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suhnandmoon · 3 months

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soul eater

weapon!park jisung x meister!reader

genre: soul eater au, best friends to lovers, angst w/ happy ending, fantasy, college-ish au (kinda. read info)

wc: 8.5k

info to know: heavily inspired by the anime soul eater. you don’t need to have watched soul eater to get the concept because i try to explain what i can. something i don’t explain but should be known is that weapons will grow stronger when they consume the souls of a kishin egg (a soul that has become corrupt). to soul eater fans: the werewolf in this fic is a kishin egg but for the sake of minimizing confusion with the term ‘egg’ being mistaken as a literal egg, ill often call it just a kishin. last thing! you can read this as a college or highschool au. honestly i wrote this as a combination of them both as in they start the academy when they’re 16 and graduate four years later. it doesn’t matter how you see it.

additional author’s notes: hii guys i’m back with this for you guys. take it as my apology for leaving you guys hanging with my minecraft boyfriend. this is my first full length fic so please be kind T_T there may be issues with grammar because i’m posting this before i chicken out of never sharing this to the world

when you start at death meister academy, it's a rare occurrence for a student to find their pair immediately. weapons and meisters alike often spend the first month looking for the most compatible partner.

compatibility heavily relies on the wavelengths of both individuals. if your souls are able to harmonize on the same frequency, that’s a sign you are suited to pair up. should a meister have a higher wavelength frequency than their weapon, either party could get greatly injured and vice versa.

to make things easier, many students opt to take a compatibility test issued by the school to be automatically paired up with the best fit for them.

you personally deemed this as the only way fit to receive your weapon. if you were going to graduate as an elite ranked scythe-meister after your four years at the academy, you needed the best possible weapon for you; as determined by the statistics of the test. all meisters are categorized by rank: it scales from one to three stars from with select meisters promoting to elite if they prove themselves fit. all first years start at one star. typically it’s most common to see meisters graduating at a two or three star rank, but it’s not impossible to reach elite by the end of their time at the academy. and that's exactly what you’re going to do.

so imagine your initial shock when you were paired up with poor little park jisung.

upon receiving the results, everyone grouped off with their partners. your eyes scanned the room for someone wearing the name tag ‘park jisung’

no one approached you for a few minutes as you searched so you decided to let the room clear out and see who was left.

with his shoulders hunched, eyes shifting across the room, and the overall appearance of a sopping wet cat, the last person left was indeed your partner- though you had double checked his name tag a few times, hoping this was a joke. you had to prod the timid little demon weapon into introducing himself, earning only a shy mumble in response. it was hard to believe he was the weapon you were paired up with. the only indication of his status as a scythe would probably be his height- which let him tower above the rest of the class even with his slumped posture.

you debated on the spot if you should just find a different weapon, not sure if this pairing was entirely the best for your four-year plan. yet, you at least had an ounce of guilt for leaving him behind and faith in the wavelength statistics for this to work out.

after your introductions, you laid out your intentions and planned path for your time at the death meister academy: collect 99 souls and one soul of a witch to successfully ascend your weapon into ‘death weapon status’, reach the elite-meister status for yourself, and finally, graduate top of the class. simple really.

it must be something about the way you said it so confidently that had jisung looking at you with a mixture of admiration and fear, but you received a gulp in response.

you were about to tell him flat out that, if it didn’t seem plausible for him, he’d have to find another meister when he beat you by saying a quiet, “i’ll do it.”

and in a rare moment, a peer of yours didn’t outright laugh in your face for expressing your goals.

you struck out your hand, signaling him to shake yours, beaming at the boy. he softly takes your offer and grasps your hand.

“well then, nice to meet you, partner!”

the next few years went exactly as you hoped they would

well, nearly exactly. it did take jisung a good three months to work up the courage to eat his first soul. which in turn, brought three months of stress to you. but he got over that quickly.

your initial first impression of jisung was proven wrong after some time, seeing as how the two of you were almost always able to synchronize your wavelengths in battle.

you both take pride in being the first in your class to perform soul resonance, a fundamental skill for a weapon and a meister to achieve with their partner. many first years struggle with the concept of matching your frequency to someone else so accurately that it resonates. it takes most students the entire unit to perform one successful hit, some even take years. you two nailed it the second it was taught.

after three years at the academy, you and jisung have gotten to know each other better than you know yourselves. its typical for a weapon and meister to share some sort of deep connection, but you’ve always felt like you two exceed that standard in some way.

and here you both are, strewn across your shared couch with your legs across his lap as he sits on the other end, watching whatever's on the channel. you’re sprawled across the couch, revising your notes for the last time before you call it a night and watch with jisung.

“peach ring?” jisung asks as you absentmindedly reach in the bag to hand him one, eyes not once lifting off the pages of handwritten notes for your soul studies class. he takes it from your grasp and tosses it in his mouth, a hum of gratitude following the action.

jisung, over the years, has come out of his shell significantly from that first day you met him. you aren’t aware of it, but he owes a lot of it to you- from your contagious drive for success to your ability to believe in him wholeheartedly. he’s honestly still grateful you hadn’t dropped him the day you met. he still shudders at the memory of the day he ate his first soul, you comforting his hunched over form on the ground as he cried for an hour or two. that’s something that you both are taking to the grave with you.

he looks over to you, your brows furrowed as you mouth the words on your page in an effort to memorize the material, he finds your concentration to be quite cute.

“you almost done? its getting late. plus- its just soul studies,” jisung shrugs with a lazy smile, “last time i checked, we still have the highest resonance success rate. i think we know souls pretty well.”

you scoff at his answer, finally tearing your eyes away from the stack of papers and onto him- which was really his goal from the beginning.

“you and i know damn well that soul studies isn’t reliant on who can match their partner’s frequencies the best. its about the essence of souls.” you lecture lightheartedly and he takes the opportunity to reach over and pull the notes out of your grasp.

“well if you know so much about it, it wouldn't kill you to take a break,” he places your notes on the coffee table as you weigh the pros and cons. its getting late, so you know if you take a break, you wouldn’t return to your studying but you also didn’t have the energy to argue with jisung either. taking the selfish route, you give in and reposition yourself so you’re sitting side by side with him.

an hour passes and the both of you knock out on the couch. you’re the first to drift off and jisung just doesn’t have the heart to wake you up by moving you off his shoulder so he decides he can just close his eyes for a few minutes…

well!

it wasn’t a few minutes

more like a few minutes over the time you were both supposed to leave the house for class the next morning.

an unfamiliar feeling wakes you up that morning, half of your body on top of jisung and his arm lazily wrapped around your waist. before you can even process the position, you’re already jumping off the couch and frantically getting ready. you were supposed to leave the dorm five minutes ago

“-jisung! we’re so late! god. oh my god!” your fading voice as you run to the bathroom is the first thing your roommate hears when he wakes up. he groggily rises, rubbing at his eyes as he watches you run around your shared living space yelling in a frenzy. he would never tell you but he finds the ordeal to be endearing. he allows himself watch you for just half a second before he gets up to brush his teeth to avoid being on the receiving end of your curses.

you get ready in record time, cutting down your usual thirty minutes to a whole 4:37; albeit several steps were skipped in the process. as you frantically tie your shoelaces, jisung strolls next to you with two granola bars in hand. his morning routine is always less involved than yours so its no surprised he took like two seconds to get ready.

he can’t even hand the bar to you as you’re already dragging him out by his wrist.

by some miracle, you manage to make it to your soul studies class one minute before it began. you rush to your seat in the lecture hall and jisung follows behind, clearly not as worried about missing the test as you are.

you miss the raised eyebrow and shit eating grin that chenle sends jisung, causing the tips of his ears to turn pink.

both of you walking in together late, jisung’s hair sticking up from sleeping on the couch weird, and the lack of sleep evident on your faces may not mean anything separately, but jisung was well aware of the implication chenle’s thinking of. he’s sure as hell lucky that you’re too focused on the exam to notice.

the next thirty minutes breeze by. you finish up your test half an hour in so, technically, you’re free to turn it in and leave for your next class but you always wait for jisung so you can exit together. it takes another ten minutes of doodling on your exam and picking at your eraser for him to wrap it up.

the two of you walk to the front of the lecture hall, dropping the tests off at your professor’s desk and walking out the door. zhong chenle is quick to follow you both out. you assume he was also waiting for jisung to finish his test, presumably to walk out with you both as well.

“hey you two~ had fun last night?” he teases you abruptly as he jogs to catch up to your pace. the three of you walk down the corridor as his voice echos down the halls.

“fun? studying for that test? certainly not-” you respond with your brows furrowed, not catching chenle’s implication as the classroom disappears in the distance.

zhong chenle, as much as he is a little shit, is jisung’s best friend and gun-meister to his own weapon. he also happens to be he son of lord death, the reaper who founded the school and the one in charge of all of meister/weapon affairs. he acts as a headmaster of sorts. you interact with him frequently, as you and jisung are always getting assigned missions issued by the reaper himself.

jisung sputters a cough in an awkward attempt to seem nonchalant about this situation, “don’t be an idiot, chenle. we were studying for the test last night and fell asleep on the couch.” he slaps the back of his friend’s head and you finally catch on.

you suddenly remember waking up in jisung’s arms and how it felt so… right. is it really so natural of a conclusion to think you two are sleeping together? that was seriously chenle’s first assumption? the very thought plagues your mind

you need to purge it immediately, fearing the imbalance of your emotions for jisung will fluctuate your wavelength levels.

you brush off chenle’s allegation and he scurries away to his next class. you wrap your arms around yourself subconsciously as you both continue to your next class, purposely ignoring the previous conversation floating in your minds.

it’s around the evening when you and jisung get called in to ‘the death room’. really, its just lord death’s domain where he observes the outside world from his mirrors.

you approach the man, who’s appearance as the ‘grim reaper’ takes much more of a whimsical approach rather than intimidating. he’s larger than life in both size and personality and his mask toes the line of a cartoonish feel. his appearance contrasts the vast liminal space he resides in. it's an expansive graveyard with a circular platform in the center where his full body mirrors reside. this is how you all exit in and out of the space. though the space itself is unsettling, you always find interacting with him to be fairly easy. maybe your friendship with his son benefits that but you also like to believe your own skill is a testament of how you earned his respect.

“yn and jisung! perfect timing. i have a bit of difficult mission for you two~”

lord death’s sing-songy voice is the first thing you hear as you step through the mirror and into his domain. your hand rests on jisungs arm to stabilize yourself before you both bow to the reaper.

“stress levels have gone up around the south outskirts of the city. we aren’t sure of the threat level- an estimate would be rank three kishin egg but don’t get too comfortable,” lord death explains the mission and you’re concealing the grin that threatens to spill from your mouth, “this should be the perfect assignment for the two of you. yn, i trust you know your promotion to elite is being considered. don’t disappoint me.”

you return his sentiment with a firm nod and pat to jisung’s back. he subconsciously straightens his posture when you reply, “no need to worry, lord death. we’ll get this done in no time!”

“thank you both, see you back soon!”

and with that, the reaper gestures towards the large mirror you entered from. this time, it reflects your next destination. you can see civilians running away from the scene, personal belongings strewn across the ground, and what looks like to be a werewolf kishin. its long legs reach the floor on all fours and its about double the size of the houses around it. you watch as its hollow, white eyes survey the upcoming area for its next victim with a notable hunch in its back.

so this is your target, you observe. looks easy enough

jisung’s hand on your shoulder stops you from charging in without him. you pause for a moment to make sure he’s as ready as you are and once you get that confirmation, you’re hopping through the mirror without hesitation.

the growl of the beast before you is terrifying enough to send chills through anyone’s spine. except the fast heartbeat in your chest isn’t derived from anxiety, rather excitement instead. you know lord death is observing your every move in this mission specifically so this is your chance to put on a show; to prove that you’re able to handle elite ranked missions.

before the kishin notices you, jisung snakes an arm around your waist, getting ready to transform..

suddenly, you get the worst timed flashback of your life. visions of this morning flash across in your brain and then to chenle’s accusation. you grip the transformed scythe of a partner in your hands tightly to push the unwelcome intrusions out of your mind.

goddammit. you couldn’t be losing focus now.

“everything alright?” you hear jisung’s voice echo out of the scythe as well as a roar in the distance. you know he can feel your grip on the weapon’s handle but you’ve already been noticed by the kishin to respond.

you swing your scythe away from your body, so the blade scrapes the dirt underneath you. you run toward the angry beast, not even bothering to reply to jisung. the only thing you should be thinking about is reaching the beast.

you take your first swing at the kishin, which it narrowly avoids. you only manage to shave off the ends of its dark fur. immediately after, its paw swipes at your midsection. you manage to jump up and use the arm under you as a platform to take another leap onto its back. you’re almost moving on autopilot, you’ve battled creatures like this countless times already- yet the thought plaguing your entire being creeps in the back of your mind. it bothers you but there’s nothing you can do about it at this moment. you curse yourself for being so immature for thinking about a stupid crush in the middle of a fight.

you position yourself so that you’re straddling the werewolf while it thrashes around in an attempt to throw you off its back.

“jisung!” you call out to your partner, scythe in the air and ready to plunge into the neck of the monster, “soul resonance!”

your blade cuts deeply into the side of the kishin’s neck, but nothing happens. no blinding light, no dissipation of the beast below you, and certainly no soul resonance performed.

the shock of you not being able to complete this move for the first time in your career as a duo allows the werewolf to send you flying off its back. you’re thrown off into the dirt, jisung having transformed mid-throw to soften the fall. he has you in an embrace to minimize your impact since you can’t even react

you can only sit there, shell shocked.

there has never been a time where the two of you have failed to perform soul resonance. and now, when you need it the most- when lord death is watching your every move closely for your promotion, you stupidly fail the easiest skill you could’ve showcased.

it takes one excruciatingly long minute to realize jisung has been shaking your shoulders yelling for you to snap out of it.

“yn!! yn!! are you okay??” the pure amount of concern in his eyes is enough to get you to push yourself off your feet. you ignore the searing pain in your right arm and grab jisung with your left, wordlessly. he gets the memo and gets back into form. you’re gonna have to do this the hard way.

it takes longer than you would’ve liked, but you eventually manage to find an opening to the kishin’s heart and strike it down, revealing its glowing red soul as the body dissipates. jisung shifts back to his normal form so he can grab the egg-shaped soul and swallow it down.

he’s fast with his actions so he can run back to you to check on you. you start walking the opposite direction, not being able to stomach your terrible performance. you can’t even look at him.

“yn! are you okay? please say something.” he pleads, grabbing your forearms so you’re forced to face him. you wince and retract your right arm but you don’t make an effort to turn away again. you fight the tears forming in your eyes and avoid his prying gaze, knowing that any attempt you would make to speak would croak out pathetically.

“i- i’m sorry. i’m so sorry” those are the only words you can say before jisung is pulling you into an embrace.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he hushes your sobs, stroking the back of your head. there's a strange nostalgia about this scene. it's fairly reminiscent of the year you and jisung first met, except your positions have swapped. last time it was you comforting a crying jisung for being too ashamed over his fear of soul consumption.

you hate how small you feel in this moment, but there's one last sliver of selfishness in you that lets you enjoy the feeling of his arms around you.

“this wasn’t your fault. don’t blame yourself,” he reminds you, though you don’t believe his words. at the end of the day, you couldn’t perform soul resonance because your wavelengths didn’t align. you had been distracted during that fight. your feelings for jisung are throwing off your wavelength levels.

“thank you, jisung”

he hears your tone and knows you well enough to know you don’t believe him. he doesn’t comment on it but it makes him sad to hear you like this. he doesn’t voice his thoughts.

“are you ready to go back to lord death?” he asks tentatively and the thought makes you completely nauseous. you’re sure you absolutely ruined your reputation in front of him but you also remind yourself that he’s probably watching you wallow in your own pity right now through his ornate mirrors.

you suck it up and give your partner the okay to keep going. he walks toward a large storefront window in the damaged city, cups his hands over the glass while letting out an exhale to fog up the surface, and writes down the numerical code engrained in all of your minds: 42-42-564. if you ever wanted to knock on death’s door. the quickest way to contact lord death himself.

the glass window soon turns into the scene of lord death’s space. you see him waiting on the other side and your stomach twists in anxiety. the both of you step through the storefront display and end up back in the graveyard.

you’re about to bow your head and profusely apologize but the reaper speaks up first, breaking the silence.

“yn,” his tone is sincere, yet you can’t quite place how he truly feels, “don’t apologize to me. i don’t want to hear it.”

you thought your heart was already at your feet, but it somehow plummeted six feet under. jisung wants to stand by your side but ultimately takes a few steps back to give this conversation some space

“is there something going on in your personal life that i should consider?”

your mouth goes dry and you attempt to respond but you can only muster up the strength to shake your head. lord death strides up to you and in that moment you think everything you ever worked for is going to crumble in front of you.

“hey, i’m not about to punish you. you’re one of the academy’s most dedicated meisters, i obviously know that whatever happened with your soul resonance was the first time that happened in all your years here, which is impressive in itself. and aside from that, you wrapped up the fight without resonating very professionally. don’t beat yourself up about this battle.”

this is too much. you’re starting to feel a little lightheaded at the rollercoaster of emotions you’re feeling. one moment you are terrified out of your mind that you let lord death down.. the next, he’s.. praising you?

“but- the promotion!” you sputter out.

“you’re exceptionally hard on yourself, yn. and i think it benefits your work ethic greatly at times, but it also pulls you down. you need to take care of yourself. i’ll look the other way when it comes to this assignment if you take a week break. a good meister knows how to balance every aspect of their lives. figure out what is causing both of your wavelengths to not resonate, i’ll work things out with your professors.”

your eyes widen at the compromise and you thank lord death for his empathy.

“thank you, lord death. i promise i won’t let you down.”

the walk back to your shared dorm is mostly quiet. you had just wrapped up your conversation with lord death and stopped at the infirmary for your arm. it had dislocated during the battle but luckily the healing process was supernaturally sped up thanks to the nurses working at the academy.

there's an unspoken tension between you and jisung with both of you knowing you weren’t on the same page in terms of wavelength. this is something that has never been an issue for the two of you. you wouldn't blame him if he felt like he was walking next to an unfamiliar person.

jisung, on the other hand, is stuck wondering what happened. there was something so clearly bothering you, so why couldn’t you tell him? his mind is desperately grasping for solutions to help pull you out of this but he’s not even sure if you’ll allow him.

if anyone could see the both of you walking together, you’re sure they’d be looking two large, grey clouds above your heads, both equipped with a torrent of pouring rain.

the jingle of your keys breaks the silence between you as you unlock the front door. in the midst of kicking off your shoes, jisung urges you to stay put. you watch him shuffle off into the kitchen before returning with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. there's a shy smile on his face, hoping that this will at least improve your mood ever so slightly. theres a twist in your heart to see him looking out for you like this but you also feel a sense of guilt for letting your feelings get in the way of his own accomplishments as a weapon.

“thank you jisung” you take the carton from him with a small smile and move over to the couch. he sits opposite of your injured arm, though its pretty much healed up at this point. he’s still mindful. the regeneration magic used on it cut down your recovery time greatly. it only really feels sore now but jisung doesn’t take any chances.

you let yourself cozy up into his side as he scrolls for something to watch. the scene is similar from the night before. you weren’t exactly sure when you started blurring the lines beyond what would be considered normal for a ‘friendship’ but none of you have ever bothered to correct this behavior.

when he finally finds something to watch, jisung leans back and starts taking spoonfuls out of the tub of ice cream situated on your lap. you look up at the television lights illuminating his features, taking a mental image of the scene so you don’t get caught staring. its a scene you’ve probably seen thousands of times, yet the more you see him like this, the more flustered it makes you.

god. you’re fucking up your wavelength by the minute, you’re absolutely sure of it.

you’ve never liked the sight of the training grounds. it reminds you of the excruciating hours you’ve spent over the past few years practicing and training to get to the point where lord death deemed you strong enough to take on assignments. you typically opt for taking on lower ranked missions if you and jisung ever need to get some practice in. at least there, the targets actually fight back.

patience was never a virtue for you- clearly.

“we were asked to spend everyday together to work out our connection” jisung recites the instructions given to you guys by lord death after he granted you a week long break.

“oh, what a difficult task..” you retort sarcastically. you don’t think there's been a day where you haven’t spent a single moment without him, “hey, do you think if we can fix our connection this weekend, we can go back to class this week?”

jisung deadpans, “lord death gave us a ‘get out of jail free card’ with a whole week off of class and you want to throw that away?”

“come onn, we’re missing so much! when we get back, we’re not gonna know anything thats going on in any of our classes!”

“i already don’t know whats going on and you’ve probably studied up until the next month’s worth of academic content. we’ll be fine,” he states factually. he honestly can’t be surprised that you’re already itching to get back to work, “plus, this break is for you to get a better grasp of work-life balance. you need this week off.” he pleads with you to concede. most of his intent is for you to take it easy on yourself, but the week off from class definitely was a perk.

you kick the dirt of the training grounds and mutter an, “i guess, i guess”

jisung grabs your waist and the transformation happens as always. you stand there holding your scythe perpendicular to your body behind you with the blade’s tip facing the ground. your left arm is extended out to the side as it holds the base while your right rests on your hip.

you toss him up into the air, the weapon twirling in circles before you grab him and hit the wooden training dummy. you give him a few experimental swings before you close your eyes and focus on what you two are really here for.

you got this.

“soul resonance!” you say, voice lacking your usual confidence. and as expected, nothing happens. you squeeze the handle in frustration as if swinging harder would magically fix your problems.

“don’t think about it too much. relax. its just me and you” you hear his voice call out.

its just me and you. your heart patters with anxiety. that’s probably the one thing you didn’t need to hear. me and you

how are you failing miserably at this when its always been you two?

you try again. and again. you’re making repeated attempts, only getting close to resonating once. that one managed to make a larger dent in the training dummy, but it was absolutely nothing you were used to.

you lost count at the embarrassing amount of failed attempts you’ve gone through. around an hour and a half passes.

most of your hits end up just being hacks into the dummy to release your frustration. you almost go in for another hit when jisung transforms back. he’s sweating and he grabs for your wrist to keep you from going further.”

“that’s enough. let’s take a break for now.”

and in your frustration, you scoff to yourself. a break, huh? that’s what you’re on right now. moved to a hiatus until you can get your shit together. you don’t voice your annoyance when you glance over at your worn out partner. he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead, displacing the sweat sticking to his bangs. guilt creeps up on you for pushing him through this with you and you imagine you probably look in worse shape than he does.

“alright.. lunch?” you breath out and he gives you a lopsided smile.

“sounds perfect” he tosses your water bottle to you as you make your way off the field. your feet don’t feel as heavy anymore as you two walk away.

“there’s no way he actually did that!” you cover your mouth to stifle your laughter.

the two of you are seated inside a nearby cafe across campus. the sun shines through the window you’re seated by but the a/c is doing wonders after your miserable training session. you take slow sips at your iced latte as jisung tells his story.

“no- because i heard it was so bad. the whole class went silent after,” jisung recounts what chenle shared to him about your friend mark. apparently, the alumni was invited back to help first years with their soul resonance unit and ended up embarrassing himself with some speech he wrote the night before. safe to say, he probably isn’t going to show his face ever again after his weapon had to drag him out of the classroom out of pure humiliation.

you continue laughing, missing the way jisung relishes in your joy. he tries to cover his smile by taking a bite of the pastry he bought while averting his eyes but jisung has never been known to be discreet.

“our training today might’ve been rough, but at least we aren’t first years running off of mark’s advice” your giggle even though referencing the prior event provides a momentary reality check.

jisung notices the shift and dares to ask about it. afterall, you haven’t directly discussed what's causing this disruption.

he’s been avoiding it, patiently waiting for you to confide in him. but as hours go on, he’s unsure it will ever be brought up.

“do you.. want to talk about it?” hesitance is laced in his tone. you keep the smile on your face when you reply.

“i- well,” you don’t feel ready to confront him with what’s been haunting you. you could never outright say ‘hey! i think our wavelengths don’t match because i’m stuck with this deep, festering crush on you and you don’t at all!’

so you lie

“i really don’t know whats going on.. maybe its just extra stress? before we went into that fight i was distracted over the fact lord death was watching..”

you curse your weak attempt at an excuse the second it comes out of your mouth, praying that jisung doesn’t point out that you were jumping into the fight headfirst out of excitement. and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he only nods sympathetically and doesn’t prod further.

“if you think its stress related.. how about we step off the battlefield for the week. even being on the training ground for a few hours was too much for us,” he references your disdain for the location, “lets take this break to focus on, well.. you know, each other. and return by the end of the week to see if anything worked.”

as he says that outloud, he’s painfully aware of how bad it sounds. he makes eye contact with an older woman who shoots him a look of pity. yeah, it really did look like you two were airing out your relationship issues to the whole cafe. his ears turn pink.

you, however, only nod thoughtfully, too caught up in your thoughts to catch the expressions of any eavesdroppers. you want to agree with jisung’s proposition but you’re backed up into a corner. if anything, spending more time with jisung would only do you worse.

all you want to do is camp out in your room for the next week and do your best to forget that your dumb crush is ruining your career. yet on the other hand, if you told jisung all of this, that would definitely make things a lot worse.

is it too late to start searching for a new partner? one that doesn’t through off the entire balance of your soul just from one waist grab.

no. you could never do that. you need to make sure that your souls can resonate by the end of the week, starting with his suggestion.

“alright, lets try it.” your usual self-assured tone makes an appearance with that statement and it soothes jisung to hear.

the week passes rather quickly. the two of you followed out with jisung’s proposal, spending every day together doing various things, desperately trying to get yourself back on the same page: picnics, more cafe visits, a trip out of the city, you name it. yet each planned event seems to feel more and more like dates. sure, you two already have spent everyday together for the past few years, but the intentionality of picking places to spend time with one another had your heart thinking for itself.

you really tried to ignore what it looked like, but on friday night when the two of you decided to try a new spot and eat dinner at chenle’s favorite restaurant, you really couldn’t take it anymore.

dressed in nicer attire, you stole glances at jisung while he busied himself with browsing the menu. your heart beats faster when he tugs at the collar of his white dress shirt subconsciously.

well.. maybe you’re gonna need an indefinite hiatus if he keeps this up.

you instinctively reach for your glass of water and drink a little too much to push down those thoughts.

“you alright?” he voices his concerns, hoping that since you’re nearing the end of the week, you would be open for a real conversation.

“yeah! yeah- don’t worry about me.” you try to say as naturally as possible. he nods just like how he has been doing for the entire week. there's a dull ache in his chest knowing that you still don’t feel comfortable enough to open up to him.

its odd, he thinks. he’s so used to being the anxious thinker always relying on your drive and spirit to encourage himself. it upsets him to see you so thrown off. he’ll admit, he’s not doing much better. it keeps him up at night worrying whats got you so worked up and why you don’t trust him to completely share your burdens.

jisung has the remaining energy to muster up the self control to stop thinking about this. he has to be the strong one for you, just like how you’ve been for him in the years that you’ve known him. seeing you stuck like this hasn’t happened before. he chooses his actions thoughtfully.

“jaemin was telling me how chenle finally got busted for showing up late to his literacy arts class.” he tries to take your mind off of the current situation by thinking of the first thing he could think of.

“the one he always shows up half an hour late to? its about time,” you snort. chenle, due to the identity of his father, has the habit of running on his own schedule. he’s been lucky so far that every professor he’s had has been too scared to report him to his own father, but its about time someone said something about his habit.

“seriously! we’re already halfway through the semester, it took long enough.” he sighs, thinking about his friend’s reckless behavior. the story takes your mind off of things which jisung is just grateful to see a smiling expression on you.

the two of you chat for the rest of the dinner and you start to feel a little more at ease.

its the next morning when the both of you are back on the empty training grounds. its officially been one week since you were last here. you feel the pit of anxiety in your stomach but you try to drown it out with affirmations of confidence. you’re hoping the act at least convinces yourself that you can do this.

you notice the faint dark circles underneath jisung’s eyes but he tries to tell you its just because you had to wake up early for this.

“i’m ready. i trust you, yn. lets do this.” jisung tells you sincerely and you think that might’ve been the first time you felt hope about actually succeeding this week.

you take both of his hands in his and give them a squeeze, “we got this.”

you continue repeating that phrase under your breath as he shifts into the familiar weapon. the hands you were once holding are now a cold bar of metal, signaling you to begin.

you twirl your scythe around your body, trying to mimic the motions you know so well, the ones you’ve gone through a hundred times. you can do it again.

as you approach the wooden dummy, you actually feel the hope building up. as you swing the scythe in a circular motion, you feel the essence of jisung’s soul nearby. you close your eyes and approach the target.

“soul resonance!” you strike.

a light emits from the training dummy, its fainter than what its supposed to look like and you didn’t land a clean blow.

and even though it was a partial success, you can’t help but feel that rush of disappointment return.

jisung is quick to return back to form and you turn your back to face away from him and the in-tact training dummy serving as a reminder for your failure.

you’re so frustrated. though you’ve made slight progress, it really does feel like your back at square one.

you start walking away. you don’t even know where you’re going but you feel everything in your body driving you off this stupid field.

“yn.” jisung’s voice calls out to you, presumably to get you to try again. you couldn’t even get yourself to want to go through another attempt. its only going to make you more upset when it doesn’t work out.

“what is it?” you snap back, sounding more sharp than you intended. the second you say it you immediately regret it. jisung doesn’t deserve to face the brunt of your frustrations.

“..do you not trust me?” his voice comes out weaker this time, self-doubt clear in his words. he looks exhausted. you turn around to face your partner. it feels as if an eternity passes as you two stare into each other’s eyes, trying to figure out what the other is thinking.

“in what world would i ever not trust you?” you ask, pained and baffled as to why he even has that thought in his mind.

“then tell me whats wrong,” he pleads, “you don’t think i notice? this whole week you’ve been dancing around telling me the actual issue. i know somethings bothering you, yn. i know you. i only wish you would share it with me. we’re supposed to be.. equals.” the last word he spoke faltered. he said it as if he didn’t quite believe it

“jisung-” your eyes widen at his confession. there was never a day where you would consider yourself anything other than his equal, his partner. guilt weighs in your heart that you hadn’t noticed his desire to hear what’s been causing your turmoil, “its nothing like that, trust me.” you try to defend yourself, desperately trying to grasp at a viable explanation.

“then tell me, yn. tell me what it is.” he takes a few steps closer to you and you feel your hands go numb.

“i like you.” you blurt out. you see his frustrated expression morph into one of surprise. his eyes flicker between yours for further explanation. he stays silent while you continue, “i’m sorry. i tried to ignore it, i really did. our wavelength imbalance- i know its my fault. the whole thing is so dumb but i like you so much that its throwing off our entire balance.”

jisung hesitantly reaches out to you to say something but you beat him to it and dart off the field. you run, just like you’ve been running away from the issue this entire week.

you’re aware you don’t have anywhere to go. you live with him after all, but it doesn’t stop the overwhelming desire to lock yourself up for an indefinite amount of time. you’ve never felt this pathetic before.

you sit in your room with the door locked and lights off. after this exhausting week, you just need to think. with no point of reference of what time it currently is, your solitude feels like an eternity.

you recall hearing the front door open and close a while ago. you even heard jisung’s light footsteps in front of your own door and delicate knock, “i’m home.. by the way.” his voice is muffled. you can’t seem to place how he’s feeling through his words. you remain dead silent in response, trying to pass it off as being asleep. he lingers at the door a few seconds longer before retreating back to his room.

it was slightly after that instance when you actually fell asleep, deciding that you could probably use the extra rest after what had just occurred.

one hour turns into four when you wake up around noon, not expecting to have crashed out for that long. catching up on the much needed sleep, you don’t feel as convoluted as before. you still weren’t ready to step outside the haven that your room provided, still feeling sick over the reality of having to stand face to face with jisung. you’ll never be able to perform soul resonance with him because, fundamentally, your entire relationship is ruined. where are you going to find another weapon? let alone one that worked so perfectly with you. god. it was perfect. you grip your pillow in frustration and flip it, covering your head. you almost want to scream into it, but you're hyper aware of jisung’s presence in this dorm.

you can even hear him shuffle around in the kitchen, telling you that it is indeed lunch time. the thought of running into jisung to grab something in the pantry kills your appetite a little. flopping over, you stare at the ceiling and recount all the memories that led up to this point.

the amount of time passed is unknown to you. if you were to guess, you would say it's already dinner time but maybe that’s the hunger talking from your missed lunch.

you’ve rotted the whole day away in your bed and you’re ready to spend the next year there if you have to.

those thoughts of recluse are interrupted by what you assume to be jisung coming home again. you thought you heard him leave a bit ago, but you were set on distracting yourself from analyzing his every footstep around the house. however, your stomach growls and an instance of regret kicks in when you realize you should’ve snuck out to the kitchen when he wasn’t occupying the same living space as you. you groan at the missed opportunity.

a few raps at your door echo into the room. you curse yourself for making any noise because there’s no way you could play asleep again. you’re about to open your mouth to ask him to go away but jisung is faster in speaking up.

“i’m not leaving this time. i’m coming in.” he warns you somewhat sternly before opening up the door separating him and your personal refuge. the crinkle of plastic bags follows him in the room. he's carrying take out. once the scent of fast food hits the air, your stomach betrays you and the initial growl from a few minutes grows louder. he deposits the bags at your desk before moving closer to where you’re seated at the edge of your bed. he kneels on the floor and places a hand on your knee.

“we need to talk. i wanted you to be ready on your own time but, i’m sorry, i have to speed up this process.” he chuckles at that last part. you both know you were stubborn enough to avoid him for the rest of your lives if you had to. he rises from his position on the floor to sit on the edge of your bed.

his hand moves from your leg to your hand and he pulls it toward him. his eyes urge you to remain in contact with him.

“how have you not noticed this whole time?” he asks you softly, glancing at your interlocked hands. your heart beats out of your chest when he continues, “the day that test paired us up, i saw it in your eyes that you wanted a different partner,” he fondly laughs at the memory and squeezes your hand, “but when you laid out your dreams to me, something told me that i needed to make myself capable of helping you achieve your every wish.”

he moves your hand to his chest, placing it atop his heart. “i am the weapon i am today only because of you. because i’ve always admired your drive and dedication to do what you love. you’ve pushed me to be the best version of myself and grow more comfortable in my identity as a scythe. i’ve always loved that about you,” his grip on your hand loosens and you take the liberty to trace it upward to his cheek, resting it there as you stare into his eyes, “i’ve always loved you.”

and though you’ve managed to get through the majority of the day without shedding any tears, you feel your cheeks getting wet before you even realize. jisung is quick to delicately wipe them away, his large hands softly rubbing your face. you melt into his touch and he leaves his hands cupping your cheeks. you don’t know how long you two spend in that position before your faces eventually end up inches away from each other.

“can i?” he looks at you with shining eyes that cause your heart to soften the second he asks.

“of course” you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed. he waits a second after receiving confirmation before dipping in to kiss you. his hold on you is gentle, every touch channels the greatest amount of care. you lean closer to him, resting your hand against his thigh as you continue the kiss further. as you two share this moment, you feel as if your soul is fusing with his.

jisung moves one of his hands to your waist as you briefly break apart to catch your breath.

“i’m sorry about this. i really hope you know why i wasn’t telling you the truth this whole week-” you feel the need to apologize but he cuts you off with a kiss.

“i know, i trust you” he embraces you, smiling in your neck.

“and i’ll always trust you,” you both lean back into the bed and lay there for who knows how long. the takeout on your desk sits forgotten, but neither of you care about that at all- not when your souls are unified, having found their home in each other.

“soul resonance!” you slash into the training dummy. you returned to the field the next day with jisung, never having felt more confident. within your first attempt of the day, you are knocked back by a blinding white light- one brighter than ever before. it takes ten seconds for the light to fade and you and jisung are met with the sight of your demolished training victim as well as a massive gash in the field behind it.

“holy shit.” jisung morphs back, staring in awe at the damage you caused to the training grounds. he looks at the huge dirt cavern you sliced out of the grass and back to you, “holy shit!”

you turn to him excitedly and jump into his arms, spinning around as you two celebrate the long week of trying to repairing your broken connection. he finally sets you down, still keeping you in his embrace. his head lifts up to look at you.

“do you think we’re gonna get in trouble for,, this?” he references the mess and you step back to further examine just what you caused.

“who cares. we’ll never be back here.”

bonus scene:

“today we have an alumni here to speak to the class about advanced soul resonance. mr. mark lee, please give these students a word of advice.” the professor steps down and a young man walks to the front of the lecture hall.

“alright guys, uh, listen up,” the fairly awkward boy clears his throat in front of all the students, “no matter what they say, no matter what they do. we gon’ resonate. resonate!”

the class goes silent.

#park jisung x reader #park jisung imagines #park jisung imagine #park jisung scenarios #park jisung fluff #jisung x reader #jisung imagine #jisung imagines #jisung scenarios #nct fic #nct imagine #nct scenarios #nct scenario #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct dream au

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sepulchralblues · 1 month

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@jilymicrofics A My Lady Jane AU for Jily in august - elegant, bride, knight, royalty, soulmate

“I didn’t ask to be his bride, Petunia.” Lily wanted to tear her hair out its elegant crown-braid, half out of frustration, half to piss her sister off further. “Just because I’m going through with this doesn’t mean I want to be stuck in a loveless marriage with some doddering old fool I’ve never even met before.”

She stood before a large mirror, edges gilded a brown that once used to be gold, in a floor length wedding dress. If she held any care for the day itself, she’d notice the gown was rather stunning, a similar fashion to the royal wedding gown from last season. Instead, she was spending the morning of her wedding like any other day growing up with her darling dear sister – arguing.

“You could at least try to appreciate the effort Vernon’s parents put into securing this match for you,” Petunia returned with venom. “You’re nearly five and twenty summers old, Lily. You’re practically a spinster. After Mother died last year, you weren’t able to secure any prospects for yourself. Without Vernon stepping in, who knows what state you'd be in a year’s time from now.”

Anywhere but here sounded absolutely lovely to Lily at the moment, but she refrained from antagonizing Petunia anymore.

Lily sighed and turned away from the mirror. She waved off the handmaiden who stepped out of the shadows to help her down from the platform the tailor had her stand on for the final fitting of the gown.

Stepping closer to her sister, Lily said softly, “Understand that I am only doing this for the sake of my inheritance. If this stupid clause had not been in the will, I would have taken the money and left for Paris the minute I could get my hands on it.”

Petunia smirked. “Would you have waited for a knight in shining armor to come along before you got married then? Someone who was, perhaps, your soulmate?”

Some childish part of Lily was stung, hearing the dreams she’d once whispered to Petunia under the covers of darkness in their childhood bedroom thrown back in her face so mockingly.

But her sister was not wrong. As stupid as it sounded, Lily had spent her entire life dreaming of a love that felt like an adventure, rather than one built and bred in the stuffy castles and manors they had grown up in. It was the dream that Paris had held, and the hope that had shattered the day their parents will was announced in full.

Neither child would gain access to their portion of the (significantly large) inheritance until after they were married. And they had to be married before the age of twenty-five.

Hence the stalemate the Lily found herself locked in – a marriage to one James Potter in return for her inheritance. She’d wait the minimum period out, call for a divorce, and finally – finally – leave this place for good.

The double doors at the far end of the room burst open before she could reply. It was the Butler.

“My ladies,” he bowed deep, “it is time. The ceremony will begin shortly, and your presence in required in the garden.”

“Well then,” Petunia said. “Off we go, before you change your mind and embarrass our family again.”

Clenching her jaw, Lily followed Petunia out of the room.

–

James ran a finger along his collar in an attempt to find respite from the sweltering heat of the garden. He failed remarkably, but it was yet to be seen whether it was really the summer heat or the prospect of what was to come that was making him sweat.

Sirius Black, his best man and best mate, heard his annoyed huff and chuckled. “Heat of the moment getting to you, Prongsie?”

James ignored the taunt and focused on straightening his cuff links.

While he’d always known the day was coming, he hadn’t quite let himself wonder what it would be like. He’s never been one for stage fright, but they don’t really prepare you to stand in front of a crowd of two hundred-odd nobles and minor royalty to say the most damning two words of your life.

And damning they were, because whoever this Lily Evans was, he doubted she was any match for the girl he’d been eyeing up at the pub last night when out celebrating the last of his bachelorhood with his mates. Or the girl from the week before, her raven hair spread like ink on his bedspread, her moans like ecstasy in his ears. Or even–

The band began its tune, and the guests shuffled to their feet. He shared a final glance with Sirius. It was time.

First came the sister (he thought it was the sister at least), in a gown of deep scarlet with her arm looped around Vernon’s.

Sirius coughed something that sounded like that slug beside him, and James could only agree.

It was when he saw the white gown brushing the navy carpet that James looked at his parents. His mother met his gaze, a grave look on her face.

They couldn’t screw this up, she was trying to say. This was the last chance they had to fix things, their last attempt to root the problem out before it came back to destroy his entire family.

Sirius inhaled sharply, causing James to finally look at his bride for the first time.

Except he’d seen her before. Nine hours before, to be precise, in a badly lit pub, with a glass of ale in his hands and the golden daze of drink highlighting the arch of her eyebrows, her delicate collarbones.

Lily Evans was, in fact, the very girl he’d been flirting with last night.

Judging by the shock that stole across her face and the slightest pause in her steps, his identity was news to her too.

Suddenly everything that had seemed too daunting and painful about this marriage didn’t seem as bleak.

–

Oh, thought Lily. Oh, fuck.

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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year

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Length of Years: A Rapunzel Retelling

The woman in the tower brushed her hair. It had long ago turned white, and had grown to cover most of the floor in her little stone room. She braided it with lightning speed, her gnarled fingers confidently completing the familiar task.

Her gaze wandered through the chamber filled with the works of a lifetime. Tapestries she'd woven. Books she'd read and written. Dresses she'd designed. Plants she'd carefully tended until flowering vines framed her one window to the outside world. Evidence of arts she'd mastered, skills she'd developed--once sources of pride and joy, and now simply the remains of an empty life.

Now that her mother was dead, what did she have to live for? She'd sacrificed her life out of loyalty to the woman who'd given her everything; she'd never dreamed that someday she'd be the one left alone. This tower room had been her world; now that world seemed pathetically small. A dismal showing for so many decades.

She sang to banish the thoughts--song was her only weapon in her war against the hostile silence. The song was a light ditty from her younger years, about a bird in a cage, flying free. She'd sang that song often, once upon a time, to an awestruck audience. The only visitor this tower had ever held.

Unbidden, he appeared before her mind's eye. Young. Strong. Dark-haired. Square-jawed. With scarred hands and a dimpled chin and laughing eyes. He'd come to see her, day after day, and filled her world with a joy she'd never before known.

He'd asked her to leave with him; she'd refused, for Mother's sake, again and again, until he'd spoken so abusively against Mother that she grew offended for her sake, and told him to leave and never return. He'd obeyed her wishes, as he always had, and now she had nothing left of him but memory and regret.

She sang all the stronger as the memory turned to sorrow. She'd had her chance and thrown it away. Time had devoured any hope she'd ever had. What was the use of wishing otherwise? She was, and would be, now and forever, alone.

Even the song couldn't change that, so she stopped singing.

And in the silence, she heard a voice.

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel!"

An illusion. A hallucination. A phantom voice conjured by an abundance of memory and solitude and a lack of anything else.

The voice persisted. "Let down your hair!"

The voice was weaker than the one she remembered. Graveled. Worn. Aged.

But beneath it all, a familiar tone that brought her mind back to a time when she was fair-skinned, golden-haired, slender, willowy and oh-so-young.

She raced to the window with a speed she hadn't been capable of in years. Her joints creaked as she leaned far out the window, clinging tightly to the ledge to maintain her delicate balance as she looked down.

At a man in well-worn travel clothes marked with the royal coat of arms.

"I heard your singing," he said.

His hair was shorter than she remembered, gray and frazzled but still remarkably thick. His square jaw had grown jowls, his face had grown lines, his eyes had grown dimmer. But his smile as he gazed upon her was as bright as the one she saw in her memories each night.

With a bow that was slower but no less elegant for the passing of years, he asked, "My lady, might I ascend?"

With a joy she hadn't known she could ever possess, Rapunzel gathered up her endless white lengths of braid and let down her hair.

The climb took longer than Rapunzel remembered, but at last her visitor reached the window, and Philip Peregrine Bertram, prince of Whitbay, entered her chambers once more.

He bent double as he caught his breath. "Has your window always been that high?"

"It hasn't moved," Rapunzel said.

And neither have I.

Philip heard the unsaid and more valuable words. His gaze, when he stood straight and looked at her, held the compassion she'd always admired. "I heard of your mother's passing."

"It was very sudden." Mother had collapsed in the middle of a conversation, just after a climb up the tower in the rain. Rapunzel had buried her body beneath the stones of the tower's lowest level.

"My sympathies," Philip said.

He was the first to offer them, in all these weeks. Despite the hatred Rapunzel knew he had for her mother, she knew his words were genuine.

That, more than anything, brought the tears to her eyes. "Thank you."

Philip offered a handkerchief, which she took without shame. "Do you have food? Supplies?" he asked.

Rapunzel nodded, glad for the switch to more practical matters. "There are garden boxes here in the tower, and a boy comes every week with supplies."

"And you've stayed?"

She shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

No one else to go to.

He heard these unspoken words, too, and his face, as he sighed, seemed to age another ten years. "Rapunzel," he breathed. "I am so very sorry."

His voice held such depth of regret that she knew he apologized for far more than her mother's passing.

Despite herself, Rapunzel's words of response sounded far younger than the girl he had known. Like a child's--small, delicate, broken, plaintive. "Why did you never come back?"

"You asked me not to," Philip said. "And I had my pride. I might have returned, when my temper cooled, but then there were the wars, the diplomatic missions, the voyages, the marriage treaty, the children..." He sat wearily on her window ledge. "By the time life slowed down, I assumed you'd long ago moved on, and it would have been disloyal to seek you out. I only came to the village by chance and heard the locals speaking of the woman in the tower. Then I came to the woods and heard your song..."

He trailed off as he gestured to the room around them.

"I see," Rapunzel said, though she could barely even imagine it. An entire life full of war and travel and conflict and change happening quickly enough to obscure the passage of time, while she'd stayed here in the same set of rooms as the long, slow seconds marched lazily by.

"Did no one else ever come to the tower?" Philip asked, sounding almost desperate to hear some hint of joy from her life.

"No one," Rapunzel said simply. "Mother made certain of that."

Philip's jaw clenched, and there was a spark of the old fire in his eye, but he did not speak ill of the dead.

"I never mentioned you to her," Rapunzel said, "but she must have been suspicious--I wept so often in the weeks after our argument. She set barriers and traps in the woods after that. Spread rumors that I was mad and violent. The only outsiders who ever came were the boys who delivered supplies, and Mother always hired slow-witted lads who didn't ask questions."

"And..." Philip swallowed back some emotion. "And she was your only company?"

"She was never unkind to me," Rapunzel said, for she hadn't been, whatever her other crimes. "She made certain I never lacked anything I wanted."

"Except for freedom."

Rapunzel shook her head softly. "For a long time, I wasn't sure I wanted that. If I left, how could you find me? And by the time I believed you'd never come, I knew enough of the world to know I was safer here."

"Friendship, then."

"I did want that," Rapunzel admitted. "You don't know how much." Her fists clenched and her words quavered. "Sometimes, I thought it would break me."

Philip rose to his feet and caught her hand between his. "But it didn't," he said, with soft reassurance.

"Not yet."

"It won't," he said, with the firm compassion of age. "Not while I live." He raised her hand between their faces and looked deep into her eyes. "We've lost so many years, Rapunzel. I can't begin to atone for what you've been denied, but I can make certain that you're denied it no more. Come with me. Leave this place."

Rapunzel felt as though the tower had crumbled beneath her, leaving her no firm place to stand. It was more than she had dared to hope for, not for years and years and years. "How can I?" she whispered. "Your wife and family..."

"My wife passed nearly ten years ago. My children won't deny me the comfort of your friendship."

She gazed out the window toward a distant world glowing with a purple sunrise. "It's been too long," she said. "Too much life wasted. So little time ahead."

Philip's eyes, when she looked back at him, were as bright as those of the boy she'd once known. "Then we'd best not lose another minute."

Her head felt impossibly light. Her hair felt strange where it brushed against her shoulders. She secured the long, long braid to the pulley outside her window, then let down her hair one last time.

Philip secured her in the braid like a harness, and slowly lowered her to the ground. When her feet were firmly on the grass--it was so much softer than she'd imagined!--he climbed down and landed beside her.

Philip took her hand in his. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, too full of joy to speak.

"We'd best be on our way, then."

With her face toward the sunrise and her hand wrapped in his, Rapunzel strode forward and left the tower behind.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #rapunzel #a flash fiction image that came to me and demanded i write it #even with so little description you'd be astonished at how long this took to write #even the easy ones are never as easy as i hope #i could edit this more but also i just need to throw it out there because i don't want to spend more time on it

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lazyneonrabbitt · 6 months

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MarchWeres NSFW prompt

Pet Play

Daryl Dixon x Reader | SMUT 🔞

"I think this would look killer on your shifted form!" You and Daryl went on a little private run to an abandoned mall and found an old Hot Topic that you HAD to go into just for old time's sake.

He stared at the belt in your raised hand. Thick black with metal details and large O-rings along most of its length.

"Now wha' would I need a belt for then? Aint wearin' no pants." He had stepped up to you to take a closer look at it, but you just took the belt in both hands and looped it around his neck. "You know, because there's no collars in size werewolf available wherever.." You pulled him in by the belt and kissed his lips. "But I'm sure puppy's not in the mood to play.."

A low growl rumbled in his throat when you called him that, a smirk appearing on your face. "Well? Go on then. Change." You whispered the last bit before you slipped the belt away and ran off.

You found a thick pant chain and clicked the hook into one of the rings and ran further off to the registers where you slipped off your boots, pants and jacket, leaving you in just a tanktop and underwear.

Daryl had shifted and carefully padded over to you, ears flat against him as he stayed low to the ground. "Here. Sit." Your command was followed in an instant, his head bowed low and his cock hard and ready when you stepped up to him and wrapped the belt around his thick, furred neck and secured it. "This good for you? Not too tight?"

You got a nod and hopped up on the counter behind you and slid off your underwear, keeping the chain attached to Daryl's collar in your hand.

His tail wagged, thumping against the racks and swooping up dust behind him.

You pulled at the chain, making him move towards you so you could grab at his muzzle. With one hand pulling the makeshift leash taut and the other on his muzzle you spat a command. "Sit."

And he sat, eyes looking up at yours and his tail still wagging.

You gave him a soft smile and spread your legs, pulling at the chain some more so his nose was pressed against your core. "Now, lick."

He opened his maw and began lapping atyour folds and prodding at your entrance, letting out soft growls against your skin making it hard not to clamp your legs around his head.

Your hands found their way to his ears, grabbing at them and keeping him pressed against you, doubled over in pleasure you felt his fangs press into your skin.

With your head down you saw his front paw moving and realized he was jerkinf himself off.

You yanked at the chain and pulled his head away from you, one hand still roughly holding onto his ear. "Who told you it was okay to touch yourself, puppy?"

He whined as he stopped touching himself, tongue still darting out to try and taste you.

"Fine. You're lucky I'm in a good mood." You could never punish him, you had tried but immediately gave in after. You hopped off the counter and turned your back to him. The chain still held taut between your hand and his neck, letting him know you were still in charge.

You sat down on your knees with your back facing him, pulling his head down low with you. His raised front paw was shaking with how bad he wanted to touch you and it only made you move slower. "Nah ah, wait for me to say so." You tutted at him and pressed a finger to his nose. His whines continued as you lowered your upper body to the floor and pulled him along, his chin touching the floor next to your head as his hands kept him from falling forward.

You reached one hand between your legs and barely grazed the tip of Daryl's cock with your fingers, unable to grab it but he took the hint and shoved his hips forward.

You slowly lined himself up between your folds and just like an obedient, albeit loudly complaining pet he followed your movements and held still for you.

Your hand loosened the chain just a bit to give him more movement space and gavs him the okay.

"Go on. Fuck."

With a quick snap he slid into you until he felt resistance, setting a pace to thrust in just a bit further each time only to feel you clench around him already before he was even fully inside.

He let out an amused noise, he couldn't help but let it slip but quickly learned his mistake as his jaw hit the floor with a hard pull of the chain.

He grumbled and continued his movements.

"No knot, baby. No time today." It was getting harder to keep up the strong act so close to another orgasm but he atill followed your orders like a good pet and wrapped a hand around his base so he couldn't push in further, working both of you over the edge before pulling out and catching his breath.

He snatched an old sweater off the rack and tossed it to you for cleaning up.

He tried to pry the belt off his neck but his claws weren't helping so in defeat he slumped and shifted back, letting it hang loose around his neck until he was aware enough again to take it off and get dressed along with you.

"C'mon, we should head back home 'fore they come lookin'

#marchweres #sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #twd #the walking dead #twd au #werewolves #werewolf #monster x human

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somanyratsinthewalls · 11 days

Text

Run Away with Me Chapter 2

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Named Female OC (Charlotte Ginger)

Summary: After being told you’re to marry a foreign prince or face pain of death, you’re barely given time to consider an escape plan before your situation becomes worse… and then your prince arrives…

WC: 2800

Run Away with Me Chapter 2

— —

You lay on the floor after being knocked back by the door for what could have been 10 minutes or 10 hours. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t scream. You were numb. Your eyes were glued straight up at the vaulted ceiling. The sun had dipped below the horizon ages ago without you noticing. The room was now softly illuminated by the enchanted candles adorning the many chandeliers in your room, your

Opulence, everywhere. Gods, what you wouldn’t give right now to have born to some common wretch instead of a powerful emperor. You could adventure on the seas to your hearts content without worrying about being sold to some elitist jackass for the sake of your mother’s political ventures.

*tap tap tap*

You snap your head in the direction of the sound. You see a large woman with raven hair darkening the stone ledge outside your floor length window. You jump to your feet and rush over to the glass and push the red velvet curtains further apart to view more of the window.

“Lazora? What are you doing here?” You question, the panic evident in your voice. You couldn’t risk her being seen at your window… especially given the current predicament.

“Nori flew up here and wouldn’t come down or shut up. You were gone awhile and we all got worried. Can you open the window?” Your first mate and right hand gives you a grin as she looks for a latch on the outside of the glass.

Lazora was several generations removed from giants, evident in the way she stood far over six feet tall. She was strong, albeit a little dense, but she was a loyal first mate. She must have traded in her usual armor for plain clothing in order to more easily scale the chateau’s outer walls, her long black hair a bit mussed from the climb. You couldn’t help but smile a bit at her great attempt to find you. Lazora was much more than your first made, she was also your lover.

“No use. Mom’s got me stuck here.” You shake your head.

“What? Like Rapunzel? No more haircuts for you, love.” Lazora chuckles and wraps her knuckles on the glass window, trying to find a weak spot.

“No… you don’t get it. I’m to be married on Sunday. Some Germa 66 asshole. My fleet is being given to Cracker. You have to get out of here tonight.” Your voice trembles with a mixture of nervousness and urgency.

“What?” Lazora flattens her palm out on the glass and stops knocking.

“You need to go. All the security here is preparing for Germa’s arrival. You can take one of the ships on the North side of the island. Sneak out before anyone can see you.” You say. Lazora opens her mouth to protest but you interrupt her. “I’m going to try and leave tomorrow if I can find a way out of this room… they said the prince arrives in the morning… if they want me to see him I’m sure they’ll bring me out some time.” You raise your hand and press it against the glass across from hers, her fingers extended out much further than your smaller ones. “Go.”

*knock knock knock*

You jump.

“Now, someones here! Go!” Your voice cracks with your final command.

Lazora nods silently and disappears down the face of the tower.

You pull your hand from the glass and suck in a shaky breath, trying to settle yourself for whoever was darkening your doorstep at this hour.

“Come in.” You call out towards the ornately carved double doors that lead out of your bedroom suite.

You hear a jingle of what sounded like some kind of key before the metal clicking of several locks being opened. You see the brass doorknob turn slowly and then the door being pushed open. You instinctively reach to the holdster on your thigh and grip the handle of your dagger.

“You don’t want to do that, little sister.” A playful lilt ran through the voice of the slender, pink haired woman that stepped into your bedroom. “I brought the big guns.” Your older sister, Galette strolls into your room followed by the heavy thumping of obscenely large combat boots. Appearing from behind the doorway was your massive older brother, signature scarf wrapped around his face and neck. He almost had to duck to get into the room, but once he entered, he merely looked you up and down without even nodding in acknowledgment.

You straighten your back and release the grip on your blade. It would be laughable to try and make a move on your sister with Katakuri in the room.

“What do you want?”

“Who the hell talks to their sister like that? You’re acting like I had something to do with your new assignment.” Your sister quips back at you.

“Not sure the word family means too much to me anymore.” You spit as you glare at your sister. “I don’t recall anyone ever forcing your hand.” You shift your gaze to your hulking older brother who was still standing by the door. “Or you, you old man, Mama would have had what? 40 kids at your age? But no… not you… Mama’s precious boy.” Your eyes narrow as you seethe.

“Know your place, sister.” Katakuri says lowly from behind his scarf.

“Sit with me, Ginger. I brought wine. It’s that Bordeaux from the South Blue you like. Very rich.” Galette brings a large bottle of wine and two cups over to the coffee table in your room. She plops down in a plush armchair and pours you each a full glass of the blood red wine.

You hesitate for a moment, eyes flitting from the wine, to your siblings, and back to the table. You eventually move towards the loveseat across the table from your sister and sit down. Galette hands you a glass. You take it reluctantly and wait for her to take a sip before taking one of your own. You sigh. It really was a good red.

“It’s time to grow up, sister. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now but this is what’s best for the family. Mama knows what she’s doing, and you’re going to have to trust her.” Galette notices your expression soften a bit. “Our fates were always to serve our family.”

You let out a shaky exhale, staring down at your wine glass, trying not to cry. You refused to show weakness in front of your older siblings if you could help it. You swallow the lump in your throat with another big gulp of wine.

“Now since I am such a kind big sister, I’ve done a bit of looking into your new fiancé and am feeling generous enough to let you in on it so you can prepare.” You look back up at your sister.

“What’s there to know? Some Germa prince isn’t anything I can’t handle.” You raise your eyebrows in curiosity.

“He’s just a prince, Ginge, he’s a machine. Genetically engineered soulless fighting creation…” Your sister smirks, unable to hide her mischievous streak. “That’s what the rumor going around the island is, though. I’ve heard whisperings that he’s actually a highly wanted, murderous pirate… hanging around with that young up-and-comer Straw Hat Luffy. Either way, I thought you should know what to expect when you meet him tomorrow.”

Your mouth felt dry. Your chest felt tight.

“A-and what am I supposed to do with this information? It’s not like I can change my circumstances… you said it yourself.” Your could feel your heart rate quicken at the thought of a some kind of monster darkening your chambers every night until the end of time.

Galette rose from her seat and gracefully flitted to your side on the loveseat and sat down next to you, her knees touching yours. “My sweet sister… Although you may not believe me, I do truly love you and want what’s best for you.” Galette took your hands in both of hers in a tender, comforting gesture. “Which is why it pains me to do this, Ginger.”

“Wha-“ You cock your head and try to pull your hands back.

*click-click*

A gold bracelet now adorned each of your wrists. They were solid, no clasps to be seen.

“What is this?!” Your eyes widen in panic.

“A hunter’s no good without her hands. You leave the island, Mother blows you to bits. It wasn’t my choice, but I will admit it’s effective.” Your sister immediately stands and moves towards where your brother stood at the door to your room, her facade of compassion now gone.

“W-why…” You look helplessly up at your siblings from the sofa.

Katakuri held the door open and your sister shot you a smirk before exiting.

“See you at the wedding, sister.”

— —

You laid, spread eagle on your bed for hours, you had stripped off your leathers as you crawled into bed after you siblings departed.

Nothing remained on your body except the cold metal bands on your wrists.

You oscillated between sleep and semi \consciousness all night, never feeling like you were getting a moments rest. The sun had now fully leaped from behind the sea horizon and illuminated the room slightly through your burgundy curtains.

There was a gently tapping at your door.

“Yes.” You croaked, so tired and defeated to stay at the offensive.

“Miss Ginger, we’re… we’re here to prepare you for your prince. May we come in and bathe you? It is at the orders of your mother.” The shy chambermaid stepped gingerly through your doorway with pitchers of essential oils and other grooming utensils on a silver tray.

“Fine.” You relented without even looking in the maid’s direction.

Three women in stewards clothing swiftly ducked into your bathroom to prepare your bath. You rose to your elbows with a heavy sigh. You lift your body from the bed and couldn’t help but wince at the soreness of your muscles. Your last hunt hadn’t been an easy one… and you weren’t exactly given time to recover before being thrust into this situation.

You enter the bathroom fully nude and hobble towards the large bathtub. You swing your legs over the side of the marble tub and sink slowly into the sudsy hot water.

As you relax into the tub, one of your chambermaids begins soaking your hair with water gently.

After your hair was soaked properly, your chambermaid massages shampoo into your crimson locks, paying special attention to the tight knots at the base of your scalp.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You say, your eyes remaining closed.

“M-my lady, I don-“ Your servant stutters out, her hands in your hair still.

“Oh, please. You three never stop gossiping during our times together, why is the room so silent now?” You cock your head back towards your chambermaid who held your scalp in her hands.

“We.. well we saw your prince today, Lady Ginger..” One of the other maids responded. The three servants looked at each other and giggled.

“He’s… he’s so cute!”” The youngest of your servants squealed.

You lean upwards in the tub and face your maids.

“Oh? How so?” You chuckle and play into your young servants excitement.

“Yes! Miss Ginger he’s so handsome! Long, blonde hair, strange eyebrows, thick thighs… and oh my goodness those bright blue eyes!!! Miss Ginger you have been so lucky!!”

You sigh.

“If only he could be just that.” You smile, defeatedly. As handsome as he might be, if he was a technologically designed war-machine.. it would be your ruin regardless of how he looked.

— —

Your servants had fitted you into a silk, burgundy gown after carefully washing and braiding your hair. You insisted to leave it plain, but the chambermaids insisted they prepare you hair before you meet your prince.

You laid on your loveseat, anxiously picking at your nails when you hear a sound from your bedroom door.

*knock knock knock*

Your eyes snap towards the door.

You leap across the room to hide yourself in the corner of the doorframe before the intruder could let themselves in. You pushed your dress to the middle of your legs so you could grab a dagger out of the holster on your left thigh.

The door swung open fully and you leapt up to the top to the door frame and waited for someone to step through.

A few moments went by.

“Hello?” A man’s deep, raspy voice called out.

From perched upon the doorframe, the smell of cigarettes infiltrated your sinuses and caused you to scrunch your nose up.

“Lady Ginger?” The man calls out towards the empty bedroom. He held a large bouquet of white roses in one arm. The light from the hall bounced off his shiny blonde head, giving you a full picture of his figure from the back. He was tall, shoulder length hair… black slacks and a white dress shirt fluttering around the collar. He had broad muscular shoulders, but those couldn’t compare to his large, powerful looking legs, his slacks straining a bit around the thighs.

“My name is-“ The man begins before he is silenced by a blade at his throat.

“I can smell your fear.” You had dropped down from behind him once he entered your room and ambushed him with your daggers. You take another quick inhale. “And tobacco. Nasty habit.”

The prince didn’t flinch at all.

You pull him in closer with your free hand on his left shoulder. Your right hand kept a tight grip on your blade at his throat from behind.

“The fear or the smoking?” The blonde asks.

“Both.” You replied.

Several moments of silence and heavy breathing from both parties go by.

“I can only assume you’re the lady I’m looking for, Miss Charlotte?” The panting blonde man utters.

“You’re not as stupid as you look, then.” You spit back, not releasing your vice-grip on the blade against the prince’s throat. You pull the dagger closer to his skin. “So, Vinsmoke. What are you? An engineered monster, or a blood thirsty pirate?”

“A cook.” The blonde man choked out, Adam’s apple bobbing against your blade.

You loosen your grip on the blonde man, but not entirely.

“A cook? Mother had me pulled from my fleet to marry a kitchen scullion? You think I’ll believe that?” You scoff.

The head in your grasp turned to its right.

“As unbelievable as it is, but judging by those bracelets dangling from your wrists, you are in the same situation that I am.” The man states calmly.

You glance down to the blonde’s sides. He carried no weapons No sword, no axe, no hammer, not even a dagger. You could only find pale, empty hands laying at the man’s sides… but the glint of gold caught your eye. He had been cuffed, too.

You sheath your blade and push the man forward so he could turn around and face you.

“You don’t want this either?” You ask, finally meeting your future husband face to face. His eyes looked tired, but a deep shade of azure sky shone through them. You noted his strong jaw adorned with a neatly trimmed goatee, but what really caught your eye was his odd eyebrows that curled up into a swirl at the ends. *stupid looking* you thought to yourself.

“I was taken from my crew. My father forced me here.” The pallid man said.

“My mother told me she’d never marry me off. She lied.” You responded.

There was a heavy silence between the two of you.

“Your family betrayed you in a way that ruined your life.” The man in front of you lets out a dry chuckle. “Wish I could say that I can’t relate.” The blonde picks up the roses he dropped from before.

“Can I give you these?” He asks, stepping towards you slowly.

You step backwards instinctively. He stopped his approach immediately, seeing your hesitation. You take a few more steps and extend your arms fully to reluctantly accept the flowers. You didn’t want this strange man any closer to you than he needed to be.

“What do you want?” You asked, defensively.

“I wanted to properly introduce myself before the wedding. I’m Sanji.” The man states plainly, seemingly relieved to no longer have a knife at his neck.

You eye him up and down again.

“Ginger.” You respond curtly.

“Well Ginger, it’s a pleasure. Though it’s against my will as well, I must apologize on behalf of my family for your unwilling betrothal.” A shy smile makes its way to his lips.

“Okay. You’ve introduced yourself and you’ve apologized. Now get out.” You spit.

“As you wish, my lady.” Sanji nods and moves to exit your bedroom. “I will try to make myself scarce until Sunday.” He adds as he closes the door behind him.

Left alone again, you throw the bouquet at the wall in frustration.

— —

Taglist: @mere-mortifer

A/N HI YALL hope you are enjoying this because I’m certainly having fun writing it! All feedback is GREATLY appreciated! Love y’all.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece anime #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #strawhats

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melancholicstation · 8 days

Text

The Socially Active Secretary: Chapter One

authors note: this is more of establishing of context around our main secretary girl!! our favourite pathetic catholic men (the kennedys) will come very soon i promise, all in due time. 🍺 please leave comments of any questions/likes/dislikes/all around opinions so i know if your interested!!!

pairing: robert francis kennedy female ❤︎ original character charlotte agapov (secretary!reader)

synopsis: charlotte agapov, a divorcee whom recently moved back to the states after a disastrous lovers quarrel, assumes the secretarial position to the most important man in America, but it is not he who has captured her attention, no. instead, it's his meek younger brother, the runt of the kennedy pack, bobby francis kennedy.

[1403 words]

taglist: @kennediva @absurdlyvintage

chapter two, three

masterlist charlotte moodboard rfk moodboard

(border from jenny holzer truisms 2018)

Chapter One

May 1st , 1961

There Charlotte stood, rolling on the balls of her feet, observing the woman before her in the mirror, finding her increasingly difficult to place her as recognisable. She had all the features that Charlotte understood to be her own, but she felt like nothing of the sort. Swathed in wool, to accommodate for the seemingly perpetuate damp state of Massachusetts in the month of May, and encompassed by a calf-length dress fit with double-faced cashmere in a mousey grey. Due to her contentious divorce with the English baron Hugo Cornwall, he had ordered for all her typical clothes to be held in a storage facility in Kent instead of its original location: Brookline Massachusetts. He knew how important those items were to Charlotte, and he used them as nothing more as a bargaining chip.

As a result of the divorce Charlotte had been tabloid-manhandled out of Britain and promptly returned to her mother country, the United States, and backed right into perusing the job boards in the Cape Cod Times by her alimony-avoiding, hector of an ex-husband. Hugo, at 40, knew of nothing but a life of bone china plates and private charter jets, getting by in this world from a combination of generational handouts from his godmother's situated in a nondescript European country off the coast and the humiliatingly tacky private tours he host every Saturday evening of the inherited estates cashing in a small fortune. And yet, he avoids the alimony checkers in a not so dissimilar fashion to that of his shunned family embarrassment of an uncle, who was, as of last month, avoiding taxes of in sunny Monte Carlo.

Once it became incredibly clear that Hugo was never going to cough up, and that her mother's invitation of staying at her summer house in Martha's Vineyard had a fast approaching expiry date Charlotte started to look for her next move.

Just when she had nearly exhausted all her mother's country club friends who, in a tone that could only be translated as deeply patronising stated that,

"Unemployment for such a young, american divorcee was 'in' for 1962" and that they would "call back in April to work something out"

However, April came and went, and still nothing. During the 16-month stint since Charlotte's divorce of 1961, Charlotte felt very sorry for herself and--well that's about all she did really.

Not only did getting married at 20, and it's later disillusion 8 years later, create an abstract wreckage sculpture out of her self-esteem and physical health, it stripped all prior job experience that a girl her age should've been building. After all, she could still feel her mother's fingertips ushering an 20 year old Charlotte's hands away from a flyer, held by a piece of battered painter's tape on a lamppost advertising a law school in the area,

"Oh for christ sake what are staring at now Charlotte?, you know we have caroline's recital across town, and I swear if I have to hear your aunts nasally whine one more time so help me God I will--"

Charlotte abandons her post of intense eye contact with the poster fluttering by the winds will almost instantly and returns through a soft tone "I-I'm coming now, it just captured my eye that's all."

The rest of the walk was blanketed in a soft wool of repression and thoughts better left unspoken until her mother turned on her heal, the gravel exclaiming a pleasant crunch in response,

"Don't you dare think I didn't see what you were looking at Charlotte, these are not the aspirations expected of a future baroness, you won't have any need for these silly machinations once you're tending to your husband and your home together. I understand that your nervous but think of how happy you'll be in a short few months with Hugo."

Her mother assured her in such a cadence, with such wistful hope, not meaning to make Charlotte's stomach drop but it did all the same.

"You know, I got nervous too, when I was engaged to your father. I thought about leaving more times than Sinatra's gets played on the radio at Green's pharmacy, but I stuck it out. And I got rewarded a great deal for that, for that bravery, and you will too. Far more than I ever did, I mean you're marrying a Baron who is infatuated with you for Pete's sake!"

Charlotte thinks to scoff at the notion that Hugo is at all capable of the feeling of infatuation but halts when she observes the expression of sheer elation on her mother's face.

"Everything will run as it's meant to if you do what's best, I promise",

and with that a kiss is pressed to Charlotte's forehead, and the conversation is recklessly abandoned by both parties.

Charlotte had stayed in that marriage for 8 years and what did she have to show for it? Surely not anything tangentially useful. Sure, now she knew the intricacies of English etiquette and the British aversion to hugs but that's nothing to be put on a resume. However, one worthy advantage that came out of the grotesque misalignment that was their marriage was that around the 4th year mark Charlotte had managed to secure an English degree from the University of London. Now that was certainly something to put on her resume.

Still the world seemed to completely turn its back on Charlotte, though only on a strictly employment basis, she still attended mass each Sunday and caught up with her still married, though not happily, socialite friends but it was hard to find common ground anymore. Before she could feasibly pass as one of them, now even if they didn't explicitly state it, Charlotte was now regarded as persona no grata for the entirety of the high society scene of London. She was left with a bunch empty friends, and an, as if increasing by the day, empty purse strings.

That was until a job ad in The Boston Globe caught the baby blue shadowed eye of Charlotte during her quite lonely solo escapade to the local sandwich bar across the street from her flat.

It read, in a thick professional font:

'Exciting Secretary Position Available at political epicentre of Washington D.C!

Are you a talented and organised individual seeking a rewarding career in a fast-paced office environment? Our office is looking for a professional Secretary to join our team and contribute to our continued success.

Position: Secretary Location: Top Secret [Call to confirm details] Salary: Competitive, with excellent benefits

Responsibilities:

managing and prioritising daily office tasks with efficiency

coordinating appointments and travel

managing diaries

support senior executives

having a pleasant demeanour when interacting with important officials

Qualifications:

High School Diploma or equivalent

Apply today to be part of a supportive and thriving workplace!

Phone: *** *** ***''

Now sure, the vague nature of who exactly the job would have Charlotte working for was strange and a little more than unnerving but realistically Charlotte, a 29 year old women with the same employment history as a 18 year old fresh out of high school, was going to take whatever she could get at this point.

The girl took the changing of the sky from bright periwinkle to a dim earl grey, as a sign to head back to her place in order to escape the fast approaching storm, the newspaper resting comparably rolled up in the crook of her arm.

Prior to returning to her apartment Charlotte had come to forget about the job as she had ran a few errands after the sandwich bar, that was until her feet met the door mat of her apartment. It was no longer clean as she had left it prior it now had, scrawled in big black letters, 'warning of eviction if payment is not obtained by next month'.

Charlotte's shaking hands move to pick up the yellow slip, and as she makes her way through her apartment, periodically leaving her jacket on the armrest of her laughably small settee in her stress-filled haze, she then starts to remember the job offer from the afternoon.

Sure the ad's ambiguity was a bit strange, but truly who was she to judge? It's not like the job offers were exactly rolling in at the moment.

'Oh what the hell, she might as well give it a go!' Charlotte thought, as she hesitantly dialled up the rotary.

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imagines--galore · 1 year

Text

||I’m Convinced||

Summary: Once the fake-date was over, you went back home, contemplating on what had occurred. And how within the span of a few hours you had begun to look at your best friend in a completely different light. But then, had his feelings changed as well? Companion piece to Convince Me.

Pairing: Superman aka Clark Kent x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. None, just some kissing and teasing.

A/N: You guys voted for it and here is the second part! Hope all of you enjoy!!!! Also I have NO idea what I just wrote. Fluff? Heat? Tease?

The first thing you did, once you got back home, was remove your heels. What had possessed you to wear the ones that were the strappiest was beyond you. The entire lower half of your legs was imprinted with the straps once they were off your feet. Slumping into the couch, you turned on the television to catch up on the latest news about the newest villain terrorizing the world.

It would seem that during your travel time from the restaurant to your apartment, the Justice League had managed to subdue the would-be conqueror. You watched as the man was being led away in handcuffs and under maximum security. The camera cut to Superman speaking to the Press.

They very sight of him was enough to make you blush to the very tips of your ears and for your heart to skip a beat.

Utterly ridiculous.

You were acting like a love-struck teen who had just had their first kiss. From their first crush. Who also happened to be the most popular guy in school.

Good Lord, so many clichés came to your mind that you groaned. “Maybe I should stop watching rom-coms.” You spoke to yourself, hands lifting to undo the pins in your hair to allow the soft tresses to tumble down around your bare shoulders.

Leaving the television on in the background, you moved to your bedroom, intent on getting out of the dress and into something more comfortable.

However, the sight of Superman hovering just outside the glass partition of your balcony had you stopping in your tracks.

Your lips parted and you glanced over your shoulder where you could see the television screen. Seems Wonder Woman had taken over talking to the Press.

Had Clark cut his interview short to come here?

A smile pulled at your lips as you slowly walked towards the double doors, but you didn’t open them. He landed on the balcony, and you took a few moments to take in the sheer power that radiated from him even with the glass between you both. His light blue eyes somehow stood out against the dark blue of his suit, making them appear all the more mesmerizing. And then there was his smile.

You knew you were mirroring that smile as you laid a hand against the glass. He copied your action, resting his own hand where yours was on the other side.

That was all that separated the two of you. All you wanted was to get rid of the final wall that stood between you, but you hesitated. Your eyes flickered from your hands to meet his gaze. You could practically feel the warmth that radiated from him in that moment as his eyes locked with your own.

The kiss from earlier replayed in your mind, and suddenly you wanted to feel his lips upon yours once more.

Your breath fogged the glass since you were standing so close to it. Your mind raced. You knew if you opened the door there would be no going back. No more walls or pretenses between the both of you. No more keeping the other at arm’s length for the sake of the friendship you shared. Having your friendship change into a relationship wouldn’t be so bad. It would be the same wouldn’t it? Or would the dynamic change completely? Would you become a target for every villain that wanted to harm Superman? Not that you weren’t one already. Being one of his best friends and all.

Neither of you knew how long you both stood there, simply looking at one another. But then, suddenly his demeanor changed. His smile turned.......sad, and a with a slight nod of acceptance, he began to turn away.

Your heart jolted. You felt as if you were falling into a dark chasm. Your entire body felt numb.

All this at the sight of him turning away from you.

With a strength that rattled the glass doors in their frames, you threw them open and wrapped your arms around Clark from behind. You buried your face in his cape, squeezing with all your might, hoping he would be able to pick on the extent of your feelings for him.

“Don’t go.” You whispered. “Don’t leave.”

A moment of silence before he laughed softly. In relief. You felt the vibrations of it against his strong back as you sighed and smiled.

He wouldn’t leave.

You felt his hand come up to place atop yours. “It’ll take more then your words to get me to stay.” He said, his voice soft. So soft, in fact, you didn’t think you had ever heard him speak like that before. It caused a warmth to settle inside you, which only grew when he turned around to face you.

Your arms dropped to your side, as you tilted your head back to look at him properly. Seeing that playful glint in his eyes and the smirk he wore, prompted you to return the smirk and push your chin out in defiance. “What’ll it be then? Dinner at your favorite place?” You asked.

He only shook his head, taking a step closer and reaching a hand out towards you. You simply took a step back. He looked confused for a moment before he realized what you were doing and that smirk returned.

Game on.

“Dinner does sound nice, but it isn’t enough to warrant my presence.” You hummed under your breath, pretending to think.

“Tickets to the next Country Fair?” He shook his head. Another step forward, with you mirroring his action, but in the opposite direction.

“Wally already invited me.”

“A puppy?”

“I already have Krypto.”

“A new watch?”

“You gave me a new one on my birthday this year.”

“A massage?”

“Won’t do me any good. Alien skin remember?”

“A month of no rom-coms?”

“Tempting, but still not enough to convince me to stay.”

With every question he would step towards you and you would step back. Your eyes never strayed from his, and the smiles the both of you wore never wavered. There was something palpable between the both of you, a tension that had never been there before. One that was urging you to end your little game of cat and mouse and simply give in.

But you wouldn’t.

The buildup was just as sweet as the result. And you knew Clark was enjoying it as much as you were. With the way his smile was equal parts playful and sexy, and how his eyes kept dropping to your lips. You weren’t any better though. Your gaze kept roaming over his entire body, watching the Kevlar of his suit stretch with every movement he made.

It was enough to make you a little weak in the knees.

Your back hit the wall, and you knew your game would be over soon.

He loomed over you, arms coming up to rest his hands against the wall on either side of your head to cage you in. In an effort to not swoon from having him stand so close to you, or to see just how dark his eyes had gotten, you turned your head away, choosing to focus on his hand instead.

“A good story?” You whispered, biting your lip when you felt his warm hot breath fan over your exposed neck and decolletage. Your skin felt so warm that the necklace you wore was cool against your neck.

“I’m already backed up at work.” He responded, his voice low and slightly hoarse. His nose brushed against your chin, causing an involuntary shudder to run the entire length of your body.

“I’ll make a pie for you?” You offered, your words coming out in a breathy whisper as you attempted to keep your hands at your sides by gripping the fabric of your dress. A dark chuckle sounded in the room.

“You’re a shit baker, Y/n.” God, the way he said your name. There had to be a law against it. His nose moved to run along the side of your neck, where he inhaled deeply.

Fuck! He was inhaling your scent. A sinful sound fell from your lips, a combination of a sigh and a moan. You decided to change tactics. He had already won once tonight, and you’d be damned before you let him win again by wearing you down.

Forcing your head to move so your eyes could meet his, you spoke. “Swearing in front of a lady? I am so disappointed in you Clark. I took you to be a gentleman.”

To hell with self-control.

One of your hands came up to rest against the center of his chest, where the crest for his family was inlaid into the uniform. The other came to run your fingers in a teasing manner up and down the length of his arm. While your own body burned, you could practically feel the heat radiating from his as well.

Your hands on him did make him pause for a few seconds, and you smiled in triumph, thinking that you had him.

But then his lips found the shell of your ear and he kissed you.

Sweet. Heated. Gentle.

He leaned back so he could look at you and you gave him a slightly annoyed look. “This is cheating, you’re distracting me.” You pouted, to which he raised an eyebrow. “As if you’re doing anything different.” He motioned to where your fingers were now running along the side of his neck and slowly making their way into his hair.

You shrugged. “Maybe this is how I will bribe you to stay.” He shook his head, a gentle loving smile pulling at his lips as he cupped the side of your face. You leaned into his warm palm, marveling at how gentle and soft he was with you given his super-strength.

“I don’t need to be bribed Y/n. I already have my reason to stay.” He stated, to which you gave a little look of confusion. “Whats that?” You asked.

“You.”

Checkmate.

Your face burned with how violently you blushed. Your heart picked up speed. And you were sure you had stopped breathing for a few seconds as your brain tried to process what he had just said.

Your lips parted in surprise, as you stared up at him.

And that look of smug triumph and tease in his blue eyes was enough to break you from your trance.

With a growl you ducked out from under him and grabbed one of your many pillows from your bed. You began to hit him from every angle you could, while he had the audacity to laugh as he tried to shield himself from your fluffy assault.

“You are such an ass Clark! I should’ve let you freeze outside.” You yelled with each hit, his laughter only adding fuel to your embarrassment of how easily he had won you over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He managed to say in-between his laughter. But hitting him with the pillow wasn’t enough. You wanted to win, you wanted to one-up him.

So when he tripped over your discarded heels and fell to the ground, you threw aside the pillow. Giving him no time to recover you straddled his waist, before leaning down and fusing both your lips in a kiss.

You were the one doing the kissing, since Clark laid underneath you completely unresponsive. His entire body had stiffened, and you felt a surge of satisfaction run through you, knowing you had caught him off guard.

Just as he had done to you earlier that night, you pulled back, though you didn’t pull away. You were still laying on him as you smiled smugly.

“Convinced?” Your voice sounded breathless.

Clark continued to stare up at you dumbfounded. “Didn’t think I had it in me did you?” You chuckled, enjoying every moment of your victory.

Suddenly your world flipped, and you found yourself laying on your back with Clark above you. You didn’t care though, you continued smiling up at him. “Fine.” He stated begrudgingly. “You won this round. But I still have a win from earlier tonight. After all I did convince your parents that we were dating.” He was slowly leaning down, his gaze never once breaking away from yours.

“Then why don’t you stop talking and claim your prize?” You teased, arms coming up to wrap around his strong shoulders. His answering smile was as brilliant as the sun.

“Gladly.”

And then he was kissing you. Kissing you with all he was worth as you laid underneath him, his strong body hovering over you. A sensual sigh sounded from deep in your throat as you finally gave into the feelings of pure want and need that had been clawing their way to get out from where you had caged them the entire night. Your fingers played with his hair, your body arched against his. The latter prompted him to bite your lower lip, and taking your open mouth as an invitation, began to explore you with his tongue. He groaned as his arms wrapped around you so he could shift the both of you to lay on your sides. The change in position allowed him to explore with his hands. Running them all along your body and mapping every dip and curve.

“Does kissing you mean what I think it means?” He whispered against your lips, unable to pull away from your intoxicating taste. “Sometimes actions speak louder then words.” You returned, before gripping the hair at the back of his head and pulling slightly, silently cuing him to kiss you again.

He gladly did so, kissing you deep and true whilst cupping your face between his hands. “Think I’m your new Kryptonite E.T.?” You asked with a gentle look in your eyes as you panted for breath once he had pulled back.

Clark shook his head, bringing one of your hands up to his lips and kissing your wrist. “You are my sun, Y/n.” He stated in a strong voice, prompting you to giggle and blush at the same time.

“You sure you haven’t been watching rom-coms behind my back Clark? Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“Mention this to anyone from the League and I will withhold further kisses.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x oc #superman x reader #superman x y/n #superman imagine #dc imagine

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brb-on-a-quest · 6 months

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So the other day I made a post about writing fanfiction about Dante's Inferno, and I've come to you all with about 3 weeks left in the deadline to ask whether it's good enough plot-wise to submit (because I'm a coward and I don't trust my own judgment and to share my writing with people who know me IRL is kind of a nightmare). So I ask, if people have time, for gentle critiques or whether I should toss it into the eternal fire (I'll save the jokes). One massive thing about it is that it's 800 words over length, so I may have to double-submit it (because that's an option for us, it just counts as double the points and I don't trust my writing that much), or talk to my professor and see if he can help me decide what to cut.

It's about 2.2k in length, and trigger warnings that it takes place in hell, so there are mentions of violence and abuse, but it is very light.

A Modern Pilgrim’s Guide to Hell

By brb-on-a-quest

He had found me while I was walking in the woods; I had strayed far from the safe arms of campus and ran into sight of three mafiosi: one who barked like a wolf and told me to “go to hell,” one who barked like a leopard, and the final one shook his lion-like mane as he told me to “turn around and don’t come back here for the sake of your soul.”

I, not wishing to be murdered on a fine day, turned around and walked in the other direction. The woods grew more vast and dark. My shoes crunched on twigs and leaves and I realized I, somehow, had turned off very far from the way I had come, and I was unsure how to get home.

All too conveniently, he had appeared. “You look lost; can I help?” Before me stood a man in a gray suit, the hair all but gone from the top of his glossy head. The moon illuminated his presence, making him seem somewhat transparent and ethereal. He was smiling at me in a sort of familiar, grandfatherly way that made me want to trust him, despite alarm bells ringing.

“No.” I was not going to walk with a strange man, even if I was lost. I wasn’t about to get murdered-

My stomach grumbled, I realized I hadn’t eaten that day and must have been near dinner now. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was hungry. “If you could point me back in the direction of campus, that would be great.”

“Alright, prepare for a journey through hell.” He laughed. “I’ll get you home eventually.”

I blinked, chuckling awkwardly. Please let that be an exaggeration.

“I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t get your name.” The woods were getting darker as we moved away from the mafiosi. There was a building, several yards ahead, that the stranger seemed to veer towards. Raindrops came through the thick canopy and hit my face, shoulders, and hair, at first intermittently before progressing all at once.

“Ah, yes, pardon, where are my manners? It’s Clive. C.S. Lewis.” He turned around. “I was sent here by a friend of yours. John Tolkien?” “John Tolkien?” I blinked. “As in J.R.R. Tolkien?” “Well, he goes by Jolkein Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien nowadays after seeing that go ‘round the Internet, but yes, the very one.”

“He considers us friends?”

“You visited his grave once when you traveled to our homeland last year and prayed for his soul; one doesn’t forget that kindness; therefore, he’s decided to help you with that writing inspiration you were asking about the other day. Regrettably, he can’t meet you until much later, but he does send his regards.”

“And you’re C.S.-right? Oh my god.” My jaw dropped as I finally put the two pieces together. “You’re the Clive Staples Lewis. You wrote my entire childhood. I loved the Chronicles of Narnia-” The words tumbled out of my face rapidly, like a cascade of water over rocks. “My Dad would read your stories to me every night. And now you’re here. This is a dream. I must be dreaming.”

C.S. gave a little bow, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Oh, I know. Happy to be of service. Please call me C.S.-- it sounds a bit nicer than Clive Staples, don’t you think?”

I nodded, my body felt too airy to fully speak all of the words I was thinking. After a moment’s pause, C.S. gestured to the building ahead of us, “Now, shall we continue? I’d rather get out of this rain before going forward.”

I heard the screams first before we had toed the lines over the threshold. Loud, guttural screams rang in my? ears and made my heart stop beating for a moment. “What is that?” My voice was warbling. I hadn’t heard that much raw emotion in a single cry for months.

“The damned, the poor devils.” C.S. shook his head.

It was then I took notice of the building in front of us. It could barely be qualified as a shed. There were profanities graffitied all over the side of the building, looking as if it was dripping and blurring in the rain that beat against it. Shingle pieces fell off the roof, rust corroded away most of the metal pipes. We approached the door that looked slightly off-center in the proportions of the building and had words etched into its wooden panels. Or it did at one point, they had been clawed through multiple times so that it took more effort to try and follow what it had once read:

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

“This looks like a haunted house. Or a mob front.” I chuckled awkwardly, partially to my guide and partially to myself, as a way to cope with the awkward feelings in my throat. The wet grass did not mix well with the strong odors of paint that always gave me a migraine. Perhaps I have been duped. And I let myself be duped. But then how would he know about the Tolkien Trip-? My thoughts were cut off by the doorknob shrieking, the noise grating against my poor ears.

He entered, and my feet followed, though my spirit was unwilling. The shed was surprisingly spartan on the inside. Chairs lined the wall and went down the middle. Heat blasted against my face, burned my skin, and my clothes instantly felt dry.

My guide went up to speak with the front desk, and bade me to follow him. “Stay close, no good getting separated here.”

I scowled, my rage rising to the roof of my mouth with its iron taste. I just wanted to write my paper and maybe scroll through social media for a while; I didn’t want to go on an entire spiritual journey. I don’t have time to go on a spiritual journey. I have to write my final paper and check my messages.

I didn’t hear what C.S. told the front desk, where a half-bull, half-man creature sat flicking a whip at one of the souls in front of him, marking him with a certain number of lashes. One. Two. Three. My skin jumped with every crack. I turned my face to bury it in my guide’s shoulder. C.S. grabbed my hand and squeezed as Minos grumbled something about ‘upper management interference’ and flicked his whip in the direction of the wall. It opened to reveal another room. “That would be the second circle of hell. Come with me, please.” C.S. started pulling me closer to the door.

The heat grew more intense, and I squinted to avoid it blowing into my eyes too much. The smell of smoke and burning brown muck overpowered my nostrils. Something squished audibly underneath my shoes, and I recoiled at the sound. Ahead of me, I saw many creatures furiously smashing away on keyboards attached to these boxy computer monitors from the 90s. Most of them were round and bulbous. Their chins bled into their necks, and the fat dangled from their arm-like appendages and stomachs. Horns emerged from the top of their head and curled around to pierce them at the temple.

“What are they?” I shuddered, all the input overloading my senses until I wanted to scream.

“It would be better to ask what they once were,” C.S. said as he took my hand and patted it comfortingly.

Instinctively I knew that they, like me, had been human once. “This isn’t what I thought hell would be like.” I mean, it was and it wasn’t. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but when I read Dante’s version, I had imagined much worse.

“Times change. God’s divine justice doesn’t change, but sinners do; the way they need to be punished will vary differently.” C.S. said very matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, a ding rang throughout the room and the goblin-esque figures began to cry out with one voice, a shriek of eternal wrath and pain cuts appeared across their skin. I jumped and hid behind my guide. “What’s going on?”

“Ah, a new message.” C.S. patted my head thoughtfully. “Don’t worry, they’re too absorbed in their own worlds to hurt you.”

“What’s going on?” I repeated.

“These souls have committed sins using technology for evil intentions. Cyberbullying, harassing, wrath, lust, and envy.”

“And their punishment is to continue what they did in life?” I edged out from behind C.S.’, taking another hard look.

“They prioritized screen time over God, so God allowed them to reap the consequences of that choice. Come, I promise, they’re too caught up in their screens to notice anyone around them, and we have more things to see before we’re done.” C.S. grabbed my hand, and I followed him, cringing at the squishing noises underneath my feet made by this ooze. Looking over their shoulders, I saw sausage-like fingers furiously typing at janky keyboards, long paragraphs filled with profanities, uncharitable arguments, and negative emojis. Whoever they were messaging seemed only to goad them on further into their hell, as none of the souls even turned to give me a momentary glance.

“There’s no rest for the internet troll, thus they do not deserve any in the afterlife.”

At least I’m not like them. I felt a mix of pity mixed with disgust at the damned souls that were grumbling and typing away at either side of me. There was one up ahead who had a very coppery orange tan that made his hair look even more bleached. Is that… Donald Trump? I didn’t know he had died. I had the temptation to poke him on the shoulder, to grab his attention, to ask their name, and to strike up a conversation. The oozing pus dripping down their back and their broken, hunched posture made my mouth feel dry. I started reaching out anyway before C.S. Lewis smacked my hand. “It’s not recommended. There will be others who will be more gracious in terms of talking to you.”

I followed him, feeling meek as a rebuked child. We entered a new room that was completely barren, minus the souls existing there. Some of them were tearing at their hair and shrieking like banshees. Others were lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, half immersed in this squished mixture.

“What is happening here?”

“Those who were addicted to their phone and neglected their growth as a person now have to live without it.” I took in a deep breath and exhaled, thinking of how my screen time on my phone had steadily increased over the past decade. A deep sense of guilt and shame struck into my very core, my former prideful thoughts coming to mock me. I am exactly like them.

“What are you doing here?” A voice came from below me. “You’re not like them.”

“I’m-” It seemed imprudent to give my actual name as I looked down at a damned soul lying face upward in the gloppy muck. “-a pilgrim.” I finished. “This is my guide.”

The soul scowled. “They’re just letting anyone in here now, aren’t they, walk around as if they own the place. This is not very swag of them.”

“I have my orders from heaven, if that does not satisfy you, take it up with management, not with us,” C.S. ordered in a very firm tone. “What’s your name?”

“I am James Charles. I am here because I spent every moment of my conscious life behind a screen, whether it was a TV, a smartphone, or a computer. I was a content creator for YouTube and TikTok.”

“It seems absurd.” I cried out. “To punish someone for being dependent on technology as we are. Our work uses screens, our recreational time uses screens, it doesn’t make sense to punish people for using tools.”

“Not their usage, but their abuse.” C.S. corrected me. “Charles, how much screen time did you get again.”

“My screen time was over 22 hours a day. I took little sleep or food except what was needed to keep me going back”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin-” I cut in, still stubborn, my personal shame rising ever higher while feeling my gut sink lower.

“I used the internet to get to other people.” James continued. “I manipulated others into believing that I was correct and a god while behind the camera while using the internet to… hurt others. Particularly the children.” His face beamed with unrepentance. “They were so deliciously young-” Disgust choked me and I turned back to hide and swallow the rising bile in my throat. I had seen the news articles, about how the internet had turned on this man when the scandals had erupted. His consequential suicide had been in the news for about a week, with more and more details of victims' stories emerging to only add to the horror.

I’m not like him. I’m better than- I stopped myself in my tracks. No. He’s a human who made bad choices with technology. I am also making bad choices with tech-

I clutched C.S.’s arm. “Please. I’ve learned my lesson - take me home, I’ll do better, I swear.”

“You have not seen all that is to come,” was the not-comforting reply. “But come with me, and we shall embark on this journey together. And have hope, there are still good things left to see.”

The end. For now. (Maybe might update with further circles cuz I have other ideas but that's all I "need" for the assignment.

#Dante's Inferno #writeblr #Fanfiction #The Divine Comedy #tw: mentions of abuse and some violence in the background #writers on tumblr #this is my first time writing Not Fluff really in a hot minute #Also important context: my school hypothetically has a mafia nearby #hence the mentions of campus and mafia. It's a rumor among residents.#The Inferno #dante alighieri #brb-writes #brb-life #these tags are very unorganized my apologise

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 25

Sorry to leave you on that cliffhanger last time :-)

A buzzing sounded in Nesta’s ears. It grew to the point of pain. A silence clawed up the walls. She wasn’t breathing, every breath her lungs tried to suck in wouldn’t come.

Cassian reached out a hand for her.

‘Azriel. Take me away. Azriel.’

Nesta was swept up in a blur of shadows and wished she was swallowed into oblivion instead.

Her whole body trembled violently. She pushed away from Azriel to stagger to safety, but they weren’t in the Autumn Court or even the Hewn City.

They were in a darkened cave that held a slight warmth. Harsh light streamed in from the mouth set at an angle against the stone and she could see snow falling heavily.

‘Where are we?’

‘Illyria. Far north.’

Azriel scratched the tattoo on his wrist roughly.

‘Take me home. Take me back to Eris.’

The shadow singer shook his head once, still scratching his tattoo with discomfort twinging his features. ‘I can’t, Nesta.’

‘Azriel, please.’

She hated the desperation in her voice, but Nesta would have got on her knees and begged if she thought it might have swayed him. Her bottom lip began to wobble then tears spilt down her cheeks. Her cheeks flamed but the rest of her body was cold and unprepared to be outdoors in just a dress.

Noticing her distress, Azriel took a step forwards, but she shrunk away, heart caving in on itself. ‘Azriel, take me to my husband. Please. Just take me home.’

He swallowed, shaking his head again. ‘Nesta, please listen. I cannot take you there now. I can’t. For your sake and Eris’.’

The moment continued to repeat on her – Cassian’s words, her laughter then the sudden tautness that had come over her like her ribs were being peeled apart to expose her beating heart.

Nesta doubled over and vomited.

She heaved and heaved until nothing more could come out.

Azriel was there, helping her to rise and cutting off a length of his top for her to use as a rag to wipe her mouth.

When his hands pressed against her shoulders, Nesta didn’t shrug him off. She was grateful for the little warmth his body could give her. ‘Rhys will be keeping Cassian as under control as possible but the last thing any of us wants is him charging into the Autumn Court and demanding the Blood Duel against Eris.’

Nesta tried to protest. She didn’t want Eris in the dark – or to find out from anybody other than her.

Azriel squeezed her shoulders tighter.

‘Did Beron know you’d come to the Night Court?’

‘No.’

‘It puts the entire alliance in jeopardy if Cassian goes there – and Eris’ life is in danger not just from Cassian, but Beron too then. I will not take you there in case Cassian does go and catches your scent. He will be frenzied. It could spark a war.’

Nesta felt adrift with nothing to cling to. ‘What am I to do? Where am I to go? I just want Eris. I wish I’d never visited.’

The last thread that had been keeping her together snapped. She broke then, letting out great, shuddering breaths as she cried. Azriel did his best to soothe her but he didn’t circle a hand against her back as Eris did, he didn’t nuzzle against her hair like her husband did, and he didn’t try to find a solution like her best friend did.

‘You’ll freeze here,’ he murmured, stepping away. He glanced towards the mouth of the cave and for one terrible moment, Nesta imagined Cassian swooping through the gap to steal her away.

‘I can’t go home. I can’t go to the Hewn City. I won’t ever go to Velaris again. Where am I to go, Azriel?’

Again, he clawed at that tattoo. It was hurting him because he hadn’t truly fulfilled his portion of the magical deal.

‘Trust me. You’ll be safe. Then I’ll go back to Velaris to find out what’s happening.’

‘Get to Eris. I need to know he’s safe.’

‘You’re my priority. And his. That was the deal.’

If Eris heard that a mating bond had snapped, he would be devastated. Nesta already was. She felt hopeless. In her heart, she felt nothing but betrayal – but at what? The Cauldron? Prythian? She’d tried to do good and speak to Feyre, to try and save her life, and this was how the universe treated her.

‘I just want to go home.’

Shadows swept around them, engulfing them in darkness for a moment before it spat the pair out on the fringes of a vast estate. It stood in the foothills of a mountain range with snow blanketing every inch of the place. There were many wooden cabins clustered together in the grounds – some larger than others with two floors – with thick wedges of snow on the roofs and smoke billowing from chimneys where fires were lit. There had to be at least twenty homes on the grounds, but when Nesta tried to count them, her vision blurred at the edges and she was unable to stare at them for long.

‘What is this place?’

‘Inside,’ Azriel murmured. ‘Too cold to stand around talking.’

With an arm to guide her – or to keep her from winnowing – Azriel led the way towards the largest cabin stood in the centre of the small village. He knocked a couple of times on the door before letting himself in.

The cabin was quiet, but the soft scuff of footsteps somewhere upstairs signalled that they weren’t alone.

Her body shook from the cold. That and the horror that had unfurled over breakfast.

She was foolish to have felt proud of herself. Nesta had survived the night in Velaris without old wounds being re-opened. She had squared up to Rhysand without balking. She had been proud. Then it had all been thrown back in her face. Every good deed, every triumph. Fate mocked her.

‘This is Rosehall,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a safe place for females. Nobody knows about it. Only Rhys knows my mother is here – not the other females.’

‘Other females?’

All of the cabins then made sense. With no library available for Illyrian females, Rosehall had become a sanctuary cultivated by Azriel and his mother. That was why her vision had blurred, because it was heavily warded and only his presence had allowed her access to it. She had read a book from Eris’ library specifically about casting wards and the various levels that could be created.

The rustling of wings sounded down the stairs and Nesta held her breath, deathly afraid again that it would be Cassian.

‘Azriel, I wasn’t expecting you until evening.’

The female stopped short at the sight of her son and Nesta lurking in the hallway. They hadn’t ventured further into the house out of politeness. Her son looked like her; the same almond-shaped hazel eyes, sweeping cheekbones and full lips. There was little difference in their ages that Nesta could see but that meant nothing to the fae. There could have been twenty years or two hundred between them.

‘Oh. Hello, high lady.’ His mother swept her head low as she offered a curtsey.

A blush stole across Azriel’s cheeks. ‘This is her sister, Nesta.’

Matching blushes came over Nesta and Azriel’s mother’s cheeks. ‘Forgive me.’

‘We look alike,’ Nesta said, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

‘Is the snowball fight about to begin?’

Azriel turned his face to the ground, avoiding looking at his mother. ‘Not this year. I have to go. Will you look after Nesta for me?’

She stole a glance at Nesta, eyebrows creasing together with concern. ‘Certainly. None of the cabins have spare rooms. I do have two here that are empty, but we will need to think about expanding if-’

‘Just for a few hours,’ Azriel said swiftly, still not looking at his mother or even Nesta. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Without any chance to protest or beg him to return her to the Autumn Court, Azriel strode back out into the snow.

When the door swung shut behind him, her heart ruptured again. It was like that damning day where she had been summoned then trapped into the House of Wind. She let out a broken sob and hurried for the door, hand wrapping around the handle, ready to wrench it back open, but a gentle hand turned her by the shoulder. Arms engulfed Nesta and she let herself be embraced, let herself fall apart in a stranger’s arms.

‘I just want to go home,’ she repeated.

‘I know,’ the female soothed as she kept her arms wrapped around Nesta.

***

Not a single moment of sleep had come to Eris. He had spent the night pacing. At one point, Orla had even joined him downstairs for a cup of tea with creases on her face from the pillow, claiming his thoughts were so loud that they had woken her.

‘I just want her home,’ he said once dawn had cracked the sky and the healer had come back down stairs.

Orla nodded absently as she prepared a breakfast that Eris wouldn’t touch.

‘Their shadow singer would have returned Nesta if anything had happened. The deal was iron-clad. He knows to bring her straight here. That was in the wording. Surely he couldn’t bypass the deal even if Nesta didn’t expressly demand a return here.’

‘Eris,’ Orla said, brows rising. ‘You will make yourself sick.’

His eyes stung from exhaustion. Several times during the night, he’d stepped out of Orla’s house to stand in the darkness as if anticipating the arrival of his wife in a blur of shadows. The dogs hadn’t settled either; they’d traced his steps through the house. He was surprised he hadn’t worn a track in the floor from his pacing.

‘Two hours. Just two hours left,’ she said.

Two hours felt like an eternity. He couldn’t imagine a life without Nesta by his side – but one where she was condemned to the Night Court caused his emotions to become unmanageable.

‘Why do I feel this sense of impending doom?’

Orla folded her arms across her chest, trapping her braid within them. ‘Because you haven’t slept and you’re hungry. It always feels like the end of the world when you’ve not rested.’

‘How can I rest? How?’

‘You are so dramatic,’ she said, a smirk curling her lips. ‘Have you ever considered a life on stage? I really think you’d excel.’

His friend came to stand in front of him then placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘Eris Vanserra, you are making yourself sick with no good reason. Niamh and Ashur have not been in contact which is a good sign. It means nothing has happened. I bet Nesta has gorged herself on Solstice food and is enjoying a lazy morning in bed. Eat something before I force feed you.’

His voice came out as a whisper, ‘I am so worried.’

A thumb swept along his cheek. ‘I know. And I will laugh about it with Nesta when she’s home. The cruel heir of the Autumn Court, having kittens because his wife left him alone for one night.’

‘It’s the longest night of the year.’

‘Still one night, Eris.’

***

When the Illyrian female tried to lead Nesta towards a fire, her panic descended to new levels. She couldn’t cope with the fire, not now.

‘Alright, alright,’ the female soothed, as Nesta jostled to get past her, back towards the hallway. The female didn’t let her past, just pulled her arms around Nesta again so could press her face against the warm skin of the female’s neck and sob. ‘You are very cold. Come with me to the kitchen. The stove is on there.’

Nesta didn’t truly believe she had a choice in the matter, but she followed after the female, eyes snagging on the brutal scars criss-crossing over her wings. They reminded her of Emerie’s wounds, but this female’s scars were worse. The scars were aged, thick and ridged, that rendered flying impossible. More than clipping, this was been frequent damaging to make the wings almost useless. Nesta doubted there was any feeling in them. Emerie, at least, could twitch hers or move them slightly going through doorways. There were no adjustments as the female walked; her wings clipped the doorway, but she didn’t seem to notice. They were a dead weight on her back.

By a huge black stove, Nesta took a seat on a three-legged stool. The female retrieved a blanket and wrapped it around Nesta’s shoulders.

‘A hot drink to warm you up from the inside, I think.’

Without question, she had begun taking care of Nesta. The female boiled two copper kettles on the stove after filling them with water then began toasting bread and slathering butter on it.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need to eat,’ she replied in a gentle, but firm voice that left no room for debate.

Nesta accepted the plate and forced a mouthful down but it tasted like ashes. How long had it been since the bond snapped? Twenty minutes or less? Yet it felt like an eternity of damnation.

‘You’re Azriel’s mother?’

‘Call me Rovena. Yes, I brought that sweet boy into the world.’

‘And this place is for…’

‘For females who need a safe place,’ she finished. ‘Here, I used to do this for him when he was little and afraid of fire.’ Rovena wrapped a ceramic bed warmer filled with boiled water in a towel then tucked it against Nesta’s lap beneath her blanket so warmth spread from it.

Her shivering slowed until it ceased. Rovena didn’t push her. She merely continued brewing tea then left the room for a moment.

Nesta took the chance to peer out of the window, over the crust of snow that had settled. What a remarkable place this was. And a secret. One that Azriel would never yield to his family – but he had taken Nesta here, to prove his vow that he would keep her safe. It was better than the library. She doubted the females here had to work then return to a small room in the evenings. They could take a walk, feel the air on their face, visit the homes of other females in this almost-village. And at the heart of it was Rovena who welcomed in any new females. There were rooms in this cabin to settle in newcomers, to offer the care to those most in need of it before they spread their wings and settled in another cabin. Maybe some of these females even left the sanctuary to return to their lives in Illyria once they were ready. They didn’t need to rely on somebody flying them down ten thousand stairs.

It changed her opinion of the quiet shadow singer. This was a good place, but Nesta wished that – like the library – it didn’t have to exist. Azriel understood the necessity of it, but it was his brother who could change things. Still, she was thankful that he had created such a place with his mother.

When Rovena returned, she removed Nesta’s shoes then peeled off her wet socks. Her toes were red and numb from the cold. The female remained unbothered by it. There was a dogged determination to her actions that suggested to Nesta taking in females and caring for them had become a well-rehearsed dance. She slipped a pair of clean socks onto Nesta’s feet and the warmth eclipsed them at once.

‘I won’t ask you what happened. I won’t pry. But if you want to talk then I am ready to listen.’ A warm, brown hand cradled her cheek.

Nesta couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to give it a voice. If she told people about the bond, it made it real. All she wanted was to go home to Eris and find a way to break the bond.

‘I want to go home,’ she sniffed.

‘Is home safe?’

She thought of Eris who had been so worried about her leaving. She’d been grateful that he hadn’t blocked her visit, hadn’t acted like her brother-in-law and pulled rank over his wife. But now she knew, she wished he had. Wished Eris had never let her out of his sight.

Nesta’s face cracked again as she nodded. ‘I should never have left.’

***

Only Rhysand was in the cold, black room belonging to the Hewn City when Eris arrived early. Every step towards that room had been the tightening of a noose.

‘Where is my wife?’

Rhys spread out his hands, placating. ‘Eris. Sit down.’

There was no arrogance in his tone for once. He felt his stomach tighten.

She wouldn’t stay there. Nesta wouldn’t want to remain in the Night Court. She wouldn’t.

‘Where is my wife?’

Fury built inside of him, growing with every ragged inhale. If they harmed her-

‘The mating bond snapped.’

That flummoxed him. He fell into a seat. Instead of the white-hot anger that had coursed through his veins moments before, ice coated his insides. He couldn’t breathe.

‘To who.’

Rhys spared him a sorry glance. He didn’t want his pity. ‘Do you need to ask?’

He clenched his fingers into fists beneath the table. A mating bond was a gift from the Mother. The only thing more sacred was a child. Eris wanted to rage, wanted to destroy every wall in this miserable fortress – but his wife had found her mate. How could he be angry when she had something that others searched their whole lives for?

Eris swallowed, trying to manage his emotions. It was futile. They were written plainly on his expression – and he was glad then that only Rhysand had been in attendance to witness his mourning. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

‘I understand.’

Mates. Mates. Mates.

The word echoed in his mind, more painful each time.

‘I will have her belongings packed and brought here by sundown.’

When he stood, Rhys caught him by the arm, preventing him by leaving. ‘You think Nesta has accepted it?’

‘She would be here if she hadn’t.’

Those violet eyes shuttered closed. ‘I have a heavily pregnant mate at home. Morrigan, Varian and Amren are trying to keep Cass contained before he tears halfway across the world to find Nesta. I want to be home. I need to be there. You need to return to Autumn and wait there. At the healer’s. When I have Nesta, she will be returned and shielded from him.’

‘Where is she? Where is my wife?’ Panic slithered down his throat.

Rhys gave a tight shrug. ‘Azriel took her. I don’t know where. His shadows won’t let me locate him.’

A rare and fragile hope flickered to life in Eris’ chest. There was no place safer for Nesta than the cottage. Perhaps she was there waiting for him. His wife wasn’t one to hide – if she wanted the bond then she had the courage to face him, Eris knew.

Eris didn’t know if Rhys was in his head or not, but the high lord shook his head as if reading those thoughts. ‘Cassian is incensed. If he scents Nesta in Autumn then he will demand a blood duel with you. He thinks Nesta is being held against her will and is afraid of you.’

‘Afraid of me?’ He blurted. ‘I’m not the one who forced her to march until she fainted!’

And then suddenly Nesta’s departure made sense. Moon-eyed children dreamed of one day growing and finding a mate – an equal in every way – but Nesta hadn’t known what a mate was until a couple of years earlier. And now, her equal was the male who’d laughed when she fell down the stairs, who’d never made her a priority.

If Nesta wanted her bond, if she wanted to try with Cassian, then Eris would follow her wishes even if it broke him.

But, if his wife wanted to rip that bond apart, he would be her sword and her shield. He would bleed himself dry than ever let that brute lay an unwanted finger on his love.

‘She never should have gone to your court. I knew it was a bad idea from the start. If any harm comes to my wife, I will not rest until I see the rivers of Illyria run red with his blood. I will curse the name of every Illyrian who draws breath. And if that brute thinks he can force my wife into submission, I will bring a nation of fire to these lands and see it turned to ash.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

Just a short update - and of course Rovena gets into every universe :-)

If you like my fics, would you consider reading my original work. The paperback is coming soon, but it is also available as an eBook on amazon/kindle unlimited

#a court of tangled flames #acotf #neris

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whump-me · 1 year

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Martyr, Chapter 29: Better Things to Die For

Chapter 29 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: whumper POV, restraints, interrogation, aftermath of severe injury, verbal sparring, emotional whump, character death

---

Isadora

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Where do you see it going from here, then? Because all I see is a stalemate—one that probably ends with you finishing what you started. I don’t know—seems like a waste of time for both of us.” He tried for his old cocky tone, but it didn’t quite land. The fear underneath was too plain. He had gotten a taste of death now, and despite his brave words, he didn’t want another.

She understood.

“You might be surprised,” she said. This time, it wasn’t anger that made it hard for her to keep her voice steady. She wished she knew what this emotion was that she kept having to swallow down. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“You’ve recovered surprisingly quickly,” she continued. “You exceeded the medical team’s expectations—and mine. It would be easy for someone to underestimate your current capacities. Even me.”

He watched her with his dark eyes, a small frown of incomprehension appearing between his brows. He said nothing.

“For instance,” she continued, as another surge of something surged up from her chest and into her throat, “I might assume you can’t move quickly with your bones still healing. I might get careless and leave an opening for you to get the drop on me, like you did on the day you convinced me to undo your restraints. If I don’t stop you in time, you might even get your hands on my weapon. After all, I might forget I never got around to breaking all your fingers, and that you have enough strength left in your hands now to pull a trigger.”

The frown between Wraith’s eyes grew.

“It’s a good thing you’re restrained this time, of course,” she continued. “Then again, you’re not as much of a threat as you used to be. Double-checking your restraints wasn’t a priority, and I’ve had a busy morning. I might have forgotten to do something as simple as lock your cuffs. I don’t often make mistakes like that, but no one is perfect.”

Wraith just sat there frowning at her. She let out a harsh huff of a sigh. “Hurry up about it, will you? And please, for both our sakes, make it quick—and make it certain.” When he still didn’t move, she snapped, “you can’t tell me I overestimated your intelligence this badly.”

Finally, he tested the cuffs. They fell away as his wrists sprang free. He stared down at them like he thought he was imagining the whole thing.

But he still didn’t move. What was wrong with him? “What is this?” he asked in a low voice. “What are you trying to pull?”

Did she have to do everything for him? “What do you think? I’ve spelled it out for you pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“What do I think? I think it’s another game you’re playing with me. I know you don’t think too highly of my intelligence, but don’t insult us both by acting like I would actually believe you want to help me escape.” He shook his head. “Are you looking for another excuse to hurt me? Is that it? I wouldn’t have thought you needed one, but if that’s what you want, you’re out of luck.” He opened his uncuffed hands to her. “I’m done giving you what you want. I’m done playing your game.”

Even to the last, he was going to insist on making things difficult for her. Of course he was—she shouldn’t have expected that anything involving this prisoner would go easily. She sagged in her chair, the weight of ten years settling on her shoulders all at once. “There is no game. Not anymore. I’m done.”

“Come on, Isadora. I’m not buying that. You expect me to believe you want me to shoot you and make a run for it?”

She stared into his eyes, and took no pleasure in his instinctive flinch. “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I want. I thought I made that plain to you. Most people in your position would have gone for it already, but apparently you’ve grown to like it here a little too much.”

He still didn’t move. “Tell me what this is about, Isadora. I’m going to sit here until you do.”

She let out her breath through her teeth. “You want to know what it’s about? Fine. You’re not the only one who spent the past ten years thinking you’re doing one thing when you’re really doing another. I thought I was… well. You know. You’re the one who told me.” She cringed at the unexpected roughness in her voice. She looked away.

She forced her gaze back to his as she continued. “I don’t know the first thing about being a hero, it turns out. But I imagine helping a prisoner escape—a prisoner who was in prison for something he didn’t do, and then tortured and nearly beaten to death—is a start. I’d like to know how it feels.” She gritted her teeth. “Even if—from what I suspect of what your career has involved—you deserve everything that’s happened to you in here and more.”

She looked away again—intentionally, this time. She stared at the wall and waited for him to make his move. But he still didn’t take the hint. She clenched her jaw tighter.

“A victory is hollow when someone hands it to you,” he said.

His prison uniform rustled softly as he stood. She wanted to look at him. She didn’t.

“But he was always the one who cared about rules and invisible tallies,” said Wraith. “He’s kind of like you that way. Me, I’ve only ever cared about survival.”

She forced herself not to react to the sound of his footsteps. Her heart beat out a hollow rhythm in her ears.

Then came a sharp tug at her side as he wrenched her gun away clumsily with his badly healed hands. She pressed her palms tightly to the arms of the chair as her heart sped up further. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs were suddenly frozen shut.

She waited for the shot, and wondered if she would feel it. But it didn’t come. Instead, she heard Wraith’s voice in her ear, and felt his breath hot against the nape of her neck. “I could get revenge if I wanted to,” he said. “I could pay you back for everything you did to me, and everything you’ve done to my friends over the past decade.”

Finally, she turned her head to look at him. His eyes didn’t burn with the rage she expected. Something sharper and more tangled surged there, a match for the messy feelings swirling in her own gut. “And I could fight back if I wanted to,” she answered. He had her gun in his hands, but she was fast from years of relentless training, and he was still slow from his injuries.

She stared at the gun, waiting for him to just get on with it, but he didn’t. “I’m not a good man like he is,” he said. “You shouldn’t put your faith in me to give you an easy end.”

“I stand by what I said before,” Isadora answered. “You’re better than him. You’ll die for what matters to you, instead of forcing others to do it for you.” She hesitated. “You’re better than me.”

Wraith curled his lip in a silent snarl. Apparently he still had some illusions left about his leader after all. But all he said was, “I don’t intend to die.”

“Then get on with it,” she said, her fingers clutching at the chair. “Before I change my mind.” Another few seconds of this, and she would wrench the gun from his hands and shoot him just to make the frenetic pounding of her heart slow down.

He pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. She closed her eyes. But the shot still didn’t come.

“How do I get out of here?” he asked. “There’s no sense in me giving you what you want if I don’t get anything out of it. If your guards are just going to tackle me before I get two steps out of this room, you’ll have to find someone else to put a bullet in your head. I’m not letting them punish me for your death. There are better things to die for.”

At that, her lips curved in a slight smile. So he was smarter than she had thought after all.

“It’s a straight shot from here to the back entrance,” she said. “I’ve turned off the cameras and disabled the door code for the next hour. The exit will open onto the tunnels. Take a right and follow the tunnel to the end. You can find your own way from there.” No access card.

The sound of his breathing was louder than her own heartbeat. “You’re wrong about me, you know,” he finally said. “I’m not good like him. I’ll put my own interests above truth and justice any day. And that’s good for you—because it means I’m not going to waste my chance to escape by sticking around to give you the justice you deserve.”

The gun dug deeper into her temple.

She let out her breath slowly in relief.

She never got a chance to finish her exhale.

The end came as a bright starburst of light—no sound, just overwhelming brightness and a strange painless pressure. It went on for a fraction of a second that lasted an eternity.

Then there was nothing.

---

Tagged: @straight-to-the-pain @soheavyaburden @gala1981 @whumpacabra @sacredwrath @suspicious-whumping-egg @sonder35 @decahedron-crabclaw @seasaltandcopper @tremendousenemyhideout @bloodinkandashes @whumplr-reader @whatiswhumpblog @delicateprincepaper @sunshiline-writes

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#whump #whump story #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Martyr #sci-fi whump #interrogation whump #character death

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jwonsociety · 2 years

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lovestruck // chapter 3

pairing ➼ brother's best friend!niki x fem!reader

genre ➼ strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, kind of crack because y/n's internal narration is very silly, sunoo is y/n's older brother

word count ➼ 1.8k

warnings ➼ y/n is an idiot

synopsis ➼ As the younger sister of the smart and popular Kim Sunoo, you’ve gotten used to living life as a background character. You mostly keep to yourself, you don't go to parties, and you most certainly do not have a boyfriend. One day, Sunoo brings home one of his friends and encourages you two to get to know each other… the fact that said friend is extremely cute definitely won’t be an issue, right?

taglist!! ➼ @kaal-ee @naexity @sd211 @yenqa @justbored48 @nomurahayami @seeuuns

a/n ➼ as promised, this chapter is back to normal length to make up for ch 2 being so short ^^ i plan on lovestruck being a 6 chapter fic, so we're officially halfway through! thx for reading so far + i hope you enjoy this chapter!! ��💝

˚₊· ➳❥

If you were kidnapped and your captors wanted to devise the perfect system to torture you, math would definitely play a key role. Your teacher continued to drone on and on about limits or asymptotes or whatever the hell she had been talking about for the past half hour. You began to wonder which object in the classroom would be most effective in breaking a window. The only reason you were here was because somebody hundreds of years ago sat down and decided, “You know what, I think I’m going to invent calculus and ruin the lives of teenagers for generations to come.” Man, screw that guy.

The person who you just attempted to bulldoze was Niki. Great. “Oh, just, um. Home. Since it’s the end of the school day and all.”

“Right…” the boy replied, probably searching for a way to form a conversation out of your awkwardness. “Well, try to be more careful. You might flatten a first-year if you keep this up.”

His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked down at you, causing you to swallow nervously. You smiled and said, “I mean, some of them lowkey deserve to be flattened. Just the other day, a first-year reached into my bag and stole my animal crackers. Like, he literally looked at me while he did it, and I mean intense eye contact. It was freaky.”

Niki laughed loudly at that. “Well, if not for their sake, do it for yourself. We wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty face, now would we?”

You felt your heart do a somersault. Definitely not an organ that should be somersaulting. “Y-yeah, haha, I’ll be careful!” you managed to stutter out, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how happy you were that he called you pretty.

If Niki noticed your fiery red blush, he chose not to comment on it. He began to walk towards the exit and beckoned for you to follow. Naturally, you obliged. As the pair of you approached the double doors, you peered out the window and caught glimpse of rain. More accurately, a literal torrential downpour had managed to start in the short time since you left class.

“Wow, it’s pouring,” Niki gawked. He turned to you with a concerned expression. “You walk home too, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “And I didn’t bring an umbrella. Fantastic.”

“I have an umbrella in my locker! Let me go get it so I can walk you home,” Niki offered, already turning to go fetch it.

You waved your hands frantically. “No, really that’s okay! You don’t have to--”

“Nope, you’re not arguing with me on this,” Niki contended, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “There’s no way you’re walking home in that. Besides, your house is on the way to mine anyways. It’s really no big problem.”

“Okay…” you breathed. Your eyes darted to where his hand rested on you. “Okay, sure. Thank you.”

He smiled and quickly hurried down the hall, leaving you standing alone with a spinning head and a pounding heart. These past three minutes of conversation had officially been the longest conversation you had ever had with Niki. To be fair, it was only your second in-person conversation ever, but still. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive an entire walk home with him.

Sure enough, Niki returned a brief moment later, black umbrella in hand. He opened the door with his hip and held it open for you, motioning for you to exit. You smiled and brushed past him, breath hitching in your throat as you felt your side brush against his chest. From the shelter of the awning you were stood under, you watched the rain as it hit the pavement of the school parking lot. Students used their bags and jackets as make-shift shields as they hurried to their buses and cars.

Niki opened his umbrella and looked at you expectantly. “Ready to go?”

You turned to him. He looked really nice today; a comment which, in hindsight, seemed rather redundant because he always looked really nice to you, but didn’t make it any less true. Niki’s black hair was slightly tousled, strands falling onto his face and partially obscuring his eyes. He had chosen to wear black again today, but this time in the form of a tight-fitting cotton tee and baggy jeans that gathered at his shoes.

“Y/n?” Niki asked, interrupting the trance he had set you in. Did he notice you had been staring? Hopefully he thought you were just pondering the meaning of life or something.

“Yeah, sorry! Let’s go!” you replied, stepping towards him to join him under the umbrella.

The two of you embarked on the journey to your house, weaving through parked cars and peers eager to go home after a long day. Your day had been utterly mundane and unremarkable, as most days at school tended to be. Of course, now, things had taken an interesting turn. You glanced nervously at Niki, whose eyes remained focused on the sidewalk ahead. You consciously made an effort to maintain a sufficient distance between you and him. The left side of your body was getting a bit wet, but you felt like walking any closer would be awkward.

“Y/n, you do realize that you need to fully stand under the umbrella for it to work, right?” Niki teased. “You’re getting soaked.”

You blushed. “I know, I just don’t want to invade your personal space or anything.”

“Don’t be silly,” the taller boy chuckled, nudging you with his elbow. “Get under here. I don’t have cooties, I promise.”

“It’s fine, I swear. It’s just rain,” you giggled.

“Y/n, if you don’t get under this umbrella right now I’ll make you.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the boy. “How are you going to ma--”

Your sentence was interrupted by Niki’s hand snaking around your waist and pulling you to his side. You couldn’t help but gasp in surprise. “There,” he said smugly. “Nice and dry. That wasn’t so hard, right?”

As the reality of your current position began to sink in and you felt a familiar heat spread across your face like a wildfire. Now, Niki was close -- so close. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air, crisp and clean, like a fresh load of laundry. A slight flush tinged his cheekbones and the tip of his nose due to the cold, his breaths dancing through the air with every exhale.

But the thing you focused on most was the warmth of Niki’s hand, which was currently resting on your hip as he pulled you closer to him. This whole scenario seemed far too unreal for your brain to process. You slotted comfortably into Niki’s arms, your sides flushed against each other as the two of you walked down the street. What puzzled you most was the fact that Niki continued to hold you even after you were safe from the rain. Despite the rapid pounding of your heart, you felt… comfortable. And safe. Niki looked down at you and gave you a hesitant smile, as if to say, Is this okay? You looked up at him, taking careful note of how the light reflected off of the dark pools of his eyes. You returned his smile. Yes, it is.

For a brief moment, you wondered how Sunoo would react if he saw you like this. You and one of his closest friends huddled under an umbrella and fitted into each other’s embrace as you walked. You dismissed the thought immediately. You weren’t doing anything wrong -- Niki was just making sure you stayed dry. Any friend would do that. The overwhelming sensation of butterflies in your stomach was also very normal to feel in the presence of a friend, right?

The two of you continued to chat about school and friends and the like, and before you realized it, the familiar sight of your house appeared. Niki escorted you to the front porch, watching you as you fished around in your pocket for the key. After you successfully unlocked the door, you turned to him and smiled softly. “Thanks for walking me home, Niki. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he assured.

“Well, thank you anyways.” You turned to enter your house, but Niki spoke again.

“Y/n, who do you eat lunch with?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden question about something so random. After a pause, you answered, “Usually Yoon and Eunchae. Why?”

“Do you want to eat lunch with me and my friends tomorrow?” He tilted his head and studied you, his intense gaze making your stomach flip.

You fell silent for a moment. You certainly hadn’t expected this -- honestly, this whole experience felt like one long fever dream. Here you stood on the porch of your house, having just been invited to eat lunch with possibly the most attractive you had ever met in your whole life who also happened to be one of your older brother’s closest friends. Wow.

Niki had an expectant look in his eye as he eagerly awaited your response. The only sound was the patter of rain as it thrummed on your house and the breeze that ruffled Niki’s bangs in a way that made him look adorably disheveled. Despite your hesitation, was there really any other answer than the one you were about to give him?

“That sounds great, Niki,” you breathed. “I’d love to.”

He smiled wide at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

With that, Niki stepped out of the shelter of your porch and walked back to the sidewalk. Looking back at you, he gave you one last wave before continuing down the street and out of sight. You finally turned and entered your house, closing the door behind you.

The exhaustion from your day came crashing down on you. With a sigh, you removed your shoes, hung your jacket on the coat rack, and slid your backpack off your shoulders. You sat at the kitchen table and pressed your forehead to the cool surface of the wood, choosing to sit in silence for a moment. Despite the coldness of the weather, somehow, there was a warm feeling in your chest.

You felt yourself smile for no reason. Well, it's not like there was no reason -- the reason was him.

#enhypen #nishimura niki #niki x y/n #enhypen x reader #niki x reader #niki x fem!reader

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