excited to spend more time with the forlorn prince, but now, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was no question that a special type of bond connected the two of them, and Eivor mentally scolded himself for allowing it to strengthen even further.

At this point, part of him was considering the idea of severing their relationship. It was difficult enough battling the constant temptation that he felt whenever he was with Sigurd, so Eivor thought that, perhaps, it might’ve been best if he simply eliminated the chance for it to show up again.

There would be no need to practice restraint if the prince avoided him altogether. They would be complete strangers just like before, and Eivor wouldn’t have to worry about clashing with his desires on a daily basis.

But... he knew he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. He cared about Sigurd too much, despite only having known him for a week. That man housed something special within his heart, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to cast it aside.

Still, he didn’t know how he would proceed from here. Sigurd was aware of his admiration now, and any interactions between them would’ve bred nothing but awkwardness.

They both needed some time to get their thoughts in order, and frankly, Eivor was starting to feel grateful that the other man decided to make such a swift exit. He needed to be alone for a while, and it was evident that Sigurd also had plenty to think about himself.

It was one of those moments where Eivor felt the urge to seek out guidance, and he knew exactly who to get it from.

He just worried that they would tell him precisely what he didn’t want to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

“Here we are.” Sigurd announced, letting the boat drift towards the pier as he gazed into the distance. “...And it looks like Dag is waiting for me. Just like I expected.”

Eivor stood up from his seat. “What does he want from you?”

His friend put down the oar and climbed back onto the docks, taking their supplies with him. “Nothing. It’s my father who probably wants something. Dag is merely the messenger. I just hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Walking briskly ahead of the other man, Sigurd strode down the wooden pier and made a beeline straight for Dag as Eivor hurried to his side, abandoning the boat.

A newfound irritation had worked its way into the prince’s usually serene demeanor, and the Wolf-Kissed wondered if he’d finally learn the reason behind Styrbjorn’s aforementioned absence at the war table.

“Dag,” the redhead called out in a firm tone. “What are you doing here?”

The bulky warrior removed himself from the tree he had been leaning on and approached Sigurd, appearing no more pleased than before.

“The king requests your presence at the longhouse.” He informed. “There’s a problem he needs your help with.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, plopping the basket down in frustration. “Of course he does. Is it the same ‘problem’ as yesterday?”

Dag nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

The prince shook his head angrily. “That drink-addled fool...! He promised me this wouldn’t be an issue. What is he doing now?”

“He’s waiting for you in his chambers. Same as always. I suggest you hurry. He’s in a worse state than usual.”

Sigurd’s face stiffened with ire. “And it’s no one else’s fault but his. What is that man thinking?” He paused for a second, recomposing himself. “...Thank you for letting me know, Dag. Hopefully, we’ll never have to have this conversation again.”

The raider began strolling away from them, pessimistic about the idea. “Hopefully, but not likely.”

Removing himself from the scene, Dag disappeared once again while Eivor took his place, confused as to what just happened. It was quite obvious to him that Styrbjorn seemed to be at the core of this issue, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what the issue was exactly.

“What’s going on?” Eivor asked. “Is your father safe? Do you need any help?”

Sigurd quickly rejected the offer. “No, no. He’ll be fine. He’s just being an idiot. It’s best if I deal with this alone. Believe me.”

The younger man’s curiosity remained fervent, but he decided not to press anymore. The prince was evidently in a state of heightened exasperation at the moment, and Eivor suspected that any further questions would’ve only earned him more animosity.

“...Alright. If you say so. But don’t hesitate to ask for my aid if you need it.”

“Thank you, Eivor. I appreciate it.”

Forcing himself to relax, Sigurd rubbed his temple out of stress and turned to face Eivor, softening the jagged edge of his voice.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to be so irate, but things are chaotic enough as it is, and my father is only making things worse. He’s ignoring all of his responsibilities, and piling them on my shoulders instead. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.”

Something clicked in Eivor’s head. “So that’s why you’ve been so busy.”

“Yes. That, and a few other things. But those matters are irrelevant right now. The only important thing I have to say is... thank you. For taking the time to come with me today.”

“Of course, Sigurd. You need only ask.”

The older man beamed warmly. “...You truly are a blessing. You know that, Eivor? I genuinely believe you’re the only person I can fully rely on. You’re a man worthy of trust.” He placed his hands on his hips, returning to his usual temperament. “But I’ve idled for long enough. My father’s probably wondering where I am. Feel free to take all the fish we caught. You deserve it for putting up with me today.”

Eivor took the basket in hand, waving goodbye to Sigurd. “Farewell for now, my friend. Take care of yourself. And remember, I’m here if you need me.”

The prince started heading in the direction of the longhouse, returning the wave with one of his own.

“The same goes to you. I may be busy, but my door’s always open, Wolf-Kissed. I only pray that our next meeting will be under better circumstances. Until then, stay safe. We all need you.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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doctenwho · 4 years

Text

Not a Cat Person

Summary: On a night stroll through the streets of London, Reader comes across a small, abandoned cat who wants nothing more than a home. The problem is, The Doctor is not a cat person. Besides, The Doctor’s no stranger to his companions talking him into things.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3,783

*Gif is not mine, credit to creator*

As much as you liked exploring the galaxy with The Doctor, and seeing things beyond your wildest imagination, you couldn’t deny that it wasn’t nice to return to earth, your earth, every once and a while.

You loved the TARDIS, and you loved seeing everything the galaxy had to offer, and meeting new and exotic people. There was so much you loved about your travels, and, well, things you could do without as well. You could do without the near constant threats, and attempts on the Doctor’s life, but, well, it was a bit of excitement ever so often.

Besides, what’s a little bad hidden in with all that amazing, right?

All that said though, there was just something calming about being on your home planet every so often. Where you weren’t constantly afraid something was plotting to kill you, or kidnap you, or arrest you, or try to poison you—and the list could go on.

You didn’t have to rely on the Doctor, in fact, he relied on you a bit whenever you were on earth. He liked to trust the locals, and on earth, that’s exactly who you were. As strange as that was to think about.

It was just nice to have a bit of a relax whenever you were on earth. Take the Doctor shopping, or home to see your folks and family. He didn’t like getting too attached to anyone, but he was always nice, and funny whenever around people you like and know.

You just liked showing him a bit of normal, everyday, human life.

And he enjoyed it for the most part. He was actually fascinated by it. He trusted you completely, and followed blindly behind so long as nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was a two-way street, trusting the Doctor. He always gave back everything he received and so much more. He was one of the most genuine people (aliens?) you’d ever met.

Today was no different than any other landing on earth, well, besides the almost crash landing.

The Doctor had promised the TARDIS was perfectly alright and that she just needed a bit of a cool down before the two of you continued on to the next biggest and greatest thing the Doctor had found for the two of you to enjoy together.

He’d opted to stay in and do a bit of fixing up, while you’d gone out to stroll around for a bit. It wasn’t ideal, because you still, even if you didn’t really need him, wanted him around just because he’s become a constant in your life. It was far better walking around earth with the Doctor, rather than by yourself.

The Doctor had parked the TARDIS in an old alleyway behind your flat. No one usually came around, so the TARDIS would be safely hidden away while it charged up from all the travelling the two of you had been doing. You’d barely ever gone down this alley way the whole time you’d lived in the building beside it, and you knew it was common knowledge people tended to avoid it for one reason or another.

You’d left the time and space machine in the capable hands of the Doctor, though you’d wished he would’ve joined you for a bit of human life exploration while the two of you were here. He’d been coming to earth for a lot longer than you’d existed, but there was always something new the Doctor would find amazing even on a simple walk around in the dead of night.

The blue police box doors had shut behind you, your light source being shut away with them. You hadn’t planned to wonder off far alone. You hadn’t really planned on even leaving the alley way, just sitting outside and getting a bit of London air.

It was nice breathing in your own planet’s air. It probably wasn’t much different to any other planet’s air supply, but it always felt more refreshing knowing it’s yours.

You moved slowly along the openness of the alley, frowning thoughtfully at your dark surroundings. The closer you got to the main road, the easier it was to see with the dull lighting of the streetlamps that the government had opted out of putting in alleyways like the one behind your flat.

There was a corner curb on the junction between the alley leading off and the main road, so you sat for a moment. The roads were baren at the early hour in the morning. It would be another hour or two before even the earliest shifts started.

It was peaceful; you could see some stars in the clouded skies, but it did not do justice to actually seeing the stars up close. The Doctor really had ruined earth star gazing for you—nothing could top actually being up there.

You drew your attention away from the sky only when something moved. You paused abruptly, pulling your legs in as something across the street moved. A can rattled along the pavement.

Your first instinct was to get up and move away, preferably to the TARDIS and the safety of the Doctor. You’d gotten quite used to that mindset throughout your adventures, the mindset that constantly reminded you that not everything was safe on your travels with the Doctor. You couldn’t trust things, you never knew what it could be, or what it could do—but then you remembered where you were.

Earth.

You knew earth. Quite well, in fact. You’d lived here your whole life; knew the ins and outs.

The worst whatever was hiding behind the bin could be was a rodent, or some kind of urban wildlife. You almost laughed at yourself, being frightened of a rat, or something like that hiding out behind a bin.

You let your legs fall back to a natural position on the curbside, deciding that whatever was back there, you could handle. It wasn’t really a threat—nothing like another planet could throw at you anyway. There wasn’t much harm the wildlife around here could do, beside tearing into rubbish bags, and scurrying at you to try and scare you away.

The can rattled once more, and then it was rolling towards you. And following it, was a cat.

The cat froze suddenly, noticing you sitting there, it’s can sitting at your feet.

The cat was small, and mangey looking. It had bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the night. It’s fur, midnight black, with patches of white, camouflaged with the shadows it was hidden in.

It didn’t hiss, or cry, or meow at your presence. It didn’t move to back away, or even really look bothered in the slightest.

“Hi, kitty,” you whispered after a second, seeming to break the small, skinny feline from its trance. The cat made a little ‘purr’ noise before sauntering towards you and rubbing up against your shoes.

Up close, in the light from the street lamp across the street, you noticed the mats in the cat’s fur. It had medium length fur, not really a long hair, but also not a regular short haired either. Its ears were perked up as it made little noises in your direction.

It seemed happy to see a person, an abandoned family pet perhaps. It wasn’t the first time you’d come across a cat left in an alleyway when it wasn’t wanted anymore, but it still broke your heart.

It was friendly enough when you reached over to let it sniff your hand, before it nudged your palm and nuzzled into your fingers.

“You’re lovely,” you whispered to the cat. The cat tilted it’s head, almost as if trying to understand you before knocking it’s head into your palm again, seeking more affection.

It appeared to have been alone for quite some time, nothing but matted fur and skin and bones.

“Are you hungry, little guy?” the cat meowed, quiet and scratchy, pawing at the lace on your shoe before standing up and rubbing against your shoes again. “Alright, alright,” you laughed, standing up and bending down to run a hand along the cat’s back, “I’m sure the Doctor will have something you’d like.”

You started walking back in the direction you’d come, unsure if your new friend would follow. To your surprise, it did. The cat swapped between sprinting to catch up to you, and sauntering beside you on your walk back to the TARDIS.

It made cute little noises as he moved, purrs and huffs, almost like it was irritated you were faster than it.

You couldn’t help but love the little guy’s personality. You’d seen cats before—watched cat videos, hung out with friends who had cats, even occasionally stopped in the days before meeting the Doctor to call out to stray, or outdoor cats you passed by, but you’d never really seen one as friendly as the one on your heels.

When the TARDIS finally came into view, you moved quickly to the doors and pulled them open.

The cat hesitated outside the doors for a moment as you stepped through, then shot in behind you before you could close it out. You hadn’t meant to bring it in.

You didn’t know how the Doctor would react to that.

You had really meant to close the cat out, grab a can of something the cat would eat (if the Doctor even had anything of the sort) and feed it outside had it stuck around.

You shifted your eyes around the console room, then snapped your attention back to the suddenly cautiously moving cat. It was empty besides the two of you.

The Doctor was not in the console room. You knew he was in the TARDIS somewhere, or else the doors would’ve been locked. Plus, he’d never just leave with you outside. He always made an effort to find you and inform you if he were doing something outside the TARDIS.

The cat walked along the metal grating on the floor, sniffing and exploring slowly, a bit more anxious than it had been outside, which was expected. You’d been anxious when the Doctor had brought you into his bigger on the inside box as well.

“Come along,” you called the cat softly, walking down a hallway to where you knew the kitchen would be. The cat trailed along, maybe understanding, or maybe just afraid to be alone in this new place.

You find exactly what you were looking for in the kitchen, a can of tuna fish. It was buried deep in the back a cupboard, certainly obtained before you started travelling with the Doctor. Maybe one of his previous companions enjoyed a tuna fish sandwich or something.

You opened the can, and instantly the cat was walking circle around you, rubbing against your legs and meowing desperately at you. You shushed it, dumping the cans contents onto a plate and managing to move to the table the Doctor and yourself ate at without accidentally stepping on the feline.

As soon as the plate was low enough for the cat to get at, it was eating. It was starving, desperate for food.

You sat back in the chair as the poor little guy annihilated the plateful of fish. You were a bit worried the cat was going to choke with how fast it was eating.

“(Y/N)?” the Doctor’s voice called, voice carrying through the hallways, “do you have fish? The whole place smells of fish,” he continued to speak, voice getting closer. Only a moment later the man was stood in the doorway, staring at you with his nose wrinkled, “you know, I didn’t know you fancied tuna fish--” he paused, studying you and your lack of fish before he sniffed, and his attention dropped to the cat licking the plate clean, “what is that thing doing in my TARDIS?”

“It followed me in,” you explained, waiting to see what would happen. “It’s very nice.”

“Is it?” the Doctor furrowed his eyebrows cautiously as he sidestepped into the kitchen, avoiding the cat and moving to stand beside you. “It looks mad.”

“It’s not,” you promised, “that’s just how cats are.”

“Not the cats I know,” the Doctor snorted, “still, what’s it doing in my TARDIS? Why did my TARDIS even let a cat in? Earth creatures are still creatures, they’re not supposed to be here. Not without my consent anyways.”

“Maybe she likes it?” you offered, standing and swooping down to pick up the finished plate as the cat licked its lips, then its paw to wipe at its face. “She liked me too.”

“That’s different,” the Doctor waved you off, “why have you brought a cat back here?” The Doctor repeated as if he honestly couldn’t understand your thought process, “you leave on your own for a half-hour and you return with an earth creature.”

“It was hungry, Doctor. It’s a stray, all skin and bones.”

“It looks feral,” the doctor frowned, “how do you know it’s not diseased or,” the man whipped out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the cat, scowling when nothing unusual came up, “I don’t know, what do earth cats even do?”

“What do non-earth cats do?” you retorted with a frown.

“Experiment on humans and run hospitals,” the Doctor scowled, “what-bout that thing?”

“Seriously?” you wrinkled your nose in disgust, trying to decide whether he was being serious or trying to prove some sort of point. He gave a short nod, crossing his arms across his chest and scowling at cat on the floor. It had curled into a little ball, snoozing soundly now that it had been fed. “Earth cats mostly just eat and sleep,” you explained, “they’re companions to us, like dogs and other pets. I guess in a sense, I’d be like your cat.”

“You’re not a cat,” the Doctor frowned, almost looking offended on your behalf.

“You know what I meant,” you rolled your eyes. “Cats aren’t that bad,” you shook your head moving over to kneel beside the small sleeping animal, “it’s really friendly, see?” You ran your hand along the cat’s back and instantly the room was filled with soft purrs.

“That’s just unnatural,” the man commented, face twisting as if he’d eaten a slice of lemon. “I don’t like them.”

“It’s just purring,” you scoffed, “it means that it’s happy here.”

“Oh, great,” the Doctor gave a fake cheer, tone laced with sarcasm. “Well, it ate, it’s... it’s napped. It’s time for it to return to its home.”

“It doesn’t have one. It’s a stray, Doctor.”

You paused, fingers continuing to scratch through the cat’s fur, snagging on mats. You turned to the Doctor with a widening smile, waiting for him to turn his displeased look from the cat to you. When he did catch your eye, the man’s face scrunched up, “no,” he said, “absolutely not.”

“Awh,” you pleaded, “come on, Doctor. It’s got nowhere to go. It lives behind a bin. Look how happy it is here...”

“No,” he repeated, “no cats. I really don’t like cats, (Y/N).”

“Space cats maybe,” you pouted at him, “it’s just a harmless little earth cat. You like helping people, don’t you? So, help.”

“People,” the doctor repeated, he was already starting to break, you could tell. The Doctor had a soft spot for each and every human companion he had, and you had a soft spot for animals, “I like helping people.”

“You like helping creatures,” you mended, knowing the Doctor couldn’t argue there. Not everything he helped was considered a person, “you’ll help anyone who needs you. And this, it’s a helpless little creature who’s been living off bin scraps.”

“And not well,” the Doctor snarked, distastefully eyeing the skinny feline now half in your lap.

“Exactly,” the Doctor eyed you thoughtfully as you spoke. You couldn’t help but grin as the man turned his attention back to the cat, his eyes softening just a little bit, “it’ll starve if we leave it...”

The Doctor’s stern façade broke slightly, and he sighed, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. He glanced over at you before sharply looking away as if seeing your face would be his final breaking point.

He didn’t say anything for a second, but you knew you won. You continued on, just to seal the deal, “’sides, the TARDIS likes it, Doctor. You’re not going to deny your TARDIS of a friend, are you? The cat will be here to keep her company while we’re out. She’ll never be lonely.”

“Now you’re just playing dirty,” the man gave another heavy sigh. “Fine... you can keep the bloody cat.”

You grinned, opening your mouth to thank the man, “but,” he accentuated loudly, cutting you off before you’d even started, “you’ve got to give it a bath. It’s filthy, and I don’t want it trekking mud all over the TARDIS. And, it’s not to go anywhere near the console room, last thing we need is to lose an earth cat on a non-earth planet-”

You opened your mouth once more to try and get a word in, but the Doctor continued on so you snapped your mouth closed and listened, “and don’t expect me to like it. Because I don’t. It’s here because you like it, and I suppose because the TARDIS likes it too, or it wouldn’t even be in here in the first place. I’m not a cat person, alright?”

“Done, and deal,” you agreed quickly, leaving the cat on the floor and standing to wrap the Doctor in a tight hug. He returned it easily, just as he always did when you showed him any affection. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Uh huh,” he sighed, the fight leaving him. He leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek to show he wasn’t that upset or put out by the idea of the cat staying in the TARDIS.

----

You spent most of that morning bathing and grooming the cat. He, you discovered, didn’t put up much of a fight, besides the regular ‘cat no like water’ fight. He seemed to enjoy being brushed, even as you picked patches of matted fur from his body.

By the time you were finished, he was all brushed and cleaned. His fur was a silky soft texture and was a bit longer than you’d assumed when meeting the feline. He was honestly a beautiful tuxedo cat when he was all groomed, and he had the personality to match. He was a bit quirky, and full of attitude—which reminded you of a certain Doctor just down the hall in the console room, who was probably pouting that he’d been unable to resist giving in to one of his companions again.

The cat was still super skinny, and would need to be fattened up to a healthy weight, preferably with actual cat food—but the remainder of the tuna would work until you could talk the Doctor into an earth grocery shop.

The Doctor, all groans and protests, managed to find an old plastic box in a storage room that he dumped the contents (old relics) out of and filled with samples of sand he’d collect from the Sahara Desert decades ago to analyze, to make a sort of make-shift litter box.

It wasn’t great, but it would do for a couple days until you could talk him into that shop visit.

All in all, the cat seemed perfectly content in the TARDIS, and you’d even seen him rub against the Doctor’s shins much to the man’s disapproval.

----

It was three days later that you were looking for the cat to feed, when you walked into the console room only to find the Doctor laying on the seat in the console room, the cat snuggled into his abdomen and the Doctor’s nimble fingers stroking his soft fur.

You were a bit surprised, considering how against keeping the cat the Doctor had been. But it was adorable to see the man cuddling the feline as he was.

“Ohh,” the Doctor lazily looked in your direction, hearing your approach, “good morning, (Y/N).”

The Doctor paused, blinking up at you in though before hooking his fingers in a collar that was around the cat’s neck that hadn’t been there before. You studied the strap of blue around the cat’s neck, it didn’t appear to bother him. “I’ve made him a collar and a pet tag—that is what humans do with household companions, right?”

For a moment, the Doctor looked unsure. Something you didn’t see often. “Yeah, I mean, yes, we do. Collar and tag, good call.”

“Good,” the Doctor nodded, more to himself than you. He continued stroking the cat, hand brushing over the cat’s head to his back, “if he’ll be joining us, and he happens to get lost, my sonic screwdriver be able to track that tag. I don’t lose companions... cats included.”

You stepped towards the man with the cat curled into him, and lightly picked up the tag hanging from the new collar, you pulled it just enough so you could see an engraving on the front of the tag, without disturbing the content cat. Return to the Blue Public Use Police Box if found. was engraved in the address spot on the back of the tag. The name spot on the front remained blank, waiting for the cat’s undecided name.

“Return to the TARDIS?” you asked, smiling widely. If you didn’t know the Doctor you would’ve thought he was blushing at the mention.

“Well, I, uh...” the Doctor looked down at the cat staring up at him, “too much? I can change it to your apartment, I just thought, well...”

“That address won’t help if he gets out on another planet,” you agreed, thumbing over the engravement. “I like it.”

“Really?” the Doctor grinned brightly, “right then.”

You watched the man readjust himself so he was sitting up right, the cat barely stirred at all as he was transferred to the man’s lap. You smiled thankfully at the Doctor as you moved to sit beside him.

You leaned back, grinning to yourself. You didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching the other’s hand card through the cat’s fur.

“Don’t expect me to like it,” you murmured in a poor imitation of the Doctor from just a few days before. “Because I don’t,” you continued to tease.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Doctor snorted, lightly shoving his shoulder against your own without disturbing the cat. The corner of the Doctor’s mouth curled up into a smile before he attempted to even it as he huffed a light, “Shuttup.”

You laughed to yourself, leaning against the Doctor and reaching over to pet the cat, “anyways, have any name ideas for him, Mr not-a-cat-person?”

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Ten is that guy who says no way to a pet cat and then the next week after getting said cat anyways, the cat is his best friend and you can’t change my mind. Also, prompts very welcome and very appreciated! :D

#tenth doctor #doctor who #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #reader insert #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #tardis #doctor who 2005 #fanfic #fanfiction

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