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oftenwantedafton · 2 days

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the dark of the woods | dave miller x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 5.4k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

You leave the campground behind you and enter the darkness.

There are no lights along the path leading back to the road. Dave has said he’d meet you here, but it’s difficult to see much of your surroundings. It’s eerily quiet tonight. No nature sounds. Even the noise from the other campers doesn’t reach here. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, hoping the forest ranger will make an appearance sooner rather than later.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You jump at the voice, pressing a hand against your racing heart. “Dave! You scared me half to death.”

You can just faintly make out the tall, slim figure of the forest ranger, a deep woods sentinel who detaches himself from the forest and appears by your side.

“Not waiting too long, I trust? You know, this would have been a lot easier if you had just left the campsite with me. But you’re so worried about what the others will say…” You can hear the faint chiding in his tone. A reprimand mixed with amusement.

“I just don’t want people minding my business,” you grumble. His body heat radiates towards you and you refuse to admit how much you want to pull that warmth over you; how each subsequent encounter with the strange man makes you more and more addicted. “And why don’t you park next to the cabins like everyone else?”

You hear him cluck his tongue. “Already complaining and it’s been less than a minute. I enjoy the walk. It also allows me to scout for things on foot that I’d miss while inside the car.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

You swear he’s intentionally being vague just to frustrate you. “How are we supposed to find our way? It’s pitch black out here.”

“I know the way. It’s a rather straight shot to the exit. But, as I’m sure it will make you feel better, here.” You feel Dave’s hand blindly reaching out, copping a feel of one breast through your jacket that you know is entirely deliberate before something is pressed into your palm. Weighted. Cylindrical. A flashlight. “I beg your pardon,” he says, but the apology doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful. You know he’s wearing that crooked grin of his, even if you can’t see it. You wish he’d touch you again, and the hopeful thought makes your skin vibrate with anticipation.

You feel for the grooved switch of the tool and a beam of light illuminates the ground. You can see fresh sets of tire tracks etched into the dirt, there until the next rain storm decides to obliterate them.

“Ready to go?” You’d been right about the smirk. You can see it in the glow as you sweep the light around. He’s changed out of his uniform, opting for jeans and a long sleeve charcoal shirt. The clothing clings to his lean frame. It seems inadequate shielding against the cool night air, but then again, the man emits heat like a furnace. Your eyes don’t know where to focus. Those long legs. Narrow hips. The notch at the base of his throat. That pale column itself before the jut of his jaw, parchment pale. Glittering quartz eyes. His messy hair looks like spilled ink in this near darkness.

You shake yourself. “Yes, let’s go.”

“You should stick close to me. Just in case.”

You think back to his previous warning about dangerous things lurking in the forest and you follow his advice, allowing his spindly fingers to slot through yours. He takes wide steps and you find the pace brisk. After a time he slows down and tugs on your hand and you realize you’re being led off the path.

“Careful. Watch your step. My car is over here.”

You train the beam of light over the ground, trying to avoid any tree roots or fallen branches or anything else that might be a trip hazard. You’re relieved when you see the metallic sheen of an automobile. Your dark trek through the woods is at its end.

The older man releases your hand and digs into his pants pocket to find his car keys, then unlocks the passenger side door of what looks like a standard issue sedan bearing the logo of the forested area. You slide inside the vehicle, noting the vinyl seats feel cool even through your jeans. Dave gets behind the wheel and reaches over for the flashlight still clutched in your hand.

“Won’t be needing this now.” He shuts it off and tucks it behind your seat.

Still no start of the engine. You wait expectantly, staring through the windshield into the darkness. You think maybe you can make out the outline of the guard shack nearby, the moon finally peeking from around a cloud, but the illumination is very faint.

A creak as Dave shifts in his seat draws your attention to his face. You can barely see him, mainly just the sparkle of his eyes, the bits of pale skin that are exposed. You’d been so frightened of him yesterday; now you’re more afraid of admitting the prospect of leaving tomorrow is no longer quite so pleasant.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is quiet.

You shrug. “Wondering why we haven’t left yet.”

“We’ll go soon. What else are you thinking?”

You squirm in your seat. Persistent as always. He’s not letting you get away with such a bland response. “I was thinking about what happens when I leave tomorrow,” you admit.

“What do you think will happen?”

You fiddle with one of the strings on the hood of your jacket. “I don’t know. I’ll leave. You’ll stay.”

“I won’t be staying. I’m not here once the site is closed for the season.”

“Well, you’ll go do whatever you do the rest of the time.”

“Another job elsewhere.”

“Okay.” You let your hand fall into your lap. You wonder what he does during the winter months to supplement his income. What his home is like. Maybe it’s just an apartment. Small and filled with creature comforts. Cozy. But a little empty. Something missing. Someone.

“What would you like to happen?”

“I don’t know.” You chew your bottom lip. “You said…” The words will not come. He’s right. You do leave your thoughts hanging. He doesn’t understand what it’s like. You can’t be like him, so bold and brazen. You’re always cautious. Reluctant. You’re so accustomed to not having an audience that when one does appear, you suddenly don’t know how to react to the attention.

“What did I say?” He’s pulling the answers from you, little by grudging little. You don’t want to release them. It’s a defense mechanism you’d built up long ago. Don’t let people know how you feel. Don’t get close.

You want him close. Madness. He’s a stranger. Creepy. Yet…there’s something there. Another layer. Perhaps he’s shored up his own barriers. Hidden behind all of his eccentricity and uncomfortable brashness and quirky humor. The tiniest crack, the smallest chink in the armor. Have you found a way in? Was that a place you really wanted to explore deeper?

“You said not to mistake this for something it wasn’t.”

Dave exhales loudly, as if his breath has been held this entire time, waiting for your response. “Yes, I did say that yesterday.”

“This morning, technically.”

“That sounds like something I would say. I’m rubbing off on you already,” he murmurs, a hint of something that sounds like fondness in his words. But that can’t be right. You must be mistaken. This isn’t…that. Not anything like it. In the early morning hours he’d cornered you in a public bathroom. Had his way with you. Then you’d gone seeking him out of your own accord later this afternoon. How has so much happened in such a short amount of time? Why are you so drawn to him?

Your features grow solemn. “What are we doing, Dave?”

“Sitting inside of my car. Talking.”

You shove at his upper arm, feeling the underlying muscle through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Smartass. You know what I mean.” You wouldn’t have been confident enough to do this earlier; just reaching out and touching him. But it feels more natural than awkward now.

“I think we are two people enjoying each other’s company.”

A simple, safe response. “Okay.” Your voice sounds tiny in your own ears. Defeated.

“You’re disappointed by that answer.”

You clear your throat. “No. It’s what I expected.” You’re giving away too much. You’ve given away too much to him already.

“To pursue something else…I don’t know that it will turn out the way you might hope.”

This reply feels genuine. Considerate. “I feel like…I feel like there are two sides to you. Two completely different aspects. And I’m not sure how to feel about them. I’m not sure how to feel about you,” you confess. “I don’t really know who you are, Dave Miller.”

He is quiet for a long time. “You’re not wrong. There is an entire history, an entire life…It’s more than I can tell you about in one night.”

You wish it wasn’t so dark, so you could see his features better. “But you would tell me?”

A heavy sigh. “I can’t promise you that.” His hand reaches out, settling against your cheek. “But I can promise that you have my undivided attention and I intend to make the rest of your trip as memorable as possible. Let’s go have some fun.” His lips brush yours. You lean to capture his again, your fingers finding his thigh, curling over the denim clad extremity. He huffs a gentle laugh over your lips. “Careful, sweetheart. You start that and we won’t make it to Freddy’s.”

The restaurant. You’d nearly forgotten it these last few moments. You’re going to the site of some alleged murders. With this strange man you’re barely acquainted with who’s as much as admitted there is a past you know nothing about. Why did you agree to this, exactly?

Dave’s fingers wrap around the nape of your neck and drag your mouth back to his.

Oh. This is why.

***

You’re not sure what you’d expected the abandoned children’s pizzeria to look like.

Perhaps the outside covered in graffiti. A roof caving in, exposing the inside to the elements. Boarded up windows. Peeling paint. An overgrown parking lot choked with weeds and littered with broken asphalt.

Instead the parking lot is suprisingly tidy. There is no intruding vegetation. The exterior is brick and mortar, solid and unscathed by vandals or the ravages of time. A sturdy iron gate protects the glass front entrance. You’re even surprised to realize how well lit everything is. You’d been imagining a dark, dreary place. The sign depicting a bear mascot above the front doors is intact, still waving jauntily, a welcoming grin on its features. It doesn’t look like a business that’s been shuttered for years; it looks as if it’s merely been closed for the evening.

“Wow. Someone’s been keeping this place up,” you remark as you exit the vehicle.

“Yes.” The older man rifles through the ring of keys clutched in his palm until he locates the correct one, inserting it into the sturdy looking padlock and then dragging the gate to one side.

“So how did you get a key to this place, anyway?” You’d asked earlier and he’d brushed you off, but it seems as if he’s going to be a little more forthcoming now.

“Simple: I used to work here.”

“You did? As what?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything.” Okay, maybe not quite so forthcoming. He waves a hand in the air before pulling the door open and gesturing for you to enter the building. You step over the threshold cautiously, reluctant to venture too far inside. It’s dimly lit with some light panels set low on the walls. There are far too many unknown shapes in the shadows for your liking.

“I don’t suppose you could be a touch more vague,” you mutter. You can’t envision the older man slinging pizzas. Waiting on customers. It just doesn’t fit his image.

“I worked behind the scenes. Dry, technical stuff.”

“You think I won’t understand.”

He tips his head to one side. “No. Just think you’d be bored. Unless you have an interest in operating an animatronic stage show.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Hmmm.” He hums but doesn’t elaborate. You realize then that he’s not going to surrender any more details. He enjoys keeping secrets.

“I can’t believe someone’s still paying the electric bill. Water. Heat. Even minimally supplied, it’s gotta be pricey when there’s no revenue coming in. What’s the point?”

Dave moves to stand beside you and the door closes with a thump. “Ah, I hear the owner is quite nostalgic. Perhaps there’s still a hope that someday, when memories aren’t quite so fresh, it can reopen and resume its former glory; surpass it, even.”

“You really think people would want to come back here after what happened?”

“Why not? We have.”

“I guess so,” you grumble, unconvinced.

“I’m going to go switch the power on. Wait here for me.”

Once again the man seems to be able to find his way in virtual darkness with ease. You shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie and wait for your guide’s return, casting a glance over your shoulder to view Dave’s car waiting patiently for your return.

When the power is fully restored, it’s a sight to behold.

Section by section the pizzeria comes alive in washes of light and color and sound. You can see dozens of tables and booths in front of you, and a large stage enshrouded in heavy drapes. The obvious arcade section offers a variety of clashing sounds all competing for attention. And there is Dave at the heart of it all, teeth spread in a triumphant grin, thrusting his arms out theatrically and even sketching a mock bow.

“Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.”

You remain hovering near the entrance, still more than a little hesitant to trespass any further, no matter how much the older man has emphasized you’re welcome to do so. He sees your reluctance and he frowns a little, holding out a hand towards you.

“Come on in. Nothing’s going to harm you here.” He’d made that same promise at the campsite. So far he’s made good on it, but this is quite another story. You don’t budge and the scowl deepens. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I may have embellished that ghost story a little. They never found anything to suggest foul play. There was no evidence. No footage of the animatronics roaming about. Just a lot of paranoia and blame shifting.”

“That’s not what you said before. You said kids got kidnapped and murdered and shoved inside the animatronics,” you reply doubtfully.

“Ahhh, as I’ve said. Embellished the details to make the tale more exciting to captivate your fellow campers. You coming in?”

You fold your arms across your chest, as if that meager barrier will offer any significant protection. “So you lied.”

Dave shakes his head. “Lie is such a harsh term. I just made the facts a little more colorful to further supplement the experience. Look, you’re already here. You might as well enjoy yourself.”

You chew your bottom lip, still hesitating. The older man abruptly shifts gears, abandoning his previous attempts to reassure you. He threads his way back through the dining room tables and wedges a hand behind your crossed extremities, gripping you tightly and pulling you flush with his chest. There’s a gleam in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You were keen enough to come here with me.”

“I just don’t want to get into any trouble.”

“You’re not going to get into any trouble. Not the legal kind with the authorities, that is. If you’re talking about a different kind of trouble, well then, I’m more than willing to accommodate.” His fingers abandon their grasp of your arms and tug the zipper of your hoodie down playfully.

“How do you have so much stamina? Jesus,” you curse in a combination of disbelief and admiration.

“I happen to have keys to the back offices as well. I’m sure there’s at least one desk I could bend you over. Whenever you’re ready.” He grins.

Your cheeks flush hotly. “Let’s just view the front end of the restaurant for now.”

He hums over your lack of enthusiasm regarding his offer but it doesn’t truly seem to deter him in the slightest. You’re quickly led past a wall covered in layer upon overlapping layer of children’s crayon drawings to the prize counter, where Dave releases your hand and hops up to sit on top of the glass cabinet, reaching down behind him to retrieve something with a look of practiced ease. He’s clearly done this before, dozens of times, able to feel around blindly and lift up a plastic tumbler decorated with balloons.

Your eyes rove over the last sad trinkets that are left in the display bins: kazoos and Chinese finger traps and cheap plastic keychains, children’s reward treasures that will never be claimed. The forest ranger swings his feet slightly, letting the heels of his Timberland boots bump against the case. Despite his age and his extremely tall stature there’s something almost childlike in his appearance now; his eyes have a kind of feverish glow to them, his cheeks washed in color, and whatever scant signs of aging he’d previously borne on his features seems to have melted away. Perhaps it’s just the neon lighting. Maybe you’re just imagining things.

Dave rattles the cup and it actually startles you. He tips the lip down slightly so you can see it’s filled with arcade tokens, a hefty pile of bronze colored coins that have the same mascot image as the sign above the entrance imprinted on them.

He eases back off the counter gracefully, his feet making virtually no noise on the carpet, and guides you to the stage, his lips twitching with barely controlled mirth as he slaps a large red button on the wall. The curtains slide back and you jerk to a halt, surprised to see the trio of animal mascots still in working order, miming a peformance in time with the children’s party song that comes through the speakers. They certainly seem innocent enough, in spite of those rows of teeth that are bared a bit too wide for your liking. There’s no way there are bodies stuffed inside those suits. You’d be able to see them, surely. And you don’t smell any decaying remains. Maybe it really was just a tall tale you decide; an urban legend that Dave added a little extra flair to, just like he’d claimed. You’re being silly. There’s nothing sinister about this place.

As if sensing your thoughts, your companion’s voice sounds beside you. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.” His fingers brush your sleeve as he passes by you. A prerecorded announcement follows the performance, declaring the next show will be in another hour.

The arcade proves far more interesting to you. You’re no slouch at the old Atari offerings, only too happy to thumb tokens into the machines and give the former employee a show of your own. All of your childhood favorites are here: Pac Man and QBert and Frogger and Centipede. The controls still work perfectly. The cabinets are dust free. Someone must have been hired to keep the place tidy. Hopefully they won’t choose tonight to visit and perform those duties. You’re feeling more relaxed now, but there’s still a slight nagging worry at the back of your mind that you shouldn’t really be here.

The older man has you beat at the pinball machines and air hockey, but you’re content to allow him exert his prowess for now. You regain the upper hand during a series of skee ball matches, although you’re not entirely convinced he isn’t holding back just a bit.

Nearly all of the tokens from the cup are now drained as the top of the lane you’re standing in front of is illuminated by flashing crimson lights announcing your high score. You turn to face him, grinning, and he smiles indulgently.

“Having fun?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Good.”

“And not just because you cheated and let me win that last round,” you add, shoving playfully at his arm again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winks at you, then takes the cup from your hand and rattles the tokens. “What do you want to do with the last of these?”

You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully and then your eyes light on something at the other end of the room.

“Got any cash on you? Like real currency, I mean.”

“Yes. Why?”

You point. “Photo booth.”

The amusement fades from his features. “I’m not really fond of having my picture taken.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like anyone else is going to see them. Come with me. I was a good sport and did everything else with you, didn’t I?”

“Well, not quite everything,” he counters, his eyes glittering. “We still have a little more exploring to do.”

“Alright, fine. Just do this first, okay?” You’re not about to admit it just yet, but your body is getting more and more interested in his proposal.

He frowns but nods. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Spoiled,” he mutters, but he sets the cup down and follows you to the photo booth. A worn looking leather billfold is extracted from the back pocket of his jeans and he retrieves a pair of crisp looking dollar bills from the interior, handing them to you.

“You should go inside first. It’s going to be a snug fit.” His voice changes when he utters the word snug, almost as if it’s being caressed sensually, and the implication is strong. Another little warm tingle of anticipation runs through your core. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You push aside the curtain and tuck yourself against the far corner of the bench. Dave joins you, one long leg braced outside the booth, the rest of his body pressing closely to you, one arm sliding around your waist. You squirm and writhe a bit as he continues to push, forcing you to keep adjusting your position.

“Dave, stop, I’m already over as far as I can go,” you protest, giggling until he leans over to kiss you.

“Are you going to sleep in my bed with me tonight? Or will you still try to pretend you’d rather be alone in that boring, empty cabin of yours?”

You swallow nervously. People would see. They’d know. Does it really matter all that much? You’re starting to think maybe not. “I’ll stay with you,” you agree.

“Good. Take your pictures. Then we’ll continue the tour.”

You feed the bills into the machine and select the option for the photo strip of four pictures. Unsurprisingly, you’re assaulted with mock antennas behind your head before the first shot is snapped, forcing you to exact revenge by digging a knuckle between your partner’s ribs. Before the final image is captured he settles down, his face pressed alongside yours, looking straight into the camera.

“That last one came out really nice,” you murmur as you retrieve the photos from the slot, your gaze lingering on the developing image at the bottom of the column.

“It did, didn’t it?” A pleased little sound escapes his lips before he snatches the strip from your fingers and exits the booth. You shove at the curtain impatiently and follow, reaching for the pictures he now holds high out of your reach.

“Dave, don’t you dare do anything to those. Come on, they’re mine.”

“What if I wanted a memento?” He teases.

“You didn’t even want to get your picture taken in the first place.”

He sighs, lowering his arm. “Fine. Take them. There’s probably still a shopping bag left at the gift center you can stash that in. Hang on.” He ducks into a small area that you hadn’t been offered a tour of. The window displays are all empty and you imagine it’s been picked clean long ago. You’re offered a paper bag that’s about the size of a greeting card that’s perfect to slip the photo strip into.

“You can leave that on the counter there and we’ll grab it on our way out.” A pair of doors marked for Employees Only at the opposite end of the dining room becomes your next destination. Dave’s wrist snaps the key in the lock quickly and he backs into one of the doors, creating an opening for you to pass through.

All of the good humor you’d enjoyed previously evaporates as you step into the corridor.

The lighting is much poorer here; more than one of the fluorescent bulbs overhead has gone out. The walls and floor are a drab gray. Dave appears as confident here as he had in the more cheerful, colorful part of the establishment, but you can’t share the same sentiment. You shiver, reluctantly following him deeper into the back of the building, past the kitchen and employee restrooms and an area marked Parts and Service which is as dark as the woods you’d left behind to come here.

It’s the manager’s office you’re ultimately led into, the door snapping shut loudly behind you after you’ve stepped inside the room. The furniture here is as dull as the exterior. Office chair. Steel desk. Filing cabinet. An outdated phone and computer monitor. The only colorful variant in the room is a series of children’s drawings tacked to the bulletin board on the wall. They depict the mascots. A family, two adults and three children of varying sizes. You see the name Evan on one of the pictures and Elizabeth on another. Not a patron’s gifted handiwork, as you’d first thought. The owner’s offspring created these. The wax and magic marker scrawls are fading, the bottom edges of the pages curling. Where were those children now? Grown up with kids of their own, most likely.

Your eyes shift to find Dave staring at the pictures as well. For the barest, briefest moment, there is the tiniest twitch near the corner of his mouth; not the customary smirk, but the beginnings of a grimace, and the corners of his eyes begin to crease and crumple.

Then his expression clears and his gaze meets yours.

Suddenly you’re that creeped out girl at the guard shack at the campground; the scared girl in the public bathroom being groped and kissed and ravaged. Your breath hitches when he steps closer, one arm curling around your waist, drawing your body against his.

“You’re still afraid of me.”

You swallow thickly. “No.” You know you’re not convincing anyone. Your voice warbles around the denial. “Why do you have keys to the manager’s office?”

“I have access to everything in this entire facility. It was necessary for my position.”

You don’t understand the rationale there, but you decide against arguing any further. There’s a dangerous glint in the older man’s eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have to bring you all the way here to do it.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

His fingernails scrape the back of your head and then he grabs a handful of your hair and jerks your head back, eliciting another gasp.

“I enjoy you,” he says, each word punched out forcefully, as if it’s straining him to admit it. The hand at your waist trembles. “I’m not going to destroy you. But I am going to fuck you, very hard and fast and deep over this desk, do you understand?” His breath is warm over your throat before his mouth sucks hard and you whimper, fingers curling into his shirt. Your assent comes out broken, almost two syllables, Ye-es, and then it is all teeth and lips and tongue, yours and his, crushing hard. Fingers scrabble to open your pants and shove them over your hips, your panties jerked along the same path, and then you’re pushed face down against the desk blotter that bears an outdated calendar. You hear Dave’s fly unzip, feel the hot smack of his cock against one cheek of your buttocks and then he impales you in one swift, firm thrust.

Your nails scrape and tear at the paper beneath you, a wild, gutteral series of moans dropping from your lips each time he cants his hips and the tip of his prick strikes your womb. It borders on painful but you welcome it; welcome the hand that strikes the curved globe of flesh, the ringing slap sharp and shocking in that cramped office space. Then his hands worm their way beneath your torso, snaking beneath the layers of your jacket and shirt and bra, pinching nipples and tugging you upright, back and back and back while he’s still buried inside of your pussy.

Your clit is his next target, rolled and mashed in perfect circles while he continues to pump in and out of your body. Your throat burns, the repeated moans into the stale air exhausting your vocal cords and robbing you of moisture. Everything wet is concentrated further south, spilling out around Dave’s cock. His breath sounds ragged as the lewd noises of your colliding bodies continues.

“Fucking cum for me,” he growls, his caress of your bud now sloppy with your arousal, no longer drawing neat circles but flicking in quick, short strokes down the smooth pink flesh and over your swollen clit. Your body obeys, the first sizzle along your nerves driving your head back. You throb and clench around him, letting him support your weight as your orgasm crashes over you.

You feel hands on your waist, his cock escaping your cunt and you mewl a brief protest at the sudden vacancy but then you realize he’s changing your position. You allow yourself to be turned and lifted onto the desk, still kept close to the edge while he shoves right back inside your welcoming nether maw. You cling to his neck and shoulders, your mouth wild and sloppy against his as your knees squeeze the slats of his ribs. One of you is bleeding; maybe both. You taste metal in his frenzied kisses but it doesn’t deter you from sucking and biting and laving at his lips and tongue. Amidst the chaos is the single clarifying thought that this time with him, as strange and frightening yet intensely satisfying as it has been, is nearing an end. The weekend nearing its finale. The season is almost over.

You knot your hands in his hair and outline the arch of one cheekbone with your tongue, tracing your way to his ear. “Dave…”

“Fuck, I’m so close. You’re…”

“Yes, Dave…”

Your head is tugged back again and you see the moment of his release, that internal rupturing supernova of pleasure that makes his eyes go hazy and his jaw slack, lending softness that makes all the harsh lines and angles blur. Then his face is tucked against the space between your neck and shoulder and you remain like that, still joined together, panting and shaking because fuck, that had, in some ways, been your best session yet. In spite of its brevity, the intensity had more than made up for it.

There’s something almost bashful about the way he’s hiding his face, avoiding your gaze, sooty lashes downcast as you insist on helping him straighten his clothing when your bodies finally part. You tug his shirt back down over the waistband of his jeans once he’s been tucked back into place and the fly refastened, marveling again at how slender those powerful hips are.

You wait by the entrance while the forest ranger shuts the power back off, clutching the paper bag with your photos. The heavy drapes draw shut across the stage once more, the lights extinguished and the sounds muted throughout the dining room and arcade. The pizzeria is ready for another slumber.

You don’t need Dave to guide you to the car. There is still ample lighting in the parking lot and it’s only a short walk.

But he still slips his hand into yours.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader #divider@plum98

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sissytobitch10seconds · 7 months

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Febuwhump 20: Cherished, Beloved, Treasured

Fandom: Grishaverse: Shadow and Bone and Six of Crows Summary: He had always wanted to hear those words, but not like this. Warnings: Gang violence, massive injury, major character death, and mental angst Word Count: 2,076 Ship(s): Wylan Van Eck/Kaz Brekker

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Wylan felt the bullet enter his stomach before he even registered that the gun in front of him was being fired.

He knew that his new line of work was dangerous, but he was supposed to be safe from the worst parts of it. That was what was nice about being the demo man instead of the sharpshooter or the brute force the way that Matthias and Jesper were. He was able to stand far back on rooves or at the back of the fighting so that he could lob his explosives into the crowds of enemies that they were facing. He sequestered himself off in labs and stalls during the day so that he could make what would protect his friend and lover.

His life was nothing like he had thought it would be when he was younger, but he was safer than he could have ever imagined what he would be back then. Now Wylan had a partner that knew him inside and out, was willing to protect him at every turn even if admitting his feelings out loud with his own tongue was beyond him. Wylan had friends that would give up their lives and had tried to on many prior occasions. Wylan knew what he was doing and he was more than a little bit good at it.

He wasn’t exactly happy, per se. He had things that made him happy and things that he derived joy from, but neither of those things were what he was raised to believe that true happiness was. He wanted more than he could really ask from his relationship, both because he knew it was not fair to his boyfriend and because he did not deserve them. He took what he was offered and he held onto it with both hands so that it could not be taken away again. He was not happy, but he was content with what he had. What he had was messy, strange, and a bizarre form of safety.

He had thought that he was safe, at least. He knew that when he was working in the Barrel there was no way that he was going to be struck or hit for not being able to read the same way that he was in his father’s home. He knew that he wouldn’t have to run away in hide in the cupboards of the kitchen or the back of his mother’s long-unused wardrobe. Instead, he could do something about his attackers. There was no safety when it came to people wanting to cause him bodily harm, but there was a safety in being able to retaliate against them.

He supposed that they were just doing the same thing, when they used their guns and knives and explosives to try and harm him. None of them really just wanted the other person to die when they were all faceless people with black ink marking which side they were on. Nothing was personal unless someone was in the position that Kaz was, presiding over every step that someone made and guiding them along the path that he wanted alone.

Wylan tilted his head down so that he could see the bright red patch of blood blooming on his shirt. He had no idea that liquid coming from inside of him could spill just as quickly as liquid spilled on the outside of him. It was being wicked away by the soft material of the linen shirt that Kaz had gotten him when he had mentioned that all of his favorites were stained. Kaz was always doing little things like that, listening when Wylan was sure that he was thinking about more important things and then acting on those tiny requests.

His first instinct was to reach for the base of his shirt so that he could remove it. Whenever he was in his lab, that was the first thing he had to do then. It wasn’t safe to leave the chemicals that he worked with to make his poisons and explosives that close to his skin. He had learned that the hard way when he had worked at the tannery and could almost feel the chemical dyes leaching into his skin so that they could kill him.

It was as though his fingers were moving like worms, reaching down towards the base of his shirt where it was tucked into his pants. They were slow and drying out as the sun raised higher and higher over the Ketterdam skyline. Once upon a time, he had a bedroom that allowed him to look out over all of it as though he were a mythical prince. His bedroom now didn’t quite allow for it, but that actually made it better in his opinion.

His ears were ringing something fierce, which made it incredibly hard for him to tell what was going on around him. He was aware that they were in the middle of a firefight and he was supposed to being attention so that he could give them the upperhand. Kaz had requested that he throw down a flash bomb or a smoke bomb depending on what was happening with the crew at that moment and what would give them the best advantage. Something had gone wrong and the men had gotten a lot closer to him than they should have though. It was probably something that he had done, a movement that he had missed or a signal that had gone over his head.

“Wylan!”

Kaz’s voice was the first thing to cut through his mind. By the time that he tilted his head back up, the world was already starting to dim around him. It wasn’t all the way gone yet, but the sounds of the surrounding fight were all but gone. His vision had lines of darkness around the outside edges, nearing the center of his vision but leaving enough that he could still see around himself.

He felt something shy and nervous cross his features when he saw that the others were all gathered around him. Matthias was to his left, his rifle poised out over their heads so that he could shoot at the gang that had been following them. Jesper was on his right, both of his guns drawn and his hands making quick movements so that he could take down each person at the wrong end of his barrel. Nina was standing at his side, her hands already reaching out towards him. Inej was both there and not at the same time, her dark form just barely peaking out of the shadows to let him know she was nearby without giving her position away.

Before Nina had the chance to truly grab him, his legs gave way. He felt his knees buckle and then he was tumbling down to the ground. Despite the pain that was echoing through his body and the alarm bells ringing in his mind, all he could think of was the other night.

He had climbed up all three staircases to the attic room in the Slat that Kaz had turned into his office. He had been called there for something personal instead of something business related, so he was excited. He had been promised a walk down the Lid and some wonderful fried dough or potatoes or whatever else Kaz was in the mood for. Instead, when his boyfriend had risen so that they could go out, he had immediately tumbled down to the ground in a massive heap. He had apologized a thousand times over as he allowed Wylan to move him over to the bed. Wylan hadn’t really minded, especially not when they got to lay in the breeze coming off the ocean and talk about their plans for that day.

Before he hit the ground, he felt a pair of gloved hands reach out and catch him. He was lowered the rest of the way to that his head was pillowed on a pair of legs that was very familiar to him. He supposed that was why he had been thinking of Kaz and their cuddling the night before. He had thought that he had run Kaz out of the ability to touch the others with that activity, though, so he was quite surprised when he was allowed to stay there.

“Guess I ruined the plans for tonight,” he tried to joke around the mouthful of blood that was gathering in the back of his throat. He hadn’t even realized that his chest was heaving as it tried to get oxygen into his blood to prevent him from dying. Perhaps it was the different way that he was positioned, or maybe his sudden fall had caused the bullet in his gut to jostle around slightly.

“You did no such fucking thing,” Kaz replied. “You were supposed to be away from the fighting. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Kaz. I already told you that,” Wylan shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for being yourself, not when everyone else was the one to turn you into this. I like this.”

“Shh, shh,” Nina immediately said. “I want you to focus on Kaz but not say anything. I have to go get my kit, we’re just about done with this stupid brawl anyway. Brekker, don’t move him.”

“Her kit?” Wylan asked, despite having been told just barely that he had to shut up.

Kaz clenched his dark coffee eyes shut for just a moment before he opened them again. Wylan always felt like he was a pupil under the microscope of a testing tutor when Kaz looked at him. It was something that made his stomach squirm and his skin feel all tingly in a way that he had never thought he would get before. It was almost addictive.

He felt the gloved hand of his lover move down to the hot wound on his abdomen, carefully applying pressure that had let up when Nina moved away from them. Wylan let out a soft grunt but didn’t object to anything. He liked it when Kaz hurt him, and this actually made everything feel a lot better. “She’s going to try and save you, my love.”

“I don’t think I can be saved,” Wylan said. He tilted his head back so that he could see the blistering storm clouds rolling in from the ocean. It felt almost like Ghezen wanted to wash Wylan away with the storm, pelt him down into the cobblestones and then return him to the god of another culture because of how bad he had been. At least Kaz was there to hold him down until he was ripped away. That was actually quite nice.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Kaz attempted to snarl. His voice sounded as quiet and broken as it did when he woke from nightmares.

“Kaz, don’t be sad,” Wylan brought his hand up to the other man’s face and cupped his cheek sweetly. Kaz reached up and grasped his hand before it ever made it there and that was when Wylan saw that he had taken his other glove off. “I really like it when you do this,” he said. His words were starting to slur together and he couldn’t figure out why. He felt a bit light and floaty, like he had taken something nice from one of the non-sexual pleasure houses on West Stave.

He felt something bend over his body and them warmth flooded through his entire being. Kaz was laying on him, like he had done the one time that Wylan had gotten so anxious and overstimulated that he had started hysterically bawling and wasn’t able to stop. It was comforting and wonderful.

His mind was just barely able to register the rasp of Kaz’s voice as his mind faded in and out of that wonderful dark, warm place. “You are cherished, you are wanted, you are treasured, you are worthy, you are my best investment, you are everything that you promised to be and more. I’m so fucking sorry that I was never able to tell you this before now. You deserve better than me, a better investor, a better business partner, a better everything. I love you, Wylan. I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been better to you, that I got you wrapped up in this fucking mess. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you, I love you, treasure. I love you.”

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mamaemeritus-secondo · 6 months

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Sepulchral Whispers of a Love Unearthed

Archive of Our Own Link

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Summary:

In the desolate realm of Sepulchral Whispers of a Love Unearthed, the narrative unfolds with poignant intensity. You, the reader, traverse a shadowed landscape alongside Mary Goore, a defiant punk metalhead. As he delves into the piercing melodies of life, the dissonant chords of impending demise echo through their shared existence. Within the labyrinth of their love, a tempest of emotions unravels as Mary confronts the agonizing truth of your terminal fate. Each moment becomes a symphony of heart-wrenching crescendos, reverberating with the mournful notes of a love entwined with mortality. Against the backdrop of Mary's leather-clad rebellion and ink-stained passion, the narrative transcends conventional romanticism. In the final crescendo, Mary and the reader confront the inevitable, wrapped in the ethereal embrace of a love that defies even mortality. Sepulchral Whispers of a Love Unearthed becomes a melancholic hymn, a narrative etched in the marrow of hearts, leaving behind the haunting resonance of a love that outlives the grave.

Chapter 1: A Confession

You strolled along the sidewalk, taking in the chill of the evening. The day before, you had come across a less-than-impressive poster in a gas station restroom. Now, as you felt the nausea rise once again, you realized it was the poster of his lame band. Seriously? He returns without a heads-up. "Son of a bitch," you muttered in frustration. Exhausted, you resigned from getting angry, but you knew you had to confront him, perhaps for the final time. The messy way things were left bothered you, and despite the difficulty, you needed some form of closure to make sense of it all. Uncertain of how to approach the situation, you understood it was a conversation you couldn't avoid.

With a groan, you headed to your familiar hangout spot, the park across from the vintage record store. You anticipated he might be there, reminiscing about the times when happiness was the norm. Grabbing a quick coffee, you waited, and like clockwork, he emerged from the store. Discarding your empty cup, you made your way to the park, the dusk casting a melancholic vibe.

"Hey, Mary..." you murmured, weariness evident on your face.

Mary Goore your former lover, fling, and best friend – someone who had shared laughter over inappropriate jokes and brought tears with adorable moments. He glanced up, the color draining from his face at the sight of you. It had been a while, and he regretted how he had shattered your heart. Yet, that was in the past, and he put on a smug face to hide the pain he carried. He raised an eyebrow, "What's eating at you? You seem like someone just took a shit on your breakfast."

"On it or in it?" you asked, a skeptical expression on your face.

Mary smirked, "Well, that depends. Are you hangry or just annoyed?"

"I... what...." You said shaking your head. "Look, just came here to talk a bit, if you got some time." You sighed.

"Hmm... Okay." Mary inched a little closer, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear, a typical routine for the goofy dork. "So, spill it. What's on your mind...?"

"Well, I figured I owed you an apology for how everything went down between us... it was, um, messy. And I get you've got your hands full with tours and stuff... I mean, I knew what I was signing up for..." You trailed off with a sigh, your words tumbling out in a nervous ramble.

"Apologies? Seriously? You're still stuck on that?" Mary was taken aback, needing a moment to process your words. "Look, we were just a summer thing. I don't get why you're still hung up on it," he said, the cheerful tone replaced with a more serious one.

"Summer? It lasted a whole year!...I mean..." You hesitated. "Well, maybe I exaggerated our... whatever it was... a little much," you admitted, fidgeting with your shirt.

"Well, yeah, I thought we'd made that clear from the start... Why are you only now seeing that??" Mary's eyes were widening. "No, don't tell me you wanted more...?"

"Well...a year together....sorta implies more....???" You said looking at him like he was stupid.

"It doesn't if you both establish that nothing more was intended from the start." Mary's eyes narrowed. "Didn't I tell you that from…the very beginning?" His voice was getting steadily angrier.

"Uh, no. You didn't, actually. Why do you think I fucking thought it was more?" You said getting heated.

"Well, maybe you weren't paying attention." Mary's voice was now just straight-up mad. "I don't see how we had a whole ass year together and you still didn't get that I didn't want anything more than that." He retorted with a hint of anger. Somewhere deep inside, he knew it wasn't entirely accurate, but admitting it? That was a challenge for the stubborn guy with a big ego.

"Hey, my bad for getting it fucking wrong... birthdays, celebrations, presents, and hanging out together... what else was I supposed to think?" you remarked, making a fair argument.

His anger intensified. "All those meant was that I valued our connection and wanted to create happy memories, not that I envisioned some overly romanticized life together!" He was now yelling loudly.

"Those are just typical couple things!" you exclaimed.

Mary just paused, as if he suddenly had just had an epiphany... He seemed to calm down a bit as he pondered the truth behind the statement. "...I mean. We weren't official though..."

"Well only one of us was in on that..." You sighed defeated; your energy was fizzling out. It took all you had to even come here today, and this argument certainly wasn’t helping.

Mary seemed to be battling with his own thoughts now. "...We did pretty much everything that couples do though..."

"You don't say...." You scoffed walking to a bench.

"But we said it was just a momentary thing, right?" Mary spoke with a hopeful tone as he approached the bench and took a seat beside you. He realized he had made a mistake and needed to confront it. How could he have misunderstood things so badly?

"No...we never clearly defined it as a relationship or not...hence the confusion," you sighed.

After a moment of silence, Mary sighed and responded, "Yeah, okay, I... I guess... I mean, I should have been more explicit..." He muttered, "Look, I don't want to come off as heartless, but I don't think I love you..." It pained him to say those words. Deep down, he didn't mean any of it, but he felt like he wasn't the right match for you. Considering how badly he messed things up, he questioned whether he should keep hurting you with his foolish decisions. Just like when he left before, he felt the need to push you away to protect your heart... right?

"Yea, that much I see now." You rolled your eyes.

"I care about you, you know, like as a person," Mary casually remarked, giving a nonchalant shrug. "But that's as far as it goes," he added with a wince, holding back his emotions. He swallowed hard, determined to keep up the facade, to shield you from whatever might come.

"Wow, congrats on your big moment," you exclaimed, waving your hands. "Okay, fine... I fell really hard for you, God Damnit….And you know what? Whatever." You slapped your hands on your knees as you stood up. You seemed a bit wobbly and a bit pale.

Mary took notice of how pale you were and was puzzled by the way you stumbled. "Are you okay?" He asked you, slightly concerned.

"I'm fine. Just... doesn't matter." You said, walking toward the park exit.

Mary stood up and followed you, taking note of how you still seemed quite wobbly. "Hey, wait just a minute." He said catching up.

"What?" You said stopping.

"Do you... Need help getting home, or...?" Mary was still puzzled as to why you suddenly stumbled all of a sudden and was slightly concerned for your well-being. He just wanted to make sure you could get home okay.

"No, I'm fine. What do you care anyway?" You snapped a bit more from hurt than malice.

"Just a kind gesture." Mary tried his best to hide his hurt tone and failed. "I'm sorry if... Well, never mind." He sighed, before taking a step back. "Well, just get home safely then, please." He looked you in the eyes, clearly wanting some sort of acknowledgment of this last request.

"Fine...." You said, walking a bit more before suddenly vomiting in a trash can.

Mary seemed startled by the sudden puke-in-the-can-out-of-the-blue and was now concerned for real. "Damn, you're paler than a vampire's ass cheek, are you sure you're alright?" He looked at you worriedly, trying to suppress his emotions.

"Yea...I'm...I'm fine... " You said, trying to catch your breath.

"I'm not buying it." Mary walked over to you. "You puked, and now you're as pale as someone who's been dead for 6 days. I think you need, like, to sit down, or something."

"It's....fine...." You said sinking to the ground.

Mary crouched down to level with you, sitting on the ground himself. "No, it's not." He said seriously. "Look, if you need to, just lean on me. I'm here to make sure you're okay."

"I...I'm fine..." You said, trailing off. Taking some more breaths.

Mary watched you take a few more breaths, as his face was now also becoming pale from worry. "Okay, okay.. Don't try to keep up this facade anymore, you're clearly not..." His voice was now much more caring than bitter.

"I just....need to get home. Just...help me to the bus stop...." You said trying to make the nausea go away.

Mary got up and offered you a hand. "Yeah, you're in no state to walk by yourself. Let me help you, come on." You reluctantly grabbed his hand. Mary helped you up and leaned you on his shoulder, carefully supporting you in such a way that would put the least amount of strain on your body. "So, are you going to tell me why you're so sick all of a sudden or is that still 'fine'?"

"Just...get me to the bus stop...for the moment." You said trying to get the nausea to pass.

"Alright, I'll respect that." Mary said with a smile, before he picked back up on his pace. "Tell me though... How long have you been feeling nauseated for? And have you eaten anything recently...?" He sounded genuinely worried, and wanted to figure out what the best course of action would be once you reached the bus stop.

"A few weeks and not recently, no." You said short and to the point.

"Wait, weeks? You've been feeling sick for weeks?" He echoed, making sure he heard you right. "And you never saw a doctor? That's pretty serious." Concern etched his face.

"I just haven't had the time," you replied, avoiding too much detail.

Mary caught on that you weren't eager to spill more. "Got it," he said, trying to flash a reassuring smile as he supported you on your walk. "Let's sort everything out once we reach the bus stop, okay?"

"Fine," you retorted, a hint of coldness in your tone.

As he continued assisting you, Mary shifted from his initial assumptions of a romantic twist to genuine worry about your health. His words were softer now, a stark contrast to his previous demeanor.

We reached the bus stop, and you sat on the bench. "Bus isn't for another 45 minutes, god damnit. Just missed it, fuck I wish I had a car." You groaned.

"Damn, that does suck..." Mary sat down next to you, also looking out onto the road. "How come you don't have a car exactly? I thought you had that little red car?"

"I sold it..." was all you said.

"Huh... Any particular reason for that, or..?" The way you answered that question was very short, and left Mary intrigued.

"Pay for rent." You said still mad at him.

"... That sounds rough... You seem to be struggling pretty bad... Why don't you move somewhere with lower rent?" Mary looked at you out of genuine concern - If you really are struggling to pay rent and are now also missing your car, it doesn't sound like you'll be able to keep yourself afloat for much longer...

"It's as low as I could find." You said bluntly.

"So even with lower rent you're still struggling to make ends meet?" Mary sounded genuinely saddened by the answer. "Damn, it sounds like you're in a really dire situation right now..."

"Yup, not your concern though." You said coldly.

"Maybe it isn't my concern, but it still feels pretty damn sad to hear about." Mary looked in the distance for a bit, with a saddened expression on his face. "I know there's gotta be one way to fix this, so... Tell me, is money all you need right now to get your situation sorted?"

"I need a job...I...was let go." You sighed.

"You got let go from your job?" Mary asked, clearly shocked by this news. "But that's horrible... Damn, things really are terrible, aren't they??"

"Yup." You said distantly.

Mary put his head down, clearly feeling sorry, and feeling like it was also partially his damn fault - which it kinda was. After a moment, he looked back up at you. "... Maybe I can help you with that. But I need to know one thing first."

"What?" You said staring off in the distance.

"Are you gonna stop trying to get me to fall in love with you now?... Just making sure." Mary said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

"I....that....was never my goal." You stuttered, snapping out of the stare.

"... You sure about that?" Mary gave you a sly look, obviously not buying it. "You could at least be honest with me." He said jokingly again, although his tone clearly shifted from a joking one to a more curious one.

"I came to talk about us, yes....to figure it out. Get closure. But I instead learned you never saw us as a thing. Pretty fucking shitty...." You said coldly.

Mary stayed silent for a little bit, his tone now shifting back to the colder, and perhaps slightly bitter tone from before. "Look, I guess I apologize if I ever gave you the wrong idea... But why the hell would you want closure?? We never were a thing-"

"I get it now, don't I?" you grumbled.

"Well, yeah, but why would you need closure for an answer like that? You got your damn answer, now you just need to accept it. What more is there to say?"

"There isn't! I was leaving before...I..." You trailed off.

Mary's eyes raised in concern once again, seeing your sudden loss of words. "What? You were going to say something?"

“Threw up...before I threw up. And then you got all hero complex on me or something," you said with a grimace, feeling queasy again.

"Can you blame me?? You puked in the middle of the damn park and you're as pale as a ghost! How can you expect me to not worry after that??" His tone was growing heated up once more.

"Be....cause you...." You started to say looking pale and running to vomit in the bushes.

Mary's eyes widened in sudden shock. He immediately stood up once more and got up to follow you to the bushes. "Jesus, are you- Are you throwing up again?! What the hell is even going on??"

"I'm sorry, just.... just go okay....the bus will be here in like 30 minutes or whatever...." You said looking like hot dogshit.

"No, are you kidding? You can't be this sick and still try to go home on the bus... Who knows how much worse it could get on the way there..." Mary said sternly. "Now let me help you, damn it!"

"I...." you started to protest.

"No buts." Mary grabbed a hand and pulled you back from the bushes. "You're in no state to be left alone, so get that notion out of your head right now."

You scoffed.... "Left alone...." You mumbled.

"Yes, left alone!" He said in a frustrated tone before realizing how mean that sounded. "Sorry, look, I just don't want you to have a... a bad episode or whatever this is, all the way on the bus. You're so pale, there's no way they'd even let you get on the damn thing."

"Fine, then, I'll come with you?" you retorted with a hint of irritation.

Mary took a deep breath, pausing for a moment before speaking once more. "Well, it might not be the worst suggestion, though it pains me to admit it," he admitted with a slight sigh. "We could swing by my spot, and I could take care of you there. How does that sound?"

"Sure, whatever," you replied, closing yourself off.

"That's the spirit." Mary said, trying to lighten the tension. "So.. Let me just-" He went to lift you up so that he could help you the rest of the way to his house. "Alright, now just try not to barf along the way, okay?"

"I'll try...." You sighed.

"Good." Mary lifted you up into his arms leaning you against him, and started his walk back to his house, making note of how he had to walk slower with you on his shoulder. "So, I hope you don't take this personally, but I gotta ask.. Why haven't you at least tried applying for another job since they let you go?"

"Well....it's not super attractive to look like dogshit walking to her interview....." You said with a dark joking tone.

"Oh... So that kinda goes along with that 'struggling to pay rent' comment you made earlier, right?" Mary asked curiously.

"Something like that...." You sighed rolling your eyes.

"Damn... And you seriously have no way to get out of this situation?" Mary said in a more sympathetic tone now, feeling genuinely bad now that he actually heard about your current state.

"Honesty, why do you care?" You said coldly, but genuinely wanting to know.

"Well... I mean, it's mostly because I was the one who kinda indirectly caused most the stuff that is currently happening to you, so like... I gotta make sure you're safe now." Mary seemed to have realized just how bad he might have screwed up earlier and now wanted to at least do something to make it right. Although, it was still a little bit unclear about what kind of relationship he wanted to have with you, as his tone now went back to being much more caring.

"I see...." You said, pondering on what he said.

"Yeah, so I'm not just gonna leave you all by yourself like this..." He continued walking as he helped escort you back to his place. At this point, he was pretty much back to his old self, much more caring than before. "Now, I know you're still recovering from that puking session back there, but just so I at least get a sense... How long have you gone without eating anything, exactly?"

"A couple of days...two max." You said sheepishly.

"Wait, a couple of days??" Mary sounded much more concerned now when he heard that. "You haven't eaten anything in the last few days?! How have you even been functioning without food..?"

"I mean I try....I do drink water." You sighed heavily at the line of questions, mildly annoyed.

"That's not enough! You need nutrients and calories, otherwise you'll just... Keep feeling more and more sick and tired! Did you ever consider maybe trying to go to a food bank or something?"

"It's...not that...I just physically can't." you tried to explain.

Mary stayed quiet for a bit, trying to make some more sense of that comment. "What do you mean you 'physically can’t?"

“The nausea? Didn’t think about how that…would make it hard to want to eat?” You rolled your eyes.

"Wait, so you've basically been stuck with this non-stop sick feeling whenever you think about eating for the past few weeks?"

"Um... yeah, that's pretty much it," you admitted with a deep sigh.

"Damn... When was the last time you even got a proper night of sleep..?"

"I seriously can't recall... weeks?" You stated with a nonchalant shrug.

"Whoa... How are you not passed out by now? That's seriously messed up!"

"Just pure foolishness," you admitted.

"Well, that's not exactly comforting..." Mary mused, falling silent again as he pondered a solution. "I don't think we can just brush this off."

"I was kinda hoping to..." you sighed.

"You're not doing that. We're going to fix this damn thing, right now." Mary looked down at you, his face now expressing a determined expression as you just sighed once more. "Let me just get this straight. You went from working in an office to selling your car for rent money, to now not having a job so you can't even afford real food, haven't slept properly in weeks and have thrown up countless times just from nausea. And I'm supposed to just be okay with that?"

"Because....I'm not your problem anymore." You commented sadly.

"Look, I get it. We're not actually dating anymore, so in that sense, yes, you're not my problem. But you've got me worried now, so we're going to have to take care of this somehow. I refuse to let you keep on living like this and I refuse to let myself see you in such poor condition."

"Yea..." You said trailing off.

"I mean it, dammit! We're going to get you out of this mess, whether you like it or not. If this means you must move in with me for a while, then so be it, okay?"

"I can't do that...I....don't want to get hurt again." You sighed.

Mary's expression fell when she heard that. "Are you seriously going to let yourself go hungry just because you're scared of falling in love again? Is that really what you're saying?"

"Falling in love again? I've always loved you, damn it!" You blurted out, gasping at your own words as they escaped your lips.

"You..." Mary fell silent for a moment before finally responding. "...Are you serious?"

"Just... forget it," you said, shutting down.

"Hold on, don't just shrug it off," Mary insisted, pausing in his steps and adjusting his stance to meet your gaze. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you still have feelings for me?"

"Yeah... I suppose," you replied, gazing into the distance.

"And you really believe I'll just hurt you again?" His feelings stung a bit, realizing you feared he might hurt you once more. Yet, deep down, he grappled with his own conflicting emotions, torn between the hurt he caused and the ache he felt himself.

"You left... What else am I supposed to think?" you stated frankly.

Mary fell silent once more, contemplating his words. "Can you... Can you at least let me explain myself?"

"Fine," you conceded.

"Just... Let me start by asking you something real quick. You're in the worst physical and mental state you've ever been in. You haven't eaten properly in days, you haven't slept properly in even longer, and you can barely function without throwing up randomly. Can you honestly even handle an argument right now, let alone some emotional conversation like this?"

"No... I can't handle it right now.... I am just so tired.....You said, looking pale again with another round of nausea.

"Right... So let's calm down for a bit, then. Just let me take care of you, at least for now, alright?" Mary was now visibly concerned for your wellbeing again.

"Are we almost there?" You said while you continued to help me.

"Yes, it's not too far off." Mary said as he kept walking with you in his arms. "You know, even though we've known each other for years, I find it really surprising how stubborn you can be."

"Yea....that'll happen.... when you're busy." You sighed.

"I'm sorry about that... I guess I just let my work become my main priority, and then when I finally realized what I was doing, it got too late..." Mary sighed. "I really wish I could have realized just how bad things were getting for you before it got this ridiculous." You silently nodded your head in understanding as you did your best to not to vomit again.

"Just a little bit more, and we'll be at my place. And then, I'll make sure you're taken care of." Mary stayed silent for a bit as he kept going. "And I'll be sure not to leave again this time, okay?"

You nodded your head once more. "Good. So just try to hang tight, alright?" Mary stopped talking as he finally reached his house. He went up the stairs and went inside, taking you inside and setting you on his couch. He took a seat next to the couch, and his expression went back to being much more serious. "Now, to what You said earlier... We'll have to have that conversation, just as soon as you're feeling a little better, okay."

"Yes....that's fine...." You said weakly.

"Good..." Mary stayed silent for a bit, still concerned. "So... You haven't exactly told me just how long have you actually gone without eating now...?"

"Three or so days." You said.

Mary was visibly appalled from what he heard. "Three goddamn days?! Why didn't you say anything?"

"To whom?" You spoke with a tone of annoyance.

"To me or anyone, for that matter! This is so dangerous, why haven't you tried to get some food, even if it meant going to the food bank. Or did that never even occur to you?"

"You...I have been trying to talk to you for weeks...." You said accusatory.

Mary was visibly irritated by your comment, his tone now going back to being irritated like earlier. "And so, you thought it was a good idea to just stop eating for days on end, just because I didn't have time to talk to you more often?? What the hell kind of logic is that..."

"I'm dying Mary...." You said bluntly.

#ghost #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #nameless ghouls #tobias forge #copia #secondo emeritus #ghost ghouls #cardinal copia #mary goore repugnant #mary goore x reader #mary goore #mary goore art

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nerdynuala · 1 year

Note

I don't know if you accept requests like this, but could I ask for hange hcs as a regular student? I would like to know their routine and hobbies!

Hi! It's been a while since my last headcanons but heck I find it fun and relaxing to make them up so I'm more than willing to give Student Hange a try ^^

Sooo here we go! I'm gonna go through the stages of students hahah from elementary school up to university.

Elementary School Hange

- messy kid, always manages to spill ink on themself and somehow get paint and dirt all over their clothes.

- literally so excited the first day of elementary school! While there were other kids crying or being shy, Hange was literally jumping up and down, thrilled by the new environment and looking forward to finally learn good stuff.

- the worst at music and singing, and also a really bad actor in school plays. Hange may lack the talent, but not the enthusiasm.

- very quick to learn, thinking outside the box and helping other kids out.

- Loves science but contrary to what people might expect, their favorite class is P.E. they just have too much energy. Loves dodgeball, swimming and baseball.

Middle School Hange

- at this stage, Hange is the typical student that appears as lazy and not interested in class but has actually the top marks.

- a bit challenging to authority. Hange does not lack respect, but treats professors as if they were friends. Also, gives respect only if given respect. Don't mess around with this kid.

- They literally can be chatting with their neighbor, doodling on their notebook, staring out the window, be half asleep and a large etcetera, but each time they're asked what the professor was talking about, they know everythint about it and even extend that information.

- Favorite class now is science and in their free time they investigate about chemistry. Cannot wait to take chemistry in high school.

High school Hange

- Nailing multitasking since a very young age definitely shows now: they can sit through the first lesson absorbing the information like a sponge, while doing the homework for the next class (that they should've done the day before)

- Literally the kid you see doing last minute homework even on the bus. Everything is done last minute but they manage to get everything right and perfect.

- Gets frequently asked by classmates what their method for studying is. Literally does not know. "I dunno man, I just re-read the chapter and the notes I managed to scribble in class lol"

- Needless to say, doctor's handwriting. Sometimes they cannot even read their own notes. Their professors complain all the time and one of them even refused to correct their test if they didn't write it with decent handwriting.

- Neither popular nor a nerd. Literally in between, gets along with basically anyone and can adapt to different groups. Levi calls them "chied of the nerds" all the time though. He sometimes even jokes saying "one nerd to rule them all" because Hange is literally the only extroverted nerd and they all basically worship them.

- Favorite class is chemistry by now. Shows up first and arrives late to the next class because they get entertained by chatting with the professor about chemistry stuff.

- Takes latin as an extra-curricular class.

University Hange

- Studies at night. If they don't have classes in the morning, literally sleeps until noon and studies during all night.

- Has dog ears on each and every book they own. The insides of the covers all full of messy doodles and scribbles.

- Sometimes, when studying directly from the book, will underline different types of information with different colors. Other times will just underline with a pencil and circle words with too much force and leaving the mark on like five pages underneath. Either way can study confortably.

- Coffee addict. By the fourth class in the day, they've had 5 cups already.

- Asks tons of questions. Loves debates. Will participate in everything and loves sharing their opinion on basically any topic.

__________________________________________________

There! I tried to keep it general, I hope it is what you were looking for, but feel free to ask more of them <3

#ask box #answered #headcanons #hange #hange zoe #student hange #this might have gotten out of hand #definitely too long #lol #I kinda based middle school and high school Hange on myself lol #besides the chemistry stuff #i mean i found that interesting but was not such a fan #but I was kinda like that with philosophy

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mommybard · 2 years

Text

The Guild's New Fucktoy, pt.2

The Guildmistress was happy enough to accept their application for the job, and within a week they had started. The first few days were…boring. At least compared to their previous job as an adventurer. But, boring in a good way. They didn’t have to worry about where to camp for the night, since they had a room at the guild. Didn’t have to worry about hunting or how much longer their rations would last since they were right in town. No concerns about waking up to someone invading the tent or getting nabbed in the middle of the night. Instead, their days were full of meeting new co-workers, getting trained on how things work on the basic upkeep side of the guild, and getting mildly horrified at how messy some of the members were. Most of the cleaning stuff was fine, a few stray pieces of parchment or ink spill here or there, dirt from people's boots in the entryway, etc etc The most shockingly messy places though were under the tables in the guild hall, the bathrooms, and the shared showers/locker room. The bathrooms and showers, well that was to be expected a bit. It’s just…there was a weird smell in there. They could never quite place it, and it was almost like the place was soaked in it. It kind of reminded them of…well, of a brothel. At least the scent you could pick up walking by the place. Were there guild members who frequented them and just came back to shower afterward? Maybe they should bring it up to the Guildmistress… The tables though, that one was just odd. Oh sure, the place looked clean for the most part. Maybe some spilled drink at the end of the night, nothing too major. But under the tables? There were some nights where it was just caked in this…dried white substance. Except for a few places where they swore it looked like someone had been sitting there, under the table! They had brought up the peculiar nature of it to the Guildmistress but she had just laughed at said it was probably just people spilling potions or drunkenly casting spells, nothing to be too concerned about. It didn’t sound right to Alex but…well, she was the Guildmistress for a reason. Outside of those oddities though, it seemed like just an average cleaning job. Come in in the evening once the main lobby area is closed, clean that, the offices, the tavern once done and closed for the night, and end the night in the showers/bathrooms. Then head home for the night. Pretty simple.

That might be why they were shocked a few nights into their first week. Alex had started to build a rhythm to their work, a flow to make things easier, so it kind of threw off their groove when they opened the door to the group showers and heard the water running. That was a first. Normally the faucets were enchanted to turn off if no one was in there to not waste water, so if it’s running…

“Hello?” Alex called out from the locker room entryway. They waited for a few moments, but there wasn’t any response. They sighed, seems like whoever it was couldn’t hear them over the sound of the water. Either that or didn’t want to hear. Which means going to tell them to clear out…well, was going to be a bit awkward.

As they made their way closer, they started to notice a strange smell it the air. It was stronger than the normal scent that seemed to hang in the air. Thicker, muskier…almost wild? Was this the person causing the brothel smell? Ohhhh, if this was the one to blame they were going to chew them out. They had worked so fucking hard to get that smell to leave and this person was just making it worse!

Halfway there they picked up a sound over the shower. Almost like, a soft cry? Whimpers? Was this person in pain? No, that didn’t sound right. They sounded…not exactly happy. Frustrated maybe. Ugh, helping someone through a crisis was not on their plans for the night.

Needless to say, they weren’t anywhere close to expecting what they saw when they turned into the shower room door. For one, the person in the shower was tall. Far taller than Alex. Compared to their tiny COMPLETELY NORMAL HEIGHT of 5’4”. If they had to guess the figure was at least pushing 7 feet, maybe even more when she stood up straight.

She was covered head to toe in a thick fur, completely drenched in the water beating down on her. From what Alex could see their face seemed to be a canine’s…a werewolf? There were a few weres in the guild, so that wouldn’t be too surprising. But what were they doing here this late?

Alex was about to call out to them again when their eyes drifted lower, and finally saw what those sounds were coming from. While one massive clawed hand was pressed against the wall holding the werewolf up, the other was between her legs, stroking the single largest cock that the former adventurer had ever seen. Granted, it wasn’t saying much given that they didn’t really have that much personal experience, but they had heard stories dammit! That should count for something!

If they had to guess it was the size of their forearm. At a minimum. Their eyes were glued to it even as the werewolf continued to run their hand up and down that angry red, pointed shaft. Was she cumming already? No…it was leaking. Already looking like the full loads that were drawn on the covers of the books in the lewder parts of the market.

Alex shook their head. They had to…had to get out of there. Yeah. That’s right. Just leave and maybe come back in an hour or so, after she was done. Simple! Then no one would get embarrassed and they could just file this away in some recess of their mind. It was the smart thing to do, right? Right?

‘Then why aren’t I doing it,’ Alex thought to themself, ‘I could just go. But…no. No. Think Alex! She’d be mortified to know someone was spying on her. Best to just walk away…’

That was the plan. That was totally the plan. Its not like their body chose that moment to betray them and slip on the wet floor. That would be ridiculous. Regardless of the reason behind it though, they fell, and they fell hard, letting out a yelp as they hit the ground.

The werewolf stopped. She stood there, as still as a statue, before slowly tilting her snout up and taking a few sniffs of the air. Alex froze, watching her seem to laugh to herself before turning and staring right at them.

“Well well well, what do we have here~?” She asked, in a low, deep voice, “A little pervert thought they could spy on me taking care of things?”

#guilds new fucktoy #pt.2 #bit longer but I didn't want to like completely cover your feed #I really need to remember my Ao3 password and upload this there

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere touya todoroki x reader #tw character ‘death’#tw dub con #soulmate au #I’m not even sorry #except I am #lmao last one I promise

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awakeshedreams · 3 years

Text

sugar and spice ( 2 )

pairing : resident bad boy!jjk x model student!reader

setting : highschool!au x stepbrother!au

summary :

a messy highschool!au x stepbrother!au where model student reader who has quite a few dirty little secrets sees her world take an unexpected turn when her mother comes home one day with an engagement announcement, to the father of none other than the school’s resident bad boy…. Jeon Jungkook.

genre : smut, for laughs, kinda pornish, slow burn with collosaly overwhelming sexual tension

rating: soft m ( for now ) due to adult content

warnings : unconventional relationship of sexual nature, tropes and clichès, teenagers partaking in porn-esque activities, made up things with made up people happening in a made up world, don’t like don’t read XD

wordcount : 3k

a/n: honestly overwhelming response for the first part. thank you so much 💜💜💜😳

here's the second.

somehow, this took up a new genre for itself while editing and became sort of a bit enemies to friends to partners in sin.

that is to say, I have a template for this but this could go any ( dirty ) way.

let me know if you like this and are curious to know how things play out.

also, spot the cameo. it's so dumb but still. I couldn't think of anything else.

enjoy.

1 2

Paranoia was an old friend of yours.

Very real, very scary and not very nice to you, your peace of mind or your tested soul.

In your head, you already played out a million different ways the image you’d spent years building could come falling apart.

All because of him. Jeon Jungkook.

Though much to your surprise and fortune- he didn’t tell anyone.

You spent the entire weekend fretting over nothing.

It was almost like none of it ever happened.

Like your parents weren't about to tie the knot soon. Like you weren’t about to become step siblings.

Like he didn't walk in on his said step sister to be masturbating in front of a camera.

In the aftermath of that inexplicably humiliating incident, you had to make up some dumb excuse to satiate your viewers for ending the stream so abruptly.

It was your cat they heard speaking, you told them.

Cats don’t speak of course, certainly not in a deep baritone. But they were effectively distracted by the string of full nudes you posted soon after that.

Those few accusatory comments saying that you did have a boyfriend after all were buried by those coming from very horny people who were over the moon about the little apology gift.

That was out of the way, but you had a more pressing matter at hand.

That night, Jungkook had walked out after saying what he had to say without another word, leaving you feeling stunned and oddly cold.

It was like all the heat in your body just ceased to exist the moment he closed the door behind him and left you there all on your own. You didn’t even get to finish but that was beside the point.

The point was, you thought that meant like with many other things, and as people should since this was a free world, he didn’t give a shit what you did with your free time or your body.

But as the days progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were gravely mistaken.

Because contrary to that, he seemed to be up to something.

These days, he came around very often. Completely unprovoked and on his own accord.

It didn’t help that your mom loved having him around and feeding him.

Sometimes he was there for lunch after school. Other times he was there to fucking read the books in the study.

It was all ridiculous and quite honestly it was starting to get on your fraying nerves.

He didn’t even live there! You grumbled in pure frustration internally every time your mom asked you to add an extra plate for him on the dining table. This was your place!

Intentional or not he seemed to just love spending his time at your house for some reason.

But that just wouldn’t do.

The thing was you didn't know how to tell him you’d like to have the peace of mind he’d robbed you of by being all up in your living space every other day back.

He couldn’t just keep coming around.

Things were awkward enough without you having to see him often so already in between fleeting glimpses at school and lingering glances over the occasional dinner.

He might have been able to play it cool because it didn’t matter to him but this was a big deal for you.

He knew your secret and what else were you to do but be on edge and fidgety around him even though it seemed like he wouldn’t say a word of it?

But in the end, you couldn’t voice out your concerns. Not to him and certainly not to your mom.

So you were stuck here.

In between a massive rock and a very hard place.

Forced to endure even though you really felt like you’d been pushed past your limit.

Because he was there all the time.

For the most random reasons doing the most random things at the most random places at the most random time.

One time he had been casually listening to music while smoking by the pool and stroking the strings of his damned, matte black guitar.

You had been so stressed from all the work at school with the elections for new committee members amongst the juniors coming up so you thought to go for a swim to relax your self.

You honestly thought no one was around.

It was a Wednesday at noon so your mother was at lunch with some friends from high school. Plus, in the back of your mind, you’d reasoned that Jungkook usually only ever came over when she was around.

So you put on your best little bikini, grabbed a floatie and a soft drink and you went out.

Only to pause when you saw him sitting on one of the white lounging chairs, just looking at you with his earphones on, fingers having stilled mid strumming with a soft veil of smoke over his face.

You didn’t need to think twice to turn back.

There had been something about how his heavy lidded gaze took you in through the smoke as he did that thing where he cocked his head to the side that made you step back and quickly go back in.

You felt yourself get impossibly hotter when you realized you were probably giving him an eyeful of your poorly covered ass in motion.

You knew he was looking. You could feel his stare. Heavy. Intent. Dark. Swirling.

Like when he'd walked in on you.

You were hot and bothered the entire day.

In the end you couldn’t get anything productive done with a straight mind. And it was all his fault.

It took you about two weeks to crack.

That particular evening you were decided on telling your mom about this dilemma you were in.

Coincidentally, your mom had gone and invited him and his dad over for dinner.

Great. Just great.

You had no choice but to deeply consider the possibility of having to spill the beans another time.

Because choosing now to tell your mom meant you would probably need to tell his dad as well since they were attached at the hip every time he came over.

But no, you wouldn’t expose him in front of his father too. You weren’t cruel. Also you didn’t need the school's menace resenting you for making his strict, uptight dad turn on him.

If he didn’t have a reason to expose you before, he certainly would have one if things spiraled out that way.

So you bit your bitter tongue.

This time around, dinner was a more relaxed affair.

The weather was nice so your mom decided on a barbeque at your back yard.

This meant you wore a flowy sun dress like your mom did and he wore a loose navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and some black casual beach shorts.

His tattoos were on full display.

You stared.

You were only distracted by them and how the patterns dance on his skin when his muscles flex as he flips whatever he is cooking on the fire because she’s never seen them in full before, you strongly reasoned.

Even with his sleeves rolled up when he was uniform, you'd only seen what he had on his forearm briefly other than the ones on the back of his hand.

That night didn’t count. It was too dim to see well. Also, that night technically didn’t exist.

Your eyes were particularly drawn to the little something peeking out the collar of his shirt.

You were too busy trying to figure out whether the curling ink around his collar bone was the flick of flames or the end of a dragon’s tail to notice that he’d lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at the dots of sweet at his brows.

When you do, you suddenly found yourself being given an eyeful of impossibly ripped, ridged pure muscle.

You almost dropped your glass like you did your jaw.

What the holy fuck?

At that exact moment, he lifted his gaze and caught you staring.

He was probably expecting you to look away. Any decent human would expect that if they caught someone staring at them so openly. Gawking, to be completely honest.

But you didn’t. You quickly recover, pulling yourself together, and you met his gaze squarely.

You clutched the drink in your hand tight. Your pride wouldn’t let you look away.

In your own way, it was your little pay back, weak as it was.

He held your gaze with an unreadable look on his face for a moment with that signature slight tilt to his head and an added lift to his brow, before he looked away. Wordlessly, he let his shirt fall to push his hair back with his hand and went back to grilling.

You let herself breath then and tried not to think about how his biceps flexed at the motion, how his hair slicked back made him look even more dangerous and how the little smirk you caught on his lips was making you feel things she shouldn’t be.

Your mom suggested you all hang out at the pool once you were done eating.

You hadn’t been there since that day with him and quite frankly, you would rather not be.

Not with him.

You knew your mom had a swimsuit underneath her dress. She made you wear one as well.

She probably told them to come prepared for a swim too.

Just thinking about it made you short circuit.

You tore your gaze away from where he was standing with his father at the poolside, staring blankly at the surface as the older man talked to him about something.

You'd just come back from clearing the table with your mom.

When you guys got close enough, the men look your way. Jungkook’s eyes immediately landed on you. Meanwhile you just stare at your mom, trying to ignore his inexplicably fixed attention on you.

‘It’s shame we can’t swim.’

Your mother said, reaching for her boyfriend’s hand. She gave Jungkook a soft, apologetic smile.

‘Maybe once the weather is not so chilly.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘If I had known you were sensitive to the cold I would have suggested something else.’

‘It’s fine.’ Your eyes flicker to him. The smile he puts on is small and polite. ‘I’m not a very good swimmer anyway I’m afraid.’

‘Nonsense.’ She dismissed in good nature. ‘I heard you were quite the athlete in middle school. It’s all your father ever talks about sometimes. Right, honey?'

His father just grumbled.

You couldn’t hide your surprise at this revelation. You didn’t know this before.

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then he smiles a little with a shrug.

‘That was in the past.’

Your eyes just glided to him when he said that.

The tug at his lip looked wry and sad.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Solemn. Sombre. Not serious or intimidating or indifferent.

It felt like you were viewing him in a new light.

You settled on drinks by the pool. It was what your mom does to lighten things up.

It seemed like the gloom from earlier wasn’t all part just a part of your imagination.

Her mother suddenly chirped in between the light conversation.

'Why don't you guys get together and have a little group study?'

You suppressed the urge to groan and roll your eyes to the back of your head. You knew what she was trying to do and you wanted no part in it.

You had the words no way sitting at the tip of you tongue.

He beat you to it.

'That sounds nice,' he dared to say, even politely addressing your mom with Mrs. alongside her surname in the end uttered just the way she liked. 'I'd like that.’

You gawked at him in disbelief. Complete and utterly speechless.

Was he insane ??

'Doesn't it? Great!' Your mom is over the moon. 'Dear, take him to the study. You guys can do your teenager things and get along over books there.'

Your mom was loving and caring and she only ever wanted the best for you. You knew this.

Maybe she wanted them to get to know each other. Or maybe she just wanted to have some alone time with her man.

Either way, she practically shoved you two into the house with so much enthusiasm you wondered if she really loved you because suddenly you found yourself stuck inside your house with the last person you wanted to be with and you did not feel safe or rested.

The walk up the spirally stairs to the study had got to be one of the most intense, dragging moments of your whole life.

He remained a few steps behind you all through out the journey, following your lead in his own leisured pace.

A few steps too damn far behind in your opinion.

From that angle, you had a strong inkling that he could see your underwear from beneath your dress.

You knew this because you were familiar with what it felt like when he was staring.

What you couldn’t quite explain is why you didn't do a thing about it.

If awkward silence could manifest into a solid form for being so intense, there would have been a third occupant in the room the moment you two walked into the study.

It would’ve been so massive, all the high shelves and wooden tables lined up would have been demolished.

Jungkook remained the quiet person he was, looking around and skimming through the books on the shelves.

You were standing a safe distance away from him, absently doing the same. The books were interesting and all but you were admittedly more taken by the ink on his skin.

Up close you could clearly see the artistic patterns and symbols etched onto him.

While staring at the tats on his knuckles you couldn't help but also notice that the titles he picked up were rather complex.

Certainly not the kind of thing even high intellects reached for. Evidently, those tomes had been collecting dust in there for ages.

You were decidedly curious. Itching to ask. Hell, dying to know.

You dived before you could overthink it and find reasons not to satiate your rabid curiosity.

'You like Reader?' he paused and looked at you from the corner of his eyes. At his questioning look she gesture to the book he was holding. 'That's the third book of theirs you picked up.'

'Yeah.' he said casually, nodding a little while flipping through it. 'Their books are nice.'

A crippling lapse of silence ensues.

You tore your gaze away from his profile to stare at the titles in front of you with a burn at your cheeks, fiddling with the polished spines.

How fucking awkward. All of this.

He probably felt the same.

What were you even doing?

You thought about telling him to ignore your mom’s attempt at trying to make the two of you get along. He obviously wasn’t looking for company or a friend. Quite frankly, neither were you. Certainly not from him. You were just trying to be not rude. Something you aren’t really surprised he probably failed to understand in all honesty.

But then he spoke, dragging you out of your reverie.

'What about you?'

Your head shot up and you found that he was standing a lot closer than before, having moved to reach for yet another complicated book to idly browse through at the top shelf.

This close, you could can smell him. Soft mint and clean soap and moonlight, not smoke. He disregarded the pages in his hands to give you a side way glance.

‘What do you like?’

There was a perpetual spark swimming in the dark depth of his eyes. It was striking. Pretty even.

When he lightly raised a brow at you, your thoughts jumbled all over before it fell back into place and you realized you were staring very openly.

But this time was different from the last time. When he had been miles away, flashing you his ripped abs.

In your reverie, you hadn’t notices that he had leaned a little to meet your eyes, and that he was real close. Like real close, looking at you intently with his head cocked to the side questioningly, like he was wondering what was going on inside your head. You could feel his breath fanning your face.

Shit.

'Uh,’ you scrambled for an answer, quickly tearing your gaze away from him to appraise the bookshelf. Your face felt like it was on fire. Considering how he hadn’t moved, he could probably see just how blazed in the face you were. Out of pure instinct, you grabbed a random book and shoved it into him to make some space in between your bodies.

Maybe with a little too much force. There was a dull thump and it made you wince.

'This.’

You hated how squeaky and breathless you sounded. Like you’d just ran a marathon. Might as well have, with how hard and fast your heart was pounding.

Jungkook took it from you, and you allowed yourself to look at him as he looked the cover over, completely fine, like you hadn’t just smacked him in the chest with a book.

The corner of his lips lifted a little as he flipped it over, cocking his head the other way before he chanced you a glance, making you blink rapidly and stand on edge.

'You sure?' he asked, sounding pretty amused. You were confused for a moment until he held it up for you to see, flashing you a full on toothy grin like you’d never seen on him before. 'You like books about horse gentilia?'

The jump in your chest was something you quickly dismissed as being one of sinking dread rather than anything else.

All the color that had been congesting your face washed away.

If there was a time you truly wished the ground would swallow your entire existence whole, it would be right then and there.

word is telling me I made up the word genitilia but I’m pretty sure it’s real because it just rolls off the tongue ( smooth ) like butter like a criminal under the cover.

the hole is one of the recurring characters so please be nice to it.

alot of things happening here if you squint and look closely.

any-whomst've, hope you all liked it. let me know if you did and I don't know come say hi? 😳 have a nice day 💜

#bangtan #bts #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts high school au #jungkook high school au #bts au #jungkook au

188 notes · View notes

heyitssmiller · 3 years

Text

Bewitched, Body and Soul

So... this happened. Blame the Discord. Basically, the premise is receiving a note from a stranger about having similar tastes in books, and my first thought was Finn/Leo. And now, around 24 hours later, this showed up in my word document. Hope y’all like it!! And don’t worry, I’ve already got a sequel planned with Logan ;)

All characters, of course, belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove

And, if you’re so inclined, check out my Masterlist if you enjoy this story! <3

CW: food/drink

Leo loved this bookstore. There was a west-facing windowfront that allowed all sorts of afternoon light to shine through, creating a large, warm sunspot right in Leo’s favorite armchair. The shelves were always neatly organized by category, there was a featured book of the week, and there was a coffee shop sequestered to one corner of the building. What else did he need in life? He’d spent countless hours here, sitting with a new book and a cup of coffee or tea and getting lost in whatever world he’d been transported to within the crisp pages and black ink. Being new to the city, there were probably better ways to make friends, but there was something so soothing, so comfortingly familiar about shutting off the worry in his mind and just focusing on the story unfolding in his hands.

But when his stomach growled loudly in protest, he figured he needed to put reading on hold.

There was a wrinkled, jagged-edged scrap of paper sitting on top of Leo’s book when he returned to his table, café pastry in hand. It hadn’t been there a second ago. Curiously, Leo set his food down and inspected the foreign paper. Messy, inelegant scrawl slanted across the page in deep blue ink. The lines were uneven and chaotic; the i’s weren’t even dotted, almost as if it took too much effort to go back and add them in. Leo found it strangely endearing. It read:

Hi!

I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends. :)

- Carrot Top

Leo smiled, read it again, and looked around for the person who sent it but no one acknowledged him, seemingly lost in stories of their own. So he sat there, a smile still on his face as he got back to his book, using the note as a bookmark.

~~~

Finn couldn’t help himself when, a few days later, he left another note after seeing the guy with good taste in books again at the bookstore. He was at what must have been his usual table, seemingly right where Finn had left him. The only difference besides the clothes he was wearing was the book he was reading. Finn let himself linger on his profile, just for a second – the gentle slope of his nose, the way his curls rested against his forehead, how bright blue eyes scanned the pages below him.

Finn wasn’t one for love at first sight; that was for romance novels only. But instant attraction? Oh yeah. He was definitely there.

He picked up a small flyer from the front desk, flipped it over, and began to write.

And maybe it wasn’t a good way of, as the kids said these days, “shooting his shot”. But it was a start. And it was fun – the thrill of trying not to get caught, the anonymity. Sure, one day he’d maybe get up the courage to talk to him in person, but he was happy with this for now.

Hmm… haven’t read that one. Might have to get myself a copy!

- The Walking Freckle

After dropping the note off while the blond walked off to take a phone call, Finn tried to act casual as he stared sightlessly down at his own book instead of over at the cute stranger like he desperately wanted to.

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t really know where to go from here. Did the blond think the notes were creepy? Or weird? He never seemed to mind much, but… well, a stranger was repeatedly leaving notes for him. What if it was making him uncomfortable? Would it make things better or worse if Finn introduced himself?

A snort came out, unbidden. Yeah. Right. That would go well. Finn could practically see it now: he would be clumsy and awkward, probably spilling coffee all over the guy’s book or – even worse – all over him. He’d scare him off for sure.

But at the same time, Finn wanted nothing more than to meet him. To sit down across the table from him and debate the points of the book he was reading, or give book recommendations, or just talk. About literally anything. Finn wasn’t a picky guy. He could sit there and let him speak for hours, absorbing any and all knowledge about him like a sponge. Did the corners of those bright, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Did his cheeks get all flushed when he was passionate about something, just like Finn’s? What was the story behind the soft-looking tuft of gray hair at his temple?

Who was he?

Finn was overflowing with questions, and desperate for the answers.

But he needed to go about this the right way, didn’t he? The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up. So he closed his book, propped his chin in his hand so that he could stare out the window, and started to plan.

~~~

The next note threw Leo for a bit of a loop. He’d saved his table with his coat thrown over one of the chairs and went up to the New Books section, surreptitiously keeping an eye on his table and hoping that he’d catch his note-sender red-handed.

Leo could’ve sworn that he’d looked away for half a second, but – well, he got distracted by a book, so it easily could’ve been five minutes for all he knew. This note was written on one of the café napkins, the ink bleeding through in some spots and a few small tears in the delicate material.

Nice choice! That book absolutely shattered my heart and then pieced it back together. The way she writes love lost just hurts so beautifully, doesn’t it?

I like your sweater by the way.

Fuck I hope that’s not creepy.

I’m not a stalker, I promise. I just think you’re really cute. And you have amazing taste in books. I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me. :)

But first, you have to figure out who I am! Good luck!

- Your Not-So-Secret Admirer in the Tortoiseshell Glasses

He smiled, wide and happy, and looked around for tortoiseshell glasses, red hair, and freckles. Those were the only three clues he had so far. So he quickly scanned the crowded café, looking for anyone who fit the description. The only one even close was a freckled, redheaded guy at the corner table, but no glasses.

That was a shame, too. He was stunning.

The mystery bibliophile must already be gone, then. Or hiding.

Looked like Leo had his work cut out for him. He did always like a challenge.

~~~

It probably wasn’t Finn’s best idea to take his glasses off. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was left squinting down at his book, trying to determine if what he was seeing was an F or a P.

That smile, though… he could’ve seen that dimpled smile from all the way across the street.

He never thought he’d be pining for a stranger like this, but then again – he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he? After all, you could learn a lot about a person by their book preferences. Finn wasn’t normally known for being a good judge of character – he was too optimistic, too unwilling to see the bad in people. But damn, did he hope he was right about this one.

~~~

Finn had probably been too bold with the note he’d just dropped off, but when he’d seen what book that his new maybe-friend was reading, he knew he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like that.

He didn’t wait to see the reaction this time – he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just left the short note on top of the book while the blond was at the café counter and booked it (pun definitely intended) out of there as fast as he could.

You have bewitched me, body and soul. <3

- Bambi

~~~

He should’ve waited. Leo’s reaction, all bashful smile and bright red face and pleased expression, would’ve been worth it.

~~~

Leo went back to the bookstore pretty much every day after that, intent on finding this person. Not only was this a fun little game they were playing, but it would be nice to finally have a friend in the city. He still didn’t know anyone besides his coworkers and… well, he was a little lonely. A friend would be nice, especially one who had a shared interest in books.

The only thing left to do was to find them.

Red hair, freckles, glasses, and big doe eyes.

Leo looked for the only four defining traits he had, methodically starting in the front of the store and weaving through isle after isle of bookshelves. When that proved unsuccessful he moved on to the café, gaze landing on the queue first before lurching to a stop at the glimpse of a shock of auburn hair in the far corner booth. Heart hammering in his chest, Leo used his height to his full advantage and peered over the line of people.

Freckles, Glasses, Big, doe eyes.

If he needed any more confirmation, the stranger – the very cute stranger – was reading the same book Leo had been reading a week ago. The one his anonymous friend said they hadn’t read yet.

It had to be him.

Leo didn’t let himself think about it too much – he knew he’d panic if he did. He just strode over and sat down across from him, setting his book down on the table with a quiet thud. The note-writer jumped a little, then lifted wide brown eyes to look up at him.

Oh, but he was gorgeous.

“So what part are you at?” Leo asked, eyes taking in everything they could now that he was close enough – that messy red hair that just barely curled at the ends, the hint of scruff on his jaw, brown eyes shifting from shade to shade in the afternoon light filtering through the window beside him. Soft, mesmerizing lips curved into the beginnings of a smile that Leo couldn’t help but be transfixed by. “Have you gotten to the part where Patroclus dies?”

Finn stared back, trying to look horrified but he knew he was smiling so much that they counteracted each other because, finally, he’d figured it out. “I can’t believe you’d break rule number one of having a reading buddy: don’t spoil the ending.”

Dimples.

“Oops.”

Finn was done for.

“I’m Finn,” he managed to stammer, aiming for his best smile and probably looking like he’d just tasted something awful instead.

“Leo,�� his companion said with a warm smile. Then he frowned. “Wait, no. Go back. You can’t spoil the ending of a story that’s literally thousands of years old.” The blond leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and watching in amusement as Finn gaped at him in horror. He could feel his cheeks and ears getting red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s so not the point!”

Leo laughed, then motioned for Finn to state his case. And then Finn was off, forgetting all about his nervousness and tendency to be awkward. He ranted about that topic for… well, he didn’t really know how long, but it was a while. Leo didn’t even bat an eye, keeping pace well and interjecting with his own points calmly and collectedly – the gentle breeze to Finn’s tornado. He was smiling, too, even though sometimes he tried to hide it behind the rim of his coffee cup. And he was smart, Finn learned as they jumped from one topic to the next and the minutes ticked by. He knew a lot about literature, like Finn, but he could also make these random connections to all kinds of different topics that Finn would’ve never thought of, all while keeping up with Finn’s fast-paced brain and tendency to jump down rabbit holes.

It was an instant connection, the likes of which Finn had never experienced before. It was intoxicating. Finn felt like he could never get enough.

During a lull in between one conversation and the next, Leo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over, looking suddenly and inexplicably shy. Finn cocked his head confusedly, then unfolded the paper and looked down.

Would you like to go on a date sometime?

PS: I’m free tonight if you are. :)

- The Guy Who’s Been Crushing on You for Weeks

Finn’s heart threatened to burst. “Absolutely.” He hesitated, just for a second, then decided to go for it. “Are you free now? I know a pretty great café nearby.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he jerked his thumb at the bookstore café and earned a laugh. He wondered what he could do to earn another.

“Sounds perfect.”

They walked over to the counter together, the backs of their hands just barely brushing – it was still enough to make Finn hyperaware of every miniscule movement and get his pulse hammering. Leo was teasing Finn for his terrible eyesight in a soft, southern drawl – something Finn definitely wasn’t expecting but sure as hell wasn’t complaining about, his fingers deliberately playing with Finn’s now, and Finn knew it was going to be a good night. It was already a good night; how could it possibly get any better?

“What can I get for you?”

Leo and Finn looked up at the barista and their eyes widened in tandem as they took in thick chestnut waves, long, dark lashes, and bottle-green eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not necessarily. His expression was fairly neutral, all things considered – except for those eyes. If you stared at then long enough, you could see just the faintest whisper of amusement.

They both looked down slightly, searching for a nametag. There, in bold black letters, read:

Logan.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #leo knut #bookstore/coffee shop au #bewitched body and soul #cw: food #cw: drink

157 notes · View notes

poppywrites41 · 3 years

Text

Captive Love Ch. 2

Prince! Yoongi x Maid! Reader

Here is chapter 2! This chapter will focus on Y/N’s first day of work…and maybe a little bit of a cliffhanger.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing, violence, description of past deaths, mentions of smut

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“Rise and shine girls!” Lilith shouts through the halls of the servants’ quarters, her meaty fists pounding on each of the girl’s doors. Y/N swears she can feel her room shake every time that woman’s fist comes in contact with a door. “You all have 10 minutes to get dressed and come down to eat!” Lilith calls, her heels clacking away. Y/N raises her arms up to stretch. She looks out of her small window to see a garden with a path that leads to a small set of doors going into the back of the castle. She turns to her cupboard and takes out her servant’s outfit. She takes off her dress that she wore yesterday, neatly folded it like her mother taught her to, and placed it in the cupboard. She took a look at the outfit laid out on the bed. It was not elegant in the slightest, but it was sure prettier than any outfit she had worn in her life. It was a pretty beige with ¾ sleeves that were flexible enough to move the arms comfortably to perform the needed tasks. The skirt was neatly fitted on the waist and ran to the ankles. It was not puffy at all and had a comfortable feel to it. And to top it all off, pretty little white lace ruffles were added to the ends of the sleeves and around the top opening to give it some style, which Y/N really appreciated. When she got the dress on, Y/N took a look at herself in the small mirror hanging on her wall above her tiny sink. She spotted some dirt on her cheeks, probably from the wagon, so she splashed her face with water, rubbing at her skin. After her facewash, she noticed how messy her hair had gotten. She ran her fingers through the h/c locks and tied the hair in the front to the back, creating a half up-half down style. She made her way to her door, slipping on her shoes and head down the hall to the servants dining hall.

When she arrived, she found a seat at a table where some of the girls she arrived with yesterday were sitting at. They were not talking to each other as much as the other servants were, probably because they were new or nervous. Y/N sat down next to a young girl with dark brown hair. Once she sat down, an older woman brought her a tray with a piece of bread, some water and a small bowl of what looked like to be chicken broth. Y/N turned to the girl and offered a small smile, “Hi, I’m Y/N. We came together on the wagon yesterday. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier.” The girl’s hazel eyes met hers and she gave Y/N a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m Emily. I don’t really talk when I’m nervous. I have a lot of anxiety when I feel pressured.” She said in a quiet tone. “I get it. I am totally nervous. I mean, yesterday I was living my normal life and now suddenly, I’m a servant to the royal family. The people who I thought of as family, gave me away for money without a second thought.” Y/N said taking a bite of her bread and immediately chasing it down with some water. Emily frowned, “I’m sorry to hear that.” “So,” Y/N said after eating a spoonful of the bland broth, “How did you get here?” Emily looked down at her food and played with it with her spoon, “I’m actually a twin. My sister and I are daughters of bakers. My mom and dad worked so hard their entire life, baking for the royal family. My sister was a big help in the kitchen. She is so smart, kind, outgoing and beautiful. She is pretty much everything I am not. I would usually mess up tasks that would get me in trouble, but she would always defend me. My parents loved me, don’t get me wrong, they were just worried about me a lot. I wasn’t let out a lot. I could have been an embarrassment to them. Then, my sister met a man who came from a good family. They fell in love and are to be married. However, the guards came before the wedding and were trying to get my parents to give them my sister for a large sum of money. So that’s when I volunteered myself to go in her place. I didn’t want her to leave everything behind and to ruin her chance of a happily ever after, so I went in her place.” Y/N looked at the girl with awe, “You are such a good and brave sister to go in her place. I’m sure she is very thankful for you. I don’t think you are an embarrassment. Just stick with me and we will get through this together!” Emily smiles at her and nods in agreement. Before anything else could be said, Lilith’s voice was booming throughout the room, “Mealtime is over! Everyone sit down a listen. Tomorrow is the Grand Royal Gala so we will need to clean the castle extra today. Royal families from all over the country will be attending so I want that castle spotless. Here are the groups and their tasks for the day. Rosetta, you and your hall will clean the floors and windows of the ball room. Claire, take your girls and polish all of the utensils and dishware. Isabel, you and your hall are in charge of cleaning the dinning hall. I want that space especially clean.”

While scrubbing away the dirt on the floor of the halls, Y/N reflected on what Elizabeth informed them about the royal family:

First off, the king. He has his own personal servants who clean, dress and cook for him, so it was highly unlikely for her to be involved with him. He is a strict ruler and likes for everything to be perfect. He does not interfere much with his sons’ lives, but he is more attentive to his two eldest sons. He wants to make sure they are both well-educated and fit enough to rule the kingdom when his time is up.

Same goes for the queen. She is a more carefree person than her husband. She enjoys balls and festivities. She interacts more with her sons than her spouse, but definitely more with her youngest sons, since the older ones are with the king or in counsel or military meetings. She clearly loves her family but is not the most observant or caring mother. She lets them do as they please.

Now, the eldest prince, Prince Seokjin. He is the next in line for the throne. Elizabeth said that he is very serious about his role in the family. With his brothers, he can be a fun person who will crack jokes and enjoy the company of others. But when wronged, he can be a completely different person. He once chopped off a chef’s fingers for making a soup too spicy for his liking and fed those fingers to his dogs. Since he will most likely become king in the near future, more galas will be held to find the prince a suitable wife. Overall, Y/N believes that she will not be in contact with the prince very often either.

The second eldest is Prince Yoongi, the second in line for the throne. According to Elizabeth, he rarely shows his face in public. He is extremely introverted. He keeps to himself, usually in his room where he will write poems, or he will be sleeping. Even with his introverted nature, he is somewhat of a genius. Elizabeth said that when he was a teenager, the king went to war with a foreign land and was at a disadvantage. It was Prince Yoongi, at age 16, that stepped in and completely remodeled the military tactics, which won them the war. However, like his brother, when wronged, he turns into a beast. One day, he was asleep in his room when a servant came in to clean. The servant did not notice the prince asleep and continued his task. It was not until he accidentally knocked the prince’s favorite ink off of his table and spilled it on the ground. The prince woke up in a rage. The man tried to apologize to the prince, only to have himself sent to the dungeons for a week with no food or water. On the last day, Prince Yoongi went down to see the servant, only to behead him himself.

When Elizabeth told them that story, Y/N felt deep chills run down her spine. Hopefully she won’t have to interact with Yoongi during her time at the castle.

From what she heard about the third and fourth oldest princes, Hoseok and Namjoon, they are not as hot tempered as the two eldest. Hoseok is a kind person with a bubbly personality, but when he is pushed the wrong way, he can be a force to be reckoned with. Namjoon on the other hand has not publicly displayed any hostile actions. He is extremely smart and a good leader. From what Elizabeth said, Namjoon is somewhat of a leader to all the brothers. He is very considerate of all of their opinions and is able to settle any arguments between the brothers. Y/N does not suspect to have any issues with those two princes.

Now the last three. Jimin and Taehyung, the fraternal twins who like to cause mischief in the palace. They seem to like to pick on the staff and belittle anyone who is of lower status then themselves. Out of the two of them, Taehyung is more sadistic. He will keep harassing staff members until they leave, hurt themselves or commit suicide. Jimin on the other hand, likes to make people, especially the women he has accompany him in his chambers, feel like they cannot survive without him. Whenever he has wronged one of his girls and they try to talk to him about it, he uses his charming attitude and well-chosen words to turn the whole conversation around onto the girls. He would make them feel like they were the ones who wronged him, and they would apologize to him and swear that they will do better.

Last but not least, the youngest prince, Jungkook. He had everything handed to him on a diamond plate. Elizabeth noted that his beauty almost rivals that of his oldest brother and Jungkook knows it. She said that he excels in anything he does. However, he is probably the scariest out of all the brothers. Jungkook can get away with anything…ANYTHING. Apparently, he was in love with a princess once and planned on marrying her. One day before he planned on proposing to her, he caught her having sex with one of his guards in the library. Furious, he went to his room and waited for her to return. When she did, he asked her where she was, and she lied to him saying that she went for a walk in the palace garden. Jungkook then called the guard she was with into his room and had two guards block the doors out of his room. He tied the princess to a chair, ignoring her cries trying to convince him that she would never cheat on him. He then ordered the guard to remove all of his clothing, leaving him nude. Jungkook had the guard put on prison cuffs himself while the prince hammered a hook into the wall. He beckoned the naked guard to lift his cuffed hands onto the hook. Once everything was in place, he slowly began to castrate the guard, relishing in the man’s screams of agony and the princesses’ shrill screams of horror. After he castrated him, Jungkook swiftly sliced the man’s neck, causing blood to spew out from the slash and him to choke on his own blood, all the while Jungkook forced the princess to watch. Once the man’s body stopped twitching, he untied the frozen princess and took her to his balcony. The princess began apologizing to the prince promising that she will never be unfaithful to him ever again, swearing her loyalty to him and begging for his forgiveness. He gave her a warm smile and gave her a small kiss on the lips, telling her that she is forgiven. And Just as the princess began to relax, Jungkook shoved her over the balcony and watched her body fall to ground. When the prince’s parents found out, they sent word to the princesses’ father that she had run off with a man and that they cannot find them anywhere. The princesses’ father believed them and sent search parties all around the country, never to find out the truth about what happened to his daughter. It’s because of that incident that Jungkook ends the lives of those who betray him.

All of a sudden, she heard something being knocked over and water spilling. Then a sudden cry of pain. Worried that one of girls hurt themselves, Y/N immediately got up and ran down the hall towards the noise, ignoring Emily telling her not to involve herself.

Y/N could hear a males voice from down the hall, “You stupid whore!! Your spilled you water on my fucking new shoes!!”

Once she turned the corner to where she would find the girl, her eyes widened, and her heart stopped.

#poppywrites41 #yoongi x reader smut #yandere yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #prince yoongi #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call

OK so here we are with the penultimate part! BIG MASSIVE THANK YOU to the absolute loves of my life @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys and @fratboytj for helping me write this because I am a dumpster fire of a human and this would still be unfinished had it not been for them 💛💛💛

Hope you like it!

Read the whole series: I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

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“This right here is our issue!”

“I don’t care. You need to leave.”

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

You and Evelina were leaving for Los Angeles the next day, the presentation not quite done yet as your boss bombarded both of you with texts asking for updates while you were just trying to relax at home after what had been a stressful week of work. The two of you had turned into gremlins as soon as you came home, hair tied back, sweatshirts on, hoods up, facing each other while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, typing faster than you probably needed to every time your boss sent a new suggestion.

“Does he really think adding in a transition between these two slides is going to do anything? Like, there are no other animations in the entire presentation, why these two slides?” you huff, pushing the fly-away hair out of your face as you look to Evelina, hunched over her laptop with her computer screen illuminating her face.

Your phones continue buzzing as you try to put the finishing touches on your laptops. “Whatever this man is smoking, I need some to deal with him,” Evelina mutters. You look up from your computer, questioning the statement that just came out of her mouth. “What?” she asks, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t, too.”

“I’m texting him and telling him we’re going to stop for the night and talk with him in person about it tomorrow at the airport and on plane,” you tell her, setting your computer down next to you. You lay down on the floor, stretching your body out with your hands over your head, your toes pointed, groaning so loud you practically scream as your phone lays silently next to you.

“Have you heard from Matthew?” Evelina asks, breaking the silence that was normally broken by texts from him.

You shake your head, sitting up again. “Not a word.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes as you pick up your laptop again. “Nope. Nothing posted on our stories on Instagram or Snapchat in a week, no texts, no calls, no Facetimes, our streak gone on Snap. We’re both radio silent,” you start, trying to fight back the tears that you knew were coming. This was for the best, maybe. You didn’t need to be preoccupied with the idea of liking someone that was just going to hurt you. He was only meant to be your friend. Your best friend.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she says, turning her head. A small piece of paper under your couch catches her eye, stretching to see what it was. “What is this? ‘For Ev and Hg’ Who’s Hg?”

“I think that’s me,” you say, reaching for the card, Matthew’s messy writing scrawled across the small paper. It must have fallen off the box that had the jerseys in it, you figure.

“That’s not right,” she says, pulling a laugh from you.

“Matthew calls me that: Hg is the chemical symbol for mercury, coming from hydrargyrum, the Latinized form of the Greek word hydrargyros, which means water-silver. Mercury stops oxygen from reaching the brain and it drives you crazy. He’s saying that I drive him crazy,” you explain, a sad smile on your face as you play with the card, curling the corners of it slightly just so you had something to do.

“That is surprisingly smart and cute for him,” Evelina gushes, a sudden wave of sadness washing over her. “I think this is my fault,” she admits.

“What?”

“Matthew not talking to you. Matthew knowing about the list.” You stare at her, not sure what to say. What was she talking about? “I told him about it the night you started it.”

“What the fuck?” you scream, “That’s the reason we had this whole fight in the first place. That’s why we aren’t talking right now. Ev, you ruined my friendship with Matthew!”

“You’ll get through it,” she tries to reassure you, unable to look at you. “Couples fight all the time.”

“We were not a couple!” you yell, standing up. “And now, because of you, we never will be.”

“Is that what you wanted?” she yells back, getting up with you as if you were about to start physically fighting. “Do you want to be a couple? Or do you just want him to be your friend? I don’t care anymore, but until you figure out what the fuck you want, you can’t fix this.”

You look down at your feet, wiggling your toes in the socks you had on. “You’re right,” you admit to her, trying to stay as calm as you could. “But why did you have to tell him about that list? What do you think it’s like to find out that someone you care about has been keeping something like this from you?” You stand there quietly for a minute, neither of you sure what to say to the other. “I’m going to go to my room,” you say, finally breaking the silence, “Just, don’t bother me for a little bit, ok?” You don’t let her answer, picking up your computer from the floor and retreating to your room to lock yourself in for the time being.

Evelina sits down on the floor, trying to figure out what she can do. This was her fault. Or was it yours? She had suggested the list, but you were the one who went along with it. She made the bet, but you wouldn’t drop it. She wanted you to be with Matthew, but you have been fighting it no matter what everyone else tells you.

She shakes her head, picking up her computer, a reminder from her calendar coming up in the top corner: Flames @ Kings, 7:00 p.m. Friday. Staples Center. With all this bullshit, would you even still want to go to the game? Evelina pulls up her phone, hearing loud music coming from your room, thankful that you wouldn’t be able to hear her conversation.

“I can see on her Spotify that she’s playing the playlist we entitled “depressed bitch” when she broke up with her last boyfriend and I can’t stand to see her like this. Why did you have to bring up the list?” Evelina barks into her phone.

“Why did you have to have Y/N start the list in the first place?” Matthew’s voice comes through on the other end. “With no list, then we wouldn’t be in this fucked up mess in the first place. You’re the reason I’m not talking to her.”

She knew he was taking his anger out on her. And he’s right, as much as she hated to admit it. “I know it’s my fault,” she says, begrudgingly, “which is why I’m trying to fix this. She cried for five hours after you left last week. She did not sleep for two days and I think the only reason she did was because our boss is an exhausting jackass. It’s because of you and me, and she’s made her peace with me as far as I can tell. I need you back in the picture.”

“Why?”

“Matthew,” Evelina groans, hating that she had to explain her reasoning to him, “you’re good for her. You’re good to her. You listen to her. You hear her. From the moment you met her, you were absolutely infatuated with her.”

“Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you talked to her in a week?”

She hears him let out a deep sigh, swearing she could hear him sniffle as if he were crying. “Because I’m in love with her. I love Y/N. And I know that the more I try to pull her back to me, the harder she’s going to push away.”

“Why do you love her?” Evelina asks, grabbing her computer, an idea popping into her head as she balances her phone between her shoulder and her ear, pulling up a blank document.

He scoffs, starting, “Her way of relaxing herself is by ranting about obscure facts that no sane person would actually care enough to read, let alone commit to memory. And she absolutely lights up when she tells you this stuff. She has this, this soft smile that still somehow reaches her eyes when she’s talking. At the end of her rant she makes that face where she scrunches her nose because she thinks it’s embarrassing that she just spewed all those facts to you.”

“Keep going,” Evelina instructs him, her fingers flying over her keyboard as he talks.

“Are you typing?”

“I’m working on...work. Keep going, I’m listening,” she says fast, hoping that he wouldn’t question her.

“I like how she dresses, and I know you think she doesn’t have good style but hear me out: she dresses how she’s comfortable. She doesn’t dress up often because it’s not something she wants to do so it’s not something she does do. But, fuck, when I see her dressed up in the slightest, she looks beautiful. She looks great in anything she wears.”

Evelina couldn’t help but smile as she continued to type, not even needing to egg Matthew on to keep spilling his guts to her, his voice getting more confident with everything he listed. “Have you ever noticed how she doesn’t hold a pen correctly? What was it, her grandmother taught her to write outside of school so when she went to school and already knew her teachers saw that so they didn’t focus on her and catch that she was holding it wrong? So now she’s constantly playing with it to distract herself from that fact, which makes no sense, but whatever. And she has ink all over her hands all the time because she keeps twirling it between her fingers and dropping it.”

“She’ll joke that it’s ‘abstract art.’” Evelina cuts in, both of them laughing.

“Come on, even you love that. She’s so stubborn. Once she gets any idea in her head, she won’t give it up because she knows she’s right. It drives me crazy.”

“Mercury,” Evelina mutters.

“What was that?”

“We found the card that you wrote with the jerseys,” she explains, peeling her shoulder away from her face and holding the phone with her hand for a moment, “You call her Mercury because she drives you crazy.”

Matthew stays silent for a moment, forgetting that you were supposed to see him in Los Angeles against the Kings that Friday. “Are you still coming to that?”

“You mean is she still coming with me?” He doesn’t answer again, leaving Evelina to fill the empty space in the conversation. “I’m going to try to get her there. I want her there. And I know she wants to be there, too.”

“I remember the night we met,” Matthew says, changing subjects, not wanting to think about the possibility of not seeing you at that game, “it was just a normal night out with the guys and then two girls who we hadn’t seen before walked in. And normally we wouldn’t think anything of it, but,” he exhales, “I don’t know. The entire energy of the bar changed. All of us felt it. And then the two of you walked up to us. You were fucking annoying,” he jokes, earning a scoff from Evelina.

“Watch yourself Tkachuk, don’t make me mad right now.”

Rolling his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see him, he continues, “The guys loved you immediately, it was like you had known them for years the way you fit in. But then there was Y/N. She’s your exact opposite: you were this loud force of nature but she was quiet. There was just something about her that I had to get to know her. I knew she was different around people she’s comfortable with and I just had to be one of those people. Couldn’t even tell you why.”

Matthew keeps talking, Evelina typing as he keeps telling her about his feelings. In a lull in your music, you can hear her laugh from your room, thinking to yourself that you were glad at least one of you was having fun with whatever it was they were doing. You finally sit up, having been sprawled on your back on your bed staring at your ceiling trying to think of something, anything that wasn’t Matthew. You look around your room, trying to ground yourself from the pain you felt from not hearing from him, not wanting to reach out to him to begin with. You see your computer on your dresser, forgetting that you put it there once you got to your room, getting up to put something on from Hulu.

Out of the corner of your eye, in the reflection of your mirror, you see a black sleeve sticking out from the rest of the clothing that was hanging on the back of your door. You put your computer on your desk, flipping through the clothing to see what it was. You pull it off whatever hanger it was on, a wool winter pea coat, definitely not yours.

Because it was Matthew’s. When you first met him, you were so comfortable around each other. You could go over his place with ease, not feeling awkward when you fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, feeling completely normal when you woke up the next morning and used his bathroom as if it were your own, eventually keeping some stuff there for when you did stay over, no matter how little use it served you the night after the charity event.

He was the same at your place. He has stuff around your room everywhere, you never really blinking an eye at the pair of his sweatpants and the tshirt that were somewhere in your drawers for when he slept over. Not even a year ago, he left in the sweatshirt, the coat he wore the night before left on the couch without you realizing it, making its home on the back of your door only to get shuffled right up against the wood as you hung more and more clothing in front of it.

You walk over to your bed, not taking your eyes off the coat. You sit down on your bed, hearing some sort of jingling sound from somewhere in the coat. Digging through the pockets, you can feel something metal in the front right one, a piece of paper poorly folded around it. Should you be going through the pockets of someone else's coat?

Who cared at this point? You take out the contents of the pocket: a key and a receipt. Your heart was racing, having a feeling about what both of these things meant. The receipt was dated the night you went out to the bar when you moved to Calgary, the night you met Matthew and the rest of the boys. Matthew’s name was on the bottom signaling that it was his, a few drinks circled by who you assumed was him.

Those were the drinks he bought for you that night, the drinks he would always ask you if you wanted befor you could get a word in first, ‘vodka sour = lemon,’ and something else you couldn’t quite make out written on the side. The next time you were out with them, a vodka sour was the drink he bought you because you told him you liked lemon but hadn’t found a drink that you liked with it in it. That was the drink he bought you the night of the charity event.

On the back of the receipt, again in Matthew’s handwriting, ‘my home is your home, Y/N.’ In your hand was a key, with a lemon charm hanging off of it.

It was a key to his apartment.

You couldn’t begin to fathom the emotions that washed over you in that moment, knowing that he was going to give you his key, probably before you even thought of giving him one for your place. Fuck, you didn’t even give him one, Evelina did. You didn’t even think about it, and there he was, a key for you, planned out, thoughtful, meaningful. You felt like crying because of sweet it was.

You pick up your phone, pulling up Matthew’s contact to call him. Your finger hovers over the button. All you had to do was press the button, and you would talk to him for the first time in a week. Before you can tell yourself no, you hit the button, a picture of the two of you coming up on your screen, ‘Matthew, calling,’ rolling over your phone in bold white text.

You didn’t even know what you were going to say, holding the phone to your ear. Actually, you knew what you wanted to say, hearing the phone ring, and ring, and ring. It wouldn’t stop ringing.

It was a sign. One that you shouldn’t be calling him, hanging up immediately and blocking his number so that he can’t try to call you back. If you were meant to be with him, then he would have answered when you wanted to talk to him most. He would have called you first.

Every emotion you felt turned into anger. You wanted him to call you. You wanted him to be there for you, because if this were happening with another guy, Matthew would be the one sitting there on the bed with you talking you down when this hypothetical man didn’t answer.

“Mother fucker!” you scream, throwing the key against your door, letting it drop to the ground, wishing it was smashed.

Evelina hears you, hoping that the conversation with Matthew would end soon so that she can go check on you when he says, “What about how she’s always so quick with her chirps? I have never met someone who’s so fast with a comeback. She’s better than any guy in the NHL. Better than anyone,” Matthew says, still on the phone with Evelina, his voice getting quiet. “Better than anyone,” he repeats himself.

“I’ve known Y/N’s last two boyfriends and between her and Thomas recounting the high school boyfriend, I feel like I knew the third,” she says, partially regretting bringing up Thomas’s name, “You really love her?”

“Haven’t I said that already?” he snaps.

“Yes, but I want you to say it again. She is my best friend and has had plenty of people say that they are in love with her. You’re the first one she’s been in love with back, though.”

Matthew’s breath hitches at those words. If Evelina was saying it about you, then it had to be true he figured. “Of course I do.”

“Ok,” is all Evelina can say, leaving the two of them in silence for a few seconds.

“Uh, bye, I guess,” Matthew says, hoping the awkward silence that fell between them would end.

“I’ll text you later about something. Bye,” Evelina hangs up the phone, letting out a long sigh before getting off the floor. Wandering to your room, she knocks on your door, waiting for any sign of life from you to tell her she could come in. “What is this?” she asks after stepping on the key, handing it back to you, plopping herself down on your bed..

“Matthew was going to give me a key to his apartment,” you tell her, waving it around in the air.

“When?” You shrug, honestly not sure how long ago the coat was left there, not sure how long it had been in his pocket in the first place. “I need to ask you something,” she says.

Not really paying attention, that stupid key in your hand, you answer her anyway, “What?”

“Do you like him?”

“Him who?”

Evelina rolls her eyes at you, telling you who even though she really didn’t need to. “Matthew.”

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend besides you.”

“Do you love him?”

“Why hasn’t he called?” you ask, quietly, her instead.

Evelina sighs, “He probably wants to give you space,” she tells you, even though she knows the real answer. “He just wants you to go to him when you’re ready. You know he would never push you to do something you don’t want to.”

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, neither of you sure what to say. Would Matthew want you to reach out first? If he did, why didn’t he answer the phone just now? “Y/N,” Evelina presses, you knowing that she wanted you to respond to the question you intentionally left unanswered.

You pick up the receipt that was beside you, the key still in your hand, wondering how he could have thought yo give you the key before you even thought about it yourself. And why did he never give it to you? “Ev. I said no. He’s just like Thomas. He loves me and I don’t feel the same way, and I’ve lost him just like I lost Thomas,” you insist.

“You didn’t lose him,” she tries to reassure you. “This is going to work out.”

“How do you know that, Ev? He means everything to me. You and him are the two people outside of my family that I care the most about. What does it say about our friendship that we get into some stupid fight and now we don’t talk for a week?”

“Y/N,” she lets out a small laugh, “He loves you.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn the key over in your hand for what felt like the thousandth time. “If he did he would be here right now. He would have called, he would have done something to show me that he cared about me.”

“Y/N,” she tries.

“No, Ev. Can we just drop it?” you beg, reaching over to your nightstand and throwing the key and receipt in the drawer. “We have to work on our presentation, we leave tomorrow, and we still need to finish packing.”

The rest of the night was spent by the two of you not saying more than monosyllabic sentences to each other while you worked on the finishing touches of your presentation, packing the last of what you needed for the trip and triing to get your mind off Matthew. You zip your bag up, satisfied that you were finished when you see the jersey Matthew gave you sitting there on your floor, in a pile of other clothing you meant to put away.

You pick it up, like you did the jacket that was now sitting on the couch, a note laying on top of it for Evelina to give it back to Matthew. Sighing, you fold up the jersey, leaving your room to go put it with the coat. You didn’t want it. You had no need for it. All you could do was let it go.

You couldn’t sleep the night, any time you closed your eyes and managed to doze off, Matthew’s image flashed through your mind. Every single memory you had with him seemed to be manifesting themselves in your dreams, unable to shake him no matter what you did.The nights you spent together on the couch watching whatever was on TV, teaching him to make your favorite cookies, even though he burned them to a crisp no matter how many times he would check the oven, the two of you going Christmas shopping for your families, buying each other the dumbest gifts you could find to see who you laugh harder. Not a single bad memory came up, besides the last time you saw him. Was everything with Matthew actually that perfect? Or were you blocking things out?

Your alarm goes off but you were already awake for it, groaning loudly prompting Evelina to come running to your room. “Are you ok?” she asks in a panic. “Babe, did you sleep at all last night?”

You didn’t even want to know how awful you looked, just hoping that you would be able to cover it up with makeup and get some semblance of sleep while on the plane even if it were only a three hour flight. “Maybe an hour?” you guess, even though you were sure that was an over exaggeration. “Whatever. We have to go get ready.” You get out of your bed and storm to the bathroom, closing the door before Evelina could even say anything.

You looked like you had been hit by a truck, hating how you came across as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red, the bags underneath them so rich in color they could probably be designer, your skin discolored like you were sick. You would need makeup and a miracle to fix yourself at this point.

“Y/N?” Evelina says, opening the door without you inviting her in. “I found the coat and jersey.” You make eye contact with her through the mirror, pursing your lips and nodding as you get back to putting on your makeup. “You really don’t want them?” You shake your head, swallowing hard. If you kept them, then they would tempt you to go back to him. Getting rid of them was the only thing you could do. “I put them in my room for now, ok?” You nod again, still not saying a word.

“I’m worried about you,” Evelina says. “Even with those other guys you’ve broken up with, they have never left you this broken.”

“I’m over it. I’m just tired.”

“We both know you’re lying about this. You know how you feel. You know that you’re in love with him, you always have been.”

You put your makeup down on the counter, staring at the powder in it’s container. “I can’t say it.”

Evelina takes a step back. “What?” she asks, surprised by your response.

“Thomas said he loved me, and that was it. The friendship was over and we haven’t seen him in years. If I say it to Matthew, if I admit it at all, then it’s going to be done. It already is done and I never said it.”

Evelina could feel her heart breaking, trying everything she could not to start crying in front of you, worrying that it would set you off as well. “You know that’s not true.”

“I do in my head, but not in my heart,” you say, letting out a laugh, “That sounds like something from a stupid Hallmark movie.” Evelina lets out a small laugh with you as you continue. “Can we just drop it this weekend? We just have to get through this conference. And get through a weekend with our boss.”

“Ok. I’m gonna go finish getting ready, then,” Evelina says, backing out of the bathroom.

By the time both of you are finished getting ready, your boss had texted you that you needed to be outside waiting for him in the next ten minutes when they pulled up with the car that all of you were taking. “Ok, last check. Boarding passes?” you start your list.

“Mine is the front pocket of my bag, yours are in the folder you have with your computer.”

“Passport?”

“Same places as the boarding passes for both of us.”

“Computers?”

“Side pocket of your bag, middle of my bag.”

“Chargers?”

“Somewhere in my bag I have a phone charger and a computer charger for both of us.”

You keep going through the long list, both of you knowing where the other kept everything. You freeze when you get to the last thing on the list, written in Evelina’s hand writing instead of your own. “Jerseys.”

“I have mine. Yours is in my room.”

“Good,” you say, almost completely forgetting about the game. You shake your head as if to physically shake the thought of Matthew from your mind. “Got your keys?” you ask Evelina, her waving them in your face as you grab yours, too. “Let’s go then.”

The two of you lug your stuff towards the door, opening it and ready to leave when you see him there. “Matthew?” you say, surprised to see him standing in your doorway, a bouquet of flowers in hand, a guilty expression on his face as he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “What are you doing here?” you ask in shock, feeling your heart start to race.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, debating on stepping into your apartment or not.

“No. We’re leaving for the airport now, we don’t have time,” you tell him, trying to move past him.

“Come on, we need to talk,” he insists, putting his arm against the frame of your door to stop you from moving past him.

“Why should I listen to you?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Because I love you.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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alilbihh · 4 years

Text

woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

Supposedly

A/N: this was a request sent in that inspired me a lot for some reason and i figured i’d do it cause i haven’t done any demon!h and demon!reader in a while so i gave it a go and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out :D enjoy!

Anonymous: This may be too cutesy for them, but do demon!harry and demon!reader ever cuddle after they fuck? Or they fall asleep separately but wake up in each other’s arms and just try to play it off awkwardly

word count: 4.5k

content: some angst but nothing major, fluff, mentions of nudity, and some cocky asshole demon!h because that’s his Brand laidese and germs!!

///

Despite the emotionless, unattached agenda demons tend to uphold, let it be known that Harry didn’t really mind what was happening at the moment.

On the surface level, from an outside perspective, this definitely doesn’t fit the bill for what is expected from his kind. Cuddling is an action reserved usually for real couples that have a sentimental bond, which he and Y/N are very much not. He’s not even quite sure what they are, really. Their relationship— if he can even call it that— was born out of three very important, adequately limiting notions: a mutual understanding, the desire for a convenient warm body, and sheer boredom.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The mutual understanding was that neither of them wanted a genuine significant other, given what they are, so it was established that feelings were to be kept out of this arrangement completely. Emotions lead to complications, complications lead to a falling out, and a falling out would be inexplicably messy considering that they’ve shared the same friend group for well over a decade now and neither are willing to let a booty call mishap ruin that. Feelings stay dormant, end of discussion.

The desire for a convenient warm body is pretty self-explanatory— Harry and Y/N had known each other for a while now so there was no annoying getting to know you phase, they both agreed that they found the other attractive, and they both live relatively close to one another so it was a pleasant set-up with minimal issues. Harry could shoot her a text at three in the morning and she’d be at his place in less than five minutes, or vice versa. There was no spending hours at a bar trying to pick someone up, no time wasted learning what the other person likes and dislikes, and certainly no fretting over birth control tactics to keep up appearances— they were both dead, which is a morbid advantage but an advantage nonetheless. It was easy access, easy fun, and easy clean-up.

The sheer boredom aspect was just that. It had started on a drunken night out with friends, where— by a series of fortunate events— Harry and Y/N had ended up together post-bender, sitting in his car in the parking lot of a club. They had been waiting for him to sober up to drive them home and she had made a passing comment about not wanting to turn in for the night quite yet. He’d blinked at her sluggishly, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a rouge strand of hair behind her ear because he was getting secondhand irritation from it tickling her nose. He’d spoken up, voice numb and thick from the alcohol. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Y/N had glanced over at him, eyes half-lidded as they had raked down his lean tattooed chest, his unbuttoned silk sheer shirt leaving very little to the imagination. When she’d pinned her gaze back up to his, her eyes had inked black as they’d flitted to the palm of his hand for a second, a suggestive glint washing across their reflective surface as the corner of her pretty mouth had quirked. “I have a decent idea of exactly what I wanna do.”

And now here they were, with many restless, heated nights, ruined bed frames, and rumpled sheets littering their past, as well as their immediate future.

And here Harry was, slowly blinking awake after one of those said nights, cruel scratches itching across his back as they finish up healing, an empty content still bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

His lashes flutter open as he inhales a large sigh, flinching at the bright sunlight filtering its way through the lightly swaying curtains. The only sound in the room is the soft thrum of the air vent at the far corner of the ceiling, alongside Y/N’s soft, rhythmic breathing.

In his barely conscious state, Harry goes to do what he always does the morning after he’s spent a night doing Y/N’s back in: he goes to stretch. He does most of the work more times than not— courtesy of his dominant tendencies— but she always gives him a run for his soul. Anything he dishes out, she usually returns with the same amount of energy and will. Last night hadn’t been any different and the ache at the bottom of his spine and along his inner thighs proves it.

Harry instinctively goes to lift his arms above his head, reaching for the top of the headboard to use it as support. He is stopped cold when he realizes a foreign weight is keeping one of his arms pinned to the bed.

He knuckles at his eyes with his free hand, ridding them of the last residues of sleep, and then drags his palm up his face and through his mussed curls to comb away his disorientation. He cranes his sore neck to the side and downwards, eyebrows jolting up in surprise when he’s met with a wall of fluffy, tangled, mandarin-scented hair.

Harry lifts his head up slightly, neck straining to see over the back of Y/N’s wild halo to make sure that the image before him isn’t some type of exhaustion-induced mirage.

It’s odd for her to be so near him— she usually likes her space; says that being too close in proximity for too long is irritating. It’s why she usually sleeps with her back to him at the other end of the bed, and why he’s gotten accustomed to giving her the majority of the mattress space. Despite the fact that it’s his flat, she’s stubborn, hard-headed, argumentative and frankly, he’d rather just forfeit the extra leg room instead of bickering for thirty minutes just to end up losing anyways. It’s gentlemanly, in a sense. Minimal, but it’s something.

Given Y/N’s general disgust for excess contact, it’s no shock as to why Harry is utterly baffled right now. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure she’d fallen asleep all the way across the expanse of his sheets so how did they willingly end up here? How did they end up with her bare back pressed to his chest, her legs intertwined between his, and his arm wrapped almost protectively around her waist, wedged between her hips and the bed.

Harry would never outright admit it but...he’s not necessarily mad about it.

As he lays there for a few more seconds, absorbing the situation with an expression of pensive dismay pinching his face, he slowly comes to terms that he’s actually starting to enjoy this.

The warmth of her smooth skin gradually undoes the knot of confusion between his brows. The sensation of her back flushing against his chest as it rises and falls with her breathing erases the unease dipping the corners of his stinging mouth. The way she’s started to unconsciously rub her calves gently up and down his own makes the last traces of unsettlement melt off his face, replaced by an appearance of subtle affection, lips parting in blank wonder.

Harry relaxes back into the plushness of the mattress, eyes remaining glued to a blissfully ignorant Y/N. His thoughts are scurrying around the inside of his skull, attempting to get accustomed with this new experience, having a difficult time arranging into place. He’s aware that he seems to be taking easily to what’s unfolding, but there’s an unsteady bubble inflating in his chest. He knows that if he lets himself dwell in this too much, it’ll end up biting him in the ass later, most likely as a wave of undealt emotions and crippling loneliness; that’s baggage he’s spent too many years compartmentalizing for it to all just come bursting out.

All those decades of locking away his issues are in danger of resurfacing, and all for some harmless hugging? Doesn’t seem like a fair negotiation, and he knows plenty about negotiations.

However, he can’t seem to make himself pull away.

Especially not when Y/N suddenly shifts in her sleep, turning onto her other side so that she's now facing him, snuggling deeper into his body and tucking her head into the junction between his neck and collarbones. Her annoyingly soft, hot lips smear against his throat, settling into the dip at the center where a pulse would normally be present. The feeling of her exhales washing across his cold skin sends a wringing down his spine, a hushed “fuck…” escaping his dry mouth as the warmth behind the gesture spreads upwards, spilling redness into his cheeks and along the shells of his ears. Her hands come up as loose fists, pressing between his pectorals lightly, her own naked chest flushing against her forearms.

Surprisingly enough, her supple chest isn’t at the forefront of his mind at this instant. Instead, he’s focused on the intimacy they’re sharing in this moment, unbeknownst to her and stressfully beknownst to him.

Harry’s free hand acts of its own accord, coasting upwards towards her face and moving her chin over a bit until his palm can comfortably nurse her jaw. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip slowly, every ridge and bump sending miniature shots of electricity surging through his veins, his eyes falling shut at this strange form of pleasure he hasn’t felt in ages.

Y/N just looks so beautiful like that, in such a vulnerable state that he knows for sure no one else has ever gotten to witness— at least not in a very long time.

No one else has gotten to see the way her lashes sit atop her cheekbones so delicately, her face soothed by sleep, not a wrinkle or grimace in sight. She looks as if she were made of porcelain, her features nothing short of perfect. No one has gotten to witness the way she mumbles a handful of incoherent, groggy words, her mind lost in a meaningless dream, or the way her nose twitches in the cutest manner as a draft from the air conditioning runs across it, causing her to sniffle. No one has seen the way she gives into his touch, her face cradling deeper into his hand, chasing the uncommon gentleness behind his demeanor and it hadn’t occurred to Harry that maybe— just maybe— she’s craving this type of innocent bliss, too, though he’s certain she would never confess to it if she were awake.

Harry runs his hand down the slope of her bruised neck and across the curve of her shoulder, tracing the teeth marks he had left the night before. The tip of his fingers follow down the incline of her torso, wriggling around her side, his wrist resting upon the faint dip of her waist. He cups her lower back with his large hand, borrowing a moment to appreciate the way it fits flawlessly. He then leans forward some to give his reach more length, his digits carefully trailing up the middle of her spine, the action timid and tranquil.

He looks down at her from over the tops of his colored cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he continues to lull his fingers up and down her back. Y/N releases a shy whimper of gratitude, her whole body bathing in a light shiver. She does like it.

Harry swallows thickly, moving away a few locks of hair off her shoulder with the tip of his nose, glassy jade irises studying her facial expressions to make sure she’s still asleep. He puckers his tingling lips, pressing a bundle of chaste kisses to the fading bite marks on her staticy skin. If his heart still beat, he feels like it would be glowing right now.

He tilts his chin up, settling it on top of her head and sighing in satisfaction as he feels her steady breathing wash across his Adam’s Apple, her flyaway hairs tickling his nostrils.

He decides to stay like that for a while, just basking in her company within this tender setting that he knows he probably won’t receive again anytime soon. Harry lays there, limbs woven between Y/N’s as his black-polished nails scratch gently at her back, swimming in his numb thoughts.

After what feels like hours— but is realistically just ten minutes— he goes to gingerly shift the arm stuck beneath her body, trying to regain some circulation. Y/N stirs, resulting in him freezing in place to prevent a mishap, his mouth finding her warm forehead and placing a lingering kiss between her brows. It eases her.

Harry waits five minutes before trying again.

He manages to escape this time around, lifting his arm above his head and twisting out the cramp in his wrist, then folding it behind his head. He allows his eyes to shut once again, intent on spending a bit longer milling in this bubble of domestic peace.

His plan is shattered to pieces by an alarmed, angry sentence.

“What the fuck?”

His eyelids fly open, ice materializing across his entire nervous system.

Shit.

Y/N launches upwards, sitting up rigidly with her face contorted in startled repulsion, clutching his blood red sheets to her chest as her hair stands up in tousled tuffs. “What in Lucifer’s red, barren hell are you doing?”

Harry now has two distinctive routes to pick from: confess to partaking in the unorthodox cuddling, or fake it and say he was asleep as well and that it had all been an unintentional mistake.

It’s hardly a choice.

He flings his arms away from the other demon’s body as if sickened, shooting up into a seated position and slouching back onto his palms, a look of agitated horror plastered across his sleepy, handsome features. “What do you mean what am I doing? What the fuck were you doing?”

Y/N blinks at him as if he’d just stabbed her between the eyes with a demon blade, irises momentarily flitting black with nerves, the area under her waterline webbing with dark veins. “What do you mean what was I doing? You were the one with your arms around me!”

Harry narrows his sight at her pointedly, thick brows furrowing with faux resentment. “You were the one with your head snuggled into my neck and your hands on my chest!”

“You were the one kissing my forehead!”

“You were the one rubbing up on my legs!”

“Because you were close to me!”

“Because you rolled over here!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what?” Harry snaps sarcastically, drawing forward and crossing his arms over his chest adamantly. “Did an angel sneak in and place you there? Because as I recall, you always sleep on the left side of the bed, so what were you doing on the right?”

Harry’s accurate counter renders Y/N speechless, her mouth parting quizzically as if waiting for a response to magically appear. Her eyebrows cinch down begrudgingly, the gears in her head spinning on overdrive, trying to piece together an appropriate rebuttal. Her grasp tightens on the blanket covering her bare body. “Well, I...I don’t know—I don’t think I—”

Harry cocks his head to the side expectantly, loose curls falling across his forehead as he shrugs his brows with a condescending air. He mimics her with a high-pitched voice. “Well, I— I don’t know— I—I don’t think I—I—I—”

Y/N’s face goes sour as heat floods her cheeks, fire threatening to spark across the tips of her sizzling ears. She yanks the sheets off of him, holding them with one hand as she uses the other to begin crawling across the bed towards the edge, a haphazard defense thrown over her shoulder. “Shut up! It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry scoffs in dark amusement, not even bothering to cover himself up. He bites into his cheek to keep from exploding into a round of triumphant laughter; he can’t believe he managed to turn the tides so quickly. “Oh, so you admit it was you, then?”

Y/N dismounts the atrociously tall bed, stumbling over the long linens as she desperately searches for her clothes. “No! I’m just saying that whatever happened, it didn’t happen intentionally!”

“Obviously.” The brunette demon snorts, shaking his head for subtle emphasis, crossing his ankles offhandedly and returning both arms to the place where one had been prior— tucked behind his head casually. “What do you think we are, mortal?”

“Of course not.” Y/N agrees quickly— a little too quickly, which hints to Harry that she might be trying to cover something up. Perhaps she wasn’t as disgusted by this as she had led on…

He watches as his friend— he uses the term lightly— shuffles around his room, peering at the floor in an determined quest to find her jeans, underwear, and black lace blouse. Or maybe she’s just hellbent on avoiding eye contact with him.

“Y/N…” His tone has lost its arrogantly mocking edge, softened by what she can only decode as...guilt?

She ignores it and doesn’t answer, nearly passing out in relief when she spots her panties and bra hanging off the doorknob to his closet. She snatches them swiftly, panning her gaze around the rest of the room for her leftover clothes, spotting them in a pile sticking out from underneath the opposite corner of the bed. They’d probably gotten kicked there in the heat of the moment.

Harry repeats himself a little louder, adding onto his comment to try and stifle some of the embarrassment radiating from her. “Y/N, you don’t have to leave. You usually stay for breakfast.”

Y/N scoops up her outfit, settling it into the crook of her right elbow and squaring her shoulders as if ready to brace a hellhound. Their gazes lock and he feels his stomach flop when he sees the vulnerability she’s obviously trying to hide. She’s good at it, he’ll give her that, but if he stares intently enough, he can just make out the traces of conflicted longing leaking into the disinterested facade around her pupils.

“It’s fine, Harry.” She sighs heavily, her tone drastically different from the unkempt girl that had been floundering about just seconds ago. She’s now calm, cool, collected, and scaringly so. “I have somewhere to be later. Meeting someone to close a deal.”

She shrugs one shoulder indifferently, grabbing a handful of the sheets arranged around her figure and pulling away, dropping the bedspread at his feet and leaving herself completely nude.

And there she is, the Y/N he so well knows. The same one that uses sex appeal as a shield.

She’s managed to spackle the cracks that had appeared in her typical barrier of heartlessness, her confidence and ease leveling off once again. She places her clothes on top of the crumpled sheets, picking out her cheeky bright red panties from the heap and working them up her tempting legs. Harry can’t help but notice the hickies covering her inner thighs, as well as the finger prints staining her hips.

Y/N catches him ogling, smirking to herself now that she has her composure back in order. She hooks her index finger around one of the straps in her bra, lifting it up and bouncing the lace lingerie in front of him teasingly. She raises her eyebrows at her lover provokingly, a sultry air pouting her lips. “Think you can help a girl out?”

Harry licks at his slightly chapped lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the article hanging off her hand to the sly grin decorating the edges of her pretty mouth. When he speaks, it’s low and thicker than usual, accent heavy. “Of course, pet.”

His legs thunk emptily off the bed and onto the floor, a small grunt catching the back of his throat as he pushes himself up onto his feet. He is most definitely sore.

His footsteps are soft against the carpeted ground, faltering as he rounds the corner of the mattress.

Y/N eyes his every move, suckling her bottom lip at the way his muscles flex and contract under his sun-kissed skin. She doesn’t let herself wander below his waist though; she’s never one to pass up flaunting her power of will.

Harry stops about a foot away, taking the bra from she is offering and holding it out for her to slip into. She does so at a mind-numbing pace, her toes curling as she feels his warm fingertips running the material up her arms and onto their designated spot on her shoulders. He tugs at the hooks gently, pinning them into place and tucking the tag in, exactly how he’s seen her do countless of times before.

He then runs the palms of his hands up her arms, sighing softly at the silky sensation of her skin and giving her shoulders a dismissive squeeze. “All done.”

Y/N turns on her heels to face him, looking up innocently through her lashes, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

Her playfully seductive personality is unbearably contagious, seen in how Harry returns her action with a coy scoff and a simper of his own. “For you, always.”

“Well…” Y/N turns her lower half to the side, showing him her ass for significance, which is covered in the unmistakable print of his hand and rings. “I wouldn’t say always.”

Harry’s pursed lips break into an even wider shit-eating grin, his cheeky laughter echoing across the walls of the apartment, his arms absentmindedly folding across his broad chest. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s one-sided, can you?”

He points towards his neck, stretching his chin upwards so that she gets a good view of all the fading love bites she’d left there the night before.

Y/N’s giggles match his. “Touché.”

Harry rummages through his drawers as she finishes getting dressed, shimmying into her tight jeans and throwing her shirt on, finger-combing her hair into a decent state. He comes up with a pair of maroon briefs, slipping them on as he walks back towards her, letting the elastic band snap into place against his lower abdomen.

The two demons with benefits stand before each other, Y/N with her braided black sandals swung over her shoulders and Harry with his hands fixed on his hips nonchalantly.

“You really can’t stay for breakfast?” Harry inquiries one last time, lifting his eyebrows curiously. “I’m making those cinnamon bun waffles you like so much.”

Y/N sighs grandly, clutching her chest dramatically as if it physically hurts her to decline his offer. “I’d love to, but work is work. Don’t really have a say.”

Her friend nods in understanding, well aware of the truth behind her words. “It is what it is, then.”

“However...” Her sudden continuation makes his head perk. She reaches up, carding her fingers into his messy curls and combing them back from his face, tucking a handful of rebellious ringlets behind his small ears and giving him one final self-assured smile. “Do y’think you could maybe save me two and I can come pick them up tonight?”

Harry cranes his head to the side, placing a slow peck to the palm of her hand and then biting into her skin jokingly, a certain lewdness painted all over the deed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great.” Y/N quips happily, wrapping his curls around her knuckles roughly and hauling him in for a sloppy, dirty kiss that leaves his teeth numb and his face buzzing.

Once she breaks their mouths, lightly panting with her skin a darker shade than before, he has to blink three times in order to reign himself back in. His ability to form coherent sentences right now is about as useful as alphabet soup; he just gives her a jerky nod instead.

Y/N wipes at his swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, giving his cheek a playful pat. “I’ll see you then, H.”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away as she leaves, his bedroom door clicking shut behind her, the soft, distant thunk of his front door accompanying the sound a bit later.

Fuck, that was something is the first comprehensible thought that registers in his mind.

It was absolutely something and who knows how differently it would have gone if he had admitted giving into the weakness they had both sworn off of.

That notion haunts him for a while— the idea that he could have driven her away for good if he had confessed that his emotions had bleed through their arrangement. Sure, it had only been this once, but Harry has a horrible gut-wrenching feeling that he’s unlocked a box deep in the back of his skull that won’t easily be chained down again.

He thinks this over again and again as he prepares his morning meal, the looming uncertainties of it all causing him to check out of reality here and there, resulting in a few burn marks across his hands and two charred waffles in the bin.

As Harry finally sits down to enjoy the food that had nearly not made it to his plate, he finds himself mentally running through the awkward encounter he and Y/N had faced this morning. He can’t stop himself from dwelling on the expression he had seen crack through her eyes earlier— one that showed she seemed to be feeling the same kind of emotional turmoil he was. It opens too many unanswered questions for their future and he hates himself for being so worried when nothing had truly happened. For all he knows, it could have just been a trick of the sunlight that had been streaming into the room. He’s getting himself out of sorts for nothing.

However, as he goes in on a forkful of his cinnamon-glazed pastry, one pesky detail suddenly launches him into a coughing fit.

It was so minuscule he had missed it the first fifty times he had run through the events, but it had decided to prick him in the brain now, the weak dam of reassurance he had built crumbling to ashes.

After Y/N had woken up, saw what was happening, and their fight had ensued, she had made a comment about how Harry had kissed her forehead.

On the surface, it had seemed unimportant because yes, that is exactly what he had done. The problem arose when he remembered that she had been dead asleep when he had done that.

Supposedly.

He had gone to remove his arm from below her body, she had fussed a bit, he had pressed his lips to her forehead to ease her, and she had remained asleep for a while longer until he decided to finish removing his arm. That final motion was what had awoken her.

Supposedly.

If she had been unconscious the whole time they were cuddling, then how did she know he’d kissed her?

#demon!reader #demon!y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty fic #harry styles #harry styles au #writing au #demon au #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #1d one shot #1d fanfiction

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thebigqueer · 3 years

Text

Solangelo - "Edging Closer and Closer to Doom" - One-Shot

Summary: Nico and Will visit Percy and Annabeth to get advice before they leave for Tartarus.

Word Count: 4843

SPOILERS: Tower of Nero; TW: brief mention of guns (no actual violence though); trauma

Read on AO3

“Nico, where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

“Is it somewhere romantic?”

Nico turns to Will, stopping both the boys in their tracks. A small smile twists over his mouth. “Well, we can go somewhere afterwards.”

It’s a warm day in August, and Will wants nothing more than to stay here at camp and enjoy the sun with his boyfriend. The month is coming to a close, along with their freedom, and Will thinks it’s important to enjoy the time they have left together.

Since the clash with Nero, Nico’s dreams have been getting worse. He’s been sleeping in later and later, trying to get snippets of the voice, to analyze where and who it’s coming from. Will has been getting worried about him; after some time at camp, Nico’s body seemed to fill into itself and an olive sheen returned to his skin, but only in the past few weeks all that work to improve himself appeared to be for nothing. His dark circles inked into his eyelids and the tan of his skin leached away as his fears took control of him again. His muscles turned to bones, hardening and poking against his skin. He isn’t even able to eat properly.

How are either of them supposed to survive Tartarus when they’re both getting robbed of their health?

“If we’re not going on a romantic date,” Will says, placing his hand over Nico’s wrist, “then I don’t want it.”

Nico raises an eyebrow and pulls closer, leaning his head back to properly look at Will. “It’s to prepare us for Tartarus. We need it.”

A block of ice settles in Will’s chest, freezing him down to his core. All the giddiness that he felt just moments ago melts away. He frowns. “Oh. Okay. Are we leaving for Tartarus right now?”

“Not for Tartarus.” A small smile balances across Nico’s face. “We’re just going to a place.”

“What is this place?” Will asks, seriousness slipping into his voice. “Are we going to Paris?”

Nico shakes his head. “No, we’re not going for the prophecy yet. Just… I need to show you something before we leave for real.”

Will sighs. “Okay. Are we going right now?”

Nico nods. “I’m going to shadow-travel us. You have Kit-Kats in your bag?”

“I can’t believe you think I wouldn’t. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and pulls Will along, leading the two of them to the shadow of a nearby tree. “Let’s hope I don’t bring us to Venezuela again.”

Will laughs softly, the sound of it evaporating in the August heat. “Well, I didn’t mind being covered in cheese.”

“Yeah, well, at least it matched with your aesthetic. Cheese Head.”

About five minutes later, Nico and Will find themselves in a much different setting than the camp. The air here is much warmer than Long Island - it pours over both the boys’ skin and immediately coats them in sweat.

Looking around, Will realizes there are buildings surrounding them. Some people mill about, mostly teenagers and young adults with books in their hand and backpacks slung over their shoulder. College age. An aura of maturity lingers in the warm air, and suddenly Will feels too young to be here. Too inexperienced.

Nico leads the two out of the shadows and into the bright sun, and Will wants nothing more than to crawl right back into the darkness. Anything is better than this heat.

As the two stumble around, looking out of place in such a grown-up world, Will asks, “Where are we?”

Nico leads them towards a large building, where some young adults stand around and talk to each other. Some of them turn to look at Will and Nico, but for the most part none of them seem to mind. Dark circles linger under each of their eyes.

“We’re in New Rome,” Nico responds just as they enter the building. A cool wave washes over Will and he sighs outwardly in relief. The heat outside was almost unbearable.

But then Nico’s words settle into his mind, and he stops in his tracks. “New Rome?” he squeaks. “Why?”

“We’re going to meet someone.” Nico’s voice tightens with reluctance, as if he doesn’t want to give too much away, but Will already understands who they’re going to meet.

The son of Hades takes hold of Will’s wrist again and leads them up a set of stairs, despite the blond’s attempts at slowing them down. It appears that despite Nico’s lack of nutrition, he’s still able to drag Will along if he’s really into it.

“We’re meeting Percy and Annabeth?” Will asks, astonished. He almost trips over the next step as Nico’s pace quickens at the mention of their names.

When he doesn’t answer, Will knows he’s right. “Why them? I mean, I know they’ve been to Tartarus, but, like… so have you. What else do they need to tell you?”

“Well…,” Nico says, pulling them along to a flat floor. A corridor stares back at them, with doors standing on each side of the hallway. Harsh gray light flickers over the ceiling. He finally turns to Will. “It’s more like what they need to tell you.”

Nico releases his hold on his boyfriend’s wrist and walks forward, his feet pattering lightly against the floor. Will’s heart beats quickly in his chest, anxiety thrumming through his system. What are we here for? he wonders.

A little bit down the hallway, Nico stops and stares at a door. Under the gray lighting, his skin looks ashen and pale. Taking a deep breath, Nico raises a fist to the door and knocks.

Time stills as the boys wait for an answer. Nico slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes, then releases again. His skin feels feverishly warm against Will’s, bursting with anxiety. The blond frowns but says nothing.

After a moment, a click echoes in the hallway and the door swings open, throwing air around the boys. A tall figure looks down at them, his body slouching against the door tiredly, and Will is suddenly overcome with how much more different Percy looks.

His green eyes sparkle as mischievously as ever, churning with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. A large purple sweatshirt dangles over his body, the letters “SPQR” flashing across his chest in gold. His hair stands on end, frazzled and messy as if he’s just woken from a nap. In the lighting, his tan skin looks just as gray as Nico’s. A bored expression lingers over his face.

When he realizes it’s Will and Nico, he stands up straight. “Nico!” he exclaims. “Wow, I thought I’d be expecting you later.”

“Maybe you just slept in too much. You look exhausted.”

A tired smile sweeps over Percy’s mouth. “School hasn’t even started and I’m already missing out on sleep. Can’t wait for my classes to begin for real.” His eyes flit across Will. He tips his head in acknowledgement and moves away from the door. “You guys should come in.”

The air inside the room is a little cooler, fresh compared to the outside. Nico goes in first and Will follows, closing the door behind him.

For the most part, the room looks fairly neat. The blinds are drawn at the far side of the dorm room, only letting a little bit of light filter through. One bed stands against the far wall while another protrudes from a corner in the right. To the left of Will, a plain desk gleams; another one stands to the corner in the back. A bathroom and closet reside to the left, and a miniature kitchen protrudes from their right. Articles of clothing are piled up over the bed, which Will guesses are Percy’s.

“Nice place you’ve got,” Nico says carefully. Tension strangles the air, pulling the three together in an uncomfortable embrace. Will knows that, for the most part, Nico and Percy have improved their relationship. But looking at them now, with both their eyes trained on each other in an awkward stare, there’s still the rope of discomfort around them. They’re not completely sure how to act with each other.

A small part of Will relishes that discomfort. He knows Nico and Percy never really had a chance, but even then, he likes that he knows Nico better than the son of Poseidon. Maybe Percy is a huge, well-known hero who Will could probably never compare to, but at least there’s one thing Will can be better at than him, and that thing is being a better friend.

Almost as if he can sense Will’s thoughts, Percy smiles at Will. “Wow,” he says with astonishment. “Man, I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while. You look… tired. Everything okay with you guys?”

Well, Will thinks with annoyance, what a wonderful way to start a conversation.

Nico nods. “Is Annabeth coming?”

Just then, a knock echoes behind them. Percy grins. “That should be her.”

Annabeth peeps into the room, her blond curls flying as she pushes her head in. At the sight of Will and Nico, a nervous smile flickers over her features. She pushes through the door and steps over nervously. Tense silence wraps around the four demigods as they wait for everyone to get their places, prepared to act in this play of politeness.

“So,” Percy says, throwing an arm around Annabeth, “what is it that you guys are here for?”

Will snaps his eyes to Nico. He says nothing, but the message is clear: You haven’t told him?

Nico stares at him for only a second before he turns back to Percy. In a calm voice, he says, “It’s a matter of Tartarus.”

At the mention of the deathly place, both Percy and Annabeth flinch. The tan of their skin seeps out, spilling over the pale floor, and their eyes cloud over with fear. They’re looking past the boys, past the walls, traveling down into the fears, into the trauma.

“Tartarus?” Percy whispers, his voice threaded with fear and astonishment. “Why? Are you having dreams or something, Nico?”

Nico crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground, the gears in his head turning as he considers what to say next. “Yes,” he answers simply.

“Are you… looking for advice?” Annabeth inquires, edging a little closer to Nico. “Is everything alright? We thought you were going to Dionysus.”

Nico steps back from their gazes, his heart thrumming in his chest. He knew he’d have to tell them about his trip one day or another, and he supposes that now is the best time. Especially with how intense his dreams have become…

“I don’t need advice,” he promises, fixing Percy and Annabeth with what he hopes is a comforting look. Taking a deep breath, he admits, “Actually, I have to go down there again.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Time itself stills, pausing around all four demigods, tightening around them like coil. Percy and Annabeth stare at Nico as if they’ve never seen him before.

“Again?” Percy gasps. “What do you possibly need to do down there?”

Nico’s fingers clasp together in an attempt to ground himself. “Well, I’ve been having dreams. Someone keeps… calling my name. I think it may be Bob, but I can’t be sure. Whoever it is needs my help. I need to go down there again.”

Annabeth blinks. “You? Why you specifically? How come me and Percy haven’t been getting those voices?”

Nico shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. But I know that I need to go down there. Someone keeps calling it, and I would love to ignore it, but… they’re insistent. They want to get out. And I wouldn’t be a hero if I didn’t help them escape their torture.”

A feral look flashes in Percy’s eyes. His jaw clenches and he removes his arm from Annabeth. Stepping closer to Nico, he mutters, “You can’t. Do you know how dangerous that is, Nico? You went there alone and barely made it out alive. Me and Annabeth went there together and we barely made it out alive. How the fuck do you think you’re going to get in there and come back out alive for a second time?” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Dude, you cannot go down there again. No doubt you’ve suffered through enough trauma; you don’t think it’s going to mess up your mind even more? Annabeth and I had nightmares and flashbacks for months. We hadn’t been able to eat properly, or sleep, or just function.” He looks up and down at Nico. “And it seems like you haven’t either. You’re worse than I saw you before I left for New Rome. It’s not a good idea to go down there.”

As each of Percy’s words sink into Nico, irritation builds up in his skin. His nerves curl up and burst open again in rage. His jaw clenches. What right does Percy have to tell him how to act?

“I’m afraid it’s not your say in what I do or don’t,” Nico hisses. “Someone needs me, and I’m going to save them.” Unlike some people.

Annabeth steps forward, fear flashing in her eyes. “Then let us come with you! You can’t go down there on your own.” Then she blinks and snaps her head to Will. Her eyes widen. “No…,” she murmurs. “You’re going to take Will with you? Are you crazy?”

“He’s not taking me with him,” Will mutters defensively. “I’m choosing to go with him.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re here,” says Nico matter-of-factly. “I need your help to convince him not to come.”

At his words, Will’s chest constricts with annoyance and betrayal. He thought they established that Nico isn’t going alone. But apparently this entire trip was just to try to convince him not to accompany him.

Will twists to his boyfriend. “What? After all we talked about, you’re still trying to get me to not come?”

A guilty look flashes in Nico’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Will, but I can’t risk it. You’re too important to me. I’m sorry I tricked you, but it’s not worth it for you to risk your life like this. The camp needs you.”

“And what? The camp doesn’t need you?” Will hisses. “You’re just as important. Gods, I just… I wish you would stop acting like you aren’t important. Like… like it doesn’t matter what happens to you.” He leans closer, his face bursting with red. “Because you know what, Nico? It does matter what happens to you. There are people who care about you. I care about you. You’re not going alone.”

“Actually,” chimes Percy, “neither of you are going. At least not without us.”

Nico turns on Percy, his fists shivering at his sides. “Don’t you act like you’re some savior, Percy. You may be older, but that gives you no right to act like you’re something to control our actions, like you’re supposed to protect us like we’re some kind of children. All I’m asking of you guys is to explain to Will that he shouldn’t come.”

“Why don’t I get a say if I get to come or not?” asks Will. “I’m my own person.”

Percy groans. “Why would we only say that to Will when you shouldn’t go either? Neither of you should be going!”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” growls Nico. “I asked for help.” Looking from Annabeth to Percy, he asks, “Will you help or not?”

Annabeth says, “Our only way of helping is by going with you.”

Nico groans. “You guys aren’t going. I’m not risking your lives either. Just… Can you explain to Will why he shouldn’t come?”

Will frowns. “Why can’t I? Why are you always insisting on doing something by yourself? You aren’t alone anymore, and you’re going to push me away?”

“Can you just… not? I’m trying to save your life and it’s getting really hard when you’re insisting to come with me.”

A wave of anger crashes into Will’s stomach and climbs all the way to the cliffs of his chest. His vision turns red. “Oh, I’m sorry, Nico, am I annoying you by saying I just want you to take care of yourself? Because if I am, just say so.”

An angry scowl curving over Nico’s features. “Yeah, you kind of are. How many times am I going to say it? I’m trying to protect you from certain death.”

“Why? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to go with you? That maybe I’m not as strong as any of the Big Three?”

Nico throws his head back as a harsh laugh escapes his throat. “Here we are again. Will, that’s exactly why I don’t want you to go - you’re insecure. Tartarus is going to use that against you. I don’t think you’re weak, and I never even said that. Your insecurities are the problem. Not to mention that it doesn’t matter if it’s your own choice to come with me; I’m still going to feel guilty if you die.” He scrubs a frustrated hand over his face and when he removes it, Will sees the pain in his eyes, the jab of guilt that’s been pressing against his conscience for days. “I don’t want you to die.”

“And that’s what I don’t want from you either!” cries Will. “Maybe I’m insecure, but I won’t be able to fix it any time soon. And you’re not okay either. But, Nico” - Will tangles his fingers with his boyfriend’s, spilling his warmth and kindness and heartache all into Nico’s bare palms - “we’re not going to be okay. No one is ever perfectly okay at any time. So don’t you think it’s even more important that someone go with you? Going together means that we’ll be there for each other; we’ll watch out for each other. Without you, I’m going to be worried sick; without me, you’re not going to have someone at your back. We ride or die together, just like we did with Nero. I don’t want to let you go on your own. You don’t need to.”

Nico’s chin quivers as he looks at Will, fighting hard to push back his tornado of emotions from destroying the room. “Will,” he whispers, but doesn’t say more.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t say that. You’re making me feel worse.”

“I’m still not leaving you.”

“Neither of you are leaving,” Percy interrupts. Will turns to him, only to find that in place of calming sea-green eyes, he’s met with emerald daggers. A scowl bends over Percy’s face. “Nico, you know how dangerous that is. You can’t leave without me and Annabeth.”

The softness that came over Nico just seconds ago vanishes away as he turns to Percy. He lets go of Will’s hands and steps towards the son of Poseidon. “Stop acting like that!” he exclaims. “You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you? Why can’t you understand this is important? I thought you were smarter than this, Percy. Aren’t you the kind to save friends from peril?”

“Yes,” Percy says, gritting his teeth. “That’s exactly it. If I let you go, I’m not saving you.”

“Well, you’re not saving Bob either.”

“He’s a Titan. He can handle himself.”

“He saved your lives!”

“And I’m grateful for that,” assures Percy. “Every day. But he’s still a Titan; he’s able to last down there longer than we can. Wait for me and Annabeth, and we’ll go with you. It’s like Will said - you aren’t alone anymore.”

Hot, acidic silence lingers over the air, tightening its hold over the four demigods. Nico and Percy stare each other down, and it’s almost like Annabeth and Will don’t even exist anymore; it’s only them, trying to win their own battles.

“No,” Nico says simply. “The more people, the more danger. Two people is enough.”

At his words, Will’s chest billows with relief. “Two? You mean I’m coming?”

Nico turns his head to Will and looks at him with reluctance. He says nothing of affirmation, but that’s all Will needs to know. He’s going, and this time Nico won’t stop him.

“No!” exclaims Percy. He steps closer to Nico, his body towering over the son of Hades like an indestructible wall. For a second, Will’s nervous that he’s going to hit Nico, but he stops just short of bumping chests. Anger burns bright in Nico’s eyes, but he doesn’t step back.

“No what?”

Nico’s looking up at Percy, staring him down despite the fact that he’s a few inches shorter. Tension sparks between them, bursting over everyone’s bare skin, and a sudden nervousness burns in Will’s core. The room is covered in gasoline, and with one spark of fire, Percy and Nico will blow up.

At first, Will thinks maybe it’s his own anxiety that makes the room feel like it’s shaking - but then Annabeth’s eyebrows jump in surprise and she takes Will’s wrist, edging the two of them to the door slowly. Realizing that it isn’t just him who can feel the quaking, Will wraps an arm around Annabeth’s shoulder in the hopes that it will keep them safe from whatever bomb detonates between the other two demigods.

“Guys,” Annabeth mutters. “Calm yourselves. You are both children of the Big Three - remember how much power both of you have.”

The room continues shaking; neither boy looks at Annabeth. Percy’s eyes swirl with spark with angry energy. Nico’s hands raise at his side while he pulls himself into a fighting stance. Percy’s hands linger at his thigh, fingering a pocket.

Behind Will, a gurgling sound thrums in the walls, and in the kitchen a tap turns on. Annabeth’s gray eyes flash with fear and Will pulls closer to her, anxiety stabbing him in the chest.

“Guys,” Annabeth insists, “stop it.”

Will has never seen Nico look so enraged. His entire face turns fiery red and his paled hands shake at his side. The ground continues shaking, grumbling more persistently under his feet, and he knows that if neither him or Annabeth stop this, there will be serious consequences.

“We need to pull them apart,” whispers Will, staring at the demigods nervously. “Break them out of whatever trance they’re in. Otherwise you’re gonna have to pay for damage if Nico starts bringing skeletons in here.”

Annabeth offers a firm nod. The blonds edge close to the walls as they tiptoe towards the two, their balance tested by the quaking in the room. Will reaches out and touches Nico’s inner wrist, rubbing his skin softly in an attempt to bring Nico back, to make him stop drowning in his irritation. His hands feel cold and angry; only power buzzes underneath his skin, and it vibrates down Will’s own body. He almost pulls away in fear that Nico will turn on him instead.

Nico blinks and shifts to look at Will. The rage that took over him just seconds ago melts away and gives way to daze; his dark eyes cloud over with emotion. Will pulls him back from Percy just as Annabeth places a hand over her own boyfriend’s shoulder.

For a moment, all is silent. The quaking simmers down and soon the water in the kitchen slows to a trickle. Percy and Nico continue glaring at each other, but at least they aren’t going after one another.

Percy’s face only betrays anger, resentment, but there’s something else behind his eyes: guilt. Despite how enraged he looks, a frustrated tear blooms across his eye and slips down the side of his face. Almost immediately all his frustration spills out of him and forms a puddle on the floor, leaving him only deflated and exhausted.

“Nico,” he says, his voice strangled with emotions, “you’re like a brother to me. I- I know we haven’t had the best relationship in the past, and neither of us treated each other well. Me especially. But… We’ve had time to fix it. Our relationship isn’t perfect, and it probably needs more time.

“But, please,” Percy continues, desperation trickling into his voice, “don’t do this. I… I can’t imagine losing you. Not after all that happened. Not after everything that you had to go through.”

Nico watches him speak, letting the words from his mouth seep into his ears and harden around his brain. A wave of emotions crashes into his chest and he has to squeeze Will’s hand just to make sure he’s still standing.

Silence lingers in the air again, making itself comfy in the gaps between all the demigods. It doesn’t move for a long while.

Nico’s eyes brim with tears, which flash in the dim lighting of the dorm room. Will takes his other hand and balances it behind Nico’s back in an attempt to comfort him. Two tears roll down Nico’s cheeks as he says, “I’m sorry, Percy, but I have to. I’m glad we got to be friends again, but you know I have to do this. You know more than anyone how important it is to be there for your friends.” He lets go of Will’s hand and steps forward. “I’m going to save my friend Bob. And you know what, Percy? You’re helping me as your friend. If you let me go, you’re helping me make the world better for someone.”

Percy shakes his head. “For one person, Nico? A person who is literally strong enough to survive hell? You’re going to risk your life for that?”

“I- I can’t explain it,” Nico mutters. “I just know he needs my help. If he’s not getting in your dreams, then it must be me.” Nico sighs shakily and another tear falls. “I just… need to do this. So let me do it. I’m no longer that helpless eleven-year-old boy you knew, Percy; I’m old enough to take care of myself. I have been for a long time.”

Percy and Annabeth turn to each other, both their eyes glazed over with pity and guilt. Their eyebrows jump and narrow at each other as if having a silent conversation. Then Annabeth turns to Nico and says, “Then be safe, Nico. And it’s not too late to take us with you. Give us the word, and we’ll come.”

Nico shakes his head. “I’m not risking more lives. And you guys deserve to have this break and enjoy your education.”

“But you deserve a calm year, too,” Annabeth says. “We can give this up if you need us to.”

Nico shakes his head again. “I’ve had time to heal. I’m not completely mended yet, but I’ve grown. You guys had to go right back into your real life and become one with reality again. You deserve just a chance to relax with each other. I’m going.”

Nico turns to Will and leans against his side. A burst of joy erupts in Will’s chest and he melts into his boyfriend, basking in his warmth. “Besides,” Nico says, offering a small smile to Will, “I’m going to have Will with me. He can shoot a mean gun. I think we’ll be alright.”

A doubtful expression flashes against Percy’s face. “You’re sure?”

Nico’s hand squeezes Will’s fingers, and for the first time in a while, confidence rises in Will’s heart. He feels seen knowing that Nico’s finally accepted he’s coming; he’s ensured that Nico doesn’t see him as just a healer, but also as someone who he can count on to come down with him to the depths of the Underworld.

Nico trusts him. He trusts him with his life and safety. There is nothing more honorable than knowing that, after years of losing people (whether by death or by distance), there is someone in his life who truly believes in Will. His face heats at the realization that Nico’s ready to let him watch his back.

Will hopes he doesn’t fail Nico.

Percy smiles hesitantly. “Alright. But, again, if you need anything before you go… Please, for the love of god, tell us. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to go down there for a second time.” He frowns. “When are you leaving anyway?”

“Probably in a few days,” Nico says. “Just need to get some supplies, then we’re going to meet Rachel in Paris and get a prophecy.”

Pery nods. “Okay.” His green eyes swim between Nico and Will, concern pooling in them. “Just… watch out for each other, okay? If either of you die, I’m killing you.”

Nico cracks a smile, the first one in a while. “We’ll try not to die.” Then he nods his head to Annabeth. “Thank you both for the help.”

Annabeth snorts. “What help? All we did was argue.”

“Well, it helped. Just accept the grace.”

Nico and Will step back to the door. The blond turns back to look at Percy and Annabeth, who are both watching the boys with politely concerned eyes.

He smiles. “We’ll see you later. Hopefully.”

And with that, Nico and Will leave the door and walk away, edging closer and closer to whatever doom lies in their future.

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chaseatinydream · 4 years

Text

pirate king epilogue: wooyoung || atz

There’s a girl.

She stands in the surf, the waves lapping over bare feet, strands of her hair flying with the sea breeze. Softened by the light of the sun just as it peeks over the horizon, burning orange sets the silhouette of her aflame, it’s as if she’s the sun herself, bringing with her warmth that seeps into cold fingers, gentle light that slowly fills his entire night even before he notices.

There’s a girl, and she’s out of reach.

He tries to take a step forward, to call her name, one hand reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. His lips move and nothing passes his ears, drowned out by the sea wind. But she hears and begins to turn around, and he just wants to see that radiant smile on her face one more time-

There’s a girl, and it’s a dream.

He wakes up.

Wooyoung’s disoriented for a moment, the sea fading away in his eyes to be replaced by the ceiling of the room. The sounds of Yunho’s noisy snores in the bed opposite him bring him back to reality, slowly but surely, and he sits up, one hand rubbing at his eyes while the other drags through his hair in an attempt to tame his messy bedhead.

Light and chain free.

Letting out a yawn, he turns his head to glance at bed next to his and finds it empty, the sheets already neatly folded and pillow fluffed. It’s barely the crack of dawn.

He shifts to the side of his bed and looks out of the window, the familiar smell of sea salt on the air and soft amber light striking the blue aquamarine gem on his bedside table, throwing soft blue and orange flecks of light everywhere in the room.

He watches the sun rise until it lifts away from the sea into the sky, before he gets to his feet and changes into a simple shirt and trousers, slipping the silver hairpin into his belt.

It’s a new day today.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” Yeosang greets him as Wooyoung slips down into the living area of the house. Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’re up early.”

“I had some strange dreams and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I came down here to read for a bit.” Yeosang points at the book sitting in front of him on their dining table, a cup of coffee beside him. “Jongho got us breakfast from Seonghwa’s before he went fishing this morning.“

The fragrance of Seonghwa’s beef stew fills his nose and he sniffs appreciatively, glancing around Yeosang to see the pot hanging over their hearth fire. “It looks good.”

“Hurry, eat and wake Yunho up so we can go. We have a lot of things to prepare today.”

“Isn’t your turn to wake Yunho today?” Wooyoung reaches for a bowl and ladles some beef stew into it, perching himself on the table and legs dangling over the side. Even after leaving the ocean for three years, he still can’t get used to the feeling of sitting down on a chair. “And Jongho’s out early. What for?”

“He says there’s been strange sightings of a giant squid monster further out and wants to check it out for himself, the brave soul.” Yeosang chuckles as he flips a page, and Wooyoung catches sight of an ink drawing of a tentacles monster on the paper. “And as for Yunho, you offered to wake him up this morning yesterday in exchange for me doing the dinner dishes.”

The memory is hazy at best, but Wooyoung remembers stumbling into the house late at night, completely exhausted and on the brink of falling asleep on the doorstep if it hadn’t been for Jongho dragging him into his bed by the scruff of his neck. “Ah, shit. You sholdn’t let me make regretable decisions when I’m clearly not in the right state of mind.”

Yeosang shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well, it benefitted me, so of course I’d agree.” Wooyoung makes a face at that, sticking his spoon into his mouth. The familiar taste of Seonghwa’s food instantly brightens his mood and chases away some of the fear that accompanies his later task.

All too soon, the bowl grows empty while his trepedition grows. When it is scraped clean, Wooyoung looks down at it with a sigh before turning to Yeosang. “How about we make this a team effort?”

Yeosang shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement. “You’re on your own.” He makes a shooing motion with his fingers. “Remember to dodge if he starts snorting, being kicked by him hurts.”

Wooyoung sighs, rising to his feet. “Yes sir.”

>>>

A few swung fists, a near encounter with a black eye and an apologetic Yunho later, the three of them head out to their usual place, Yunho and Wooyoung trailing after Yeosang with their arms laden with books. The second they near the familiar iron wrought gates, they hear delighted shouting from one of the upper floor windows.

“It’s Yeosang-oppa!”

“Yeosang and his two slaves!”

At the title, Wooyoung laughs loudly, amused. “Even the kids know how much we’re worked to the bone because of him.” Wooyoung jokes and Yunho lets out a snort as he raises a hand to wave to the kids. “Now, if only they would call us by name instead of ‘Yeosang’s lackeys’... I understand how Captain feels.”

“Well, he’s the teacher and we’re just his assistants.” Yunho replies, the three of them stepping into the orphanage compound. The bright faces from the second floor window quickly vanish, and Wooyoung hears the pitter patter of small feet before the front door is thrown open and excited children spill out of the small building.

“Teacher Yeosang!”

“Look, look! I made a drawing of three of you!”

“Teacher Yeosang, read us that pirate story again!”

“Teacher Yeosang, could you help me solve this mathematics problem...”

“Ahh ahh, no need to be impatient, all of you.” Yeosang chides and the children instantly fall silent, all of them vibrating on the spot with excitement. Wooyoung can’t help but snicker at the sight, they’re quite adorable. “Let me head in and get the room set up first, alright? I brought new books for all of you today.”

“You mean we brought the books.” Yunho says loudly from behind him, waving the stack of hardbacks in his hands for extra effect. Some of the children burst out into little giggles, and Yeosang rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.

“The specifics aren’t important.” He retorts, before he leans down to whisper to the children. “If all of you behave, I’ll read the story of ‘Pirate King’ for all of you, alright?”

Their faces light up instantly, before their little hands grab at Yeosang’s clothes and they begin to pull him into the orphanage, chattering excitedly. “Hurry up! I wanna hear the pirate story again!”

“Pirate story! The pirate king!”

Yeosang casts a helpless look back over his shoulder as the children practically manhandle him into the building.

Save me.

Wooyoung and Yunho exchange looks, before they both give him serene smiles and wave simultaneously.

Good luck.

Yeosang’s glare burns into them the entire way, much to their amusement.

In the lesson room, a small dining space cleared of its usual tables and chairs save for one, Yeosang sits before the group of excited children, his book in his hands as he begins to read aloud.

“Legends say that out there, sailing across the ocean somewhere, is a pirate ship called the Treasure that has plundered every land of its gold and jewels.” Sitting at the back of the room, Yunho and Wooyoung watch as Yeosang slips on his reading glasses. The expression on his face is one of calm focus even though the story he’s reading is nothing but a simple tale, and his audience merely a group of young children even though he’s held debates before scholars and distinguished men.

“The kids never get tired of this story, do they?” Wooyoung says out of the corner of his mouth. Yunho stifles his own laughter, his head leaning back to rest against the wall with a quiet thump.

“Well, the writers did make it very dramatic.” He says softly, so as to not disturb the kids. “It was a lot more boring, the way we lived it. From how they tell it, it’s as if we got into battle every week. They completely missed out the most important, boring thing that happened on board, which was-”

“- lookout duty.” Both of them echo at the same time, and Wooyoung snickers.

“The mizzenmast is still better.”

“Even in a pile of ashes, the main mast is still of more substance that yours.”

Wooyoung covers his mouth with both hands and tries not to laugh too hard.

Across the room, Yeosang levels a glare at the two of them and they shut up instantly, Wooyoung miming locking up his lips and throwing the key over his shoulder.

“The pirate king was a terrible, fearsome man with a reputation that stretched across the oceans-” Yeosang’s barely a few seconds into the story when he’s interrupted.

A young boy throws his hand up, eyes shining with excitement. “Was the pirate king huge?” Yeosang pauses, brows furrowed. “Uhh...”

“He must have been really big and strong if he was so scary!” Another girl pipes up, and Yeosang glances back at the two of them for help. Upon finding none, he nods slowly, a slight grimace on his face. “Oh, yes. He was uhh... very big and scary, almost a head taller than Yunho back there and the size of two men across.”

Yunho coughs loudly into his palm, and Wooyoung can see him struggling to keep the smile off his face. The thought of their captain in the proportions that Yeosang described makes Wooyoung want to laugh till his sides hurt.

“The pirate king and his pirate band ATEEZ crossed the oceans and raided several towns, terrifying townspeople and Royal Navy alike. He would catch misbehaving kids... and steal them away!”

The children jump in their seats, eyes wide. “Steal misbehaving children?” One of the more boisterous boys calls out from the back, looking slightly nervous. Yunho grins from behind, rising to his feet silently and taking quiet, silent steps towards him. Yeosang nods seriously, his eyes flickering towards the creeping battlemaster at the back for a brief moment before returning his attention to the children.

“Oh, yes.” He says, voice dropping to a low whisper. “The pirate king would steal around in the middle of the night, when the lamps burn low and the shadows seem to watch you from the foot of the bed.” The children seem to be completely enraptured by his words, eyes huge like dinner plates and their mouths hanging open, Yunho going completely unnoticed behind them as he sneaks up on that child. “If you misbehaved, he would climb in through your windows or sneak into your house, and then-”

“Ah!”

The boy at the back screams as Yunho pounces on him, and Wooyoung erupts into laughter at the sight. Panicking, the boy’s arms flail for a second and he ends up smacking Yunho straight in the gut. With a loud, dramatic groan, Yunho sinks to his knees, keeling over onto the floor.

“Ahh... you got me good...”

Wooyoung’s laughing so hard now he can barely keep the tears from the corners of his eyes. “You defeated the pirate king!” The boy cheers, and Yunho gets up from the floor, eyes shining with amusement.

Yeosang shakes his head, but Wooyoung can see the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he flips a page. “Now, what adventure shall I read?”

“The one where he raided a town for chocolate instead of gold!”

“Oh, oh! The story when he had to run away from the Royal Navy!”

“When he faced the sirens!”

“Alright, I got it.” Yeosang’s face is gentle, and he turns the pages of his book once more. “I’ll read all the stories that you want today.”

The children cheer.

The morning passes peacefully, with Yeosang wrapping up his storytelling session with one or two (or a whole lot more untruths about their captain). After that, Yunho and Wooyoung take some of the older boys to the backyard to play some sword fighting, while Yeosang teaches the younger ones their letters.

“What do you intend to do for the rest of the day?” Yunho asks Wooyoung as the two of them finish up arranging the books that they’d brought on the shelves. Wooyoung frowns, pondering this for a second.

“Well, I’m supposed to do quite a lot of deliveries for San and Seonghwa today, so I’ll probably be busy till evening.” He says, shrugging before he slips another book into the shelf. “What about you? Training the recruits at the Royal Navy has got to easy as pie for you, isn’t it? You come home before the sun sets every day.”

Yunho shakes his head, laughing. “Oh, no. They’re all talented, that’s it. I’m just teaching them the basics and they catch on fast. Still,” he glances at Wooyoung, eyes twinkling. “It’s funny that we’ve come to this, isn’t it? Two legendary pirates from the story of the Pirate King, one working as an odd job man and the other training the Royal Navy, of all things.”

Wooyoung nods, fingers stilling on the spine of a book. “Yeah. It’s not something any of us would have seem coming.” He says softly.

After the incident three years ago, the Treasure had been turned to matchwood and the crew returned to normal lives for the first time in years. Learning to get used to walking on flat, unmoving ground once again, smelling flowers and grass instead of the familiar scent of sea salt in the air, sleeping in a bed instead of on a hammock, all these were like taking baby steps back to normalcy, one at a time.

“But I like it, you know.” Yunho says suddenly, voice quiet. Wooyoung blinks at him, prompting him to elaborate further. “No more running, no more fighting, just peace and quiet and an honest living.” He turns and grins at Wooyoung, eyes bright. “I think I’ve had quite enough adventure for a lifetime.”

Wooyoung smiles, turning away to put the books left in his hands on the topmost shelf. “Yeah.” He agrees. “It really was the adventure of a lifetime.”

>>>

San’s apothecary is tucked away from the hustle and bustle of town, right at the foot of a small hill some distance from the port. Barely anyone takes the time to head out there, so Seonghwa’s eatery ended up becoming the place for the townspeople to place orders for medicines and cures. Peace and quiet, San had joked when he’d turned down living with the rest of the crew in town.

Well, it’s certainly a bit too quiet now.

“Oi, San, don’t tell me you’re still sleeping.” Wooyoung calls, banging the door with his fist. No one replies. “San! If you’re not going to let me in, I’m going to break in through your window.”

“You’re going to what now?”

Wooyoung turns around to see San standing behind him, one hand cocked on his hip and a bunch of lavender sprays under one arm. “I was only joking.” Wooyoung shrugs with an easy smile, stepping aside for San to unlock the front door. “You’re the one who wasn’t home when you said you would be.”

San rolls his eyes good naturedly. “I was out gathering these.” He tosses them into Wooyoung’s hands before he rummages about in his apron pocket for the keys. “How were the kids today?”

“They’re filling up nicely, quite a few can read, and now all of them think that Hongjoong is a monster who sneaks about in the middle of the night and kidnaps children.”

San pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “He’s a what?”

Wooyoung shrugs, grinning. “Yeah.”

“Hongjoong’s going to have a fit when he finds out.” San ushers Wooyoung in through the open door. The apothecary is a small redbrick affair, a simple kitchen and living space connected to his far more sizeable workroom. San says he’s used to it after living on the Treasure for so long. Wooyoung shakes his head.

“He might like it. Yeosang made him sound tall.”

San snickers at Wooyoung’s words, tucking the lavender onto one of his shelves before he points to the many vials and bottles on the table. “Here, all the deliveries for today.” Wooyoung peers at the two empty coffee cups left out on the table.

“Someone came by earlier?”

San nods. “If you had just come earlier, you would have run into Hongjoong. His expedition should be starting anytime soon.” He grins at Wooyoung, eyes bright. “How does it feel heading back to sea again after three years?”

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung says, stepping around San to pack the medicines into his bag. The scent of lavender and ylang ylang are soothing, but nothing can quite beat the smell of the ocean. “Good, I suppose. I’ve been having strange dreams about the ocean anyway. Maybe it’s a sign.”

San pauses slightly, eyes glancing over at Wooyoung. “Strange dreams?” He repeats.

“Yeah, of a girl and the ocean. Weird, I know.” Wooyoung explains, hoping the dreams don’t sound too ridiculous. “I can never see her face, but whenever I see her, my chest feels warm. Light. Calm.” Then he chuckles, fingers wrapping tightly around the neck of a bottle. “The chains around my wrists, they just disappeared when I woke up on that island with Captain and Yeosang three years ago. I don’t know what happened, and I still can’t remember.”

Sudden, slight pain pulses through his heart and he grunts, one hand thumping his chest and San rushes to sit him down on a chair. “Don’t force yourself too hard.” San says quietly, handing Wooyoung a honey covered sweet. “Maybe it’ll take time.”

“I thought I’d get the urge to go to a brothel or something, but I just can’t bear the idea of chasing after a woman other than her.” Wooyoung struggles to explain. “I feel like I’m waiting for someone every time I walk past the ocean. And she doesn’t... she doesn’t even exist.”

San watches as Wooyoung runs a heavy hand through his hair, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “I told her you’d never be able to forget her, whether you remember her or not.” San murmurs under his breath, his heart breaking for his best friend. “When I see how much you’re hurting, though, I sometimes wish I was wrong.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, confused, as he pops the sweet into his mouth. “Huh?”

San shakes his head. “Oh, no, nothing. Just thinking that Hongjoong came by this morning complaining of weird dreams too.”

Wooyoung gives him a half hearted glare, punching him lightly in the arm. “See, you could have just given the two of us check ups so much more easily if you’d just chosen to live with us. You could share a room with Jongho, you know. There’s no point to having two beds in your cramped bedroom.” He points at the two small beds on opposite sides of the house, and San hesitates for a moment.

He can’t very well say he’s clinging onto a hope, dreaming, waiting for a day someone no one else remembers will come home. He can’t say that it hurts when he wakes up into life of normalcy with the rest of the crew but without her there with them. He can’t say that if she’s not there, he’d rather be alone, where the rest of the crew isn’t there to remind him that he’s the only one who holds on to a past no one else remembers.

So instead, he replies casually, “Well, I got used to having two beds on the Treasure. Besides, it’s a good place to dry extra herbs when it happens to rain outside.”

“You like your space, I got it.” Wooyoung chuckles, rising to his feet. He turns back for a moment just as he’s stepping out of the door. “You’re coming by tonight to Seonghwa’s eatery for dinner?”

San nods seriously. “Of course! How could I miss a chance to look at baby Hwaseong... he called me ‘bubu’ on Monday!” The healer clasps his hands together, shaking his head at just how adorable that little angel is. “It reminds me of the days when Jongho was an cute baby too. Now he hasn’t even visited me for two days. That kid’s growing up the wrong way.”

Wooyoung laughs. “I heard from Yeosang that Jongho has been sailing out further these days hoping to catch sight of a giant squid monster locals have been talking about.” San pauses, fingers stilling on a spray of lavender at Jongho’s words.

“A... sea monster?”

“No need to be scared, you’re living all the way inland anyway.” Wooyoung teases, completely mistaking San’s anticipation for fear. “We might hear some of Jongho’s tales tonight if he catches sight of it. Well then,” he waves his bag of deliveries in one hand. “See you later.”

When Wooyoung leaves the house, San catches sight of the silver hairpin tucked into his belt just as the door closes behind him.

“He can’t remember you, yet he can’t let it go either.” San murmurs softly under his breath as he sits down on the bed opposite his, fingers gently brushing linen sheets. Waiting for someone to come home.

“Chin Hae, please... hurry home soon.”

>>>

The sun is just beginning to set when Wooyoung makes his last delivery for the day.

Making his way to Seonghwa’s eatery by the docks, he avoids the red light district and instead chooses to take the long way round by the sea shore. Footsteps quick and light, he’s hurrying along the beach just as his heart begin to throb once more.

“Ahh, ouch.” Wooyoung winces, face screwing up against the pain. Taking a seat in the sand, he quickly unwraps a painkiller that San had given him earlier and pops it into his mouth, biting down hard on it. The bitter taste spreads through his mouth and he gags. “Couldn’t he have made them a little sweeter?”

With a sigh, he lies back in the sand and waits for the pain to abate. They’ve been getting more acute and serious lately, along with the dreams.

Reaching down, he pulls out the silver hairpin in his belt and holds it up to the light of the setting sun. Orange fragments the second it strikes the aquamarine blue surface, the silver petals catching its light. At a single glance, Wooyoung can tell that it’s a beautiful, expensive piece.

But why would he have something like this?

Three years ago, right after they had been released from the Royal Navy after Hongjoong had signed that contract with them... San had given it to him with tears in his eyes, begging him to keep it with him at all times. For no reason at all, Wooyoung couldn’t understand either why he felt so much pain when he looked at it, and yet couldn’t bear to throw it away.

Up till now, Wooyoung still doesn’t know why.

With a sigh, Wooyoung tosses the hairpin up into the air, making to catch it again. All of a sudden, however, a seagull swoops down and grabs it away with its beak, before flying off towards the ocean.

“Hey!” Wooyoung shouts, scrambling to his feet. But the bird is already halfway out to sea, and all Wooyoung catches sight of is a glint of silver as it drops the hairpin into the ocean.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he’s so furious. It’s just a hairpin, just a stick of metal, that’s all. And yet his heart throbs even more painfully than before, and he simply looks out over the ocean, feeling despondent. What is he going to do now?

Just as he’s thinking that, however, the tide shifts.

Confused, Wooyoung takes a step back as water washes over the tip of his boots. Is it natural for the tide to just rise suddenly like this? Frowning, he takes another step back, until he hears it.

At first, he thinks that his ears must be playing tricks on him. It sounds like a heartbeat from within the ocean, drums in the deep, every wave that rushes towards the shore keeping its slow rhythm. He looks up.

And sees a girl who was definitely not there less than a few seconds ago standing in the surf, reddish brown tentacles slowly slipping away from her form, sliding back into the sea and vanishing from sight. Wooyoung only stares.

She’s dressed in robes spun from sea silk, the fabric shining gold in the light of the setting sun. There’s a silver hairpin in her hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.” She says softly, and memories surge into his head like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.

Him pressing that hairpin in to her hand the day she got her name. Sitting on the yardam with her head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around his in the warmth of his pocket. The chains falling from his wrists, falling free away from their hold on his heart.

“When you come back, I promise I’ll tell you how I feel about you.”

“No, it’s yours.” Wooyoung manages to choke out, as he looks at her... no, you. He feels like if he says any more than that, he’ll break down into sobs. You smile at him, taking a step forward.

It’s another dream, isn’t it? He’s just fallen asleep on that beach and now he’s having the most beautiful dream in his life - that you’re back, that he remembers you, that you’re alive.

“Why are you crying? Not happy to see me?” Your voice is slightly teasing as you draw closer, and Wooyoung startles to feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

“No, no, I just... the opposite.” He chokes on a sob. One of your hands reach out to cup his cheeks, gently brushing the tears away from them. “I... I just... I... how...”

“Shh, you don’t need to say anything.” You smile, pressing the hairpin into his palm, where he grips it tight. “Can you do my hair again for me?”

He nods wordlessly, unable to speak. You turn around and he takes a few strands of your hair with trembling fingers, lifting it to his lips in a silent, reverent kiss before he starts braiding it back. With every slide of his fingers, the warmth pressing against him starts to sink in bit by bit.

This is real.

You are real.

He’s crying again when he slides the hairpin into the updo to hold it in place. Upon hearing his soft sniffling, you turn around and take his face in your hands gently, prompting him to look into your eyes.

“I’ll keep my promise with you.” You say softly, smiling slightly. Wooyoung only cries louder, unable to find words to speak. “Wooyoung-ah, I love-”

He kisses you hard.

His lips move frantically against yours, deep and hard, as if he’s trying to confirm your existence, that you’re really here with him. He crushes you against him so tight he can feel your heart beat against his chest - you’re real.

There’s a girl, and she’s home.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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