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uglypastels · 3 years

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Hogwarts idea

Can you make a fic about how Tom sneakes out at night to spend the nights in the readers room (common room/bedroom) he’s a gryffindor and she’s a ravenclaw

Maybe they have a deal with the house teacher of one of the houses. Maybe he tries to hide in her bed as so not to wake the others. Maybe they fall asleep in the common room and have a minor panic when they wake up and it’s morning. Maybe they accidentally switch clothes or one of them steal the others clothes so they walk around with the wrong colors.

love love love love this!!! and I'm sorry it took me so long, I've been in a bit of a writing slump, but this is the best request to get me out of it! thank you <3 and hope you like it. (this got a bit out of hand and I might have changed the ending a lil bit but I hope its good heh)

(gender neutral!reader, I think? at least that's what I went for but if I accidentally missed something just let me know and I'll edit, I'm dumb)

_________________

Being in your seventh year at Hogwarts, with exams just around the corner, was taking up almost every waking minute of your days. Adding the fact that you had your Head Student duties, and Tom had his Quidditch house team to take care of, meaning that you barely ever had time for each other. The only solution, in your young and smitten minds, was that some rules needed to be broken- just a little bit.

It took Tom some time to convince you since you were supposed to be setting the right example for the younger students, but eventually, one gloomy Friday morning, he finally got to you.

"C'mon, love, it will be fun," he had his arm draped around you as you tried to enjoy your breakfast, the looks of your fellow housemates never going unnoticed. There had never been a rule against students eating meals at different tables, and yet, seeing the captain of the Gryffindor team spending all his mornings and evenings at the Ravenclaw table was a strange sight. He preferred your table, he had said one day when you asked, it was quieter. That you could not disagree with. The Gryffindors were always rowdy.

"I don't know Tommy, what if we get in trouble?" you bit the inside of your cheek, as you always did when you got nervous. Tom responded by pulling you in tighter and kissing your cheek, then said:

"That's half the fun of it, darling." His words rushed an array of feelings through you. A part of you started to feel flustered, while the other wanted to shove his face in the large bowl of porridge that stood on the table.

"Please," he looked at you with his usual sad puppy-eyed look. "I feel like never get to see you, y/n. So I'll come over tonight, you can let me into the Rave tower, we'll hang out a bit and then I'll leave- like nothing ever happened. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Tommy-" You tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard to say no to a gorgeous face like his. after a few short moments of silence, you finally agreed, "fine. Be there at 10. Do not be late, Holland."

"I wouldn't dare to waste a second away from you." He kissed you, grabbed a slice of toast (from your plate, of course), and got up.

"Wait, where are you going?" You asked, confused, since breakfast wouldn't end for another 20 minutes.

"I'm kind of late for early detention with McGonagall," he chuckled before running off, toast between his teeth. You just rolled your eyes and finished your meal in peace.

You never really thought that your classes were boring, but that day, every minute seemed to go by at a quarter of its speed. It was as if someone had put a time-stopping hex on you if that even was a thing. You couldn't wait to finish your studies in the library (the scheduled hours at the library was necessary since there was still so much to get through before the NEWTs), so you could make your way back to the Great Hall for dinner. Once there, you immediately were on the lookout for the head of dark brown curls. You stood in the doorway, letting people pass you, but no luck; Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Internally, you already started cursing. It would be just your luck that he'd get attention again for the rest of the night. Why did you have to fall for the troublemaker-

"Aaah!" you shrieked as suddenly your feet were lifted from the ground. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you were spinning around. You wanted to scream more, but you heard the familiar laugh, and it immediately put you at ease.

"Put me down," you laughed. Tom complied without pretence. But his hands remained at your sides as you turned to face him. And then, eagerly, his lips met yours in a chaste kiss.

It was, of course, silly to think that you could have this moment just for yourself, in a hall filled with hundreds of students. Only a few seconds into your kiss, you could hear wolf-whistles around you. Someone, who sounded very much like Tom's friend and team co-captain Harrison, called out from afar: "Get it, Holland!" Tom was quick to put up two fingers in his direction, not paying attention to anyone. But the mood was ruined, and you pulled apart.

"Missed you today," he said softly.

"Missed you, too." You replied. His fingers slipped between yours, and like that, hand in hand, you were already making your way to the Ravenclaw table, but, unfortunately, Tom was stopped when someone tugged at the back of his robes.

"Oi, you dickhead-" but he laughed it off when he saw it was Ben, another friend and member of the Gryffindor team.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ben apologised, "but we're supposed to be holding a team meeting, remember?" He pointed over at the Gryffindor table, and, indeed, the rest of the team was huddled together at the edge of the table. Harrison had gotten up when he saw you and Tom looking, returning the gesture of the two fingers held up in the V-shape.

"Shit, I forgot." Tom brushed his fingers through his hair. He looked at you, eyes already full of regret, and you could tell he was ready to apologise, but you stopped him before he even opened his mouth.

"Don't worry, we'll talk later, yeah." You kissed him on the cheek, "remember, 10."

And miraculously, Tom did remember. As the clock in the Ravenclaw common room struck 10, you heard the faint knock at the other side of the entrance. Of course, Tom knew where and how to access the Ravenclaw tower, but the riddles that the eagle doorknocker asked were at times a bit too hard, bless him.

You pushed the door open, and there he stood. His robes were exchanged for sweatpants and a hoodie. A blue one, you noticed, not that that would help him fit in with the crowd in the common room. Tom had been team captain for the past three years, and his team had not failed to win the cup once since he had even joined the team, to begin with. Everyone in school knew him and adored him. Not even the rest of your house managed to be mad at him (though the Ravenclaw team definitely held a bit of a grudge after a few bad losses over the years).

He stepped inside, and you quickly lead him around the common room up the stairs of the dormitories.

You had heard that years ago, the stairs had a spell on them that stopped the male students from even attempting to step up to the other dormitories. Now, however, this "rule" has been dropped, ever since several students expressed their concerns for the double standards between the male and female student body, as well as the discomfort it might set up for the queer students.

Personally, you thought it would be even better if every student could have their own room, since sharing a space with four other people could get a bit crowded at times and you liked your privacy, but it was understandable that in an ancient building like Hogwarts renovations were not always an option.

Luck struck once more when you opened the door to your dormitory, and it was empty. All of your friends were still out, most likely staring at their books, in the hopes of getting struck with a moment of brilliance that could help them pass their exams. You closed the door, and Tom made himself comfortable in your bed.

It felt like the entire day had already been wasted, not to mention dinner, so you hurried down to your bed, pulling down the curtains of the four-poster, just to get that little bit of privacy you longed for at the end long day. But, of course, it was nothing unusual or suspicious since you often closed your curtains when you were too tired to chat with your roommates.

It was dark with the curtains closed, but Tom was quick to pull out his wand and murmured "lumos" the tip immediately illuminated in soft blue light. The glow was just enough for you to see his face, the goofy grin taking over his features.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, whispering in case someone would walk in.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "just happy to be here with you."

"You're daft," you laughed.

"Yeah, about you," and with that, he kissed you. The light at the end of his want went out as he dropped between you. His lips were soft and sweet, the pudding that had been served with dinner still lingering on him. He must have stolen a few cookies from the table when it had finished, you thought, to eat later. He often did that.

You stayed like that, cuddling, stealing kisses from one another, for hours, probably. You were never quite sure because eventually, you both drifted off into a slumber. You could have probably slept like that, wrapped in his arms, forever, if it wasn't the bright light peeking through your curtains that was hitting you right in the face. And the whispers. You could hear people talking.

"I swear, they're just the cutest." It was your friend talking.

"But do they really need to do it here?" A second voice said, also familiar to you. "I mean, how many rules do you think they're breaking?"

"Oh shut!" you heard pillows being thrown. Or at least assumed that was what was happening around you. You couldn't be bothered to open your eyes, instead deciding to focus on Tom and his calm breathing. Your head was close to his chest, so you felt it rise with each inhale he took, and you could hear his heartbeat.

It was Saturday, meaning no classes. You had studied every day for the past few weeks, definitely deserving a little break for the day. If you remembered correctly, Tom wouldn't have training until the late afternoon and you could always skip breakfast. If you got hungry before tea, you could always sneak into the kitchens. After all, the two of you had already broken so many rules, what would be the harm in one more.

Ignoring the further whispers of your friends, you snuggled closer to Tom, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around you. Both of you shuffled around a bit, trying to find back the comfort from the night, and quickly you fell back to sleep.

The End

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.05

10/28/2020

Preparations

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,652

Warnings: angst, slight smut?, language, fluff

A/N: Thank you everyone, for putting up with my emotional ass. After some thought, and when I was feeling better and not so sad (?), I really didn’t wanna make those of you keeping up with the story wait for the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one and if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other blogs or sites.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The city is lively with beautiful Asgardians rushing about their daily lives. In the time since it’s completion, New Asgard and its inhabitants have settled into a routine. New lives on a planet now once again full of growth, community interaction, and celebration when the time is right.

“We’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow.” Brunnhilde says, reaching forward to tap the shoulder of the man driving you both. “Stop here.”

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” You ask, startled as she throws open the back door of the sleek black sedan.

“No. I have other things to prepare for the wedding and then I have to check in on my Valkyrie. Your escorts will meet you at the shop.” Brunnhilde assures you.

“But-”

“Bye!” She smiles at you and slams the door in your face.

You sit there, confused and at a loss. Your anxiety begins to mount when the driver, a handsome young Asgardian man with long braided black hair, clears his throat and draws your attention to the front.

“Shall I drive on Your Highness?” He asks, glancing in his rearview mirror at you.

“Um…” You’ll never get used to that stupid your highness stuff. “Yes.”

“Very good, Your Highness.”

“Can’t you just call me, Y/N?” You ask, feeling awkward.

“No.” He says, a smile on his face. “I cannot. I can see why his Majesty has chosen you.”

You’re surprised by this statement, and you’re pretty sure it’s insolent maybe? You don’t know because this is all new to you, but you don’t really care either way.

“Why?”

“You don’t remember me?” He asks, as he drives down the street.

As they pass, the Asgardians stop in their walking or talking or errand running to watch you drive by. Some of them smile with excitement, even moving with the car a few steps before stopping.

They’re all dressed normal. Asgardian garb abandoned to fit in on Earth. Not all of them. Some still wear their own clothes. Some of them wear a mixture of both. It’s a mish-mash of two cultures and you understand the need for a human Queen a little more.

“No.” You shake your head, giving the driver your full attention.

“I didn’t think you would.” He admits, smiling still. “You were very nervous when I first drove you up to the palace. Quite literally shaking in your pretty shoes.”

Was he your driver then too?!

“Alas, I understand his Majesty’s choice because you were the only woman that sat in my car and spoke to me. You may not have been aware enough to remember me, but you were very kind. Very concerned about me despite the stress you were in.” He looks in his rearview mirror again, meeting your eyes. “My wife gave birth, by the way.”

“Oh!” Your mind is struck with an unfocused conversation, hazy but you remember the pregnant wife. “I remember!”

You’re way too excited about remembering and the driver chuckles.

“Was it a boy or a girl?” You ask eagerly.

“A girl.” He smiles. “We’ve named her Luta.”

“Congratulations!” You exclaim gently, so happy for him.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll tell my wife you said so.” He promises.

“I’d love to meet her.” You hope, leaning forward to get a better look at the side of his face.

“I’m not sure that will be possible. You’ll be terribly busy, and my wife is also with our little girl.”

“What if I came to pay her a special visit?” You really want to meet her.

“If you could find the time, Your Highness, my wife and I would be happy to receive you.” He smiles.

“I’m sorry if you told me last time we met, but what is your name?”

“Armod, Your Highness.” He tells you, turning down a second and smaller street.

The people are still dense, gathered around stalls and smaller shops as Armod drives a little slower to keep a careful eye on the families attending what must be an early morning market.

You take it in as quickly as you can, devouring the sight of these beautiful people and in return they turn to watch you go by.

They turn to each other, have quick and silent—to you—exchanges before a few of them begin to turn and wave.

Nervous, you wave timidly, smiling because you can’t help it. It isn’t a conscious decision.

The side street is so packed with stalls that it makes it impossible for people to follow the car at the speed it’s going, even reduced.

You’re a little grateful. You don’t want to get mobbed without someone else here to dilute the excitement.

“The people are very excited to see their future Queen.” Armod explains, “Forgive them their exuberance.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

As the crowd thins out, and Armod pulls the car into a gentle stop, he shakes his head, “Trust me, Your Highness, you won’t.”

Your car door opens. Into your view slides a pale white hand, luxurious suit jacket sleeve barely hiding the equally expensive white button-up underneath.

“Your Highness,” greets a familiar voice.

Taking his hand, Loki pulls you from the car, helping you stand and even reaching down to adjust the long train of your right sleeve.

The dress is sparkling blue, a body-hugging gold silk dress underneath the top sheer voile blue layer on top. The right sleeve is long, ends at your wrist, with a train that flows down at an equal length to that of your skirt. The left side is sleeveless.

You’re nervous about the deep V of your bodice, the scrunched-up shoulders of your dress carefully balanced there but too precarious for your liking.

With he sun out, the chill in the air isn’t so bad, but here in the shade of what must be the bridal shop, you shiver.

“You look lovely.” Loki smiles.

“I look stupid.” You counter, feeling very exposed and not at all pretty with how tight the dress feels.

“Allow me to politely disagree.” Loki takes your hand and leads it around his elbow as become aware of the people gathering around to catch a look at you. “I think the crowd would agree with me.”

“Can we go inside, please?” You beg, waving at the small group as other begin to flock from their spots at distant stalls to join the crowd.

“Of course.” Loki taps your hand then escorts you into the shop.

You relax a little once you’re inside and warm.

A middle-aged looking woman moves towards the two of you, her hand subtly stroking a large fold of crimson fabric on the low center shelf before she reaches you and then dips into a low curtsy before rising and grabbing her hands to hold at chest level.

“Good morning, your Highnesses!” She exclaims, gushing to an embarrassing degree.

“Good morning, Gorm. How are you?” Loki asks politely.

He doesn’t seem truly interested in her answer, but he waits kindly while she flusters with the honor of his polite concern.

“I am much better now that you and our King Thor’s lovely intended have arrived. Such an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” She says, addressing you directly.

“Thank you.” You reply, startled by her a bit. “It’s so great to meet you.”

“Tell me, Gorm, have you received His Majesty’s instructions on the dress we’d like?” Loki checks.

“Oh, yes, Your Highness! I’ve been working non-stop on several options since I received them.” She assures him, gesturing back towards a doorway past a long wooden counter with a modern cash register and signature pad for credit cards.

“Excellent.” Loki smiles. “Now, while I hate to do this to you, love—do you think you can handle a few hours alone with Gorm to do your fitting?”

“You’re leaving?” You ask, once again shocked, just like with Brunnhilde.

“I’m afraid I have several other things to do for the wedding and with the Earth and Asgardian ambassadors eager to have the wedding as soon as possible, I have to take every chance I can get to run these errands. Not like I have anything better to do…” Loki’s voice is slightly bitter, but only for a moment before he taps your hand again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back long before you’re finished. Gorm doesn’t leave anything to chance with her gowns and this one is the most important one you will wear in your life. We have to get it right, don’t we Gorm?”

Gorm is already nodding, her blonde graying hair flowing like waves across her shoulders as she does. “Oh, yes, Your Highness. I will make sure that not only will the dress fit His Majesty’s expectations, but you too shall feel beautiful and like the dress was made just for you, Your Highness.”

“There you are.” Loki smiles. “I’ll be back.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before letting it go and moving towards the door, leaving you and Gorm to stand awkwardly for a few moments after the door shuts behind him.

“Shall we?” She gestures back towards the doorway and since there’s no way to get out of this, you fix her with a nervous smile and nod.

“Yes.” You sigh, and follow her, making sure to hold onto the counter as your round it so that you don’t trip on your train.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stomach absolutely growling, you slip your arms through the sleeves of the dress you’ve pretty much settled on.

The past five hours have had you step in and out of two other dresses three times, and this one a total of eight times. Each time so that Gorm can make alterations to length and cut and detail.

It’s surprising to you that this particular dress should need so much maintenance when it’s the simplest of the bunch.

You’d fallen for it almost at first sight but had tried the other two more frilly dresses to appease Gorm since Thor had requested something feminine to counteract the armor you’d be wearing on the day.

Armor you had no idea would be required in your wedding until Gorm explained the necessity for bodices without much flair.

“Alright, Your Highness,” Gorm smiles at you, holding the dress low and open for you to step through. “Once more, and then I think we are done.”

You let her slip the dress over you, layer after layer of smooth satin with one final crepe layer on top. The dress is eggshell white, soft, and easy on the eye.

Some white fabrics nearly burn your retinas, but this one is pleasant to look at.

It stops just around your shoulders, leaving them exposed. The neckline curves down with your bust just a little making the top look like a heart, the point of which is followed all the way down with a line of stitched white buttons.

They’re purely decorative because behind you is where Gorm stands to zip the dress closed.

She closes a small clasp and then folds out the layers of skirt around you.

It’s not as long as the blue dress you wore here today. Simpler and easier to walk in. The sleeves themselves are long, which you appreciate very much in this weather. Every bit of the dress now settles along your curves just right.

“Oh, this was the right choice, I think.” Gorm smiles wide. “You look beautiful, Your Highness. His Majesty is a very lucky man.”

You smile in return, flattered by her words for a moment because you forget that Thor has been with Jane all morning. As you remember, your smile falters then fades as the worries you had this morning come rushing back.

“You don’t like it?” Gorm asks, reaching down to stroke the long and beautiful skirt.

“Oh, no. I love the dress, Gorm. I’m just…worried about His Majesty liking it.” You smile at her, to reassure her. She’s done such amazing work. You might have her make all of your gowns from now on. Unless…?

“Gorm? Were you the one that made the dress I came in wearing today?” You wonder.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m afraid I did not have that pleasure.”

“How much of an imposition would it be if I made you my sole dressmaker? His Majesty has bought me some gowns to wear when appropriate, but I don’t feel like they’re my style.”

“Oh, Your Highness! It would be an honor to be your personal dressmaker!” She’s so flustered that she excuses herself and vanishes into the front of the shop to get her water.

You turn your gaze onto yourself in the mirror, all three angles looking back at you.

The dress really is unbelievably beautiful. You would never have thought that this dress and its style would have looked good on you, but it fits around your curves so seamlessly. This dress was literally made for you and it’s very noticeable.

As you turn around one final time, a small chuckle from the doorway pulls your eyes away from your reflection.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t put up such a fight over this.” Loki moves towards you, stopping a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You should have seen me wrestle with the other two.” You sigh. “Can we go? I’m so hungry.”

Almost as if on cue, your stomach growls.

“Yes.” Loki nods. “We can go. I’ve got lunch waiting for you back in the palace.”

“Is Thor back?” You hop off the box you’d been standing on, grabbing your skirts and then dropping them to cascade around your legs like a milky waterfall.

Loki’s smile falter. “I’m afraid not. But don’t worry, he’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

You’re so disappointed you wander away from him into the dressing room to change back into your blue dress without giving him any sort of answer.

He’s got you in the car, your forehead resting against the glass of the window, lost in thoughts of Thor and Jane when he speaks to you again.

“Might I ask you a favor, sister?” He probes gently.

Him calling you his sister makes your stomach tumble.

You have a brother! How can you ever explain this happiness?

“Sure.”

“I hope you don’t find me insolent, but-” He hesitates, thinking about the words he’s about to say hard before he meets your eyes and that seems to strengthen his resolve. “Don’t fall in love with Thor. Not yet. Don’t let him pull you in right away.”

“You think he’ll leave me for Jane?” You wait, watching as Loki thinks through your accusation.

“Not exactly, but yes. I suppose that’s a possibility I hope you can avoid.”

For a few minutes while Armod drives you back to the palace, you say nothing. You consider his request and the honest concern that he seems to have for you.

As Armod pulls into the large multi-car garage at the back of the palace, you turn to Loki and stare sadly.

“I can’t make that promise, Loki.” You shrug. “It’s already too late for that.”

“You love him?” Loki realizes.

“No!” You deny, “Not exactly. I don’t love him yet, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very fond of him already. He-he kissed me last night.”

Loki’s brow furrows.

“A lot actually. He begged me to try and love him just as he would try to love me. I promised him I would try.” As if you’ll need to try.

You’re already hopelessly possessive over him. Maybe not him as a person, but rather those kisses he gave you. Those are your kisses now. Those thick arms he held you in, those are your arms—your hugs!

And now he might be in the United States giving those very things that are now yours alone to Jane who wouldn’t even marry him?

“It’s too late.” You reiterate, feeling absolutely lost.

“Come on, Your Highness. Let’s get you a late lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~

If there isn’t a trail across your floor after all of the pacing you’ve done today, you’d be surprised.

“This won’t make him come back any faster.” Brunnhilde points out.

“Do I really have to model the wedding dress for him?” You ask, twisting your fingers nervously as you move up and down your room.

“I think it would be good for him.” Brunnhilde explains. “And yes. He won’t see your armor until the day of the wedding, but the dress will help make it more real for him. He needs that. So do you.”

“It’s already real for me Brunnhilde.” You lift your thumb nail to your teeth and nip, like a nervous pup, stopping at the heavy doors of the balcony.

They’ve been thrown open and the chilly air filtering in makes you shiver.

“Hilde.” Brunnhilde corrects, then moves to take a long wine-colored woolen shawl and drapes it over your shoulders as you stare out at the bustling city.

You can hear laughter, lots of merrymaking. The Asgardian people know how to enjoy their free time, but you’ve seen how hard they work too. As a whole. Loki assured you on the way home that there are just as many lazy time wasters among them as there are humans.

“Why are you fretting?” She sits at the desk, staring up at you with curious dark eyes.

“Because he’s been with Jane all day.” You lash out.

It’s not a scream, just pure exasperation. And immediately, you feel sorry.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh, dropping your hand but pulling the shawl around you tighter.

You notice it finally.

“Oh, thank you.” You really feel bad now.

“You’re acting like you’re already in love with him.” She teases, not caring one bit about your little tantrum.

Through the corners of your eyes you look at her, avoiding her piercing look.

“Y/N…?” She wonders, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

“I don’t love him, alright? I just…” You sigh. “No one’s ever kissed me before.”

Your feel your neck and ears burn, scorching with embarrassment as you admit just how much of a maiden she’d found for him.

“So, you really are a virgin?” She gasps, leaning almost her entire body along the desk to look at your face.

You frown at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No.” She hakes her head. “No, not at all. You’re just so…well, you’re beautiful.”

The laugh that slips through your lips is sudden and honest.

You stare at her, shaking your head because you don’t believe her one bit.

“I’m serious!” Hilde assures you, smiling and amused by your reaction. “It’s a little bit of a shame that you haven’t been fawned on before.”

The sprinkle of sadness in her voice exposes her real meaning and it wipes away all traces of flattery.

“You mean, it’s a shame that I haven’t been with someone who will really love me because they choose to? And not like Thor because he has to?” With a bit more desperation, you look for Armod’s car, needing to see Thor.

Everything that happened last night feels like a dream. Made up in your mind to make it easier to marry Thor. Was it a dream?

You don’t remember him telling you goodnight. You have the vague memory of falling asleep with your head on his shoulder but you’re not sure how real that is with how hazy it feels.

What if his kisses had been a hopeful wish?

You bite your bottom lip, the heat and weight of his lips still fresh in your memory.

It can’t have been a dream. It felt so amazing. You could never have imagined the way it felt for him to invade you the way he did, pulling your body against his.

“He doesn’t come by car, y’know?” Hilde says, sitting back in her seat.

“What?” You turn to her, eager for explanation.

“Thor?” She gestures at the sky outside, drawing your eyes away from the city in the distance and up to the stars. “He flies here on Earth. It’s faster than flying by plane, but not by much. He’ll be going straight to his room as soon as he gets back.”

“Oh.” Your disappointment is suffocating and because you have no reason to keep freezing to death, you close the balcony doors.

With the cold shut out the heat from the hidden vents in your room saturates your shawl and envelopes you in a cocoon of heat.

“He might not want to see me tonight.” You accept, knowing that even if things went as best as they could have, Thor will still be heartbroken.

Having to give up on a relationship he had been so invested in? Even if he’s been unhappy with it lately, it must be difficult.

“No. He might not. But he has no choice. The wedding is in three days, so we have no time to wait for him to be ready to see you. We need approval on the dress.” She explains, leaving no room for argument.

Which is a shame because you would rather not see him all torn up about Jane. Not that you wouldn’t like to give him comfort. But you doubt that seeing you is something Thor would want. Not when it’s your fault that he has to break up with Jane to begin with.

“You know what? I’ll go check to see if he’s back. Gorm already sent us the dress. I’ll have Estrid help you put it on.” Hilde rises, moving out of the room without waiting for you to agree.

Five minutes later, Estrid moves into the room, her arms cradling your beautifully crafted wedding dress.

“Shall I do your hair too, Your Highness?” She asks, and lays the dress on your bed, the color such a beautiful contrast to the deep plum colored sheets.

“My hair?” You look in the mirror and the fancy thing they’d done with it this morning is falling apart. “No. I’m okay, Estrid. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” She smiles kindly then moves towards you and takes your shawl.

You turn for her and she begins to unzip your blue dress, your mind on Thor and the mood he might be in when you see him again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The hesitation is in more than just your fist, hovering over the dark wooden of Thor’s bedroom door. It’s tall. Taller than it probably needs, sitting within a stone arch decorated with stunning golden engravings.

You’re not sure why Brunnhilde left you to do this alone. Loki is busy with something secret that he doesn’t want to share with you yet.

Not wedding related. He says it’s important and it involves you to some degree, but it’s not necessary for you to know until it’s necessary for you to know. Which is a circle-jerk kind of logic that you’re kind of annoyed by.

He’s nicer than previous opinions of him have made him seem. You suppose that has to do with the growth he’s made since he was last on Earth.

New York hadn’t been a great time for Loki, and he could only go up from there.

Brunnhilde had also neglected to tell you how Thor was feeling. Or looking? Either would have been great before you committed to coming up here on your own.

Thor’s bedroom is at the highest point of the palace. That is, highest save for the last floor which is mostly a defense tower full of weapons and a constant guard to keep Thor and his future wife safe. Which is now gonna be you.

Unless you go into his room and he tells you that he can’t stand being without Jane and rejects you and this pretty dress and you have to go back home to live just as you had before you met him. Only now with his kisses in your mind, his massive body pressed to yours, you won’t be able to get over the future you’d been promised.

How had you gone from refusing to marry him to wanting nothing more than to be his wife and even if all he was able to give you was one of those stupid kisses from last night, you’d be satisfied?

You drop your hand, almost with your mind made up to give up and just go back to your room because you don’t think you have the nerve to go through with seeing him today.

The part of you that disagrees, that remembers last night and wants more lifts your hand and knocks on his door.

In shock, you wait until his voice comes through and finally take a breath.

“Estrid? Is that you?” Thor’s voice sounds tired, not broken, but you can hear the weight in his heart by the sound of him.

You open the door and peek in, just one eye and the room is astoundingly beautiful.

If you weren’t so scared of what you’ll find in Thor, your jaw would drop ant the stunning image. To the left are two doorways, one is open, and you can see a large bathroom within. At the center of the room is what looks like a small kiddie pool, recessed into the floor, but probably deep enough for Thor to stand in?

There’s a part on this floor that’s shaped strangely from the outside and wonder if that’s what it is. The floor is dark stone tile, smooth and probably treated for waterproofing. Along the far wall of the bathroom, you can see a long wooden bench, dark oak like all of the other woods in the room from what you can see.

The toilet must be somewhere to the left where you can’t see from where you stand.

The other door is shut but since there is only an ornate set of drawers to the right of it, you assume that inside must be a large closet.

To the right of the room is a large bed. Large bed. You’ve never seen one so big.

It must be a California King? Which you’d stumbled upon in your search for mattresses when you’d first moved into your home. An accidental find and completely unnecessary.

That is, until now, when the thought of Thor laying in your very normal sized bed flits across your mind and suddenly the large King makes much more sense.

The bed is covered in soft looking gray flannel sheets. The comforter is gorgeous too, luxurious in its cotton ball soft appearance. Black with golden swirls and lines stitched across the top and bottom. The number of pillows is silly. All sizes too. Large ones at the very back and then several smaller ones until the ones at the very front are for mere decoration only.

Despite the more rustic look of the walls in the dark oak and stone base, the bed and furniture is slightly more modern in design. The headrest is cream white, ridged, and padded, as is the foot of the bed, but flatter than the headrest.

Two bedside tables hold various books on one and a lamp on the other. Behind the bed is a wall with a great big tree carved, flowing the length from top to bottom.

You swear you’ve seen that somewhere before.

The entirety of the wall opposite the doors to the room is made up of windows. Each window has been thrown open and the floor to ceiling curtains flow in the cool breeze.

They avoid the small breakfast table, laden with an untouched plate of the chicken you’d had for supper. On the other side is a large heavy looking desk. It’s sturdy. Big like Thor with papers and scrolls and folders. A laptop sits shut at the center and in the chair turned to face the left side of the room sits Thor with his shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his face as he keeps it covered.

His body tells you everything you need to know about how he’s feeling and though you hate it, after so much worrying about what you’d find in here, you’re grateful to finally set eyes on him.

“It’s not Estrid.” You say gently, afraid to speak any louder and disturb him more than he already is.

His head whips towards you, faster than you expected.

Your hands go numb with nervous energy as he stares at you, his electric blue eyes scanning you very slowly from head to toe, then back up again. He takes his hand as he does so, covering his mouth with it, stroking his beard slowly as if fixing it.

Taking the opportunity, you note the plain jeans he’s wearing, the white t-shirt that stretches across his wide chest and strains to keep him covered. The hem of his sleeves struggle to keep his biceps contained. His golden hair is windswept, short as it is, it sticks in all directions.

He looks so good, so perfect, except for that sadness on his face.

You can’t bear to ask him anything about her.

“Gorm is lovely.” You tell him, forcing a smile and a quick nod.

He meets your eyes with his own, dropping the hand he’d used to shield his mouth and allows both his hands to dangle between his knees.

“She’s the best in the city.” Thor nods, devouring your dress again.

He suddenly rises and you teeter backwards with the sudden rise.

He steps towards you, his feet falling heavy on the floor.

You really like the way he struts towards you. There’s a slight sway to his hips.

Lips feeling dry and cracked, you freeze as he moves past you at the last moment.

The sound of him sitting on his bed pulls you around to look at him and he sighs, reaching his right arm up towards you.

With a swallow, you move towards him. The luscious short train of your skirt follows in your wake, flowing like water.

When you’re within reach, his places his hand on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re standing before him. He takes his other hand and places that on your waist too, making your breath shallow.

He looks up to meet your gaze.

Hands balled into fists; you wait. You’re not sure what he needs. What you need from this moment. You’re only sure that you’re glad you don’t seem to have dreamed up last night.

“You look beautiful.” He says, voice penetrating into your chest to restart your heart at double the speed.

“It’s a little simple.” You observe, remembering the other much frillier options.

“It suits you.” He lets his hand trace down along the side of your hip, stealing your breath before sliding his hand back up to your waist.

He gives you a little shake and you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders to keep from losing your already fragile balance.

“Brunnhilde told me that you were very anxious today.” He sounds worried, his brow puckered, eyes crinkled at the corners from concern.

You shrug for him, intending to play off the exact amount of worrying you’d done today because you don’t want him to know how invested you already are.

“I ended it with Jane.”

“You don’t have to-” You begin, but Thor makes a dismissive noise in his throat and cuts you off.

“I owe you an explanation.” He nods. “When I gave you that ring on your finger, I became your intended. Officially ending things with Jane was only out of respect for who we were when we were together.”

“Thor you really don’t have to tell me about your breakup with Jane. It’s private. It’s before me. Whatever happened between the two of you today is now in the past.” You sigh, trying not to think about what kisses might have been shared.

Maybe more?

You make a mental note to never hold it against him if he ever tells you that he slept with her today.

He was hers long before you agreed to marry him.

“I want to be honest with you.” He sighs. “I want us to be open with each other. I want us to talk about anything that may be troubling us.”

“We will.” You nod, giving his shoulders a small squeeze. “I promise.”

“Then tell me what you were worried about today.”

You already regret your promise.

“I thought about what you must be feeling. Wondered if you might change your mind.” Answering honestly is actually cathartic. Though you usually do it on reflex, choosing to do it feels nice.

Thor only watches you, waiting for you to get it all out, his large hands caressing the sides of your waist and making you tingle.

“Keep going.” He urges you gently.

“I’m embarrassed.” You admit, and Thor’s face relaxes a moment, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips.

He doesn’t prompt you again, just waits.

There’s a peace in this silence of his. An acceptance. A sense of time to just be.

“I was afraid that I’d imagined last night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just woke up and it was this morning. And last night was so…” You stop, realizing that as much as you’ve thought about last night today, for Thor if there are any kisses that he wants to hold onto today, they’re probably from Jane.

This fact suddenly hardens your heart and resolve. You reach to grab his wrists to pull his hands off of you, but he doesn’t budge. You couldn’t move him if you pushed as hard as you can.

“It doesn’t matter.” You brush it off. “You probably want to just be alone and I was told that you need to approve the dress? So, tell me what you think, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Have I upset you?” He asks, face shifted back into that slight pout he’d been wearing before.

“N-No.” You shake your head.

“Then why do you want to leave so quickly?” He demands, voice rising in pitch at the end.

“I just…after today, I just thought that maybe you’d want some space?”

“Then you aren’t angry with me?” He checks.

“No.”

He leans forward and presses his head against your stomach, eyes shutting as his arms wrap themselves around you and pull you closer.

You don’t quite know what to do with your hands, so you stand there, holding them over his shoulders, fighting the desire to hold him back.

“I’m so tired.” He admits to you, and it settles in your heart.

You drop your arms, resting them against him before you embrace him, hands splayed along his wide back.

He exhales, relaxing against you. “Thank you.”

“For what, Thor?” You whisper, too overcome with all this hugging to speak any louder.

“For hugging me.”

Your heart breaks for him, and you hold him tighter.

“May I be honest with you about something?”

“Yes.” Here it is, the truth about Jane and him today.

“These moments with you have been the most enjoyable and special moments I’ve spent with anyone in a long time.”

Does it really matter if he slept with Jane today? Kissed her? Hugged her?

Was he this sweet with her too?

“I love you in this dress.”

You sigh, the first three words of that declaration sending your heart into a frenzy.

“You do?”

“I do.”

You smile, liking that very much.

Thor’s blue eye shifts with electricity, literally, and he pulls you down onto his lap with a demanding grip on your waist.

Your arm is still around his shoulder, the other moving down to rest over his hand which he brings around to rest on your lower belly.

“Are you happy?” He wonders, catching your fingers within his.

“Relatively.” You nod. “I’m still worried.”

Honestly, right?

“Why?” He laments, caressing your waist.

“I’m liking you more and more too quickly.” You sigh. “I don’t want to disappoint you or the people. I want to do well. Both in our marriage and with the kingdom.”

Thor caresses your side, then slides his hand down further, large hand sliding along the fabric of your dress down over your thigh.

There’s a subtle tickle between your legs. It startles you and you have to physically force yourself to relax.

“You’re already better than anyone else I might have chosen.” Thor whispers, leaning in closer until his lips are pressed to your ear.

You remind yourself that you made him promise not to do anything he doesn’t want to do. No forcing himself to be affectionate if he doesn’t feel it.

“Thor…” You gasp, just a flurry of the air left in your lungs.

“I’ve been thinking…” He admits. “Since I left you last night, about how we might be able to prepare for our wedding night.”

How do you breathe again? Where does the air go?

“Do you trust me, cherub?”

That pet name hits you just as fiercely as it did the first time and all you can do is nod.

Thor suddenly throws you back over his arm onto the bed. Landing with your head on the pillow, you gasp, chest rising and falling dramatically as you struggle to catch your breath again.

He leans down and hovers over you, waiting as you do, staring into your eyes.

“I’ll make certain you know this is not a dream.” He promises, then leans down to press his lips against yours.

You sigh, grateful for his taste as if it were a drug, removing an ache you’ve been feeling all day. Your arms come up on their own, trapping his torso down on yours as his hands trace your sides slowly.

This time you’re the one seeking more, pressing the tip of your tongue against his lips until he opens them and kisses you back.

He inhales your kiss, breathing in until you hear the vibration of a moan rip through him into you and you have never felt your body burn this way before.

You want him to make more sounds like that. Over and over if possible.

He pulls away too quickly, making you lift your head to follow him, but you fall back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Do you really trust me?” Thor checks again, his hands moving down along your sides until they stop at your hips, hands flexing and squeezing.

You’re shifting on his sheets, body squirming from energy you don’t recognize.

You know that he probably needs to be close to someone like this after today. After whatever he lost with Jane, even if he won’t let you see just how much it really hurt him, he probably needs this closeness.

“Yes.” You breathe.

With one hand he reaches down, staring into your eyes as he does. He finds the bottom hem of your dress and flips his hand underneath, then takes hold of your ankle.

He turns to face your feet, sliding down to the end of the bed then removes the flats you’d switched into, along with the thick socks you’d found to fight the cold.

It’s so chilly in here you shiver.

“You won’t be cold for long, cherub.” He promises.

After dropping your shoes on the floor, he rises then crawls onto the bed to where your feet are, grabbing hold of your ankles to pull your legs open a little.

“Easy.” He tells you gently. “You’ll still be a maid on our wedding night. This will be just a taste.”

He flips your skirt over his head, disappearing from view.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, curious and just as nervous until you feel the pressure of something wet slide up along your slit and you throw your head back, an uncontrollable moan ripping through your lips.

You hadn’t realized the taste would be for him.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fic #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x you #king!thor x you #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt05

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disfordevineaux · 4 years

Note

Hello ! So if you finished watching season 4, could you share your opinion on it ? Did it meet your expectations ? Was the ending satisfying ?

HELLO! Yes, yes I have. Pretty much the second it came out I was watching it. I have pretty much been in a gif making coma for the last 3 days since its release, and I think the fact it's over has now just hit me.

I really liked s4. It was rushed, yes, but that's understandable considering the context. S4 was clearly not the initial plan. Not many Netflix aminated TV shows reach S6 or past that, so I have a feeling they were going for 6 seasons but had to cut it short. It's better than it getting officially cancelled. Which is most likely why season 4 was full to the brim with actions and character development. So I'm not mad at the quick end but I would have loved at least one more season to really flesh the development and plot points. No more so than the Devineaux development in regards to the new Julia and Chase dynamic.

Before I go into that I want to address the solo Chase-ness that was fantastic. Chase got his ass kicked like 5 times this season, once by a chair.

And was clocked by a frisbee for good measure too.

Oh, and landed on his car another time. The pain in his face... I- help this man.

But he got to kick some of his own asses this season too ofc.

Anyway, Chase really stood up and said ‘I am a Himbo’ this season and it filled me with joy. Just look. veryveryveryvery handsome as always I approve of this message.

Enough said.

Let me get on with the big thing I want to talk about. The Chase and Julia dynamic reinvention.

If I’m honest, it did feel quick, due to time constraints, but not out of nowhere. My expectations for Chase and his growth was blown out of the water. I was incredibly impressed with his physical display for admiration for Julia in the end. His way of officially apologising, (as someone said on a rb of one of my posts), Chase is a person of action and his grand gesture of giving Julia the spotlight, as well as a few glowing compliments and a callback and twist of what he used to say, was a great twist on just an ordinary apology. I adore how you can clearly see that he means it.

It was monumental, if a subtle display of respect that clearly struck a positive chord with Julia, and only could have with Julia. Just look at her face in the gif above, PURE. She clearly seemed as though she had decided to forgive his past transgressions after his help in her rescue.

Most definitely helping in her decision to return to ACME to be his partner again. Know she isn't alone and that Chase truly has changed for the best. I love how Chase was complete rapture that she had decided to return, even going for a hug. The guy really went from S1 striving to be stoic all the time, to allow himself to wear his emotions and expressiveness on his sleeves. Just, good vibes right there. It felt like the s4 Chase we got was always there but hidden by his ego and by himself deliberately.

Wholesome stuff my guys. My heart was FULL. I tell you. FULL. I slapped my hand to my chest in awe. He even asked: ‘But your academic career?’ and was happy to be finally able to hunt down real criminals with her, as, and I quote, a family. Adorable.

Don’t even get me started on the fist-bumping. I would throw myself into a pit of fire for them.

And those inside jokes? I could be here all day. Their dynamic now, if not nearly displayed a much as I wanted, was nourishing to my soul. Just LOOK

And that is just one scene.

After the first time jump of 3 weeks, they appeared to be finally enjoying one another company, a true team. Then after 6 months, it seemed even more natural, playful too. They trusted each other's abilities and opinions. Sharing their belief that Carmen was good as well as supporting one another as good partners should, especially Chase. They look so comfortable in each other presence it was immaculate.

They appeared content, and I loved that most of all. Chase was genuinely interested in Julia’s explanations and it was heartwarming to see. Julia appreciating it too. Watching them interact as close friends now was such a treat. The last 2-3 episodes, in particular, Chase even asking her to continue and adding onto her historical divulges. Awesome stuff. And Julia running into Carmen just as she was about to punch Chase’s lights out was pretty sweet too, as well as her getting one in on Cleo, GO GIRL GO. Julia this season had so much more depth. Loved it.

Also, finding out Chase’s name is in fact a self-given nickname was right on theme with the show. So many people with real names we will never know.

Back onto the expressions and his enthusiasm. I mean LOOK. This dude- AND THE CAT JACKET RETURNS!

He just loves his wordplay.

Anyway- The effect Julia had on him was profound and just fantastic to see. He wanted to be better. Chase will no doubt rub off some of his own flairs onto her in due time I'm sure.

Chase working with carmen and the small interaction we got were great as well. Still a little rigid, but full of intrigue.

Chase wanting to go and save Julia, because he earlier felt as though this was all his fault, was precious too. And the whole Tigress and Chase fight scene was amazing. He trapped her inside a casket, iconic. And Chase showing up as Julia is like ‘omfg Devineaux is that you?’ As he just all suave says ‘fashionably late as always’ and pushes his messy hair back like HOOO BOY you lovely little stinker I would die for you. He was ready to fight 1 v 3. No one has the same determination as a Devineaux. For an ordinary guy, he is really able to keep up with the best, if not behind a tad I MEAN UM. DUDE SLID DOWN THE STAIRS AND JUMPED RIGHT INTO A HOLE. No second thought THEN SWUNG HIMSELF OVER NO PROB? Who is this athlete of a man?

Like my man, you are not graceful at all please let carmen do it.

In the end, he really did save them both which was vindication, Speaking of vindication:

Okay, I really went off track and hardly said what I wanted to say. I got carried away with gifs. I think I said what I wanted to say? Right now my brain is still mushie.

To finalize: I was content with the end. Zack and Ivy joining ACME as Carmen has some time to go truly find herself was an interesting idea. The 2 year time jump at the end left a few holes but hey, I’ll take it. Shadowsan returning to his brother was so nice to see, and Player all alone in the restaurant kinda broke my heart. The entire storyline with Chase and Julia was absolutely, revolutionary. It was what we deserved, what they deserved.

I think my love for Chase really made me live for the scenes and moments we got of him alone and interacting with others. Season 3-4 really were his crowning glory. I'm proud of him.

Also, I want to mention the Zack/Turtle scene because I nearly died when I saw it the way the turtle wiggles and the way he rUNS I- okay goodbye.

#season4spoilers #im so sorry this post was so long and i dont think i even said what i wanted but oh well #i have so many inboxes to answer i #i do love em tho keep em coming #i am still in my gif coma as u can see by the 50000 gifs skjskdjs #sorry sorry #chase devineaux #carmen sandiego #julia argent #carmen sandiego netflix #carmen sandiego 2019 #disfordevineaux #disfordevineaux ask #cs chase devineaux #cs julia argent #chasulia #platonic and romantic #pick your poison

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lizzy-williams · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐰𝐨

♡ Warnings: sexual intercourse, language, drugs, sexual assult, threesome

♡ Request: Would you do a imagine where the reader is best friends with Colson and Yungblud and they go to a bar and this guy is touching on the reader and her trying to get away and they come and save her and ends with jealous kinky ASF smut??

♡ Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-URGVmuYIQ

Animal by Sir Chloe

masterlist

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 admit, even though you weren’t really an extroverted person, dancing with your two friends was enjoyable, and actually fun. It was nice to let loose and move your body like nobody was watching.

I Think I’m Okay was now an award winning song, and you were there to watch it all, being friends with Colson before hand. And meeting Domanic was just the thing you needed. He brought a sense of energy to the group, and Colson became instant friends.

Their friendship was close, and you were thankful to have such a good friendship triangle. Each of you balanced each other out, and at the center of the two boys was you. You were the peace before the disturbance. You were good for them, almost like a guardian, keeping them in check.

But over time, you felt yourself gain feelings. But for both of them. And you hated it. Being the person you were, you were indecisive as hell. And you weren’t stupid, you saw the way they would look at you. Like there was something they wanted. So in retrospect, you could have either of them. But you wanted them both.

But now that you were on a crowded club floor, dancing and touching the boys, switching back and forth. You were with Colson at the moment, his hands on your waist as he stood behind you, his breath felt in the crook of your neck, making you back up more into him, and it was obvious that he had a hard on, making you smile to yourself. You loved how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

“I’m gonna go get a drink, okay?” you finally said, trying your best to talk over the music streaming through the large speakers.

Colson was close to coming with you, not wanting to lose the contact that he had an insatitable craving for. But instead, all he did was nod his head, which he mentally kicked himself for.

You smiled, sinking away in the stuffed crowd of people, Colson keeping his eyes on you until you were out of sight.

As you walked up to the bar, you ordered a Sex On the Beach, leaning over the counter as you waited.

“You here alone?” a voice brushed up closely to your right ear as you whipped around in shock, frightened; it was a voice you had never heard before.

Your thoughts scrambled to find a response that would make him leave you alone, the vibes he gave you were totally off, and you wanted nothing to do with him as his eyes raked up and down your body.

“Uh, yeah, I have a boyfriend.” you responded confidently, trying not to seem scared, even though you were terrified.

He suddenly grabbed your wrist making you yelp out, trying to get away as he struggled to get away. Out of self-defence, you held up your hand, giving him a harsh and brutal slap to his face, almost loud enough for people to hear over the speakers.

“You fucking slut!” he yelled, pushing you to the ground making you hit your head... hard.

It was honestly a fuzzy blur what happened next, your vision hazy as you tried to make sense of what was happening. You saw two blurry figures make their way quickly towards you, one of them holding you up, shaking you a little. The other hazy form proceeded to kick the shit out of the guy that caused all this, your confused mind trying to make sense of all of this.

You were then stood up and walked out the front door. When your vision was finally coming to, you were face to face with Dominic, who had a severely concerned look etched onto his face.

“Wh-What the fuck,” you mumbled.

“My thoughts exactly, what the fook happened?” Dominic’s voice was almost frantic with worry.

“I dunno... where’s Colson??” you asked, noticing that the tall blond was absent from your view.

“Currently beating the shit out of the guy that shoved you. Did he hurt you anywhere else?” he asked, touching your head lightly to see where your head hit the solid floor.

“No, he just scared me, that’s all,” that’s all you muttered, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach as you recalled the events leading up to your head injury.

“Come ‘ere,” he hummed, pulling you into a tight hug, happy that you were okay.

“You have to admit, that was a pretty good hit though,” you laughed into the side of his neck, his arms squeezing gently, pulling your small frame closer to his.

“I only saw the half of it. I’m proud of ya, love, you really handled yourself in there,” he smiled, resting his chin on the top of your head, smiling contently.

The door to the club suddenly burst open, a bloody Kells coming into view, his eyes frantically looking around for you. Once he caught sight of both you and Dom, he rushed over, hugging the both of you.

“Jesus fuck, are you okay, [ y / n ]??” he question, looking at your head to see a bruise forming from where it was struck.

You nodded, wondering how many times the two boys would be asking you that. It felt nice, having your two best friends check on you like this. Of course it was no surprise that they would make sure you were okay, but they went out of their way to protect you, Dom for emotional support and Colson for physical protection, beating the fuck out of a perv was probably one of the nicest things someone had done for you, and for that, you were grateful.

“We should head to your place, Cols.” Dom spoke up, Colson giving a quick and steady nod.

*****

As you reached Colson’s house, you were exhausted, but mostly trying to get over the throbbing headache making its assault on your brain. You collapsed on the couch, leaning all the way back, trying your best to relax, your head thrown back against the back cushion of the piece of furniture, letting out a deep exhale.

Little did you know that the two boys watched the unintentionally erotic actions, the two of them awkwardly shuffling to the kitchen trying to hide their obvious hard-ons.

You heard them from the living room, whisper yelling at each other, as you tried to make out what they were actually saying. Soon enough, they came back to the living room.

“Hey, I was thinking that all of us could chill upstairs and watch a movie or something, if that’s okay with you,” Colson spoke up, and you had to say, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Watching movies with Dom and Colson was fun, because you were basically movie commentators. And you had gained many inside jokes from movie nights, so needless to say, you were down for it.

“Yeah, but what about this,” you motioned to your body that was still displaying your short black club dress, your heels already kicked off and on the floor.

“You can use one of my hoodies,” Colson suggested.

“Pants?”

“Who needs pants, we’re your best friends, [ y / n ], we don’t care.” Colson objected, trying everything in his power to see you in an outfit that he had only dreamed about... you in his sweatshirt, with nothing but your panties on underneath? The thought made him almost drool.

“Come on, love, what’s the worst that could happen?” Dom chirped.

*****

“Yo, [ y / n ], you almost done in there?!” Colson yelled out to you in his bathroom, the two other boys already comfortable in Colson’s king sized bed, the TV displaying Netflix.

You just looked at yourself in the mirror. You were about to walk out in this? It’s not like the sweatshirt was the problem, the damn thing went nearly down to your lower thigh. It was the fact that you were pants-less. Colson did have a point, they were your best friends, and they truly wouldn’t care, but something in the back of your head told you that there was a part of them that did care, and not in an innocent way.

“Yeah, coming!” you called out, fixing your hair best you could before stepping out.

As you opened the door, you watched at the two boys looked your way, the reactions priceless. Dominic loved how sweet and innocent you looked, the sweater reaching over your hands was the cutest thing he had ever seen. And Colson felt a swell of pride in his chest, knowing that the girl he was falling for was wearing his sweatshirt almost like a trophy.

“Come on, then,” Dom patted the open space between him and Colson, a bright smile on his face.

You smiled in return, jumping into bed and snuggling under the covers quickly, pulling them up. Dominic couldn’t hide the hearts in his eyes as he snaked his hand around your waist and Colson’s hand gently finding your own.

The movie went on, and the three of you were more quiet than usual. Even though the movie in front of you on the screen was one of the stupidest movies you had ever seen. Nothing would make any of you crack.

After almost an hour of deafening silence, you finally spoke, “ Thank you guys...,” you muttered, your voice barely higher than a whisper.

The two turned to you and they smiled, “Of course,” Colson said, his hand squeezing yours.

“Anytime, m’love.” Dom agreed.

You then took notice how the boys had now moved closer to you, the space between the three of you closing in. And almost like a dream, the two of them let their hands roam. But you didn’t stop them. You didn’t want to.

“Wh-What are you-”

“Shh, just let us make you feel good, princess,” Colson muttered against you as you felt him lick the shell of your ear, Dom’s hands shifting up and down your waist, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake.

Considering what happens only a few hours ago, a normal person would push them away, it was almost common sense. But they weren’t the perv at the bar, they were people you trusted. And you trusted them with everything.

You let Colson’s hands found their way under the sweatshirt, while Dom’s hands found their way to your thighs, squeezing and prodding. And usually what would be self consciousness, you felt it melt away as he muttered praise, your body confidence raising with every admiring comment.

Colson’s hand found it’s way to your breasts, kneading and rubbing his thumb over the pebbled nipples, making you let out a small whimper of want. You wanted so much more.

“Such a needy lil thing, aren’t ya, [ y / n ]?” Dom whispered, his hand taking the hem of your underwear and pulling it down slowly, your legs seemingly had a mind of their own as they moved to accommodate his actions.

Dom’s fingers gently drifted up your thighs, than to your slit, grazing your clit as you whined. Colson’s hands were now all the way up your shirt.

“No bra, huh?” Colson smirked, tweaking your nipple as you let out a sigh, your eyes meeting his, “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“You wanted both of us?” Dom pressed, the pads of his digits now pressing harshly against your clit, making you whine out, making your head throw back.

Colson took this opportunity to attack your neck with needy, wet kisses. You hand went up to his hair, your fingers pulling gently against his hair, as his tongue licked a strip up your throat.

You let out a full on moan at the erotic action, and the two boys couldn’t lie, they were taken back by it. But shock soon turned into want as you watched Dom shift, pulling your legs open, his form going between your thighs.

“You like it dirty, huh princess?” Colson continued to whisper dark nothings into your neck, “I never took you as a kinky girl... do you wanna be our good girl? At least for to night?”

You nodded your head, “Yes.”

“Yes what, baby?” he lifted his hands up, his fingers gently covering your neck.

“Yes, daddy, I want to be your good girl,” you sighed, and your body soon relaxed as his lips met yours.

Meanwhile, Dom was staring at your pussy. This was something that he had been picturing for weeks. He touched himself to the possiblities of what it was look like. But now that he was face to face with it, he could feel the painful strain his pants had on his shaft.

“Gotta stretch you out, love, are you alright with that?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy...,” you muttered out.

“Daddy, huh?” realizing that he was zoned out while you had your exchange with Colson. He had been called many things. Maybe even Master. But daddy was a change of pace, and he thought he would try it on for size.

Dom looked at you face the entire time as you felt his finger sink deep into your core. You let out loud moans. You wanted this more than anything. He then leaned down, never shifting his eyes away from your face as you threw your head back, letting out moans when his tongue finally made contact with your clit. It was heaven, and he obviously knew what he was doing.

Colson messed with your breasts. But soon he became irritated by the fabric covering your upper half. He stripped you of his sweatshirt, and his lips went directly to your breasts.

You were in nirvana as the two boys ravished your body. The coil inside of you began to tighten, and you knew it would snap if Dom kept hitting you just right and harshly sucking your clit.

“Daddy! F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” desperate for release, you held onto his hair.

“Let go, baby, we have you,” Colson muttered against your temple before giving a sweet kiss to the area. Almost out of instinct, you took one of your hands away from Dom’s hair and intertwined it with Colson’s large hands.

You suddenly felt your orgasm crash over you violently like a tidal wave, your core clenching Dom’s fingers like a fist, your legs shaking, Dom’s hands holding them still as he licked you clean, helping you ride out your high.

Colson suddenly reached his free hand down to your sensitive pussy and swiped his fingers along your slit, gathering your cum on his fingers as he brought it up to his mouth, sucking on them.

“Fuck, darlin’, you taste amazing...,” Dom cut in, licking his lips that were once coated in your essence.

Dom ripped your small hand away from his hair, pressing a soft kiss to your wrist, peppering it with affection.

“If you two don’t get undressed soon, I might flip out,” you enquired, almost too excited to see the fully exposed bodies of the forms you had been fantasizing about ever since you found out you had feelings for them.

They obliged but they made sure that that was the only demand you were making that night. once they were fully nude, you almost felt like drooling, the both of them bigger than you had pictured them.

And now you could see how many tattoos Colson actually had.

You watched as the two got nearer, both of them closing in around you. You felt like you were going to burst, wanting them both so badly.

Dom immediately went to your side, Colson taking position at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on you as he gave a few swift pumps to his shaft. Dominic kissed you passionately, his tongue running over your bottom lip.

Colson soon got on top of you, the feeling of his cock dragging right over your pussy making you moan out silently.

“Ready, princess?” he growled, his head going to the side of your neck.

You nodded.

“Now, come on love, use your words darlin’,” Dom tisked, his hand running over your breast.

“Yes, Daddy.” you muttered, Colson’s lips meeting yours as he began to slowly sink into you, your hand clutching Dom’s as you tried to adjust.

“Fuck, princess, so fucking tight, aren’t you, huh?” Colson groaned against the skin of your neck.

“Does it feel good, love?” Dom asked, wanting to hear you tell him everything you were feeling. He, in fact, had a slight voyeurism kink.

“It feels so good, daddy, fuck he’s stretching me out so fucking good,” you cursed rapidly as Colson started to move, his hips slamming into yours harshly, giving you somewhat little time to adjust.

You let out loud moans of pleasure, Dom taking your breasts and putting them in your mouth, wanting nothing more than to give you as much pleasure as he could. You loved the feeling of his tongue rolling over your pebbled nipples, the heat radiating off the two boys highly erotic, making you only want them more.

“F-Faster daddy,” you muttered, your hand reaching up to his hair, his other hand now on his back, scratching it up as you felt Colson’s groan let out vibrations that made you whine.

“Anything for you, princess,” he groaned, his hips soon slamming against yours, fucking you hard, fast, and raw. It was amazing, and nothing like you had ever had before. It was thrilling.

You watched as Dom continued to lick your nipples. But you felt bad. Colson was getting his pleasure. And you decided Dom did too. You took your hand that was on Colson’s back, and taking his cock in your hands, giving it a squeeze as you watched his reaction. It almost made you cum right then and there.

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous like this,” he grunted, your hand now moving up and down quickly, your thumb occasionally brushing over a throbbing vein.

Colson violently fucked you, his shaft appearing and disappearing in your folds. It felt amazing as you felt two pair of hands ravaging your body like they were. Dom’s hand was now between your legs, pinching you clit, making you clench.

The feeling of euphoria came closer and closer as you began to tense up.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Colson hissed against your skin.

“Yes, daddy, please let me cum! I’ve earned it...,” you pleaded, wanting nothing more than to let go, but not without they’re say so.

“Hold on just as little while longer, love, I want us all to cum together,” Dom sighed, his hand now rubbing quicker.

But you couldn’t. You were so close, so selfish, you wanted to cum. So bad.

And you did. And it felt so fucking good, your legs shaking, your core tensing, and your grip on Dom’s cock tightening.

It started a chain reaction, Colson’s hips stuttering as he felt you clench, his cum shooting into you, Dom cumming right after you.

You all road out your highs. But after all of you were down to earth, they each gave you deadly glares of disappointment. You had a look of guilt etched on your face.

“And you were doin’ so good,” Dom muttered, getting up and standing at the foot of the bed, Colson doing the same thing.

“Get the rope.” Colson gave you a dangerous look.

You fucked up.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly smut #yungblud #yungblud x reader #yungblud smut #hotel diablo #tickets to my downfall #concert for aliens #estxx #rookxx #bloody valentine #bazexx #machine gun kelly imagine #yungblud imagine

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aminiatureworld · 4 years

Text

Storms

Ship: RFA + Minor Trio and GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,431 words total; about 700 per person

Premise: A rewrite of an old request I wrote back in 2017 (link here).

Author’s Note: These are less headcanons and more fics outlines lmao but hope you like this rewrite. I do considering I can barely stand reading the original, my writing has thankfully improved, and I hope it will continue to do so. I haven’t written in 2nd person in literal years (3rd person ftw) so I hope it doesn’t come off too strange.

Two notes. Firstly I’ve done my best to make the reader gender neutral. If you catch any gendered terms feel free to tell me so I can fix it. Secondly, I haven’t played Another Story yet, rip my broke ass, so if V and Saeran are a bit out of character, that’s definitely why. I’m working on it haha. In regards to V I simply know almost nothing about his route, and in regards to Saeran I’ve decided to ignore what I know about his route, mostly because this was hitting 4,000 words at that point and an in depth HC involving canonical thing would probably be about that length. Sorry this is so long and thus the final HCs a bit rushed. Thanks for putting up with me! Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link in reblog

Zen

Having a fear of thunderstorms was one of the most obnoxious fears on the planet sometimes. Especially when one is surround by 60 mph gusts of wind and the house one lives in feels like 80% glass.

This was the predicament you were left in when a series of storms passed through the first week you and Zen were officially dating. Oh joy.

Despite how in love you were with Zen, revealing one’s fears, especially when they seem vaguely irrational, is a difficult thing to do, so you teetered towards Option B

That being: Don’t tell anyone, keep calm, if you need to take a break go to the bathroom or say you forgot something in the bedroom. Okay? Okay.

However this flawless plan of attack lasted only about five minutes, and the first clap of thunder had you ready to bolt under the bed.

Zen, bless him, was utterly oblivious, listening to the backtrack of a song he was working on and occasionally making such benign comments as “that’s a lot of rain” or “wow that was loud”

Yeah. That was loud. Help me.

Eventually it got a bit… much, and you had to make your excuses about getting a book from the television/living room. Since it was in the “basement” part of the complex you’d figured that it’d be easier to hide out there. Just turn off all the lights, try to find earplugs, then count down the time until the storms were over.

Unfortunately the weather wasn’t adhering to this plan very well, how typical of it, as the storms were supposed to last until the early hours of the morning. And it wouldn’t exactly be unobtrusive to not eat.

So after ten minutes in the dark you went out to help Zen prepare dinner. At least no one needed to go to the grocery store. And today’s menu included Japchae, so always a treat! It was going to be okay, nothing was going to happen. It’s fine.

At least that’s what you told yourself until a particular bright flash of lightning streaked the sky and you promptly jumped and dropped the sweet potato noodles on the ground.

At this point Zen switched from oblivious to overly concerned. Say what you will about him but he was truly a sweetheart when he noticed something was wrong. As he helped you pick up the spilled noodles, assuring you that there was enough still in the package to use, he asked what was wrong

You explained that when you were little your grandparents had a house in a village in the countryside and one summer day lightning struck a powerline, causing it as well as two houses close to yours to burn down.

Zen responded with such concern. “Oh MC I’m so sorry to hear that! Was anyone hurt? No wonder you’re uncomfortable around storms now.”

“It was such a long time ago, and it’s so unlikely to happen again my lifetime… I don’t know why I’m still so afraid, it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to be afraid of something. You don’t have to hide your fears around me sweetheart. There’s no shame in it.”

Unfortunately words usually cannot make fears go away, but safe to say you were touched. Picking up the rest of the noodles and disposing them you and Zen shared a sweet series of hugs, and maybe you wouldn’t continued down that route if the water hadn’t begun to boil and dinner was once more brought back into stark focus.

Afterwards you guys ate in front of the tv, turning on a random crappy show and making fun of the announcer.

You could still hear the thunder every once in a while, but Zen made sure you felt safe and happy, cuddling you, doing something to draw your attention to him at the beginning of each clap of thunder, and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, even about the most mundane of things.

Your fear still wasn’t gone, and you still weren’t excited for the rest of the week, but at least you had someone with you who truly cared and was actively trying to make you feel better. You knew Zen would always be there for you, and that knowledge would carry you through the most anxious of times, to the other side.

You truly loved him so much.

Yoosung

Sometimes you wished that you could disappear into something as easily as Yoosung did, both with his games and with his studying.

Yoosung was in his first year of veterinarian medical school and, having just passed the first series of exams, had invited you over to the apartment he was leasing, for an evening of games, television, and overall hanging out. It would’ve been more of a date, but the weather was impressively stormy and, much to your relief, it was decided that staying inside was the better option.

Yoosung was loading up a game on the tv and you were checking to see what remained in the fridge, when a bolt of lightning raced across the sky; suddenly you became aware of just how very high up apartment buildings tended to be, and, much like usual, the logical part of your brain repeating Googled information about lightning rods was replaced by a static of anxiety floating around in your brain.

Returning to the TV room you nervously picked up the controller, hoping that Yoosung wouldn’t notice. Not that you didn’t trust him to understand, indeed you’d hardly met anyone as understanding as Yoosung, but it was more that years of being told “it’s just rain” had kinda gotten to your system.

The first half an hour or so was alright, the quiet mental notes you were taking told you that the storm was still far enough away, although there was no doubt it was getting closer; something reinforced by your, hopefully, discreet checking of the weather app.

When the storm arrived, oh boy did it arrive.

The winds felt unbearable, screaming terribly, rattling the windowpanes with fast, stinging rain, so much so the outside looked less like the outside and more like the middle of a whirlpool. A whirlpool that occasionally set itself on fire, the lightning dispersed by the odd shadows of the rain.

At this point all pretense fell out the window.

“MC?” Yoosung looked over as you’d dropped the remote and drawn your legs up to your chest, burying your face in your knees, all thoughts blocked out. “MC.” Yoosung said a little louder, putting his own remote down on the coffee table and scooting over to where you were sitting on the couch. “Hey.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, something vaguely uncomfortable considering the position you both were sitting in, but still a welcome presence, a bit of comfort making its way past your wall of fear.

“Not a huge fan of thunderstorms I see.” He said when the storm had calmed down a bit. You let out a shaky sort of laugh. Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?

“I have an idea!” Yoosung ran out of the room, leaving you to curl yourself up again, until he came back, a pair of headphones in hand.

“These are the best noise cancelling headphones I own, and they cost a fortune so they’d better work.” He placed them over your ears, and immediately you noticed how muffled the sound became. Evidently it must’ve shown on your face, because Yoosung smiled even wider, nodding gently before picking up his remote again.

As the storm continued so did the gaming. At some point you guys ended up thrown about the couch, cuddling each other, and occasionally knocking elbows when the gaming got intense. When things were finally over you two lay there a little longer, although you’d taken the headphones off.

“Thank you.” You whispered, content.

“For what?” Yoosung smiled. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Not all boyfriends.” You countered “You’re special. The best boyfriend one could ask for.”

And you meant it.

Jaehee

I imagine both you and Jaehee not being huge fans of thunderstorms. They frightened you, and to Jaehee the volume gave her a headache, not to mention the fact you were both living in a cheap apartment on the ground floor while the coffee shop’s purchase was still new; and the whole structure had this obnoxious habit of vibrating with both the lightning and thunder, leaving everything a bit discombobulated and very unpleasant.

The coffee shop wasn’t much better really, open as it was, the whole front being 85% glass and only 15% brick.

So when you both checked your phones and saw that storms were on their way it was all about planning.

Since you couldn’t afford to close the shop for the week you instead put a large display in the windows, putting up cardboard trees, birds, and whatever else would block most of the view.

You went through the store, making sure everything unnecessary was unplugged.

Really it was probably a bit overkill, or at least Jumin and Seven certainly thought it was, but hey better safe than sorry.

The apartment was given the same treatment, blinds and shutters were closed, toasters and charging cords were unplugged, and Aspirin and earplugs were stocked up.

The week of the storms was really incredibly unpleasant, with you two sneaking in hugs and kisses whenever the line of customers was small, squeezing each other’s hands when a particularly bright streak of lightning flashed, or when the thunder seemed to become unbearable.

No dawdling home this week, much to the chagrin of both of you, who’d taking to park exploring and other such mundane things that both you and Jaehee had missed out on, her due to work and you due to being shut up in Rika’s apartment for eleven days.

Nevertheless neither of you were particularly keen to venture out in the middle of a storm, so instead you two headed home, a night’s worth of musicals and cuddling ahead of you.

Dinner was spent in front of the tv, although usually you two usually made a point to eat at the dining table it was in the most windowed room in the house and thus not meant to be.

Zen’s beautiful tenor might not have been enough to completely drown out the storms, but it was certainly a help, not to mention the large doses of cuddles you were giving one another.

But really the best part about it was just being able to talk freely about your fears, you both having the reference that those who don’t suffer with what’s widely considered an irrational fear in modern times don’t understand.

And that was really what kept it together for you two. You’ll always be there for one another, you’ll always understand one another.

Eventually the clock struck the hour and you both realized that not only would there be work tomorrow, but musicals can’t much be enjoyed when you’re only paying half attention.

You got ready for bed, both making a final sweep for plugged in appliances that might burn out if there should be an energy surge.

Right before you two drifted off to sleep you gave Jaehee a small kiss. “What was that for?” She whispered. Everything was so beautifully comfortable, so cozy and intimate, and your happiness in that moment overpowered all fear.

“I just love you, I love you so much.” You replied. Jaehee blushed, but returned the kiss.

“I love you too. Forever.”

Jumin

It’s not that you hid it from him because you were embarrassed, well at least that wasn’t the main reason. It was more Jumin’s habit of blowing everything out of proportion, to the point of hindrance. That was really what you were afraid of, you just needed calm, need comfort, not yoga or whatever was to be the cure. And not that Jumin couldn’t or wouldn’t give you comfort, but the likelihood of him giving you calm was maybe a bit more debatable.

So you tried to keep it hidden, mentioned nothing of it on your way out the door in the morning, avoiding the topic in the messenger, even when Seven started to go on and on about windspeed – did the bastard know something?

Things seemed to be going… okay? I mean they weren’t great, you were constantly pushing down the urge to hide in a closet or something, but hey Jumin wasn’t aware yet. Success?

The trip home was certainly unpleasant, and the text that your husband was working late again certainly didn’t seem promising, but hey there’d be Elizabeth, and the bedroom had amazing blackout curtains. So, yeah, it’d be fineeee.

At least it would be if the damn penthouse didn’t have windows for walls. Something that certainly wasn’t normal or part of the regular plan.

Nor was it really possible to take a nap with the thunder so loud and your thoughts running high, really it’d probably be better on the lower floors if you weren’t so sure of people being there.

At this point the plan became less of “don’t let Jumin know, play it cool” to “survive whatever the cost”, which yes perhaps was also an overreaction on your part, but you knew damn well that all rationality had long fled, and you weren’t about to go chasing after it, that wasn’t what you needed right now. Rationality was also what had you go into a google wormhole about terrifying lightning related accident. Need one say more?

So you picked up a perhaps a bit disgruntled Elizabeth the 3rd, and buried yourself under the covers, stroking her fur at regulated intervals, trying desperately to pay attention to the video you’d loaded on your phone, to less than perfect success.

You wouldn’t say that you were dozing when Jumin came home, it was more like you were so deep in your fears that you really didn’t have room to pay attention to anything else.

“MC?” Jumin was instantly alert when you didn’t run to greet him at the door, something that had really become tradition between the two of you. Him being also a bit of a worrier – and a bit being perhaps a gracious way of saying it, lovely though it can be – his first thoughts were that you’d hit your head and passed out somewhere, but the fact that Elizabeth had also not come to greet him clued him in that you two were most likely holed up somewhere, perhaps napping, as had happened a few times before.

His surprise then when you turned out to be in bed, distinctly not unconscious or asleep, holding onto Elizabeth like a vice, was really immense.

“Darling, is something wrong?” You knew he meant something rather more akin to “Something is definitely wrong and I’m very worried and hope you tell me, if not I might become a horrendous paranoiac and never stop bugging you but I also want to be polite about it.”

You folded quite quickly, deciding that it really wasn’t worth it, you were in such a state, and the anxiety was still in complete control of your brain, excuses weren’t about to be made.

In a moment Jumin had enveloped you in a hug, which you were glad to accept, discreetly kicking his phone away hoping that he’d not notice it and get it in his head to send for a meditative trainer or some such thing, since that wasn’t what you were looking for, at least not at the moment.

Thankfully though he seemed more focused on your wellbeing, asking you to talk through your anxiety, gently drawing circles on your back in an attempt to get rid of excess tension. It felt good to be able to release your stream of consciousness, even if it was a bit embarrassing. Every time you started feeling a bit overwhelming you’d insert an apology here and there but Jumin would simply shake his head and assure you it was fine

“After all, you were so patient and understanding when I went through a crisis of consciousness, when all my emotions were suddenly flooding my mind. You listened to me then, the least I can do is listen to you now.”

After you’d exhausted your thoughts and you two had laid there a bit, cuddled together, basking in each other’s presence, you two went to the kitchen, where Jumin insisted he’d make dinner himself.

You weren’t happy to be in the windowed room again, but one flick of a discreet switch and they were suddenly shuttered closed.

“You can do that?!”

“Of course?”

“Ugh, the idle rich.” You shook your head and Jumin feigned horror. This act went on throughout dinnertime, another thing to help soothe your nerves, as well as Elizabeth, who was being awfully nice, curled up in your lap.

Every clap of thunder and Jumin would hold your hand or give you a kiss or hug, again trying to distract you.

Afterwards it was watching trashy soap operas – really you couldn’t understand why Jumin adored these shows so much, he really did secretly have a flare for the dramatics – and more cuddling.

As the night got later and you got sleepier you realized that, though the anxiety wasn’t completely gone, you really were quite content.

“Ah, I wouldn’t mind this every time it stormed.”

Jumin chuckled at that. “Why not? Anything to make you comfortable and happy.”

“You’re going to spoil me terribly you know.”

“Again, why not? Comfort isn’t spoiling someone, and if it was I’d spoil you rotten. You deserve the universe, I’m just giving what I can.”

And really the comfort he gave you was worth five universes at that moment, but wasn’t he always worth that much?

Saeyoung

Saeyoung’s reaction to your fear would probably initially be teasing.

Not because he thought it was funny, more his brain still found sincerity a hard thing to grapple with, and he found his knee jerking reaction be to try and make fun, enough fun for you to forget about everything.

You knew this of course, had long ago learned his patterns, his mannerisms and habits, and initially you tried to play along with it, after all the only reason he knew you were afraid of thunderstorms was because he’d caught you running into the closet on the CCTV in Rika’s apartment. If it weren’t for that you would’ve been perfectly happy with him never finding out. Surely you could humor him a bit.

Well anxiety has a funny way of sharpening one’s nerves, and by the sixth joke you were ready to pull your hair out, both from Saeyoung and from the storm.

“Hey Saeyoung? I really do appreciate what you’re doing, don’t get me wrong, but I… I don’t think this is going to be the way to sort it out.”

“Oh… I see.” Saeyoung faltered. Saeran, who was also not a fan and was thus gaming, probably with the volume at unhealthy rates, still managed to snort out a “I could’ve told you that.” Saeyoung shook his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry MC… I, uhm. Yeah…” For a moment you both sat on his horrifically battered couch, the tension rising. Saeyoung screwed his face up in thought, before launching himself towards you, wrapping you up in a huge hug.

“I.. Saeyoung-?”

“Cuddles are a miracle cure.” He said, kissing you on the forehead. “They’ll chase away the storms, just you wait, and in the meantime, how about you teach me how to make something other than sandwiches.”

“I know you know how to cook.” You pointed out, at least happier with this approach, but Saeyoung shook his head.

“I forgot. I can now only make ham sandwiches, and that is truly a sad fate. Won’t you help me? Oh cook in shining armor.”

You rolled your eyes at that “Isn’t being the hero more of your route?” But agreed to make something with him.

Saeyoung really put everything into the “I forgot act”, and you soon found yourself distracted by his antics, peeling onions with a vegetable peeler, “accidentally” getting flour in your hair, tackling you with hugs and kisses the minute thunder or lightning even attempted an interruption. You found yourself either laughing or breathless from his attention, and when your anxiety was too difficult to ignore you allowed Seven to wrap you in a hug as you buried your head in his shoulder, his arms acting as a barrier for the sound.

Dinner took a horrendously long time to cook, something Saeran was sure to point out, but it really did help. As you two were cleaning up dishes Saeyoung paused for a moment.

“Being a hero really isn’t my thing you know.”

“Huh?” You’d sorta forgotten the earlier conversation amidst all the antics.

“You saved me MC, from myself, my own destruction. The least I could is chase away a few thunderstorms. I’d do anything to make you happy. So, I hope that you can be happy.

“What a silly thing to say.” You said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’m already so very happy, so incredibly glad to have you in my life. Indeed, if this isn’t happiness then there is no such thing.”

He really was your hero, your knight in peculiar armor. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

V/Jihyun Kim

V hated thunderstorms. Although he’d agreed to get his vision fixed, the date of the surgery was still some months off, and in the meantime every storm sent him in disarray, the sudden loudness of the thunder a disconcerting reminder of his own vulnerability, the fact that if even one thing in his life shifted he was likely to run right into it.

Being someone who had such a visceral hate, he was quick to become aware of your anxiety as well. It was something he just picked up on, before you had the chance to even think about hiding it from him.

“I see I’m not the only one who hates when it storms.”

You weren’t really surprised by his fear, he’d made it quite clear how he disliked to be reminded of the vulnerability that came from being blind, his eyes were already an ever present reminder of his past, a reminder of the feelings that had rotted inside him, which were so difficult to reconcile with.

So during the storms he ended up focusing most of his nervous energy on you, preferring that to morbid thoughts about the path his life had taken.

Coincidentally you tended to have the same reaction, and thus stormy days, though far from pleasant, became a semi-pleasant ritual, full of affection and comfort.

You pointed out the lightning and counted the miles out loud for him, something that helped him ground himself in the world, feel a little more in control of the situation, and in return he kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling you how your fears weren’t silly, how much it mattered to him that you were happy, and all the things you’d do together when the storms passed.

Sometimes you two turned on a podcast, or a video whose audio V had heard multiple times before, another exercise in familiarity that helped comfort you two. He also didn’t mind whether you kept the lights on or turned them off, only wishing to keep at least one window open, to keep track of the storm’s progress.

He also was in the habit of singing or humming at random intervals, his voice kept you in the moment, rather than in an endless loop of “what ifs”.

By the end of the storm you two were often exhausted, which is why they so often ended with you two tangled together, already half asleep.

One such time you were about to sleep, only barely awake to nod when V said the storm had passed.

“Jihyun,” you mumbled, hearing a hum in return. “I love you.”

V smiled, hearing that from you always felt like a moment of rejuvenation, of sudden clarity.

Kissing your forehead he hugged you a little tighter.

“I love you too.”

Saeran

Saeran loved storms. Loved the sheer, raw, uninhibited power they exuded, the proof of how natural ruled above all.

You knew that. You also knew that storms were, in fact, the bane of your existence, and that you’re rather die than sit up and watch them with him.

But you also didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to be a source of unhappiness in his life, so when Saeran eagerly looked out the window and called out “MC! It’s thundering!” You reluctantly dragged yourself over to watch with him.

At first it was alright if you focused on him more than on the outside, the awe and glee he took in watching the rain was endearing, the happiness marked so clearly and without inhibition. It was something that almost took your breath away in how beautiful it was, the joy of somehow who’d had so little of it.

Then the first clap of thunder arrived and you’d nearly sprained your wrist, slipping on the counter and banging your arm.

Saeran’s attention was immediately turned away from the thunderstorm and he looked at you curiously.

“Are you alright MC?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just, I’m fine.” You didn’t want him to know. It made him so happy, how could you ever take away from that, holding you bruised elbow you excused yourself to the bathroom for a moment, saying you needed make sure nothing was serious.

Of course that excuses could only last for so long, but the bathroom seemed such a comfort compared to the windowed rooms, and you lost track of all sense of time or space, curled up in a ball, leaning against the cold wall, the linoleum tiling keeping you grounded.

Eventually however it came to an end, and there was a short knock before Saeran turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Something wrong?” He asked, immediately realizing the answer to that question after looking at your position. Kneeling down to face you he cupped your cheek. “Thunderstorms?”

You nodded, despite yourself. You really didn’t want to take this from him. But he didn’t seem to have felt like anything was taken, instead kissing you on the forehead and opening his arms for you to envelope yourself in them, something you did gratefully.

He held you, rocking you slightly, whispering random bits of words, random pieces of song, anything to keep your anxiety lower. Nudging the door shut once more you two stayed there for a while, and you finally felt yourself calm down.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

“For what?” His tone was that of genuine confusion.

“For taking away watching thunderstorms from you. I don’t want to take anything away from you of course, I really don’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh MC…” Saeran peppered your face with kisses. “You haven’t taken anything away from me. I can still watch the thunderstorms, can still love them. Your fear isn’t something to be ashamed of, we all fear things in our lives, all have things we’d rather throw aside. I’m always here for you, always. It’s something I chose, and would choose over and over again. And that choice doesn’t mean I cannot chose to love thunderstorms, or watch them. It just means I have to make sure you’re comfortable as well. Besides, I wouldn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable, not if I could do something about it. So don’t talk like that anymore, okay?”

You nodded, feeling reassured and slightly sheepish. He really was too good for words.

You two stayed in the bathroom until it became too uncomfortable, when you moved to the bed. It was a lovely evening, the storms having mellowed into a gentle rain.

Wrapped in Saeran’s arms you suddenly felt such a rush of emotions overcome you, contentment, bashfulness, love. Especially love.

You loved Saeran so much. And you always would.

Vanderwood

You’d really rather not tell Vanderwood.

You two were the cynics of the group, sarcastic, unfazed, or rather you hid your general emotions to the larger group in a swath of wit and humor. You really didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid of what was essentially a fear that had outlived its purpose.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Vanderwood with your true feelings, indeed sometimes you felt as if Vanderwood was the only person you could trust with your true feelings, a sentiment they had reciprocated multiple times.

It was moreso you already knew how much people saw your fear as overreacting. Didn’t need your partner to join the bandwagon of slight bafflement and bemusement, even if they couldn’t help themselves.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, storm on full display, trying not to dig your head into the side of the lazyboy as Vanderwood sat typing away on their computer.

Unfortunately the storm grew more and more violent, and you quickly grew more and more uncomfortable, your plans of nonchalance having really taken a critical hit.

Before you could think of a proper excuse to go into the bedroom closet and have a bit of a scream a huge clap of thunder shook the complex and the book you’d held in your hands plummeted to the ground.

Vanderwood immediately got up and shut the blinds. “I forgot you don’t like storms.” They said, closing the last of the blinds before turning around to your startled face.

“You know I don’t like thunderstorms?!”

“Was I not supposed to?” They looked vaguely confused, and not a bit amused.

“No.” You buried your hands in your palms.

“No I was or no I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t.” You groaned. “It’s embaraassing.”

“Why should it be embarrassing? Look, MC.” They walked over to you, taking your hands in theirs. “There are a lot of embarrassing things people are in life. Of which I’m at least half of them. I cannot say a lot of things with great confidence, but I can say this. You aren’t the least bit embarrassing for having an incredibly common and practical fear.”

“A fear that should’ve died out with the invention of bricks.” You muttered.

“Perhaps. But we both know that’s not how it works.” They replied. “So don’t feel the need to hide something like that. Okay?”

You nodded and Vanderwood smiled, before giving you a hug, something which you gladly reciprocated.

It was a quiet evening, one of easy cooking and laughing at miscellaneous videos, of making fun of spy shows and swapping stories.

In the end you probably shouldn’t’ve been so surprised.

Vanderwood was an amazing partner, caring, funny, observant, loving.

Perhaps it was okay to have such a fear around them. And if it was okay with Vanderwood than everyone else would have to suck it up, because really two people’s opinions mattered to you on the fact, yours and theirs. And in this instance you’d found yourselves completely in accord.

#so... fucking... long #I'm so tired #was gonna write request tonight but I have to sleep #hope people like this at all lolol #if not might cry #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #mystic messenger headcanons #fanfiction #headcanons #my writing #rewrite

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dahniwitchoflight · 4 years

Text

Homesquared Chapter 14

lol gotta love John’s enthusiasm of being part of the movers and shakers getting shot down cuz he hasn’t actually flexed his Main Character Muscles in quite a long time

though he’s honestly taking his mid life crisis very well all things considered, its good he cares more about his kids than anything else and I like the bond he’s getting to make with Harry, it’s nice!

Now what’s a million times funnier though is the same thing happening to Vriska, she is decidedly NOT taking her midlife “but but I want to be important too!!” crisis not nearly as well as John is haha

VRISSY: I guess you Did go Viral, 8ut the news moves so fast these days. I don’t think Any8ody is like...

VRISSY: Glued to their phones Waiting for your New Hashtag Resistance content.

Yeah Vriska, you’re so 15 minutes ago :P people have moved on

what, did you think you were going to be important forever?

VRISKA: What’s the point of me even coming to this shitty fake reality if I’m not supposed to fix it?

to have a mid life crisis about not being important anymore obviously :P

VRISSY: Yeah, they told me about That stuff, but a Lot of the Shit that Happened in the Session if just not in the History Books.

VRISSY: You weren’t Really mentioned that Much.

VRISKA: Excuse me?

I Am Living For This Whole Conversation

VRISKA: I SINGLE H8ND8DLY!

VRISKA: CURED YOUR MOTHER’S FUCKING ALCH8LISM!!!!!!!!

JOHN: uh, vriska, everything okay over there?

VRISKA: EVERYTHING’S FINE, J8HN!

JOHN: okay.

JOHN: do you girls want a snack?

ASJHGFSHFHWE yeah calm down Vriska have a snack

ahh, loving it

Turns out, History is written by the people who were left who decided to give a damn about writing it, and if those people Don’t Like you, they can just decide to not mention you, no matter who you are or what you did

All your “important” accomplishments are for naught and have become meaningless because you’re an asshole and other people didn’t like you enough to decide that you mattered in the long run

Congrats! Infamy doesn’t matter as much as Connection

Aww, cute with Annie getting hug bombed by her moms

Though, Rose definitely has a stronger bond with Annie than just being her surrogate it looks like

I understand this family situation just fine, if Annie really was just supposed to be a way for Jade to overcome her lonliness, and Rose was her only functional way and only person she could approach with this idea, and Rose responded out of care for her friend

Rose, shouldn’t really have a distinct mom attachment here, because then it implies a stronger than platonic relationship with Jade

but it could just be a great example of “this is why you don’t agree to create a child with your friend purely because said friend was crying out of lonliness out of failed relationship and wanted a child to fill that void of lonliness but who then shoves said child off the sidelines and doesn’t interact with her at all and leaves her in the hands and care of a supposed enemy and

yknow, I think I’m just gonna stop there before I remember Jake also knew about Yiffany existing so if the only ones who didn't know were John/Dave/Karkat and Kanaya then what was honestly the point of hiding her in the first place

Its not the fact that Yiffany exists that Im finding hard to believe, its just hows she treated narratively after she started existing thats stretching my rubber band into a dangerous area

“ROSE: Is it the libidinous power rush that comes from snapping your fingers at men with guns, or are you worried that you might accidentally do something heroic?

(its the latter)

“She stopped thinking about how she would be received, and more about how she could play to the people she knew would receive her favorably.

Looking up she sees Tavvy with tears in his eyes. Rage and guilt surge inside her. This situation is not her fault.”

Gotta Justify It. Gotta Justify It.

Doesn’t matter if I’m Right or Wrong, if enough other people validate me than Everything is Fine and I’m a Good Person.

JANE: So before you accuse me, take a look at yourself!

JANE: I'm the only one who has taken any interest in her upbringing or education!

JANE: Or have you forgotten who has been paying for her schooling and taking charge of her introduction into society?

JADE: i never asked you to do that!

JADE: you offered!

Okay but Jade, you DID let Jane have Annie in the first place and then presumably washed your hands of her, when supposedly the only reason Annie exists is because you wanted a daughter with whom you could have a loving relationship with

You gotta, explain you’re thinking there Jade cuz I still don’t get this bit

Though in thinking about it, I think I know why this happened

Jade grew up isolated from any person, but still loved her grandfather, despite his absence

to her, family relationships didn’t involve any sort of personal work, they were just things she had because she had them

did she just believe the same would happen for Yiffanny? that she could paradoxically still have a relationship despite long absences? Annie doesn’t seem to have any resentment here for Jade or Rose so I mean ???

“ If they were to kill Tavros, the entire world would see them commit this war crime. And weighed in the balance, Lalonde and Harley would be off the playing board. Saving your daughter certainly counted as a heroic death, and with the damage they'd done to humanity, it would also probably be just. “

She hates them both so much she’d let Tavros die for it

But also, she really does calculate everything in terms of how the Masses would view their actions as Just or Heroic

so yeah, she was absolutely about to let Tavros die, damn Jane

literally the only thing that stopped you was that Jake viewed the threat as a real threat and was about to do something stupendously Heroic to save Tavros and you decided you didn’t want Jake to die a heroic death

On the flipside, oh damn, Yeah Vriska’s going full throttle right on the nose ahead with the obvious audience expectation, that there gonna make another sburb session and get the obvious group of important 4 kids to god tier

that’s clearly the path vriska wants and expects, but hey, just imagine if what Vriska wanted to happen didn’t happen this time, imagine if the kids were just like “nah im good?” when it comes to a god tier

The narrative is making it super clear that at least 3 out 4 kids are kinda not feeling all the outdoorsy action and excitement of a game of life and death

Annie though I could hella see her down to play sburb and get a god tier, shes got that whole “isolated childhood trauma and parental issues pressure cooking her a strong will to take her life into her own hands” energy

Vriska, go see Annie, her strong willed butt is more of the action girl you’re looking for I think

At least if they do end up playing the game and getting the tiger, Annie feels like the first one to do it or the action catalyst of their session, like how Vriska was for hers, or Dirk for the alphas, or

hmm. who was is that kinda, moved things along for the Beta’s again? I think it was Rose, but Dave did a ton to move things along as well, but also their trolls like Terezi and them gave everything big nudges, I think Rose counts as the equivalent Beta in session mover and shaker though

Side note: the panels with vrissy and vriska here very feel cartoonish and light hearted, interesting choice

but it does give off Major “Play Game: Level 1″ vibes if that makes sense

What the fuck is with the Dave Soldiers

I mean, they look more like Red Johns?Jakes? with the black hair

the glasses throw me off though-

UHH DID THEY JUST FUCKING KILL HARRY ANDERSON??

HOLD ON. HOLD UP

TAVROS AND ANNIE: WITH ROSE/JADE/JAKE/JANE

VRISSY: WITH VRISKA DOWN BELOW

HARRY: WITH JOHN. ON JOHN’S COUCH.

JOHN IS ALSO STILL HERE, MEANING HARRY SHOULD BE WITH HIM.

yeah he literally just went outside for a second to see where the V’s went and then the house gets bombed, and we get three whole panels dedicated to John slowly sitting down in the wreckage

Harry Anderson just got fucking killed holy shit.

oh my god, they were leading up to it too.

We just had three seperate death flags for the other 3 kids in a row

Brain Ghost Dirk warned Jake that Annie was gonna die via electrocution unless he stepped up

Jane was gonna let Tavros die vie neck snapping (even though Kanaya really wouldn’t have)

Vriska and Vrissy discuss god tiering, and what it would mean for Vrissy, death is a subtle implication there but still there

Now to see if Jane’s ever revived Harry Anderson before in the next update I suppose :o

*edit*

They did not kill Harry Anderson, I saw pumpkins in front of the house that got exploded and didn’t see it looks different than the other bland white suburban house that John actually left, so no one died, Harry just got his implied death threat turn

Harry is at Roxy’s House, John sits in the smoldering ashes of his childhood home, languishing in the idea that Jane, the girl who might have in another reality been his loving grandmother, actually wants him and his kids dead for realsies

he never really got to sit and think about the hole where his home was that the meteor struck when he entered sburb huh? (I know his house came with him, giving the allusion all was well in the Medium, but a real meteor still struck the place that he stopped existing on OG Earth, to an outside observer, it would look like a meteor destroyed his home)

with Vriska talking about sburb to Vrissy, it is nice imagery to imagine the implications of the Kids god tiering from Earth C

and the destruction left in their wake

#Homesquared #Harry Anderson Egbert #RIP Son #John does not have good luck with family and explosives

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

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stevenbasic · 4 years

Photo

I had just started to feel a little better. Takeoff was a success and we weren’t going to die. Melissa’s right hand was still on mine, now on my left thigh, holding it there to comfort me through liftoff. But she had since turned to look out the window - and had given me the chance to ogle her huge tits in profile...an opportunity I surreptitiously took. Lord god they seemed bigger every time I saw her. This fine morning, en route down south to our conference, she looked absolutely ready to burst out of her tight white top. I’d been outright staring at her chest for nearly a minute.

"Everything looks so small from up here!" she marveled, gazing down at the disappearing cityscape as we climbed into the clouds. Christ, her breasts were enormous. “I like small things, don’t you?” she asked as she casually arched her back, completely unaware that I was still absolutely goggling in wonderment at the bulge and projection of her giant breasts.

Small? I mused, lost in the reverie of this private, furtive moment I was sharing with her knockers. There is -nothing- small about this overgrown girl…

Wait. Had she asked me a question?

“Uhhh…” I began. If she was expecting a reply, it didn’t seem to trouble her.

“Everything is cuter when it’s smaller, right?” she quipped, still distracted by the view out the window as I continued to be captured by the view of her mind-blowing torso, “Like, kittens. Cats are cuter when they’re smaller, right? Just like little cars...super cute. Little tiny purses, carrots, brilliant little doctors...cute, cute, cute when they’re smaller.”

Wait what?

I tore my eyes off her chest just in time to avoid being caught as she quickly turned back to me, smiling with mischief. Jesus! Obviously she saw a reaction on my face that gave her pause.

“Oh, I’m sorry…!” she said with sudden concern, eyes going wide, “We really haven’t been able to talk, since Friday...are you okay?”

“Wh-what...what do you mean?”

“The...the ‘little doctor’ comment,” she began to explain with chagrin, “I was just trying to be funny…”

“Yeah thanks for reminding me,” I said, chuckling, recovering. It may sound weird but over the past couple days, since the ignominious measurement fiasco at the department store, I’d actually come to a certain peace about my height,or new lack thereof. I was not the (almost) 5’11” I thought I was. Somehow, since I last remember my height having been measured, I’d lost two inches...at least.

If I knew then, sitting in the plane, what I know now I would be mourning much more than a lost couple inches. Any sane person - especially a medical professional like myself - wouldn’t be going to a conference with their busty co-worker: they’d be rushing to get investigative testing. But the idea, the fact that I was 5’8” was beginning to bother me less. I was actually a little proud of myself, being so relaxed about it….what’s the big deal, right? I now realize, though, that my psyche had already been deeply changed, an early part of this whole process that’s brought me..here, to where I’m speaking to you today. I was just none the wiser.

“Really, everything’s fine, it’s normal,” I assured Melissa, fiddling with my seat belt and convincing myself I sounded brave and unperturbed, “these things happen when one gets older.”

“Omigod you are not old,” she howled, slapping my shoulder with her free hand, “you’re only…” Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Uh…”

“...more than ten years older than you,” I said wryly.

Is there a reason she’s still holding my hand?

She smiled, eyes glittering, inspecting me. “Yes, but…” she said, “Three inches though?? That’s...weird, right?”

”Well, sure. But the last time I measured my own height was probably, like, many years ago,” I said, hoping I was sounding calm, “so it’s happened slowly, over like five or ten y-“

“I dunno,” she interrupted, “I feel like you've definitely shr...gotten shorter just since I’ve known you.” She looked me over, up and down. “But maybe it’s more...me.”

”What do you mean?” I asked, as I noticed her adjust her bra over her left shoulder and then turn to look again, wistfully, out the window.

“Oh, nothing…” she replied, “It’s just that with this new little growth spurt I’m having, maybe my perspective is…”

Just then, the tall, blond flight attendant showed up aside me. “You two look like you need some champagne,” she offered, lowering a tray of well-filled flutes down between us.

“Oooo yes!” Melissa squealed as she turned back, smiling, to take a drink, releasing my hand. I took a glass as well.

After the stewardess had moved on, we clinked.

“Cheers,” Melissa giggled.

After a brief pause, and a sip, she continued. “But, really, what about you, Dr. J?” Melissa asked, as she pivoted a bit more at the waist towards me, “You seemed scared the other day, when she told you that you were 5'8”. How are you feeling?”

She really wanted to talk about this, huh? ”Oh, u-uh...heheh..” I began, “I don’t know about “scared…” My mouth suddenly dry, I took another swig. “I mean, nobody liked to be told they’re sh-shorter than they think they are…”

“Especially a guy, right?” she added earnestly, ”it must be sort of...emasculating.” She bit her lower lip, as if eager for my answer.

“Well, I was never a big macho guy so…” My voice trailed off, as I looked at Melissa. I was able to keep eye contact, for a bit, but I was slowly being struck by, well, her size. The physicality of it. She was taller than me, probably stronger than me, just all-around bigger than me. And suddenly, in that moment, I was becoming overwhelmed by the feeling of being...lesser.

I glanced down, at my drink, into my lap.

"Hey, c’mon, you never know,” she said, easily reading my reaction, “there may be some positives! Even if you do get even smaller.” She leaned into me, playfully bumping me with her right shoulder, giggling.

“Positives?” I asked.

"Yes!” she continued, eagerly, “You heard the sales lady the other day. Girls all want shorter boys. It’s true, totally. It’s fashionable to be with a smaller guy, to be seen as a couple like that. People love size in women these days…” Almost imperceptibly, Melissa straightened in her seat. “That’s why you see so many women in the gym, getting big, bulking up,” she explained, “They want their big butts, big backs and shoulders and arms. It’s all to make their man look small.”

It’s funny. I had heard this, other places. Read about it. “a-and...you?” I asked, hating immediately the prurient interest in my voice, “y-you go to the gym a lot?”

At that she laughed, and turned to look out the window again. I watched as, through her tight, long sleeve tee, her back muscles bulged, swelling against her top. I took the second to appreciate her muscularity, the dramatic “V” of her torso, fit shoulders tapering down to tiny waist. As I watched, her lats flexed, bulging further. It was subtle but also dramatic, this display of their obvious strength, more bulk than you might immediately think, looking at her. She was by no means “thick”; the musculature looked absolutely feminine and alluring. But was she doing it on purpose? Showing off a little?

“I do go to the gym a lot,” she mused, turning back towards me, “I’m lucky, I get big quick.”

“Y-you do, huh?” I answered dumbly.

“Yeah, I do,” she continued, “It’s all genetics. My father was some sort of athlete, I guess. When I was modelling I had to be careful. I was told I could be a bodybuilder. But...” At that, for some reason, she stopped herself. Almost like she was about to say too much. “But now I don’t have to worry.”

Ashamed at myself, I wanted to hear more...even at the risk of sounding too engrossed. “Y-you like that look?” I asked, “Getting...bigger?”

“I dunno,” she replied with a disarming smile, casually shrugging, “But like I said, It’s totally in, that look, big girls. My gym is almost all women now, most are the same. You don’t see guys as much.”

“R-really?”

“MMhm,” she answered, sipping her champagne, “Know why? It’s the thing, little skinny guys. No one wants a meathead these days. So, look on the bright side: if you’re smaller, three inches, you’re just getting cuter. More attractive.”

“Oh stop it I’m married,” I reminded her, feeling myself both blush and recoil. My skin crawled, thinking of Sheryl, of where things had gotten between us.

“Well, she may not say it but I’m sure Sheryl likes it,” Melissa countered, “When they go out with their guy every girl wants to look fashionable.”

What was she doing? Painting a picture for me where my wife and I strolled into a restaurant, Sheryl towering over me by six inches with a huge smile on her face? Melissa knew how chilly things were in my marriage. What was she saying?

“And, anyway…” she continued, “maybe you’d like it, too, if you were a little smaller. If it just means everything else, everyone else looks bigger...”

“Wh-what?”

“C’mon...” she said, as a subtle waft of her perfume found its way up into me. Her voice had dropped. I noticed now that we had leaned in already, closer to one another like conspirators, and this just drew me in closer. “I mean, there are more and more guys on the internet every day who are really into that sorta thing. Guys being smaller....smaller than their girlfriend, smaller than their wife. Smaller than women in general.” She took another sip of her drink, waited for me to follow and take a sip of mine. “Some guys want to be a lot smaller than women,” she continued, cryptically, “It’s crazy..."

She looked at me. Raised her eyebrows. Regarded me.

“R-really..?”

"Yeah…” she replied, “I get messages you wouldn't believe..."

================================

Agh, okay. Finally. Thanks again everyone for your patience. This one was hard fought, and I’m afraid through all this they’ll still be slow to come. But hope you all enjoy-

#Growing Into the Job

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blarrghe · 4 years

Note

“My robes suit you.” FOR DORIANDERS I AM WEAK!!!

OH HELLO Thank you for bringing us to the next instalment of Giant Messy Idiot Mysteries Here it is on AO3

Pairing: Dorian x Anders Summary: Anders is a resident at a hospital in Minrathous, struggling with his medical school debts, the grueling hours of his job, a haunting whisper in his soul that never rests, and a debilitating crush on his new friend, Dorian.

Dorian is a newly appointed Magister in the Tevinter Magisterium, struggling with the expectations of his station, the recent death of his father, the weight of guilt and grief which came with it, and an absolute need of a hug. Chapter notes: cw for some alcohol and drug use (mostly mentions).

This is an ongoing series I’m writing with the help of writing prompts people have sent me, feel free to send me one! You can read the prompt fill under the cut or the whole thing in order on AO3

Dorian was staying in the city. He'd rented one of those week-to-week, ready-furnished condos in some highrise downtown, the kind usually booked by vacationing tourists or affluent college students in need of a place to throw a party. He'd rented the place out the day after his father's funeral, and as far as Anders could tell, he hadn't been home to his family's sprawling estate in the country since. He said it made his commute easier; since his father's death, Dorian's political status had changed. A complicated combination of votes coupled with birthright determined a mage's place in the Magisterium, and Dorian's new position could only fall properly into place after several rounds of committee votes and the completion of an apparently endless amount of paperwork, which he'd been dutifully submitting and then complaining about ad nauseam. With all these meetings and events, it just made sense for him to have a place in town, or so he said. Anders suspected that he had another reason as well, and that she tended to shout at innocent nurses and “not like situations she couldn’t control”. Both his keeping of a sparsely furnished and impeccably clean temporary apartment, and the parade of (never-repeated) men Anders knew he had a habit of bringing back to it indicated as much. Anders, however, he had never had over. Anders had seen the inside of Dorian’s weekly rental (now going on its ninth week) only twice, and both times only from the doorway.

So even though he really wanted to be stubbornly irritated at Dorian for crashing into his valuable sleep time by almost dying on him again, when he finally arrived at the end of the long, carpeted hall and lifted his hand to knock sharply against the smooth and glossy paint of the condo’s door, it shook a little with his nerves.

Dorian, of course, came to the door in a robe.

It was a long, black, silken robe. Tied with a gold rope of more satiny fabric, and dipping in a deep V to reveal far, far too much golden skin. Anders painstakingly kept his eyes fixed right about his eyebrows, and tried to keep his own in a position that would denote stern. He was stern.

“You had better have an explanation,” Anders huffed as he deposited his bag in a heap of muddy-coloured canvas and broken zippers on the slippery tile floor of the entryway.

The ceiling above him stretched up for eons, decorated at the top with hanging lights glittering through wire fixtures that looked like they belonged in a museum of modern art. Ahead, the slick tile stepped down into a wide, white carpeted living room decorated in black and white and silver and nothing that looked like it had ever been touched by human hands, except for the bar at one end, which was cluttered with half-drunk bottles. Tall windows with long, white blinds walled off the far edge of the room, blinds drawn up to offer a view of city lights that gave way, between the shadows of other tall, glass-sided buildings competing for the view, to the sea. The view made him feel prickly; too high up, and annoyed that it likely cost more than the one he had of brick walls and smog from his own windows by the day, and that these vacuous places were what crowded the coastlines without end, while below the streets were crowded. But mostly, he didn't like the height. Dorian strode on into the apartment, and deposited himself comfortably onto the stiff white couch in the centre of the room, next to a glass coffee table that had on it a stout, gold-rimmed glass of something amber-coloured that Anders really hoped wasn’t alcoholic.

“A bachelor party gone wrong, I believe there’s a whole television series devoted to the concept, now.” he said, nonchalant. As though he hadn’t promised Anders a good reason for what had happened, twice. Something in Anders stirred unhappily. Did he think this was a game?

“Dorian, you could have died,” he still didn’t know what that had been, in Dorian’s body, blocking up his magic and turning him defenceless and silly. Or how much of it he’d done on purpose.

Dorian waived him off with a flutter of his hand, and Anders crossed his arms. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said. When Anders still didn’t uncross his arms, he sighed. “I simply had one too many drinks,” he continued, and Anders continued not to budge.

“Try eight too many,” he said. “And that doesn’t explain the visions or loss of magic or —”

“Visions?” Dorian frowned, “well, that does sound fun.”

“How can you not be taking this seriously? Do you even remember what you took? Who gave it to you?” was he a complete imbecile, after all?

Dorian sighed again. “Does it matter? I got drunk, I let down my guard, and someone got the better of me. It was bound to happen, now that I’ve got a position to keep.”

“What?” Anders stopped, suddenly struck by the uncomfortable realisation that Dorian did, in fact, think that this was a game. More than that, he’d more or less expected to play it. “You think this was political?”

“I think I was bloody stupid, and lucky to know you.” Dorian replied, shrugging away Anders’ new irritation, “and that I’ll have to be much more careful with where I place my drinks in the future.”

Anders shook his head, miffed out of speech. Dorian frowned again, apparently disappointed that his reveal of having been poisoned for political gain didn’t alleviate Anders’ concerns.

“Anyway, I have a thank you gift for you, I know it hardly serves to make amends for your having to put up with such hassles, but —” an inconvenience? That was Dorian’s takeaway from last night? He was faltering through his apology, now — “well, that’s twice you’ve kept me from a gutter when I really ought to have fallen in one,” he smiled, a heartbreakingly sad smile; even the aggravated parts of him wanted to offer comfort to that smile. They wanted something else too though, for the person responsible. “So, you can wear it to the wedding, if you’ll still go with me, that is.” He was still talking. Talking about a gift? A gift he was now taking down from a shelf mounted next to the vast stretch of television screen that spanned one towering white wall of the living room, and presenting to Anders.

The box was square and deep, twilight blue. It slid open, lined on the inside with soft black fabric, to reveal a shining silver watch. Anders could see his reflection in the glass cover, under which four consecutively smaller little gears and wheels of clock hands spun out at him. He blinked at it.

“You’re still going to that? After someone tried to poison you?” Anders very carefully closed the lid of the box over the watch, and put it slowly down on the glass coffee table next to Dorian’s glass of...brandy. He was drinking blighted brandy.

Dorian said something frustratingly nondescript and wishy, and picked up his glass. “No one tried to poison me,” he took a sip, “more likely they were just hoping to have me caught in a compromising position, or entice me out of some political secret. Visions, you said? Sounds like probitasexus; like a truth serum, but more fun. It’s par for the course, really.”

Anders stuttered after him, “par for the —”

“Of course, done with anything lyrium-laced, it interacts badly. But that bit’s my own fault. Reckless, as I said.”

So he’d taken magic-enhancing party drugs and twelve shots of vodka and then been secretly dosed with something to make him sexually honest? Anders swallowed. He’d liked not knowing where one symptom ended and another began better. Also, how was he managing to stand upright after all that?

“Do you have any ideas who did it, at least?” Anders asked, the spirit in him growing unhappier by the second.

Dorian, once again, simply shrugged. “It could have been any number of people,” he said, “plenty are none too happy about my new appointments.”

Then, with a voice that was quite forcefully more Not Anders than Anders, Anders heard himself say “but you have a plan to find out?” while the world went slightly blue.

Dorian squinted. “So,” he said slowly, “that part was real, then. You’re not alone in there.”

Anders squeezed his own hands together and blinked himself back. “It’s...Justice. And it’s complicated. But we both want to know,” he said. Of course; that, he remembered.

“Justice,” Dorian hummed, “how fitting.” He finished the brandy in his glass and walked around the crystal clear coffee table to the bar that stood by one of those tall, ocean-facing windows, “I don’t expect to find out who it was — the contract’s certainly been swept away by now — only to not let it happen again.” Then he opened a bottle and splashed four fingers of deep brown liquid too quickly into his glass, getting some on the bartop. Not only was he drinking brandy, he’d been drinking brandy for a while, it seemed.

Anders rushed to the counter, snagged the glass out from under him, and pushed it far down the bar. “Andraste’s mercy,” he scolded, “do I have to stage a one-man intervention? Do you have a death wish?”

“Funny,” Dorian leaned back, arms crossed, unfairly offended, “I could ask you the same thing.” A scrutinizing eye ran Anders over from top to bottom, “we all have our demons, don’t we?”

Evidently, he found this bit of wordplay to be clever enough to merit his snatching the drink back, and Anders was too busy keeping a lid on a sudden urge to punch him that came from the back corners of his thought (and maybe the front ones, too), to stop him.

“Justice is a spirit, and you could at least take a day off.”

“So could you.” Dorian took an indignant sip of brandy, “or do you spend every waking moment you have trying to help people out of an uncontrollable inclination towards justice?”

“You're going to criticize me for overwork?”

Dorian took one more, less indignant sip of the stuff, and sighed. “How about neither one of us criticizes the other for a moment? I need to… steady my nerves, that's all.”

“This isn't ok, Dorian.” Anders said, no less blunt than he meant to be. “You can’t just carry on with a target on your back.”

Dorian looked at him for a long, silent moment, the drink still in his hand, eyes searching.

“And what do you suggest I do about it? Run away? I have responsibilities.” he muttered finally. He couldn't have known the words would sting, but they did. “You're right though, no more foolish partying.” he said, putting the glass down again without drinking more. “Not for a while, anyway,” he smirked. “Satisfied?”

“No.”

Anders glared down at the glass between them until Dorian sighed, picked it up, and walked away through an open passage in the white walls. Anders followed him into a kitchen that was easily as big as Anders’ whole apartment, and watched him pour the drink into the sink, rinse it, go to the fridge, and fill the same glass again with water. He raised it in a salute and drank it.

“Then where does this leave us?” he said, just as bold as Anders, if not more.

“Maker, I don't know.” He wanted to be mad at him, because that would be simple, but he wasn’t; no part of him was. Heart beating too fast in his chest, frustration and concern pulling in opposing directions; afraid, but of him or for him he didn’t know — probably both. “I really can't stop you going to that wedding, can I?”

Dorian smiled, and shook his head.

“Then I'll go with you, if only to keep you out of more trouble.”

“Excellent. In that case, I have some things I want you to try on.”

And just like that, he was done with it all. Life-threatening drama shoved aside so that he could beckon Anders excitedly into his bedroom (his bedroom) to show off the offerings of a vast wardrobe.

He piled clothes onto the bed, hovered over them, pulling fabrics around and holding items over one another with scholarly concentration, and then finally gathered up a small mountain of things and piled them into Anders’ arms. He shoved Anders into an ensuite that held a bath three times bigger than his own blighted bed, and told him to try the green one first.

“It will suit your eyes,” he was calling through the door as he pushed Anders inside faster than Anders could protest, “if you really want justice, you’ll help me look good.” he went on, from the other side of the door.

“I could help you look for a new job,” Anders shot back through the door, grateful that Dorian couldn’t see him blushing.

“You said you liked politics.” Anders could practically hear the smirk across his reply.

Anders huffed and dropped the clothes Dorian had burdened him with in a pile on the floor, and looked for ‘The Green One’.

It was a long coat of deep, forest green with gold stitching and clasps, embroidered in an old-fashioned tradition with complicated paisley ornamentation in gold thread and shining beads. The patterns ran delicately along the collar, and into a wide neckline that ran down to the centre of his chest, where they clasped up the front with hooks of more gold. It came wrapped with matching leggings, which were loose and silky to the touch. Everything slipped on comfortably, the shoulders a little broad, maybe, but the length was perfect; a rare fit, for him. He stood for a minute turning in the mirror — a fact he would be sure never, ever to admit — just admiring it as it shone. Then Dorian knocked on the door expectantly, and Anders jumped, shaking his head at himself in the mirror until his expression settled back down.

He opened the door, and stepped out, making a point to do so quickly and to only turn for Dorian after he requested it, and with the most irritated roll of his eyes that he could muster.

“See, I was right.” Dorian mused, leaning back to admire his selections with a hand thoughtfully stroking at the hair on his chin, “my robes suit you.”

That time, Dorian could definitely see him blushing. Anders felt his blood rush hot to his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes as Dorian’s smirk intensified and his eyebrows waggled over it all. Anders’ mind was flooded with the echoes of “I see how you look at me”, and other things his massively irresponsible and only friend had said to him, while on drugs. Anders crossed his arms and grit his teeth, willing his cheeks to cool — definitely making it worse.

Dorian frowned. “Anders, I…” Dorian, then, dropped the mask of constant charm, and glanced down at his feet. “I didn’t do anything, last night, that was… untoward, did I? Because if I did I —”

On drugs, Anders reminded himself. (Honesty drugs — shush, honesty drugs with unpredictable drug interactions and lyrium-laced uppers, and alcohol — he continued to remind himself), whatever he’d done, he’d done it because he’d been a drooling puddle of poorly mixed chemicals. “— you mostly just muttered a lot of gibberish.” Anders stopped him, and a very large part of him was disappointed in him for his dishonesty, but Dorian breathed out with relief.

“I really can’t thank you enough.” Dorian snapped himself back into something with far more poise than should have been humanly possible, “you’re a good friend.”

#what if we were #my fic #my writing #dorianders #dorian x anders #dragon age fanfic #modern au

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 32 - SBT

Here it is!

"Hey, Sir! You're M, right?"

Mundy looked down, a few kids had run to him as he was about to hop on his van after his sandwich.

"Yeah, that's me."

"We got a message from L for you. He says to go to Maurice's street and be there at 3pm sharp!"

Mundy rolled his eyes at the 'sharp'. Yep, that did look like something that posh snob would say alright.

"That's in…" He looked at his watch. "Half an hour. Alright, I'll be there, thanks kids."

"You're welcome, bye!"

And the kids darted away while Mundy hopped in his van. He fastened his seatbelt and started the engine.

"Right, off to Maurice's then…"

He pushed the button on his radio and the song diffused in the air. It reminded him of the chat he had with Lulu, the singer. Ha, foolish Mundy thought the man would understand him. How could he, when all the sheilas who saw him admired him? Surely the man knew nothing about loneliness, he could have a different sheila wrapped around him every single night.

Mundy glanced at his inside rear view mirror and back in front of him.

And he was cheeky that singer! He did say that he did know what solitude meant. No! He didn't! Or maybe he did but not like Mundy. No one knew it like him, apart maybe from L. Yeah, L understood. He had lost everything a decade ago and lived like the ghost of himself ever since. Yeah, like Mundy.

The van stopped and Mundy hopped off. He leaned against the back of it and lit one of his cheap cigarettes. The contrast in quality with L's ones struck him at first. If the Frenchie's taste in clothes was odd, at least his taste in cigarettes was good.

Mundy took a drag off of it and blew the smoke away. He had a few minutes to kill so he just stayed there, watching the kids play football in the streets, the last beggars in the queue lining up for some soup, if some was left.

Suddenly, the children all rushed to the pavement and out of their playground to the motorcycle than came in the street. Mundy's eyebrows jumped. He didn't know much about motorcycles but that was a beaut' of a thing!

It stopped a house or so away from his van and its driver got off of it. He was dressed in a suit and tie, navy blue.

Nah, it can't be L, can it? The bloke can't drive that.

The kids went to the driver and he crouched to be at eye-level with them.

"Your motorcycle's amazing!" One of them said. "Can I touch it again? Please!"

The group of kids were overly excited about the beautiful vehicle. It was slim, black with a dark red sheen. The driver opened the visor.

"You may, and I will need you to keep an eye on it and on this…" The driver removed his helmet and Mundy realised that indeed it had been none other than L…

"Tell Maurice that I am trusting him with it, d'accord?"

[Agreed?]

"Yeah!" The kids cheered as Lucien left his motorcycle behind and approached Mundy.

"You may close your jaw." He was smirking. "Argh, and what kind of tobacco is this?! Is it even tobacco?" Lucien swooshed the air in front of his nose while wincing. He took Mundy's cigarette from his very fingers and dropped it on the floor before crushing it under his sole.

"Oi! That was my bloody cig'!"

"You call that a cigarette? That was poison you were inhaling!"

"Yeah, isn't that exactly a cigarette, mate?"

"Urgh…" Lucien rolled his eyes up. "In any case, what did you see that made you drop your jaw like this…" The Frenchman looked back in the direction that Mundy had been staring at. "The motorcycle? Ah, oui, it is quite beautiful. I did not know you were a connaisseur."

"It wasn't the bike, although it looks good yeah, never seen any like it before. No, it was you with the kids."

"Me?" Lucien repeated. "What did I do?"

"You were bein' nice with them!"

"Ah, and that surprised you? What do you think I am? These are only children, of course I will be nice to them!"

"Spook, I did see you torture-mh?!"

Lucien smacked his hand in front of Mundy's mouth.

"Not in front of the children!" He whispered with gritted teeth before removing his gloved hand. "You are lucky they are distracted with my motorcycle…"

"Ah, yeah, right… Anyway, you wanted me here, why?" Mundy asked.

"Because I had no idea where else we could meet. We need to have a chat somewhere calm." Lucien said.

"Uh… We could try at Maurice's?"

"Let us try then."

They went in front of the house and after introducing themselves as L and M, a beggar explained to them that Maurice was actually not in and he couldn't let them in. So a few minutes later, both men were back in the dirty street.

"You are the native here, where else can we go?" Lucien asked.

"Uh, I don't know…"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"And I thought your knowledge as an Australian would be useful…" He walked to the passenger's door on the van. He opened it and slipped in.

"Oi, oi, you stop right there!" Mundy opened the driver's door and looked at his uninvited guest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lucien fastened his seatbelt and looked around him.

"Would you rather hop on my motorcycle? I don't imagine so, even though the seat there is infinitely more comfortable than this… Go on then, hop on and start driving, I will show you a place."

Mundy sighed.

"Spook, I swear…"

The Aussie hopped in and turned the key. The van woke up and she got away from Maurice's street. Mundy took a glance at his passenger. He was sniffing the air and squinting.

"The smell?" Mundy asked. "It's Dior, mate."

Lucien chuckled.

"I wish it were. Non, Christian never made such an atrocity. Continue straight."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"I told you it's Dior, not Christian or whatever. Still straight after that light?"

"Oui… Bushman, Dior is his last name, Christian is his first name."

"What?!"

Lucien rolled up his eyes.

"And whatever it is, it smells of apricots and he doesn't like them. Non, Christian most definitely would never design such a stench. What is it?" Lucien looked left and right, looking for the origin of the smell.

"Hold on, you talk like you know the bloke?" Mundy looked at him briefly, confused.

"I do."

"Shut your mouth!"

Lucien chuckled.

"Again, you are free to believe that I am lying, Bushman." He smirked. "Take it left now."

"Yeah, well…" Mundy was unsure if he was believing Lucien. "And to answer you, it's this thingy here that smells of apricots." He pointed at the apricot shaped air freshener dangling off of the inside rear view mirror.

"Why apricot of all the smells that exist? Take it right at the next traffic light."

"Because that's what I aim for."

"You shoot apricots in your free time?" Lucien mockingly asked.

"Nah, you genius. There's a part of the brain that we call the apricot. Hit it with a bullet and your target dies before they know what hit them."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"We?" He asked. "Who is that? Hunters? And you may park here."

"Oh, alright. And no, not hunters…" Mundy shook his head. "Snipers."

Lucien's eyes snapped wide.

"You are in the army?"

"Not exactly." Mundy parked and cut the engine. "My dad was one when he was in the army. He showed me how to use a rifle when I was hardly bigger than the damn thing."

They were in a street, the van was at a complete stop and they unfastened their seatbelts.

"But you told me your father hated guns?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, he hated people who came at night and stole our chicken and geese even more. And he liked hunting, he wasn't against the idea of hunting for food, just not for sports."

"Like father, like son." Lucien said. "I see where the respect and love for animals come from."

"Yeah. So he taught me how to use the bloody thing and by the time I had to go and do my service, people noticed my good aim. They tried to get me to enroll but the idea of killing people just didn't make sense to me. I refused, but that's how a lot of people called me back then, Sniper."

Lucien smiled.

"You went from Sniper to Bushman. I do not see an improvement there."

"And you went from Professor Ski to Spook, I don't know who's doin' best here."

"Pff…" They both chuckled and hopped off the van.

Mundy followed Lucien on foot until they arrived in front of an American style diner.

"Oh, I know this place. I've been in this diner before." Mundy said.

"Really?" Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've had a few breakfasts here, their coffee's nice."

They entered and a waitress came to them.

"Hey guys - oh, L? Is that you under the mask?"

"V, may I introduce my… partner in crime, M."

Victoria looked at the tall man.

"I know him, you came a few times here, haven't you?" Victoria asked.

"Yeah, I did."

"Yeah, you're the coffee and croissant bloke, like L. Except last time you took a muffin."

"You have a bloody good memory." Mundy said.

"Yeah! So, want a table for you two, or are you expecting more people?"

"Non, just the two of us, somewhere calm, please, it is for important business."

"Oh, I see." Victoria answered. "Go to your table, L, I'll make sure no one gets near."

"Many thanks, V."

Bushman and Spook took a seat at the Frenchman's usual table.

"So, what did you want to see me for?" Mundy asked.

"First, choose something from the menu. If we are going to stay in this establishment, we might as well enjoy something to eat."

They took a moment to make their choice.

"I presume you had lunch already?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, you?"

"Likewise. I would go for a dessert…"

"Same. The pancakes look nice."

"I never tried them."

"Might be a lot though, wanna share?"

Lucien raised his eyes off the menu and he met with the lagoon blue ones. And for a split second, he saw it again, the man in the neatly tied ponytail, the black suit, and the shyness, the embarrassment he had to talk about his feelings. The Frenchman smiled.

"But of course."

Mundy smiled.

"Aces. I'll get a coffee with that."

"Which kind?"

"You gonna judge me on my coffee now?" Mundy asked.

"Of course. So, what kind of coffee?"

"I swear Spook…" Mundy shook his head and Lucien wiggled his eyebrows. "Black, there you go, happy?"

"Ooh, manly."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a sheila in case you hadn't noticed, eh."

"Really?" Lucien played on.

"Screw you, Spook… And you, eh? What kind of coffee d'you drink?"

Victoria came at their table, interrupting their banter.

"So, you guys know what you're gonna get?"

"Oui, I think so. After you." Lucien said.

"Right so uh, we'll share the pancakes and uh, a black coffee for me. What about you, Spook?"

"Spook?" Victoria chuckled.

"Don't you think he looks spooky with his mask?"

"True." Victoria said. "Why are you wearing that thing, L?"

"The same reason that you are calling me L." He said. "May I have a cappuccino, señorita?"

[Miss]

Victoria raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"Alright, pancakes, a cappuccino for spooky L and a black coffee for M, is that right?"

"Non" Lucien answered. "I might be 'Spooky L', but then my friend here has to be 'Wild M'."

"Wild M?" Both M and Victoria repeated.

"You, Bushman, you know why and you, Victoria, you don't want to know. Now, please, we have to discuss some business."

"Oh, sure, I'll be quick!"

Lucien nodded in thanks and Victoria left them.

"So, are you gonna finally tell me what you want?"

"I have a lead." Lucien said.

"Alright, I'm listening." Mundy leaned in over the table and whispered.

"You don't need to whisper, Bushman." Lucien shook his head with a smile. "But here is the deal: Duchemin is throwing a party next week. I can get us in."

"What?" Mundy's eyes snapped wide. "How d'you know that? And how are you gonna get us in?"

"A… friend gave me the information." Lucien started to lie. "You surely do not know him, he is a singer. Actually, you might have seen the posters around town a few weeks ago?"

Mundy's eyes snapped wide.

"You mean that French singer? Lulu? The bloke who sings at the Queen Victoria?" His eyes lit up.

"It is him indeed." Lucien went on. "He had two places but he cannot go. He thus gave them to me."

"Wait, you know Lulu?" Mundy asked.

"I do, quite well." Lucien answered. "Why? Do you also know him?" He feigned innocence.

"Yeah, no, I mean, not like a friend, but I uh… I've uh…" Mundy blushed.

"What is it?" Lucien pushed him.

Mundy removed his hat and put a hand behind his neck. He looked down.

"I've uh… I've been to see his shows. He's-he's quite good."

Lucien smirked. Oh that was it, the spy was back in action with the little mind games, he loved it!

"Have you? Lucky you, I know his reputation… What did you think of him?"

"Coffee and pancakes for the gentlemen!" Victoria interrupted them, put everything on the table and left.

"Thanks."

"Merci, V."

She nodded and left the two men alone.

"Where do you know Lulu from?" Mundy asked.

"First, you have to tell me what you thought of him."

"He's… I don't know, he's something else." Mundy helped himself to a pancake and started digging in.

"I am told he is quite talented." Lucien tried to encourage Mundy to tell him what he thought, and took a pancake.

"Mate, you should definitely go and watch him. And you understand French, so it would make maybe more sense to you than it does to me. Funnily enough, he sounds like you, you have the same accent."

Lucien smiled.

"I have even been told that we share some physical resemblance too…"

"Really?" Mundy stared at the Frenchman's face. "Actually, yeah, you have the same eyes roughly and uh… yeah, anyway." Mundy had been about to say that even their lips looked similar, those thin lips.

"Ah, I wish I could go."

"His next show is on Saturday," Mundy said between two bites on his pancake. He let his mouth do the speaking while his head was focusing on the dessert. "The place is awfully posh and you gotta wear a suit and tie - not that it would be a problem for you. It's expensive as all hell too. You'll like it. I can take you if you want."

Lucien's smile couldn't stretch more until that last sentence.

"Are you… inviting me, Bushman?"

Mundy stopped chewing, his eyes snapped wide and he raised his eyes from his pancake. His cheeks were pink.

"Uh, n-no, I mean, it's good music and stuff, and you'd suit the place. I bet you like that kind of posh stuff. Anyway, you've got the right to say no if you don't want to, eh."

"I would love to," Their eyes met, Lucien's looked… different. "But I'm afraid that my evenings are busy."

"Oh, ok, yeah, you got someone at home, I forgot." Mundy said.

"Thank you however, it is very kind of you."

"Mh." Mundy shrugged. "So, you have Lulu's tickets to get in Duchemin's party?"

"Oui. We are quite close friends."

Mundy raised his eyes to Lucien's. He didn't know if there was more to that sentence than just that.

"Although, Bushman, it is no ordinary party."

"What d'you mean?"

"It is a masquerade ball."

"What's that? Oh, don't tell me we have to get costumes…?" Mundy asked.

Lucien nodded.

"I'm afraid so. And that's exactly why I needed to tell you, or rather, ask you."

"Ask me what?" Mundy took a sip of his coffee.

"Do you want to go to that party with me?"

Mundy's cheeks turned red. He swallowed down the coffee and cleared his throat, pretending that it went the wrong way.

"So now you're invitin' me, eh Spook?" He asked.

"Bushman, you have to understand that it won't be any mere party. Criminals and rich men of all backgrounds, all more shady than the next, will be there. Besides, given my resemblance with Lulu, I will go as him."

"Ok."

"Non, you don't understand. Lulu has met Duchemin a few times."

"Did he? Why?" Mundy frowned.

"Don't look so preoccupied, it turns out that Duchemin also enjoys his evenings at the Queen Victoria. He watched a few of Lulu's shows and asked to meet him. What that means is that Duchemin will certainly talk to me as he would to Lulu himself and if you choose to come as my plus one, then he will surely come in contact with you."

"Oh…" Mundy started to realise the challenge.

"And you will have to pretend that you don't want to kill him and even do small talk with him. Are you capable of doing that?"

Mundy frowned and pondered.

"Well… Uh…"

"I can give you a few tips to try and act the part, should you accept, but it will be a nerve-wrecking experience and I don't want to bring you along for you to ruin it all."

"No, 'course not. I uh…" Mundy thought about his parents. Had it not been 'nerve-wrecking' for them when the farm had been set on fire? "I'll come along." He answered.

"Are you sure?" Lucien insisted.

"Yeah."

"You won't shred Duchemin on sight?"

"No."

"You won't run far away and shoot him from there?"

"Spook... So, what's the plan, we get there and then what?"

"I don't intend to kill him there. Even if we manage to get him to be alone, after a few minutes of absence people will start looking for him and we will no doubt get searched and caught. Non, that would be a terrible idea."

"So you just want to have a drink with him?" Mundy asked.

"Don't sound so jealous, Bushman…!" Lucien teased. "You are having a drink and pancakes with me right now, non?"

Mundy rolled up his eyes.

"Christ, Spook…"

"But non, my intention is not to enjoy myself there. I want to know more about the man, understand his close security, how untouchable he is. From that, we can think about how we will get to him."

"Ah, I see… Ok, I'll come with you and play by your rules. You seem to know what you're doing."

"Good. Now, I guess you need to get a costume too, don't you?"

"Y-yeah… D'you know where you'll go to get yours?" Mundy asked.

"I will go to my tailor's."

"Ooh, listen to you, you have a tailor and all… You're so posh, I swear…"

"Well, I make a case of presenting well. You perhaps should take notes." Lucien arrogantly said and sipped on his coffee.

"Alright, alright… Also, what are you gonna go for? I mean, what disguise?"

Lucien leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Louis the Fourteenth."

"Who's that? Please don't tell me it's a French king or something."

Lucien shook his head.

"It isn't a French king, he was the French king. The one who had the Palace of Versailles built just to prove that he was the greatest king of all Europe."

Mundy facepalmed.

"Crikey… D'you ever stop…?"

"It is my second name, Louis." Lucien said.

"What's your first one, then? Henry-the-bloody-Eighth?"

Lucien chuckled.

"Non, I'm afraid you are wrong and quite far from the answer. But what about you, what costume will you go for? An arborigenous man who lives in a bush?"

"What?!"

"Well, the costume itself will be easy to make, tie any old rag around your waist and poof!" Lucien snapped his fingers. "John's your uncle."

Mundy burst out laughing.

"First, it's 'Bob's your uncle', not John."

"Are you mocking me for it?! Try and speak French then, hm?"

"Partout, elle me fait escorte

[Everywhere, she accompanies me]

Et elle me suit, pas à pas"

[She follows me, step after step]

Mundy quoted the song about solitude that Lulu had sung, and Lucien's jaw dropped. His pupils dilated like a cat in the dark and his breath cut short. He recognised the lyrics of course, despite Mundy's accent. Mon Dieu, his accent… A music in itself. The way he slightly twisted the consonants, making them bend and be softer, the way the vowels melted into slight diphtongues. Lucien felt it like a punch to his stomach. He naturally answered with the following lyrics.

"Elle m'attend devant ma porte

[She's waiting for me at my doorstep]

Elle est revenue, elle est là"

[She has come back, here she is]

Mundy's eyebrows jumped in surprise. He didn't expect Lucien to recognise the song on the spot and he had even less anticipated that he would recite the next couple of lines. He said, trying to sing with his husky, low voice:

"The Solitude,"

To which Lucien answered, singing low too, for no else to hear them.

"La Solitude."

They both let silence fall between them. There was no other way to conclude this song that let the silence wrap those words and scatter them in the air.

"You know the song?" Mundy asked.

"It is more than just a song for me. It is an anthem, unfortunately." Lucien said as he finished his coffee. "I am surprised that you know it." He lied.

"Well… It's uh, Lulu. He sang it and uh… I really liked it."

"At least there is that." Lucien answered with a smirk.

"There's what?"

"If your sense of fashion and elegance in general is non existent, you have yet been blessed with good musical tastes."

"Yeah, well, thanks for noticin'..."

They both chuckled.

"Yeah, it's uh…" Mundy said. "Lulu sang that song and I couldn't get it out of my head. I even bought the cassette, listen to it in the van."

"Quite the admirer you are." Lucien said, just to see Mundy's embarrassment and it did not fail.

"Well, his songs really are somethin', the way he sings them too."

"I am surprised that you appreciate music to this extent, in a good way."

"Used to play the sax back in the days."

"Really?" Lucien's eyebrows jumped. "Quite some hidden traits you have."

"Hm, maybe. But yeah, to come back to your point, I'm not entirely sure what I'll go dressed up as. I don't… Uh… I don't have much choice in my cupboard, eh."

"You could come to the tailor's with me, if you wanted."

Mundy's eyes lowered down.

"What?! What am I gonna tell him? 'Please mate, do somethin', I need a costume for an awfully posh party of some sort'? And how am I gonna pay for it? The thing surely costs an arm and a leg!"

Lucien smiled.

"Says the man who has frequent dinners at Lulu's restaurant, hm?" He answered. "Back in the days, and when I came to know him, he was singing for the most prestigious restaurant of all Paris, where kings and presidents would eat, along with famous singers and movie stars."

Mundy's eyes were dreamy.

"Gosh…"

Lucien tilted his head on the side.

"So, will you come with me to the tailor's?"

Mundy was lost in thought. He was caught in a sudden and brutal daydream: Lulu, his beautiful silhouette, his poetic hair, in Paris, singing his heart out as he did so well, in the night, in the City of Lights…

"Yeah…"

Lucien chuckled.

"Bushman?" He snapped his fingers in front of Mundy's face and pulled the man out of his pleasant, open-eyed dream.

"Huh?" Mundy gasped and straightened his back. "Y-yeah, what?"

Lucien shook his head, still laughing by himself, and gestured to Victoria who came to them.

"So, how was it guys?" She asked.

"As usual, very good, V, thank you. Add this bill to me, I shall send someone to pay for it later if that is alright with you."

"Sure, you in a hurry?"

"Oui, time flies when - uh…" Lucien stopped mid-sentence and frowned.

"When you're in good company!" Victoria finished for him and Mundy could have sworn he saw L's cheeks get a bit of colour.

The Frenchman stood up and closed the button of his jacket. Mundy followed him out.

"Say hi to Perle for me when you see her, and give her a kiss for me!"

Mundy's blood froze.

"I will, thank you, V."

#tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #sniperspy #SBT

9 notes · View notes

maandags · 5 years

Text

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

-- -- --

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

#keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron #keith voltron x reader #keith vld #keith vld x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith #voltron keith x reader #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane x reader #vld keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith fic #keith fanfic #keith voltron fic #keith voltron fanfic

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years

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Save Me: Chapter 43 - Masked

~Hey guys! This is the introduction of the whisperers story line in Save Me, so I hope everyone is excited and enjoys this chapter!~

For so long, Molly has believed her greatest war to be at home, but soon she will discover that there are greater threats which lurk in the shadows of the world.

Rosita's POV//

'Come on!' I shouted back to Eugene who was struggling to keep up as we darted through the trees.

We were still miles away from Alexandria, in fact we were now closer to Hilltop.

Michonne had sent us out to hunt but we got caught by a large horde of walkers.

They practically had us cornered and with Eugene lagging behind we had no choice but to hide.

I ran back and grabbed his arm, yanking him forward to pick up the pace as we slid down the bank, mud and leaves cushioning our fall.

I heard walkers growling and snarling so I knew they were nearby.

I thought quickly and shovelled up mud around us and buried Eugene and I in it to conceal our scent.

My heart beat fast as I felt Eugene tremble beside me, I grabbed his hand and interlocked it with mine to steady his nerves and also admittedly mine.

I shut my eyes and just prayed that they would just walk past, until a voice made my eyes dart wide open again.

'W-where are they' a walker whispered.

'They might be close' another answered as the horde continued to pass by.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

They were talking?! Was I just severely dehydrated and hallucinating or had the dead just spoken?

'Don't let them get away' one whispered hoarsely, at this I felt Eugene stop shaking.

I think he was practically stunned into silence by the shock of what we had just witnessed.

They had finally passed as I grabbed Eugene, hoisted him up and told him to keep walking.

Of course Eugene being Eugene wanted to stop and talk about what just happened but I just ignored him, wanting to process what I had just heard as well.

We walked for hours until we found an old barn just outside of Hilltop.

I knew Eugene couldn't walk any further, he had an injury to his leg which kept bothering him since the war against the Saviours.

I helped him down into a bunker, enclosed by a trap door.

I concealed him with a mound of hay in the middle of the barn and then went on to Hilltop for help.

When I got there, I panted out of breath and Molly came running.

Molly's POV//

'Rosita? I thought you were at Alexandria? What's going on?' I asked anxiously as I opened the gates.

'I-It's Eugene, he needs help. I'll explain in a minute' she said bending down, trying to breathe normally.

I frowned in confusion but rushed over to her, ushering Jesus and Tara to follow and we followed her to where Eugene was.

'Rosita, tell me' I said sternly.

'We made it out, that's all that matters' she answered as she opened the trap door to reveal a muddied Eugene.

'What the-?' I started to say as he climbed out, wincing in pain as his leg caught the side of the door.

'What do you mean you 'made it out'?' Jesus asked as we helped Eugene to stand.

'They've evolved' Rosita said.

'Who?' I asked.

'Walkers, they were talking or whispering' she answered.

Jesus, Tara and I all looked at each other in disbelief.

'Are you sure?' Tara asked.

'Yes! I heard it, I'm not crazy!' Rosita shouted.

I suddenly heard the rustle and snarl of walkers nearby.

I told Tara to hold up Eugene while I moved over to the barn window and peered out.

I saw a large hoard moving in the distance, past Hilltop.

'Fuck' I whispered at the sheer amount of the dead that were close to us.

'Walkers' I said as Rosita rushed to my side.

'That's the same hoard that we survived. I'm telling you they've evolved' she said in annoyance.

I just sighed and went outside the barn, climbed up the ladder to its roof and lay flat on my stomach, inching myself forward to get a better view.

This was probably one of my most stupid decisions but I said 'fuck it' and shot out a flare, it soared through the sky and landed close by to the hoard.

Usually they would flock towards it because of the colour and the noise but this time they just ignored it and kept moving as one, not even one of them moved out of line.

'What the shit?' I whispered to myself as I watched them.

All of a sudden the walkers started to move out of line and paced around in one large circle.

There was nothing they were trying to feed off of, just pacing in a circle for no reason.

I had no idea what the hell was going on so I climbed down the barn roof and went back inside.

'We need to leave, now!' I said trying not to yell as the others just nodded and we slid out of the back door and went round to the back of Hilltop.

'What did you see?' Tara asked breathlessly as we paced quickly.

'They were walking in a circle, for no damn reason. What if Rosita's right? What if they have evolved?' I said nervously.

'I don't know' she answered.

I hated not being able to comfort her or tell her everything was gonna be fine because I had no clue if it would be.

For the first time ever, I had no plan.

Once we got back to Hilltop, I ran inside and called Michonne for back up.

She came with Daryl, Aaron and Gabriel a few hours later.

Our plan was to track the horde and try and get close enough to grab one and find out what was going on.

Jesus and I readied everyone with armoury and weapons, by my side were Tara, Yumiko, Magna and Luke.

Rosita stayed behind reluctantly with Eugene and promised she would defend Hilltop if the horde tried to break through.

Once we met up with Michonne's group, Jesus and I showed her where they were and the direction in which they had headed.

It was the dead of night now, but we had no time to lose.

We couldn't risk them flocking to somewhere else and not knowing what they were.

We traced their movements, thanks to Daryl who was the best tracker out of all of us.

We came across a graveyard after walking for an hour.

It was shrouded in mist and a large iron gate encircled it.

Jesus and Aaron told us to wait behind the gate while they cleared the graveyard so that we could walk through unharmed.

I of course protested but I didn't want to argue with Jesus because I believed in him.

A few walkers moved towards them which they took out without an issue.

Jesus flipping and slashing them down with his sword whilst Aaron bashed in their brains with his badass metal arm and spiked attachment.

Soon, there were more and more walkers heading their way.

I opened up the gate and everyone followed me in.

This must have been the hoard of at least part of it, I thought.

We stood in a V formation as we took them all down as they kept coming towards us.

Daryl and I fired our arrows and knifed the ones that got too close, while Michonne sliced them open with her katana.

Tara had an axe which Luke had made her to match his and Magna and Yumiko had slingshots.

It had seemed easy for a while, that was till the mist started to rise and cloud our vision.

Even Tara who was standing right by my side started to disappear in the cloud of white.

We had had to move stealthily around the graveyard and walkers had now blocked the gate we came through.

'Shit' I heard Tara say as she saw gate being increasingly crowded.

I grabbed her hand and we moved backwards and struck down walkers as we stood back to back.

I pointed to Jesus to see the gate on the far side which we could move through.

He nodded and signalled to Daryl to get them there safely while Michonne, Tara, Jesus, Aaron and I fought off the dead.

Tara and I yanked on the gate but it was firmly shut.

'Shit' I said breathlessly as I saw it move slightly.

Daryl brought them to the gate and they continued to fire at the dead at the bars.

The gate was locked but with all of us pulling, it could be pried open.

We all grunted and panted as we used all our strength to pull it open.

'Get out of here! Go I got this!' Jesus shouted to Aaron who hesitantly came over to help open the gate as Jesus defended us.

Just as we managed to pull open the gate, Aaron looked back and yelled, 'Jesus come on!'.

He started to walk stealthily towards us as I got all of them through the gate, leaving only Aaron on the other side waiting for Jesus.

Jesus struck down one of the two walkers with a swift blow to the head and attempted to strike the other.

It swung around, pulled out a knife and stabbed him straight through the heart.

'You are where you do not belong' it whispered as my eyes widened in shock.

'NO!' Aaron yelled as I gasped in shock.

Tears rolled down my face as the walker dropped Jesus' body to the ground.

Aaron and I sprinted back through the graveyard, adrenaline and rage filling my body as I saw the walker like figures sprint towards us.

I snarled and hardened my face as I pulled out my gun.

I shot them one by one.

No mercy, that's what I had learned in this world.

Daryl shot many with his crossbow, while others took out their guns.

This was no time for knives.

When I ran out of ammo, I dropped my gun and took out my knives from my holsters and holding one in each hand I paced and leapt in the air, driving the blade into their skulls as they tried to swing at me.

Aaron continued to drive his metal hand into the skull of the now lifeless killer of Jesus.

Over and over he pounded his fist as he screamed in rage.

I stood back up, seeing no more of them around and wiped my eyes as I looked over to Aaron.

'Aaron' I said through rapid tears as I lifted him away from the body.

'NO!' he yelled as he shrugged me away and collapsed back over Jesus.

'Come here' Daryl said to Michonne as she walked towards Daryl who was standing over one of the dead whispering walkers.

I wrapped my arms around Aaron as we cried over Jesus.

I saw Daryl cutting something at the walker's head and only realised what it was when he lifted it in the air.

It was a mask...

#negan #mollychambler #twd #negan x original female character #negan's thirst squad #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #rosita #thewalkingdead #daryl dixon #saveme

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strwberrytae · 5 years

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Addiction | 02

→ pairing: jungkook x reader → genre: drama | m for mature → words: 5.2k → a/n: this is a repost from my old blog but I completely forgot about this series. my goal is to continue it, so here is the introduction. disclaimer: there are mentions of an escort service. this is not a promotion of prostitution of any kind. this is strictly fiction and should be seen as such. read at your own discretion.

→ chapters: 01 | 02 | 03

→ summary: To say that someone is addicted to something can be either an exaggeration or so far from the appropriate term; it can be terrifying. At first, he seemed cute, playful; even attractive. But by the end of the month, you just dreaded the thought of telling him that you couldn’t satisfy him anymore. Rather, you dreaded the thought of admitting to yourself that you were just as addicted to him as he was to you.

“Addiction is defined by tolerance, withdrawal, and craving. We recognize addiction by a person’s heightened and habituated need for a substance; by the intense suffering that results from discontinuation of its use; and by the person’s willingness to sacrifice all (to the point of self-destructiveness).”

The clock ticked and tocked with a quiet echo against the wall. When your eyes fell upon the device, it read 20:59. He would arrive in one minute exactly; they were never late. As a part of your ritual, you climbed onto the bed. The soft comforter tickling your skin in the most delicious way. Beside you was a silk ribbon that was placed previously just for you. You always wore a blindfold; for the thrill and for unbiased reactions towards your clients. Without a rush in your fingers, you grabbed the fabric and tied it firmly yet gently around your eyes. Your hands eased their way onto your thighs as your legs were folded beneath you - a restful kneeling position with your palms against your skin.

Right on cue, the door creaked open and you couldn’t help but to sigh in satisfaction. The sounds of footsteps entering the room stilled along with a gasp. The sound pleased you. Quickly but almost hushed, the door closed behind him; letting you know that he was securely inside your chamber. Respectfully, you bowed your head slightly with a soft smile.

“Welcome. Would you like to get comfortable first or do you have something else in mind,” you asked in a silky voice. It typically went either way. The client either wanted to talk first as they stared at your form or they wanted to fuck you as soon as possible - either way, you were prepared. There was a silence in the air that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

He must be a shy one, you thought. A light hum vibrated your throat. You crawled just a little further down the bed, careful in knowing exactly where you were so you didn’t crawl off the bed. Positioning yourself again as you were, you cocked your head in a playful manner and smirked.

“You can speak. I won’t bite…unless you want me to.” This time, a light giggle purred from your lips in hopes to make him more comfortable. The man didn’t move. You could practically hear him swallow hard.

“Noona?” Alarm and fear hit you like a thousand knives. In one tug, you pulled down your blindfolds to clarify the fright that panged your thoughts. Never in a million years did you think he would ever step foot into your chambers. Your voice trembled as you stuttered his name.

“J-Jungkook?”

The amount of shock you felt in this moment was surreal. Jungkook stood in your chamber, your domain. These were uncharted waters that you dared never to enter yet here you were. The maknae stood there, staring at you. For the longest time, he kept his gaze on your widened eyes. Slowly, they eased their way down your body as he took in what you were wearing. Your cheeks blossomed to a dark shade as you hurried to cover your body with the white sheets around you.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here? Please say something,” you said with a slight tremble in your voice. He took a step forward in awe.

“Why are you here,” he asked you plainly; a steady rhythm in his voice. There was something so off about him. He couldn’t focus on any singular spot on you or your body. He was scanning your body. His eyes trailed up and down your figure. He always did this as you typically tended to his hair and makeup but this was different. You could practically feel the energy being sucked from your body. Taking a deep breath, you held the blanket up to your chest and tried to relax. There was no escaping the situation and you knew all too well - questions were his forte.

“I work here. Didn’t you not know that before coming here?” Two could play at this game. If he could ask questions, so could you. Although it didn’t make much sense. Why would he pay so much if he didn’t know you were here? Here in this place to escape and fulfill your wildest fantasies whether realistic or not. Someone that was familiar to him and that he could be comfortable with. Jungkook didn’t answer. Jungkook took a couple steps further towards you without breaking eye contact with your skin.

“Hyung said he had a surprise for me but I wasn’t expecting this,” he said in a whisper that made the hair on your skin stand up straight. The sound of his voice only made you tighten your grip on your blanket more. The confusion between arousal and petrification was a very blurry line but you remained focused as best as you could.

“J-Jungkook. You can leave if you want. This isn’t exactly the place for…well…” The right word evaded your mind as you searched for it.

“The place for what? A kid,” he asked in a defensive tone. His slow stride stopped in that moment as he looked at you. You didn’t realize you would actually insult him with this but clearly you did. He stepped to the edge of the bed and looked you in the eyes in a way that worried you beyond belief. Such caution needed to be taken at this moment and you didn’t know what was the right or wrong thing to say.

“Kookie, no. You’re not a kid. I just… This place is for a certain type of person. You’re just so…pure. It’s my job to be here for you but I want to make sure you fully understand why you’re here.” There was a twitch in Jungkook’s head as if you struck a cord. Something has changed in his aura that you had never seen before. His breathing quickened and his eyes darkened.

“Move the blanket, Y/N. I want to see you,” he said in a steady voice as he looked you in the eyes. You swallowed hard as you tried to read him.

“W-What ever happened to ‘Noona’?” Your joke came out with a slight laugh and it granted you a smirk from the maknae.

“I thought you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be called that anymore,” he said as he closed the gap between himself and the edge of the bed. He grabbed the sheet around your body and yanked it away from you; causing you to gasp.

“I thought you wanted us to be informal with you.” Jungkook’s eyes fell down to the sheer, muted pink lingerie that you were wearing. Your erect nipples pressed against the fabric. He took notice and a low rumble came from his throat.

“Lay back against the pillows. I want to try something,” he instructed. You raised your eyebrow slightly to him. There was no more room for question. After all, he was your client and you were being paid to cater to his every needs. Nodding slowly, you crawled backwards on the white sheeted bed without breaking eye contact with him. Your submission to him was very crucial right now. His dominance surprisingly came so quickly to service. You would have pegged him as submissive…

As you sat back on the soft yet firm pillows, you exhaled as you watched his next move. Your legs kept closed together as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“What would you like to d-”

“Don’t talk,” he interrupted. Obediently, you pursed your lips together; fighting every urge not to question him anyways. Jungkook’s gaze on you raised goosebumps on your skin. It was like a lion stealthily observing it’s prey before making its move; to scare it further.

Suddenly, he moved his hands to his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Your eyes first went to his tousled dark hair. As he shook it back into place, your eyes wandered down to his chest - lightly tanned and chiseled in a way you have only imagined before. His V-line to his groin deliciously peaked from the top of his leather pants. Next, his hands made way to his belt and he discarded his pants as well. Your eyes widened as he moved; completely involuntary.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he said in a low voice. His boxers hung long on his waist and you thought he would fix them but he clearly didn’t care about his raging erection pressing against the fabric.

“These past few months have been torture… Sitting in that chair while you touch me…and take care of me. Now…I want to take care of you.” At the edge of his words, he crawled onto the bed. A noise came out of your mouth as your jaw dropped. Everything happened so quickly. To even begin to properly process what was happening mentally was useless, but physically, your body was fully alert.

With snake-like moves, Jungkook approached your body. One hand at a time pressing into the mattress as his knees followed behind him. His warm hands started at your ankles, skimming up your legs as his body inched closer to you. As he made contact to your skin, you took in a breath. It felt like tiny sparks of electricity hitting your skin as he touched you. The anticipation of what he was intending made you twitch in your core.

Not once did he make eye contact with you once he spotted what he wanted. It was like he was in some kind of mind-altering trance; a drug-induced daze. His pupils were darker somehow and his breathing was so staggered.

“J-Jungkook,” you asked with a shaky voice filled with slight worry but so much arousal. It was embarrassing. Jungkook licked his lips and finally met your gaze. He slide his hands up your legs and grabbed onto your knees. Spreading them apart, he looked down at your damp, sheer panties. Your arousal was so much more apparent in the translucent fabric, you couldn’t help but to blush. Never had someone made you feel this self-conscious when you were in this room. You were so used to being in charge but this was different. He was different.

“I want to taste you, Y/N. They told me I could do anything I wanted to you, with you. They told me what you like and don’t like,” his eyes met yours again with a smirk on his lips. “You had quite a long list of things that you like, jagiya.”

For once, your healthy list of kinks that you’ve orchestrated over time made you blush. As a part of your position in this club, you were instructed to make a list of soft and hard limits - things you love and things you will not tolerate. It was a profile that made it easier for clients to select someone that matched their sexual desires. Your list appealed to a wide variety - the kinky, the shy, the experienced, and the inexperienced; the dominants but also the submissives.

The various items on your list scrolled through your mind to decipher what intentions he had. Although it was fairly obvious, but you didn’t want your body to jump to conclusions.

“Bondage, biting, scratching, spanking, dirty talk. There were a lot of things on your list that were very…rough, Y/N. I had no idea you were like that.” Jungkook spoke to you with eye contact but it was very hard to concentrate on anything he was saying. Your legs were spread apart with him resting between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs as his head looked down at your wet center.

“T-there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Jungkook.” Your voice was slightly shaky as your heart rate increased. So many thoughts running through your head; the sudden informalities between you and the mere fact that he was going to have sex with you. It was all too much. The maknae said something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

“Do you want me to be rough with you,” he asked through his bangs. His hands made way up your thighs and grabbed a hold of the hem of your panties. This was a question you heard often but you needed to answer it tenderly in this situation.

“This is your fantasy. You can do whatever you want with me.” Your whispered words struck a chord inside of him. In an instant, he hooked his fingers under your sheer material and yanked them off of you. Your core laid naked before him and his eyes darkened at the sight. Unable to keep himself in this state, he took off his boxers and threw them somewhere on the floor. You had perfect view of his long, straining erection as he laid on his side. It was as if he was purposefully giving you full sight of him. His head repositioned to between your legs, using two fingers to stroke your folds. Your juices coated his fingers, making him hum in satisfaction.

“I’m going to taste you. I want to make you feel so good, Y/N.” His deepened voice caused you to moan lightly. Simultaneously, Jungkook grabbed a hold his cock and started pumping himself as his tongue connected to your core. He didn’t start off slow. His tongue moved against you so eagerly and deliciously; tasting every inch of you. His tongue started at the bottom of your entrance and eased its way up to your clit. His hand stroked his length so quickly, he started moaning against you. Leaning up on your elbows, you watched the sight before you.

You arched your back and rolled your hips against his tongue. It felt so good, it made you throb. An orgasm was quickly rising to surface. Your body desperately wanted it. You wanted to cum all over his tongue as you watched him pleasure himself. His moans became soft whimpers. Pre-cum leaked out of his tip and even from where you were, you could tell that he was close. His hand moved so vigorously. It turned you on more than anything you’ve ever seen before. His mouth left you for a brief moment as he stuttered your name.

“I’m gonna cum. I need you to cum with me,” he said desperately. Typically, you held off your orgasm for a client but this was too unbearable. He was more than just a client. He was your fantasy tapped into your reality and he was beginning to release what your body craved. His mouth returned to your core. He sucked on your clit as his tongue swirled around your folds in rhythm. You gripped the sheets as you rolled your hips against his mouth.

“Yes. Cum for me, baby. I’m so fucking close. I’m r-right there. Don’t stop.” Your mind went blank as your mouth kept talking. The curses purred from your mouth as if they had a mind of their own; pushing him on to cum all over the bedsheets. Together, your cries mingled with his muffled moans against you. He squeezed himself perfectly enough as he jerked himself into a painful orgasm. As his seed shot onto the sheets, your juices glided onto his tongue and chin. He licked every last drop as you shook against him.

Your breaths slowed and staggered as you climbed down from your high. Jungkook’s tongue slowly lapped over you to make sure you felt as amazing as he did. You started to buck away slightly from the overstimulation.

“That’s enough, Jungkook,” you said softly. The maknae reluctantly pulled away and wiped his mouth; licking his fingers to taste more of you. The sight made you blush.

“Oh my god,” you whispered as you bit your bottom lip. Jungkook looked down at his length; now red and harder than ever.

“Where are the condoms,” he asked in a shaky breath. You sat up straight with concern in your eyes.

“Why don’t you take a second? This is all new to you. You may not be able to-”

“It hurts. I need to fuck you. Just tell me where they are and I’ll take care of the rest.” His voice was stern, putting his foot down. You looked at his hand as he held a tight grip on his cock. It was apparent that he was desperate for another release. The idea made your body come alive.

Obeying his desires, you pointed over to a white dresser set that had a variety of drawers. He sprang up from the bed and walked over to it, pulling on drawer after drawer. You watched him, observing his naked form. It was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

A smirk twitched on Jungkook’s face as he realized that the drawers held every toy and tool that you had on your list - a list he had memorized well. He pulled out a condom and black leathery cuffs. As he held the tool in his hand, he looked up behind him towards the ceiling and put two and two together. When he turned around, you perked up as you took notice of what he wanted to do.

“Give me your wrists, jagiya,” he said sweetly. You were amazed that he took on this dominant role so quickly without instruction. It made you wonder if he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed. Deciding to fully display yourself, you discarded your bra that was still attached and tossed it aside. Presenting your wrists to him, palms up, you watched him as he crawled back on the bed.

Jungkook took your small wrists in his hands and attached the leather straps. Above the bed, he grabbed a hold of the chain that hung from the ceiling and lifted your wrists to connect the two. His eyes never left yours and it was so comforting, it made you smile. He looked at you and smirked.

“Why are you smiling like that,” he asked softly. You laughed slightly.

“I had no idea you were like this. That’s all,” you said in a kind voice; more filled with admiration. With your arms extended above you, you were completely vulnerable to him and you couldn’t have felt more alive in his presence. He cupped your cheek and leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. Your first actual kiss that made any other kiss you’ve ever had seem non-existent. His lips were perfect in every way. The kiss gave you goosebumps; making you want more. When he pulled away, he brought his lips to your ear.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You couldn’t help but to giggle to yourself at his comment. This side of Jungkook was intoxicating. Your pleased hums ceased when you felt his fingertips brush over your bare breasts. You squirmed against your restraint as you tried to wiggle within his touch. The excruciating ache that throbbed between your legs nearly took your breath away as his mouth closed around your right nipple, then your left.

Your body bucked backwards slightly at his touch, making the chain above your head rattle. Jungkook laughed lightly at your movement and looked at you.

“Eager, are we,” he asked in a cocky tone.

“Jungkook-ah…don’t tease me.” Jungkook scoffed under his breath with a grin. That same grin that you always found to be adorable but now seemed more mischievous as ever. Your arousal built once more as he shifted to move behind you. Faint noises from the condom wrapper being ripped open excited you. He slide it on over his painfully hard length and hissed as the subtle friction gave him an ounce of pleasure.

He looked at your naked form in front of him. How your back curved. How your breaths made your chest heave up and down, making your shoulders lift up and down ever-so slightly. How your legs separated below you to keep you up on your knees. How he could see you frivolously constricting your muscles below to maintain some kind of friction between your legs. He let out a low groan at the sight.

His firm hands grabbed a hold of your hips as he crashed your back against his chest. His cock pressed against your ass, easing and inching closer to your core to tease you without giving you what you wanted.

“Trust me. I won’t be teasing you much longer,” he growled into your ear. The muscles in your body went tense as your felt him graze your entrance with his tip. Your arousal wet the head of his length and he pressed inside little by little. You let out a whimper as you adjusted to his thickness. Fuck, he’s so thick. The pressure caused you to squeeze around him involuntarily, which made it harder for him to go any further. He let out a small moan.

“You’re so tight,” he said quietly; unable to keep the comment to himself. You leaned your head back against his shoulder as he eased back out and slid back in. A sigh of relief blew past your lips as you were able to adjust around him.

“You’re just very big, Jungkook.” Your compliment seemed to boost his ego as he started to pick up his pace. You moaned loudly as he pushed deeper inside of you, dragging his cock out just to slam it back into you. His fingers dug into your hips so hard but you didn’t care. Between the sound of the chained restraints and the combination of your moans, any other sensations didn’t matter to you. In fact, you wanted it to hurt more. His thrusts were so intense. His moans were so delicious. His cock felt so good inside of you, but you needed something to push you over that edge.

As if he could read your mind, one of his hands left your hip to grab a hold of your hair. He twisted his fingers in the strands to yank your head to the side, exposing your neck. Desire flowed through your veins as you could feel his lips grazing your neck. His rapid thrusts never faltered as he lunged as deep as you would take him. When you felt his teeth skimming your skin, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do it. Please. I-I need you to,” you begged. That final push. Biting. You knew he remembered. You knew that was why he was teasing you with his canines. They weren’t very long but they could very easily drive you insane. Jungkook growled against your warm skin; digging his nails into your hip with his free hand. The searing pain was delectable but you still needed more.

Obeying your longing to be marked, Jungkook sunk his teeth into your skin and sucked on the flesh. You took in a sharp breath and balled your hands into fists as he sucked harder and harder.

“Fuck! Faster, Jungkook. Fuck me harder,” you begged. Your mind was in a frenzy. Never had you spoken to someone in such a vulnerable desperation, let alone to Jeon Jungkook. Your screams and the way your walls tightened around his cock was becoming unbearable. He pulled away from your neck, leaving behind a deep red bruise with bite marks. Releasing your hair, he put his hand around your neck to keep your head back against his shoulder. His other hand snaked around your stomach, laying his palm flat, and pressing you against him to keep you in place.

“I-I can’t hold back any longer,” he groaned into your ear. All blood left your head and his words were becoming faint as your orgasm grew. His thrusts were so deep and fast, you could practically feel him in your stomach as he bounced against you.

“Don’t. I want you to cum. I’m about to- F-fu-ahhh…” It was too late. Your orgasm was so intense and powerful, you lost your voice. What started off as a scream, simmered to a whimper as you pursed your lips together. Jungkook let out a roar that blurred the lines between a whine and deep moan. Whatever the sound was, was absolutely addicting. Your breaths became very shaky and you started to close your eyes as he rode out his high. Your body felt weak and struggled to keep itself up. Jungkook could feel your body lax in his arms.

“Shhh it’s okay. I’m right here,” he said in a soothing voice. He reached up and unhooked the leather straps. Your arms felt like jello and flowed downward but he didn’t let you fall. Holding you in his arms, he laid you down gently on the bed. You couldn’t believe how tired and worn you felt in this moment. It was impossible to keep your eyes open.

As you rested against the mattress, Jungkook took care of you. Pulling the sheets over your bodies to keep you warm. Holding you close against his body; although it was hot and sweaty. None of that mattered because nothing felt so perfect. Sleep took over almost instantly as soon as he kissed your shoulder tenderly.

Jungkook laid there with you, watching your breathing slow as you slid into your dreamlike state. He couldn’t sleep. He was afraid if he closed his eyes that he would wake up. Wake up from a dream that he had fantasized repeatedly in his head for months. A craving and yearning to touch you, kiss you, mark you, claim you. The others told him it was just a crush and that it would fade; but he knew better.

He knew damn well that having you in his mind every waking moment wasn’t just a phase. He knew that the way his heart would skip a thousand times every time you were near him; not to mention touching him as you tended to his hair and face. He knew that whenever he laid in bed at night or wake up in the morning, you would pop into his mind without hesitation. Every night it would awaken his body and he had to release himself or it would hurt too damn much. They told him he could never have you because you would never see him that way. Yet…here you were.

His hand rubbed gently down your bare arm. His eyes roaming your body and imaging the beautiful sight he knows is underneath. He felt himself getting hard again. He bit his lip to try to distract himself. But that wasn’t necessary. Within minutes, the door creaked open and a tall man appeared in business casual attire.

“Your time is up, sir,” he whispered. Jungkook sat up as gently as he could so he didn’t wake you.

“I thought I had all night with her,” he said in disbelief. Jungkook thought to himself about the situation. How did they even know that they were supposedly finished? That’s when he noticed a small camera in the corner ceiling of the room. The thought upset him but he knew he couldn’t protest. This was a business after all….nothing more.

When you awoke the next morning, you felt cold and vacant. Something was very unusual about your surroundings. Opening your eyes, you stretched and looked around.

“I’m still here,” you asked yourself out loud. You tried to rethink about the previous night and that’s when realization struck you. Where was Jungkook? When you turned to the empty side of the bed, you couldn’t help but to feel disappointed. Everything was coming to you piece by piece. Next was the sore pain in your neck, wrists, and waist.

You crawled out of bed and made your way over to the mirror that hung on one of the walls. Your eyes widened when you saw what was causing your pains. Purple bruises, some darker than others, decorated your skin where Jungkook had marked you. Your look of shock morphed to a pleasant grin as your grazed them gently - admiring his marks on you.

“Y/N, it’s time to go sweetheart.” Suri’s voice came over an intercom in a light voice. It was morning.

“Be right out,” you yelled back, knowing she could hear you. Crap. It was morning. You needed to get to the studio and quick. There was going to be a small concert in town early in the afternoon and you knew you needed to be there as early as possible so they could rehearse on time. Luckily, you still had an outfit in your chamber for this occasion and you gingerly put it on; making your exit.

Arriving just barely on time, you ran into the studio to find the room already buzzing with other stylists, staff, and the guys. You felt timid, as you always did, when you entered the room. Adrenaline was still pumping through your veins from your nightly activities but they dimmed as you entered the threshold. Nerves building as you realized you would have to see Jungkook.

Even though you knew you were securely covered, you pulled on your turtleneck collar and long sleeves of the black dress you put on. It was cute yet casual but more importantly, it served your purpose well. As you walked over to your usual station, you gathered your materials as you waited for Jungkook to make his entrance. It was odd that he was running behind. You couldn’t help but to worry since he never said goodbye to you last night.

“Y/N, I need you to do me a favor.” Kimi rushed into the dressing room and yanked Jin down into the chair as he was goofing off.

“Yah! I told you not to move too much. I’m going to have to do your hair again,” she said in a frustrated yet cute voice. Jin giggled to himself.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be still,” he turned to you and looked you over. “Noona, it’s a little warm to be wearing something like that, isn’t it?” He tried to make it seem like he was being innocent but you knew damn well that he wasn’t. You rolled your eyes at him as he smirked at you.

“I don’t have time for this, Seokjin. What do you need, Kimi? Jungkook could be here any minute.” Your friend nodded and began to tend to Jin’s hair once again.

“I know. It’ll be really quick. I left my makeup kit in the bathroom and Jin is needed first for a mic check. It’ll just be faster if you could grab it while I fix his hair. Please.” You let out a sigh as you looked at the clock.

“Okay fine. I’ll be right back.” Your friend thanked you as you hurried out of the room. You hated rushing like this but sometimes it was thrilling. It would be more thrilling if you weren’t a nervous wreck already. Once you entered the empty bathroom, you noticed the pink makeup case on the counter right away. It was easy to spot in the dark grey tiled bathroom. It was modern with a long mirror above the multiple sinks. When you grabbed the case, you heard someone else enter the room but thought nothing of it until you heard their voice.

“Noona, I need to talk to you…” Shock struck you as your heart skipped a beat. You looked up in the mirror to see his reflection; turning around instantly to face him.

“Jungkook…”

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