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starillusion13 · 3 months

Note

Hi! can I request an ateez 9th member poly au but the scenario is they make her feel left out, being mean and entertains another girl from another grp and she was painted as the villain by that girl! so they gang up on her, she suddenly left the group and now they’re chasing her back!!

Missing Piece

Pairing: Ateez!ot8 x f!reader

Genre: Idol au, Angst, Mature

Warnings: ignorance, tired, mention of drugs( just a rumor), leaving the group, feeling left out, light arguments, anxiety, evil intentions(a pick me not y/n), a mess of emotions nothing more.

W.C: 6.9k

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate. After writing this fic, I realized that I don't know how to write 9th member fics😔. I hope this what you wanted anon<3.

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Now let’s take a moment to appreciate my dear friend @dreamsoffanfics Thanks for helping me out and being my proofreader. A dear friend indeed <3.

"Congratulations Ateez!"

Whenever this phrase echoed, you always felt proud and satisfied with yourself for coming a long way. It's obvious that your hard work and determination made it possible for you to stand strong and shine on this ground.

But, a wave of emotions was running inside you today because of the feelings that are itching your mind.

The scandals you are in lately.

The staff and other idols who are passing by while making your way towards the private room are constantly congratulating you and the members of your group. They all are having a wide smile across their faces but you just hesitantly smiled towards others. You know very well that everyone is aware of the scandal you are currently dealing with.

You excuse yourself from the washroom and Hongjoong notices you stepping away in another direction. He called out your name and asked where you were off to but you didn't reply or turned back.

All the members were gathered in front of their room to enter but when they saw their leader---the captain was standing in front of the door and looking in a particular direction. They all looked towards your fading figure into the hallway.

"Where is she going now?" San asked the captain but quickly noticed the anger on his face.

Hongjoong slammed open the door and others followed him inside the room, "I don't know. She didn't reply to me when I asked her. She is really becoming stubborn."

"What's her problem? Isn't she acting so childish all the time?" Mingi slumped down on a cushioned chair and closed his eyes when placing himself comfortably.

Jongho shook his head while removing the mic and earpiece from around his neck and placing it on the wide desk in front of the mirror. "What about the updates on her scandal? The way she is sneaking around here and there, I feel like believing those are not just scandals."

"No. I don't think that's possible. I don't see a sign from her taking any drugs." Seonghwa stated and looked at the leader who was leaning against the wall after removing all the unnecessary items from him. When he caught his eyes, the one standing sighed.

"But she didn't even deny it." Hongjoong said and raised a brow.

Yeosang nodded and spoke up, earning others attention to his words,"When the manager asked her to explain the matter she remained silent and was staring down as if she was high on drugs. Even when the company tried to answer the question about her on the internet, she refused to make a statement."

Some of them nodded and others had confusion visible on their faces.

Wooyoung pointed at your bag beside his and asked, "why did she bring this bag again?" He lifted the bag and found it to be the same bag which you're carrying everywhere, "it seems like she has a lot of stuff inside it."

"Open it." Hongjoong orders the younger one but he hesitated to the command. "I said open it. I am asking you for it and she has no say in this."

"But it's a girl's bag."

"Don't act like we don't stay together. Even if I ask her about bringing this bag, she won't reply. And if something inappropriate is there then we would apologize to her later."

The younger nodded but before he could open the bag. The manager entered. Hongjoong signaled to put the bag down.

It was always a bit challenging for you to be in a group where you are the only female member. All the fans accepted you very willingly and gave you lots of love on the day when it was announced you would be the last member of the debut line. Yeah, the competition had always included the five girls with the boys but you didn't expect back then to be in the lineup of the final showdown. As you were very sure of Minnie to be debuting with them. Her talents and looks are always remarkable and you admired her dance moves and vocals so much. And, you're sure others loved her more than you. They have a strong friendship with her even after her debuting in a different group 'Stray Kids'.

But your members never made you feel left out or different for being a girl. At first they were a bit hesitant to have you as the member but gradually you all became close and had so much fun together during the first MV shooting. Your debut was memorable with you all traveling to a different country and experiencing several new things.

Moreover, your members treated you like the baby of the group. They pampered you so much and of course, they won't leave a chance to annoy the shit out of you. You felt closer with Jongho because he was around your age so you were always paired up with him. And that's how the deep friendship started between you both.

Ateez are very close with Stray Kids and for that you all often meet them to dine out and hang out on off schedule days and after encore and promotion stages. You loved Minho's company a lot because you both clicked together perfectly. But there was something you noticed: San doesn't like you spending time with Stray Kids and sometimes, he and the others often drag you away with your members telling them that they need to hurry back to the dorm because something urgent came up. Only for you to get scolded later by Hongjoong that being so friendly with others would lead you to get into a lot of scandals.

What about them?

They often can be seen talking with Minnie after the performances or concerts and even two or three of them hanging out with her. Did you ever say anything? No. Then how come the dating rules only apply to you? You had enough one day and screamed at her and them, telling them that because of her Ateez would soon be under controversy but she quickly apologized to you and cried to them.

That was not the end. Because of her Hongjoong treated you really badly. He and other members used harsh words on you and others supported him on the fact that you had overreacted for no reason. They really started to go out alone without you - you were already used to it. But after the incident, they purposely made you feel left out. That didn't even stop them being friendly with her. They even did the new dance challenge with her and the way she was leaning on Seonghwa's arm made you glare at the video longer until the manager announced the practice time.

All these struggles really made you exhausted day by day and it's even showing in your performances and interaction with others. One afternoon, you were in the middle of the preparation for the comeback when you suddenly got to know about something trending under your name on all social media platforms.

'Is y/n really taking drugs?'

And the comments under the post - some supporting your side saying it's fake but you were shocked to see the amount of people believing the post and making strong comments that your recent appearances do look like you are under its effects. You ignored the news, you ignored everyone. You thought about the trainee days and then after debuting. You had lots of fun with Ateez. There are a lot of good memories and there are a lot more than just memories which couldn't be revealed everywhere. You tried to talk with others but never had the courage so you kept everything to yourself. Whenever you were asked to clarify on this matter, you remained silent.

One day, finally you had a talk session with your manager to discuss the ongoing situation. Many of your fans went against you and you accepted their opinions because you didn't make any strong denial statement on it so it's obvious for people to suspect you. You are being a bad influence on the industry.

"Are you sure about this?" the manager had concern and worry etched across her face but you just nodded and sighed when she kept staring at you.

"I don't want to change my mind. I have come up with this decision after thinking a lot."

She opened a file on her tablet before passing it to you to read, "read this. And, what about them? This is a big decision so please think carefully."

"I know."

"Will you be fine after this? People might blame you more."

"I don't have any other option. Even if I have, this is the only thing that seems right to me right now."

She just nodded in acceptance.

As the manager entered the room, she noticed Wooyoung placing your bag down to the side of the chair. Hongjoong stepped forward to greet her and she sent a quick smile to everyone present in the room, also noticing your absence there.

"You all don't have any more upcoming schedules this week so hurry up, we have to leave for the dorm. You guys look so tired. You all didn't got enough rest the last few days." She announced and stared at Hongjoong who seemed to want to ask her something.

"Do you want to say something?"

He nodded, "Y/n is not here since we came back from the stage. She went towards the stairs and I asked her but she seemed a bit lost. Where is she? Do you know about it?"

She sighed, "she is probably in the restroom, don't worry."

"Before the day of the comeback, she had a talk with you. What did she tell?" Seonghwa asked, who was now wearing a black t-shirt with just a washed face. He wasn't wearing his stage outfit anymore.

"You all will get to know about it tomorrow morning."

"What is it that you can't tell us now?" San asked her curiously.

She shook her head, "it's not like that. I can tell you but she doesn't want me to tell you. Don't get your hopes up. Just know it's nothing good." She handed over the food bag to them so that they could feed themselves inside the van while going back home. She asked the last two members to quickly change into a comfortable outfit and took your outfit to the restroom.

As soon as she handed you the outfit, you thanked her and asked her to wait outside. Changing into the comfortable soft fabrics made you sigh in relief. But you felt tears welling up in your eyes while staring down at the mic, earpiece and the stage outfit in your hand. A lot of emotions coursing through you but your mind was only focusing on the fact - this was your last stage performance.

You wiped your tears and put on a fake smile before exiting the door. the manager took the things from your hands but before you could step forward, she grabbed your wrist and looked at your face, scanning the smudged eyeshadow and liner. You were crying and she caressed your hand.

"Y/n, you are not okay with this. Please, I would suggest that you change your mind."

You shook your head before removing her hand. "Trust me. I will be okay without all of these problems." She watched your retreating figure until you took a sharp turn.

When you reached the door of the private room, it was expected to hear their loud laugh or them having weird singing competitions that could be heard from outside. But now, it's so quiet. Are they that tired? Or did they already leave for the dorm without you? That's not possible, the car was for you nine so it won't leave until nine of you have entered it.

You tightly held the handle before pushing the door open only to find them gathered around the couch but staring at you. You noticed Wooyoung holding a bag at the end of the couch.

A bag, wait, your bag. No!

You hurriedly went over to the couch to find it was your bag and the things were already scattered on it. You tried to pull the bag from his hold until Yeosang grabbed your wrist and turned you around.

"What is this?" he asked you in a demanding tone.

You licked your lips before prying his hand off from your wrist, "nothing. you don't have to know." You snatched the bag, "and why did you even touch my bag without my permission?"

"Since when are we asking each other to touch our things?" Yunho asked and got up from the chair to make his way towards you. You tried to pick up the things and place them inside the bag but Hongjoong blocked your hand and signaled Mingi to take the things away from you. The tall man finally stood in front of you, "and you better explain what all these boxes are for?"

"Nothing..."

Yunho exhaled sharply and grabbed your biceps tightly, "Y/n, what are you hiding from us? what is it that you can't tell us?"

Mingi was glancing between you and the things which he was putting inside the bag. Seonghwa stood beside the man holding you and stared at you sharply, "are these the drugs?"

"Please just shut up!" you screamed at them.

They slightly flinched at your sudden outburst but it was not noticeable by you as your teary eyes blurred your view. You put your palm over your ears and closed your eyes tightly.

"Please shut up. I can't hear any more of this. I know you don't trust me like before but please don't blame me every time. Because of me, this group is already under so much controversy and I'm really sorry for that."

You were going through a lot and having them all cornering you in the room, confined to a little space was too much.

San pushed Yunho so that he could hug your crying form, "It's okay, y/n. No one is blaming you. But why are there so many boxes containing various pills in your bag? You can tell me if those are distractions." he continuously rubbed your back.

You were crying in his hold, clutching his white t-shirt tightly. He didn't care that his fresh t-shirt was getting wet because of your tears when you were crying helplessly. It was breaking their heart to see you like this but what could they do. If you are doing something wrong then they must solve it and for that they need to talk to you but here you are not telling anything and always ignoring them since the incident happened between you and Minnie.

Realizing you were holding San tightly, you quickly removed his arms from around you and glared at him. Everyone observed your sudden change in mood and Hongjoong held your biceps to turn you towards him. At the tight hold you said harshly "let go of me."

"Y/n, enough. What's wrong with you suddenly?" His demanding tone was obvious and your glaring eyes didn't faze his expression. "Don't show me that look."

"Then leave me."

"Joong, leave her hand. We are all tired and we need to go to the dorm. We can ask her about this there." Seonghwa said calmly and placed his palm on the younger's shoulder. the latter sighed and you snatched your hand from him.

Everyone's eyes followed how disheveled you were looking while picking up your things and no one tried to stop you as you were all going to the same place after all. When you pulled the zip of your bag, Wooyoung stepped forward to offer you the food but you rejected it and went outside the room, slamming the door. They flinched at the loud noise but no one noticed your tears and emotions while exiting the private room backstage for the last time.

"I will be good without all of them." You have repeated this line to yourself a lot of times but still you felt the emotions to return back all over again.

Wiping your eyes, you raised your head only to find Minnie standing in front of you with folded hands and innocent eyes, the way she always looks at others. She was still wearing a faerie stage outfit and smiling at you. Ignoring her presence, you tried to turn around but her voice made you halt.

"Are you carrying those drugs in the bag again? So should I post it clearly that you are being spotted taking drugs?" she was smirking when you turned around.

"What are you saying?" You gripped the bag tightly when she glanced at it and chuckled. Stepping forward to you, her smirk grew wider, "it was me who posted that about you. and even if you say this to anyone, no one is going to believe you."

"It was...you." you watched her in disbelief when she lightly laughed and twirled a strand of hair between her delicate thin fingers. She pouted and blinked at you, "you shouted at me in front of them so I had to take my revenge."

"And it's just-"

"It hurts my pride." She made a disgusted face at you and bumped against your shoulder, "well, thank me for not doing something else but....I just ruined your career. Goodbye!"

You saw her walking like on a cat walk towards the corridor and smiling innocently to everyone in her way. She turned a little and smirked at you before taking a turn leaving you there in shock.

"Y/n...you're still here." You heard Jongho's voice and then saw others exiting the room but before they could ask you something, you ran towards the elevator and fortunately it just opened for the staff members queuing in front of it and you got inside with them. They were all glancing at you because of your weird behavior and you being alone with a sad look.

As soon as the ding sound indicated the arrival to the ground floor, you wasted no time and speedily walked towards the car. You got inside and sat in the far back, waiting for others to come.

After they got into the car, they found you sleeping peacefully at the back. "She is sleeping." Yunho told others and placed your head on his shoulder while adjusting in the seat beside you.

"Let her sleep. She is extremely tired." Hongjoong said and scolded Wooyoung who was about to say something loudly.

Seonghwa shook his head, "but she has to eat."

"I will feed her after we reach home. Leave her for a while. Let's not ask her anything more today." Yeosang started and closed his eyes while leaning back.

Yunho kept stroking your head so that you don't wake up and he felt you nuzzling into him and he smiled while looking down at you.

>>>><<<<

You stretched your arms, you heard their voices coming from a distance. You groaned and rubbed your eyes. Your body was aching so bad that you felt like going back to sleep again. But then you remembered your plans for this night.

You got up and stepped outside the room, their voices were coming from the living room and when some of them caught your sleepy figure entering the room they sent a smile towards you.

"Y/n come eat with me. Others have already had their dinner and I will accompany you while the rest keep doing whatever they do at the moment." Yeosang called you from the table and patted the chair beside him. You were hungry but you didn't feel like eating anything because of all the emotions you had inside.

Is my decision okay?

You shook off the feeling and walked towards the table. Some returned back to discuss the topic they were busy with and the youngest of the two joined you both at the table.

"So, as we don't have a schedule this week. How about we go on a trip somewhere?" Wooyoung suggested and Yeosang nodded before urging to start eating.

Your heart ached when you heard the joy in his voice and how they were planning for the week.

"But can we not spend time inside the dorm? I don't feel like going out." Jongho whined.

"What do you say, y/n?" Yeosang asked and you glanced at him to your side but remained silent.

He shared a glance with Wooyoung before the younger one spoke up: "Hey! Do you want to stay inside or go out? We will decide after what you say."

"I......whatever you all will agree on." You mumbled softly.

"But-"

"I said whatever you guys will agree on! It doesn't matter what I say. You all will be off on your own." You stood up from the table and took deep breaths, "have fun without me. Whatever you guys do, enjoy yourself and live a happy life."

"Y/n...if-"

"Yeo I don't want to hear anything. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."

The moment you had to pass the couch where others were sitting but their attention was on you after you shouted at the table, Mingi grabbed your hand, "Are you okay?"

You glanced at the grip and to the others.

"You all are always meant for each other. The eight of you are soulmates and I'm just an extra character who acted as a villain in the group and destroyed your success with my scandal."

Hongjoong stood up, "Don't think like that. We can sort this out together."

"No. People already hate me for this and even if I try to claim myself innocent then all the fame I have already lost is never coming back. I'll still receive more hate. It wouldn't have happened if you guys really cared for me." You whispered the last line.

San scratched his neck and spoke up, "But you have us. Even if they hate you, we will show them that you are the best."

"But you don't have me. I can't do anything in return so it's better for me to move away from the scene so that you don't have a problem on your way to success. There's still a long way to go and I can't stop you all from that."

Seonghwa shook his head, "You are not stopping us. You keep us motivated, Y/n. You'll always be with us like the final missing piece of the puzzle."

"Sometimes there's an extra piece to distract you and confuse you and I'm that extra piece. You are already complete without me."

"Why are you thinking like this?" Mingi asked you softly.

"Because you all made me feel like this." You sighed and turned back but before stepping forward, you said loudly, "Just remember that even if I'm not with you all in this journey you all will move forward and achieve everything. You deserve a lot and on top of that, be happy. Don't let yourself fall apart because of a missing piece."

Your quick steps led you to your room and you fell on your bed. Cries getting muffled by the sheet and you pushed your face into it more. When you were saying those words earlier, you stood strong but deep down, your heart was heavy.

Time passed and you didn't realize when you fell asleep. A figure stepped inside your room, he smiled at your sleeping figure, his dimples peeking out even in the dark and his sharp eyes staring at you softly. He adjusted your body to a comfortable position and pulled you closer to him, lulling you to sleep. You mumbled something in your sleep and he smiled and patted your head. Soon, he fell asleep with you in his arms.

Now, this is the secret that nobody knows yet. You're dating all of them. Since the day of the debut you all found comfort in each other's arms. This can't be mentioned in the public media and nothing can be obvious if you are really dating one of them - let alone all of them. They're always so protective and showered you with love, making your heart warm and a wide smile visible on your face.

In many shows and interviews, you've referred to them as your strongest pillars of life and that you would be always thankful to them for being with you.

But lately it turned into a disaster after you all met her again after a year at the show when Minnie introduced herself to them and they became friends quickly. You didn't mind the friendship at first but when they started to blame you on whatever she tells them, they started pointing out her right proving you wrong in every aspect.

She really had to destroy your career---even your relationship with them.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

"You are here?" Yunho yawned while nodding his head and rubbed his eyes while making his way towards the table after greeting the leader. "I thought you're the one sleeping with her."

Yunho shook his head before gulping down the water, "No. San told me that he wanted to sleep with her." Hongjoong nodded and turned his attention back to the food on the table.

The rest of them soon started to gather around in the living room. Wooyoung saw San coming last into the wide space but all alone. He creased his brows and asked him, "Isn't she coming for breakfast?" He put down the plate on the table.

"It'll soon be lunch time." Jongho said and laughed. Yeah, it's true that they woke up so late that they have passed the morning and it's already noon but they're still preparing breakfast.

San, who was still rubbing his eyes, looked at him and then around the room, "She isn't here?"

"No..."

"When I woke up, she was not in the bed."

Hongjoong stood up and took the phone in his hand before watching everyone in confusion,

"Did she tell any of you where she is going today? Does she have something to do?"

He dialed your number but the line was dead.

Mingi skipped to your room to see if you had left any sticky note but nothing was there. Wait. Not even your things were there. Only a few items were there but the photo frames with a few boxes were missing too. He went back into the living room to inform the others about it. They were so lost and confused about the situation when suddenly the doorbell rang.

Jongho quickly opened it to be greeted by their manager whose appearance was more serious than usual. She walked inside and looked at everyone before sighing and sitting on the chair near her, "Have you checked your phones?"

When they shook their heads and told her that they had just woken up. She turned her phone screen around to take a look at it.

'Y/n, the member of Ateez is leaving the group...'

San snatched the phone from her hand and scrolled down the whole post only to find out the news was announced by their own company and there was also an apology letter from your side posted. So many things happened just in the morning.

"What is this? Where is she?" Hongjoong demanded a clarification of this situation from her but she only shook her head before brushing some strands of hair back.

"She has already left the place. These past few days, you were busy and didn't notice her preparing for this day so I was there to help her collect everything. I tried to change her decision, make her understand but she had already lost hope in this. She was so disturbed with the whole scandal and all."

"Can't we contact her?" Wooyoung asked her while tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

"No. Your company has banned you from having any contact with a former member. I don't think it's good for your image."

"I don't care about my image. I want her back. How can she leave the group? And she didn't tell us anything about this the whole time..."

Seonghwa looked at the leader and sighed, "That's why she was saying things like that last night."

And now, they realized how they have ignored you all these past months just to believe that girl whom they had befriended and trusted so much that they doubted you on taking drugs and being jealous of others too much.

But their career can't be stopped here. They need to move forward on this journey - even if that means with a missing piece in their group.

>>>><<<<

[2 years later]

"8 makes 1 team...Hello we are Ateez."

The whole audience in the arena cheered. Ateez with wide smiles and sparkling eyes were watching their fans from overseas greeting them by shouting out their names. They felt so loved at that moment that they forgot the pain inside their heart, not getting to be loved by you anymore.

They love their fans a lot but your love was the precious one and when Yeosang realized that you were not there beside him in the choreography, tears fell from his eyes. It's already been 2 years but still everytime he cries during this step where you are no longer smiling while spinning with him in the center.

The concert went for two hours and they quickly changed into some casual wear afterwards and decided on takeout for the day.

The next day, at night they planned to stroll around the city and take in the view of the new place overseas and enjoy the place. They were not given any schedules for the vlog so they were free to roam around.

"I have seen this place just across the street that has a good variety of foods. Let's try it out." Yunho stated his search for this place and others agreed quickly.

All of them entered the big glass door of the restaurant and eyes roaming around in appreciation of the new place. The things decorating the tables, shelves and each corner with the soft melody of the overflowing music with the right amount of warmth and light were a perfect setting. Many customers turned towards them, a table with four girls recognized them but the rest just watched them curiously as they were standing awkwardly until a waiter offered them a helping hand.

They opted for a table at the very end as it was a bit away from the other tables and a bit hidden by a wooden rack.

They all settled down and the waiter waited for them to order. After a lot of complaints, whines, bickers and scolding, they had decided on the menu to be ordered finally.

For the time being, they were waiting for the food to arrive. They gossiped on a lot of stuff, few scrolling through Instagram and taking aesthetic pictures of the place but they don't forget to see any update from your private account. nothing. Jongho sighed and switched off his phone.

"Here is the food!" A cheerful voice made them look up at the person with two others trailing behind her. The girl didn't look at their faces but the eight boys from around the table were staring at her. she was joking with the girl beside her while placing all the bowls down the table. the other two left her when she turned around, "is there some-"

her voice got lost in her throat when she finally locked eyes with the ones watching her intently.

"y/n. you are here."

oh. they're having tours in this country. you're so busy these past few days that you didn't notice that they have announced the tour dates. yeah, even if you have left the group and moved away to a different country, you keep yourself updated with them.

you just can't get over them and this kills you inside.

"uh...um...congratulations on the comeback."

"Why did you leave the group? You don't even contact any of us." Hongjoong asked you from just the opposite direction from where you were standing.

"Isn't it obvious that I left the group not to keep in touch with you all?"

"But why?"

"Now your group is free from scandals and under no controversy. You all are having comebacks and your fans even forgot about me and giving you all the love you guys deserve. So what's the point of me being there." You chuckled in an unamused way.

Wooyoung stood up and suddenly hugged you catching you off guard, "you don't know how much we missed you. Everyday we thought that you'll call one of us or will show up to the front door. But you totally disappeared."

"It hurt us, baby. It hurts to not wake up to your side. It hurts not to see your smiling face and you walking around the dorm. Heck! I watched all the videos of you to hear your voice." San bit his lip to prevent himself from crying.

It hurts me too...

You just curled your fingers, wanting them to stop or you might break down in front of them. You thought after joining at your friend's restaurant that you won't ever come across your past life but who knew after two years here, you would be facing them again.

Licking your lips, you pushed Wooyoung off from you and eyed him before turning to them, "but you all became used to ignoring me then why suddenly you all are acting like this."

"No it's not like that."

"Really Mingi? Are you sure you're not the person who blamed me that for me all your hard work will be gone."

The chatters around the place increased with the entry of some more customers. Little did you know, your friend noticed the current situation you were in and she told other workers to take your place and not mind anything at the end table.

Jongho glared at Mingi but still he also knew that the news got them all shattered because it was their first accusation after the debut and they knew very well the cause of any controversy regarding a group. They all feared for their dreams to be crashing down.

But they were also worried for you. They all asked you about it but you're not the outspoken type and you remained silent and refused to talk to anyone. You distanced yourself from them when they hinted their anger towards you and it really scared you.

and that girl Minnie really played her wicked games with them at their weakest moment. "I'm sorry. Please forgive us for not being there for you. We-"

"Jongho, there's nothing to forgive or forget. I had some great memories with you all and I loved every moment but for me I don't want someone's dreams to end."

You weakly smiled at them.

"But what about you? How are you?" Seonghwa asked you while he approached you and held your hands in his, he caressed the soft skin and stared down.

"Honestly, I don't even know about myself. I'm totally living a different life. People don't recognize me after dying my hair and not wearing makeup and I don't come out often to serve the customers but unfortunately today I did and...."

"And what about the......drugs?"

"Joong-"

"It's okay Hwa. He is just obeying his rules being a leader." You bit your lip when retreating the hand from the hold, "those boxes in my bag were not drugs. Those were my anxiety pills. I used label-less boxes so that people won't know about my problems but that only led to some bigger problems."

Yunho stepped forward, "you had anxiety?" You nodded.

"What caused you this? I swear y/n tell me what happened to have this happen?" He was furious and you watched his impatient hand brushed his hair back.

"Yunho.....it's you guys. You all did this to me." After voicing out the words, you stared at them blankly.

"Us?" Yeosang asked you but also to himself.

"The ignorance. The blames and accusations adding up to the online comments on my posts were stressing me out and I had a consultation with my family psychiatrist." You sighed at the end of the sentence.

San suddenly asked you, "what about your dreams, y/n? You shared so many things with me with us. You planned a whole future with us. What about that?"

"I really wanted to spend my whole life with you all. To create so many memories together but I think those will just remain as dreams because of the rumors. Even if I want to get back. I won't because it would hamper your future and dream."

"But who spread the rumors on drugs?" Hongjoong sat down and held his head.

"It's-... it's..." you bit your lips and proceeded, "it's nothing. You don't have to worry about it now. I'm out of this whole thing and you are all free from all controversial posts."

You tried to smile but the tears falling from your eyes betrayed you.

"You are not coming back to us?" Yunho held your hand, he held it so dearly as if you were a delicate person. He didn't want to let it go but still somewhere in your eyes he saw the distance between you both.

There was no sign of love from you.

"No."

Jongho came in front of your view, "but please we need you. It's no more the same feelings without you. There's really a missing piece in our life." He gulped the lump of sadness and continued, "and, It's you, y/n."

"No you are a perfect team even without me. Eight makes a perfect team like you." You looked over all of them.

"And nine makes the perfect family." Seonghwa said in a hushed voice.

You shook your head, "then work on your teamwork and make it a family. I hope you will find a better girl for yourselves."

Wooyoung pushed aside Seonghwa and cupped your cheek and Hongjoong just stood behind him, watching you keenly.

"Please, y/n don't do this to me. I got to see you after two years and...and just for you to say leave me again?"

"Woo, people might be watching."

"I don't care."

"But I care. I have to work unlike you who will go back to your country after the tour ends. I have to stay back here and face these customers again and if somehow this scene got to the media then it'll be a new situation to handle. Please, I beg you. I don't want to be in a similar situation again."

You inhaled and continued, "and this time it won't be because of me but because of you. So stop before anything happens again."

" but you can stay with us. We can move out from the dorm and stay somewhere else. Also, you don't have to be with us for the sake of being a group member but as our girlfriend." Hongjoong said the words very precisely but you just laughed at him.

"You have lost the right to call me that way before. Don't say that word again. I hate it. I don't want to stay with any of you."

"But-"

"The food is getting cold. They worked hard in preparing this."

San held your hand when you stepped back, "At Least eat with us. Last time, you didn't even eat properly with us."

"Y/n, I miss you a lot." Yeosang looked at you with a longing feeling but you just ignored it.

I miss you all too...

And I know I shouldn't...

You took deep breaths, "I'm telling this to all of you. And it's my final wish to you so please kindly keep it. Just forget about me. You all have a long way to go to achieve success. Don't get stuck in the past. Pretend I never met you all. I was never a part of your life."

San gripped your wrist tighter.

Hongjoong said in a low voice, "this is impossible for us to do. How can we forget you? How can we forget all the memories of us?"

You stared at the grip and glanced at his face. He had changed a lot in these two years and the maturity in his voice and demeanor was visible.

He stared at you helplessly and waited for your response. You removed the grip and turned around.

"Enjoy the meal!"

How can they just eat now? They all have lost their appetite after this and the way you didn't even turn back to them for the last time left them staring at your direction until you disappeared behind the door beside the desk.

You entered the door and tears slid down your cheek and whispered to yourself, "pretend I was just a missing piece of your dream."

[I just realized that I don't know how to write 9th member aus like what did I write here. It could have been better but still I tried so appreciate me🥹]

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn @meowmeeps @vtyb23 @haechansbbg

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gojos-fr-bae · 9 months

Text

Surprise!

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Cursing

Gojo Family AU

How is all of the above the same as the last post wth

Satoru gazed at you from across the dinner table as you poked at your meal. Your favorite food which you always asked him to bring for you, the holy grail, and you hadn’t even had a single bite. To say he was bewildered was an understatement. Your husband had watched you inhale kilos of the stuff and now you were looking at it as if it was the most disgusting substance on the planet. And it wasn’t even the first time.

Throughout the entire month, Gojo had noticed small differences in your behavior. You stopped drinking, slept more and have been more irritable.You’ve been leaving the house late in the day and staying out for hours. Worst of all, your behavior towards him also changed, and for the worst. You stopped greeting him at the door whenever he got home. You stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped taking showers with him, and it was starting to worry him.

“Sweets, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I already told you I’m fine so can you just let it go.”

“If you’re fine then what’s going on with you, you aren’t even eating”

“Because I’m not hungry, what, am I not allowed to have an appetite?”

You stood up from the table and began rushing out of the room but you couldn’t make it out before he grabbed your hand and turned you to face him, worry slowly beginning to morph into anger and frustration.

“Y/N please, stop pushing me out and talk to me.”

“About what?! Talk to you about fucking what!”

“I don’t know? Maybe about you’ve been ignoring me, acting weir-”

You didn’t hear the rest of his tangent as an insistent ringing impaired your hearing.The room began spinning and black spots began to cloud your vision. Your head was pounding as you lost your footing along with consciousness, your husband catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Hey, hey Y/N! No no no, please wake up” He picked you up and rushed you to the hospital as he panicked, praying to all that is good that you would be ok.

“Mr. Gojo?” The doctor called Satoru into his office, showed him to the seat across his desk and began to evaluate him on what was going on with you.

“Well other than what we went over with her dieting, there is nothing particularly wrong with her, as a matter of fact, it’s very normal considering her current condition.”

“Wait- what do you mean her current condition?”

“Well…you know” the doctor said, a smile fading at the confused look draped on Gojo’s face.

“Wait, are you really unaware?”

“Unaware of what?!”

“Oh- I’m sorry sir but if your wife hasn’t informed you about the current situation then it is really not my place to disclose that information to yo-”

“What do you mean it's not your place! You’re a doctor and she’s my wife. I have every right to know what’s going on!!” Gojo’s voice was raised as he had finally run out of patience. So there was something going on with you and you were hiding it from him.

“Well sir, it is usually quite a touchy subject for couples and when I asked your wife about it she seemed well aware of the situation so I think that is a conversation you should have with your wife.”

Gojo was nothing if not pissed the rest of the night and wasted no time interrogating you once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom.

“Y/N what the actual fuck is going on!”

“Gosh Satoru jus-”

“Don’t you dare give me that I’m fine you’re overreacting bullshit because you literally painted and the doctor kept going on about your “condition” like what the hell.”

“You really aren’t letting this go?” You asked, fatigue beginning to catch up with you as you sat down on the edge of the bed. Your husband knelt in front of you, taking your hand in his and looking up into your eyes.

“My love, I don’t think you understand how terrified I was when you were unconscious. I am so worried about you but everytime I try to speak to you, you push me out. I love you and I worry because I love you. Please, please just, talk to me.”

As you looked down at Gojo you noticed how he was shaking ever so slightly. You sighed in worry before a small smile graced your lips.

“Okay, how about this, we go to bed now yeah, and I’ll tell you tomorrow night.”

“Why not right now?” he whispered, looking like a sad puppy.

“Satoru please, I’m really not ready to tell you today but tomorrow, I promise I’ll tell you everything, ok?”

“Fine,” he sighed, before tackling you on the bed, “I’m not letting go though because you genuinely scared the ever living shit out of me” he groaned into your neck, making you laugh. Oh you love your man-child of a husband.

“WIFEYYYYY!” Gojo called from the doorway after arriving home from a late mission. It was 11pm and he immediately jogged to your shared bedroom, slamming the door open expecting to see his loving wife waiting for him, only to find the room empty with a gift box sitting on the bed. It was a plain white box with a big red bow sitting on top of it. He slowly picked it up and untied the bow, looking around the room and calling out your name one final time before opening the box.

Satoru felt his heart quite literally stop beating as he gazed into the box. He shakily dipped one hand into it and picked the baby onesie that was neatly folded inside it.

“Well?” he heard your quiet voice ask behind him. He slowly spun on his heel, dropping the bocks but keeping a tight clutch on the onesie.

“Really?” his weak voice cracked as his hands shook and he looked up at you, eyes beginning to cloud with tears.

“Yeah, one month.” You said, feeling your eyes tearing up as well as your husband slowly made his way towards you.

“So I’m really going to be a dad?”

“Uh-huh”

“And you’ll be a mom?”

“No shit sherlock.” you chuckled as your husband wrapped his arms around you, placing his forehead against yours.

“So you’re really, truly, absolutely, positutely pregnant?”

“Yes Satoru, I am 100% pregnant, I promise.”

“Yay” He whispered, giving you the biggest, most toothy smile you have ever seen. He was so, so happy. So, happy.

“Surprise!

“Yay!” he squealed, he was so, SO happy.

tags?:@porridgesblog

The beginning of and era~

#gojo satoru #gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo imagine #jujustu #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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theflowerrooms · 1 year

Text

His Game • Chapter Two • chapter one here

Angel

Dark!Spencer Reid x gn!Reader, kidnapping fic, no use of yn

Chapter warnings; mentions of kidnapping, drugging and murder, Dark!Spencer

Chapter summary; You’ve woken up in a strange room, no real idea how you’ve gotten there, you know you’ve been drugged, you know you’ve been taken, and you know you’re scared.

Word count: 3.6k please ignore tumblr repeating paragraphs against my will

You opened your eyes, gasping sharply when noticing that this wasn't your bed, it wasn't your room. This room was painted with soft, dark green walls, warm lighting all throughout, dark wood floors. This wasn't your room.

The bed you were on was covered with the softest bedspread, pristine white and gorgeous. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a joke about how quickly white bedsheets would be ruined, but your heart and mind were racing far too fast for you to pay any mind to it.

The floor was cold when you stepped on it, your shoes were gone. You clutched your hand against your chest, heart pounding against the fabric of your shirt. You noticed afterward your shoes weren't really gone, they were placed at the foot of the bed you'd woken up on.

You looked around the room once more, there were two large, spruce wardrobes on the far wall, with a full body mirror in between them, against the next wall was the criminally comfortable bed, with two nightstands, across from the bed was a bathroom that looked just as pretty as the bedroom, a glass standing shower and a large vanity sink were what you could see from where you stood. Then next to you, was a spruce desk and a wooden chair with floral fabric on the seat that complimented the green of the walls.

Then a door that was open a crack, it was tall, black with a gold plated handle. You looked behind you in the room once more, staring at the mirror across the floor. You didn't look at sickly as you felt, you still had all of your work clothes on, and your hair was let down from the ponytail you'd had it in. You didn't remember doing that.

You didn't remember much. You remembered getting dizzy, and your vision fading. You were drugged, kidnapped, you wanted to throw up. Before you'd started at the BAU, Derek talked to you about the risks, told you how he'd been kidnapped, Jj too, and Spencer and Emily. While you knew it could happen to you, you never thought it would. Nothing ever happens to you until it does.

You didn't want to chance just barging into whatever area the door was connected to, so you peaked out through the crack in the door. The room was empty, as far as you could see, so you walked slowly into it.

It was a living space sort of room, tall green walls again, with bookshelves that went all the way up to the ceilings on one wall, three brown love seats that looked both brand new and well used at the same time. On the wall opposite the bookshelves, a brick fireplace that wasn't lit, and didn't look like it had ever been, and finally, a small kitchenette in the corner of the room.

Your hands were shaking at your sides. Were you in somebody's house? It didn't look like it, there were no windows, no personal items. It seemed like this place was underground.

Shuffling over to the wall furthest from the bedroom, you confirmed your suspicions. The wall and the space behind it sounded dull quiet when you knocked on it, indicating that there wasn't anything but ground on the other side of the wall.

You'd been drugged, kidnapped, and then kept in some isolated, underground living space that was way too nice to really be nice. You felt sick.

There was one last door, it was metal, had maybe seven or eight locks on it that you had no way to unlock. Whoever took you was going to come back, you needed to find a way out. Find a way to get out, or wait for the team to find you, you knew they'd be looking for you the second you turned up missing.

How long have you actually been gone? You had no idea. There was no way to tell how long you were knocked out, how many times you'd been knocked out that you couldn't remember, there were no windows to see whether it was night or day. This felt awful.

You spent what genuinely felt like an hour just looking for an escape, you figured there wasn't any way out aside from the metal door since you were underground. The bookshelves were built into the walls, there was nothing under the bed, nothing under or behind the wardrobes.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, close to tears, you heard footsteps, sounding like they were walking down stairs, just outside of the metal door, then you heard the first lock click open.

You contemplated hiding, under the bed or inside a closet would've been too obvious, and you couldn't imagine anywhere in the bathroom would hide you well. Besides, your kidnapper obviously knew you were here, they put you here. It would be better to rush them, look them in the eyes and fight. You quickly walked back into the main room, they'd open the door soon, you knew. It only took you a few seconds to grab the first object that could be used as a weapon, a fire poker, solid choice.

The second the door creaked open, and you saw Spencer, you dropped your weapon and ran across the room to him, heart pounding, you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest, tears of relief escaping your eyes and dampening his shirt, he didn't hesitate to hold you close to him, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other gently stroking your back.

"Thank god you- I- god I was so scared." You let out a long breath, inhaling deep to calm yourself, breathing in the smell of the room, it was sweet and warm smelling, like Spencer, coffee, peppermint and vanilla. Suddenly you felt sick to your stomach and panicked all over again. You pulled back to look at him.

"Spencer?" Your voice shook with the weight of bile creeping up your throat, you looked behind him then back at him. "Where are they- where are-" your voice cracked and you stepped back from his warm hold. You couldn't look in his eyes so you stared at his chest. He should be wearing a vest. He isn't.

You forced yourself to look at him, he looked pitiful, so so sad. You imagined you looked much the same, you hated the idea of it, you couldn't let yourself believe what you knew was true.

"I am so so sorry." His voice was so soft and gentle and you wanted to trust it, wanted to wrap yourself it in but you wouldn't. Couldn't. "Nobody else is ever going to come here for you." He looked down at you with such guilt and pity you wanted to punch him and let him hold you again at the same time but there was no way you were allowing him to touch you again.

You couldn't get any words out, you were just so close to breaking. He took a step forward and you took one back, he looked at you like you just slapped him. Unbelievable.

"You should sit down." He nodded toward the couch but you did not move. He looked down at you still, his face was soft but there were so many emotions behind his eyes that you couldn't read. Spencer always seemed so easy to read to you, but now you were lost. You wondered if it was all a front before, if Spencer was just acting every day at work.

"You should sit down, we should talk- you probably have a lot of questions." He took another step closer to you and instead of backing up you looked him in the eye and stood your ground.

"Talk? Spencer- you must have been pretending to be a genius because if you think I'm going to be willing to talk to you- you're the biggest fucking idiot ever." You wanted to sound mad, you were mad, you think. Instead your voice shook and your lips quivered and your legs felt weak.

He tilted his head at you, he didn't speak, just looked down at you with such a comforting expression that only made you feel small and confused.

One more step, he got closer to you and broke, crying louder than you'd ever heard yourself cry before. Your already weak knees buckled and you dropped, but before your knees hit the ground, Spencer caught you in his arms, kneeling in front of you as you sagged against him, wailing.

You wanted to fight him off of you, hurt him for even thinking he had any right to go near you, but you didn't fight, you had no idea why. You were leaning into him, allowing him to hold you as you cried.

Time passed, you had no idea how long you cried, how loud you cried. Spencer's ears were probably ringing, you couldn't find it in yourself to care, it was his fault anyway.

Eventually, your horrifying sobs turned into hoarse whimpers, your eyes were burning, your body had run out of tears. Spencer's arms tightened around you just slightly, he helped you stand and walked you over to a love seat, sitting down on it with you, keeping his arms around you as you leaned against him, shoulders shaking gently.

When you were done crying, you physically couldn't anymore, you looked up at him, he looked at you the same as before, soft and sweet. It didn't take long for you to shove yourself away from him, backing up on the couch until your back was pressed firmly against the armrest across from him. He even inched back a bit, giving you some more space which you appreciated.

"You're confused, ask me any questions you need to ask." Spencer spoke quietly, like you were a frightened mouse and he were trying not to spook you. Confused was an understatement, you were confused, sad, exhausted, scared.

The burning in your throat made it hard to speak. "Why?" You croaked, you barely recognized your own voice, so small and broken, scratchy from crying so hard.

"Why did I bring you here?" Spencer asked, you wanted to roll your eyes, why else? You nodded your head. "Because- because you're mine." He answered you like you were stupid to even ask in the first place. As if it were obvious that you're 'his'.

"I'm yours?" You questioned, maybe if you could understand him better, you'd figure out a way out of here sooner.

"Of course you're mine angel." He sighed softly, you almost flinched at the petname. angel. "I love you, and you'll love me eventually, we're meant to be, you don't understand, you're mine. Already mine. I needed to take you."

You nearly shuddered but instead you managed to stay still, you didn’t want him to be able to profile you, even though you know he could. He loves you? Does he really? Or does he just think he does? Spencer was so smart, you figured he'd understand his emotions well enough, but now you were beginning to rethink everything you knew about Spencer- everything you thought you knew. You never would've pegged him as a delusional kidnapper.

"What about- how long have I been here?" There was no telling what time it was, you could guess it hadn't been too long, you weren't too dehydrated or anything.

"5 hours, nobody knows you've left your apartment." He explained. You paid attention to his wording. 'you've left your apartment' rather than 'you've been taken'.

"God- what about- what about the team- what about Derek?" Your voice shook, the thought of Derek finding out you'd been kidnapped? You felt sick to your stomach, Derek was family, he'd be broken.

Immediately you noticed that Spencer's demeanour changed, the second Derek's name left your mouth.

"You do not need to worry about him, I'm not going to allow him- or anyone else to take you from me." Spencer raised his voice, just slightly, enough to alert you. "I will kill them before I let them take you."

That shook you, you felt sick. It triggered your next question, "Are you going to kill me?" You made eye contact this time, if he was going to kill you, he'd have to look you in the eye.

He didn't take any time to answer you, he looked appalled. "Of course I'm not going to kill you, angel." He shook his head, "I could never even hurt you." And you weren't sure you could believe him. You wondered if he understood that killing Derek would hurt you.

"Have you killed anyone?" You needed to understand how dangerous Spencer was, it seemed as though he wasn't going to be a serious danger to you, but then again you weren't sure you could take his word. He did kidnap you after all.

"That's not something you have to worry about right now." He spoke firmly and you took it as him admitting that he had infact killed people, you felt awful.

And suddenly, you felt a whole lot worse. "Milo- my cat, did you- did you kill him?" You nearly started to cry again, you felt like throwing up. But Spencer quickly began to shake his head, placing his hand gently on your knee and you were too nervous to push it off.

"I didn't kill him, why would I? That doesn't serve any purpose to us he- I left your door and one of your windows open so it will look like he got out, but I- he's safe. He's in my apartment." Spencer explained, looking sympathetic again as a result of your worried state. "I have, I-" He cleared his throat. "I have killed people before, only when it's necessary."

You wondered what he determined "necessary" meant.

"Were you close with your neighbour? The one directly across the hall from your apartment." he asked you, he looked guilty again. You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes again, you figured you knew exactly why he asked, you knew what happened. Spencer killed your neighbour.

"I'm sorry." You didn't believe his apology. "I needed to angel, he saw you with me he- he would've called the police. And then I would have had to kill so many people. He was a sacrifice, many more lives would have had to be taken if I didn't kill him first." He was full of shit you figured. You felt so sick. You couldn't allow yourself to think about your neighbour who was dead now because of you. You would throw up, break again, you didn't need that, you had to hold whatever pieces of yourself that remained together.

"Milo, can he come here? Can you bring him here?" You inquired, lip wobbling again. The thought of being without him scared you, and the thought of him being alone with Spencer scared you even more.

"Absolutely I can. After you do something for me." He negotiated. He didn't deserve any favours from you, but you listened anyway. "I'll bring Milo here for you if you eat something, drink some water. You haven't eaten in a while and you've been crying a lot. Your body's going to need fuel."

You knew he was right, now that you thought about it you really were starving, and your mouth and throat were so dry, food and water sounded great. "Are- are you going to drug me again?" You stuttered.

"Why would I drug you again? I've already got you here angel." His words made you shudder, but they made enough sense. You watched him stand up from the couch and walk over toward the kitchenette, you watched him pull a take out container from the refrigerator and move the food inside onto a plate before he microwaved it. It was the same thing you always got from your favourite diner three streets away from your building. You figured he'd been watching you, his were the eyes you'd felt.

While waiting for the food to heat up, Spencer got a glass with a gold rim, filling it with ice water. When he brought it over to you, you contemplated taking it, throwing the drink in his face and breaking the glass on the cold hardwood floor, or maybe just throw the glass itself at him. But really, you were too tired, so exhausted, and so thirsty.

The glass was cold in your hands but you didn't mind it, you took one quick sip, and then another, and soon you downed the glass quickly, not realizing just how dehydrated you were until you had gotten something to drink.

"Thank you." You whispered meekly, handing the glass back to Spencer, he smiled down at you and you caught a glimpse of the man you thought you knew before. Maybe it wasn’t all an act.

"I'll get you another glass." He mumbled quietly, you appreciated it. You kept your eyes on Spencer as he walked into the kitchen, refilling the glass and grabbing the food from the microwave. He came over to you and placed the glass and plate on the coffee table, then pushed the table closer to the sofa so you wouldn't have to move, you appreciated that as well.

Spencer sat on a separate love seat, giving you space as you ate which was nice. The food was delicious, it always was when you got it from that specific diner. You hated that Spencer was watching you, stalking you, but at least you were eating food you liked right now.

Spencer sat with you until you were finished. "Thank you." You whispered. He smiled once more at you and took the plate and glass, walking over to the kitchen sink and beginning to wash them.

Not moving off of the couch, you watched him. You examined his clothes, the same ones he wore earlier that day at work, you wondered if you'd ever be able to go back to that job, or back to your normal life for that matter. His hair was messier than usual, it was usually slightly unkempt, it was nice, right now it looked like he'd been running his hands through his hair all day, something you noticed before that he would do when he's stressed out. You figured being a kidnapper/murderer combo must be pretty stressful.

When he was finished, he flicked the water off of his hands into the sink and dried them on a tea towel. Eventually coming back to you. He stood tall, towering over from where you sat, you wondered if that was a deliberate attempt to assert power over you. You weren't sure if it was working or not.

"You have to get some rest angel, you need some good sleep." He spoke softly, you agreed. "I can sleep here with you, or I can go home and-"

"Go home." You cut him off. You wouldn't allow to him to sleep here with you. Or be anywhere near you while you slept. You expected him to get mad at you, he didn't, he just nodded his head, pressing his lips together. You recognized that he looked dejected, but not angry.

“You’re still in your work clothes, I brought some things from your apartment, more comfortable clothes, you’ll find them in your room.” He nodded his head toward the bedroom door.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely audible but he heard you and nodded his head.

Your legs were still shaky, still weak feeling. You got up from the couch so slowly, walked to the bedroom slowly, closing the door behind you. The floor was still freezing against your feet as you walked over to the wardrobe closest to the bathroom, sure enough finding comfortable clothes inside. You picked out pajama shorts and a shirt that was just too big for you.

Somehow, Spencer could be watching, if he was a murderer and a kidnapper, you wouldn’t put it past him to be a pervert as well. For that reason, you sat on the floor beside the bed, where you were hidden from the door, and got dressed there.

You weren’t sure what to do with the worn clothes you held in your hands. A knock on the door startled you, making you jump. “Yes?” You croaked, and he opened the door slightly, not looking inside to provide you privacy. “I’m- I’m done getting dressed.” With that he opened the door more, stepping in the room just slightly, spotting the clothes in your hands, he reached out his own to take them.

“I’ll bring them back washed.” he offered and you nodded, handing them to him, flinching slightly as his hand brushed yours, he noticed, you knew he did. “I’ll bring Milo here tomorrow, is there anything else you need?” He asked you, but the cold floor on your feet was distracting you from his words.

“Yes, um, slippers. Please.” You chewed your lip, staring up at him, crossing your arms over your stomach in an unintentional attempt to hide yourself from him.

“Of course. Goodnight, angel.” He sighed before turning around and leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind him. You stood there, staring at the door until you heard the large metal door to the exit open, close, and lock behind him.

You kept the lights on, crawling into the bed, sighing at how comfortable you forgot it was, laying on your stomach under the covers. You fell asleep much sooner than you thought you would.

Thank you for reading! <3

Taglist: @tuesday-yellowxx @niyahwhoreworld @wilcherwatchers

To be added to the taglist just let me know!

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Six: The Break-Up

In which Breekon and Hope are violent deliverymen, the Mother of Puppets is clearly Up To Shenanigans, and Jon realizes something with Michael has gone very, very wrong...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

They are mean to Jon.

It gets fairly (if briefly) violent. You are warned.

(Masterpost including playlist)

CHAPTER SIX

Michael is gone in the morning, off doing whatever madness monsters do when not bothering Archivists. That’s good, because, Jon’s decided, there will be no further discussion of wooing.

Not until the Unknowing is dealt with, anyway. And if Michael decides to kill him after that, well, the problem will have taken care of itself.

Besides, it’s probably more delusion. Midnight madness after a stressful day is not reality, he tells himself. It’s messing with him. That’s the Occam’s Razor solution.

Unless that’s its influence, and now I’m doubting what’s true because I’ve been literally sleeping next to the embodiment of doubt, but what if this is the reality and last night was the delusion, or maybe—

That way madness lies.

He’s still going to need that door—Beijing is a seven-hour flight, and Jon hates air travel—but before that, he’s going to need the Institute credit card. Michael can take care of transport, but he still needs to eat.

For now, whispers something insidious in his head, and he ignores that, too.

He slinks into the building that feels like home in spite of denial and hopes to see no one he knows.

“Oh, Mister Sims!” calls Rosie, who must have eyes like an owl. “Mister Bouchard had to run an errand, but he left something for you on his desk. Go on in.”

My lucky day, Jon thinks, and immediately squashes it before it can jinx him.

On the desk is a manilla folder with a passport Jon had definitely not posed for, a company credit card in his name, and a note on Elias’s personal stationery. It’s very thick paper stock, and feels amazing to the touch.

No plane ticket.

So. Elias knew (or guessed, please may it be a guess) that Jon was going to China today.

Right. At least Elias wasn’t here to be insufferable and terrifying—

The note says,

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Jon stares at it.

Thinks about last night.

Realizes Elias must have found a way, and probably watched the whole damn thing.

Hopes he enjoyed himself, the bastard.

Jon looks up. There are portraits everywhere here (which makes sense given that Elias can see out of anything with eyes), and for no reason he can determine, he stares down the former Institute Head, James Wright.

“This means nothing,” he informs the painted man, shaking the note at it. “How the hell should I know what you wouldn’t do? This is useless!” He slams the note on the desk and turns to go.

Hesitates. Someone might find it. And they have no reason to connect it to him, but still…

He stuffs it back in the folder, and though he knows portraits can’t laugh (surely that’s not Elias’s power, too), he swears a dry chuckle follows him out the door.

Jon needs to leave. He doesn’t want to wait here. He doesn’t want to run into anyone else. And he’s almost out when Martin calls to him.

Jon freezes, hand on the door, fixes a smile on his face, and turns around. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin isn’t breathless, though he clearly jogged; his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright. “I have something for you,” and then he takes Jon’s hand and puts something small into it.

Jon stares down at a tiny toy teddy bear. It is a faded lavender; hard, solid plastic, and covered in a sort of velvety coat.

“It’s, well, it’s sort of a good luck charm, you know?” says Martin. “I’ve won a couple of poetry contests with it, and… never had any accidents, or anything, when I carried it around. So. You have to come back to return it to me, Jonathan Sims, do you hear?” he says, waggling one finger, faux stern.

Jon stares at it. Jon stares at him. “I… you didn’t have to…”

“Come back, Jon, that’s all I’m saying,” says Martin. “Please. I’m so afraid that one of these days, you just… won’t.”

Somehow, this isn’t about just going to Beijing.

Jon blinks away moisture and pockets the bear. “I will. I… I promise, Martin.”

Martin looks happy with that (or is he sad? Both?) and lets him go.

Jon doesn’t quite run from the Institute, but he does hurry. Whatever Tim would say before this trip, good or bad, would be too much after that.

Michael will show up when it feels like showing up. It’s not like Jon has a way to call it.

You could touch its scar, he thinks, but that is… far too intimate.

He walks for a while, enjoying the uncharacteristically sunny day. It’s suspiciously nice; he waits for someone from the Vast to zot him with lightning, or a Flesh monster to come squelching out of a storm drain.

Nothing happens.

Chelsea is nice. Very upper-crust, a lovely area; it isn’t busy, and the light breeze in the few trees along the street is relaxing.

And soon, he’ll be breathing air in a different country.

It’s exciting. He has so many questions. He wishes he could spend time there.

He wonders if he’ll be able to read Mandarin (probably not; that would be too easy).

He wonders if the Eye actually likes him.

It would not be a good thing, if it does.

“Wait a minute,” he mumbles, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. With all the (Craziness? Nonsense? Lies?) from last night, Michael never mentioned bringing him back.

Jon groans. They didn’t discuss that, did they? No, they did not.

The first time it offered a door to escape, it dumped him deep in the tunnels under the Institute—and sure, he finally encountered Leitner down there, but that was not exactly helpful for outrunning the monster on his tail.

The second time, it dropped him at Elias’ literal feet, which was unpleasant (scary, exposing), and deeply unhelpful.

Jon frowns. This should probably be negotiated before he takes any doors. While he could get a ticket home with the credit card, it would be tricky without any record of him arriving in the first place.

And unlike Elias, he can’t plant information in people’s minds.

Jon sighs.

Should he go back to work? Go back to the penthouse?

Spinning his wheels simply isn’t his style. Jon slumps. Tim will be unavoidable, but that’s how it is. He turns back.

And runs into the chest of a much larger man, standing right behind him.

“Oh, pardon—” he starts, but the words fall away.

It’s Breekon. Or Hope.

Jon shouts and stumbles backwards.

Right into Hope. Or Breekon.

“Steady there, oi?” says one in the worst Cockney accent anyone has ever pretended, and its hand is on his shoulder.

“Get away from me!” Jon shouts, slapping it off him, not caring who hears, who sees. He tries to run.

They’re so damn fast.

“Now, that’s not nice, is it?” says one, catching him like a butterfly, gripping his arm so hard it nearly wrenches from his shoulder as it lifts him off his feet.

“Not at all, right rude, it is,” says the other, and grabs his face.

They’d figured out pretty quickly that Jon didn't like them touching his face.

He tries to kick.

Might as well have kicked a rock.

“And here we are—”

“—delivering a package—”

“—by hand and all.”

“Should be grateful.”

“Should.”

They're so much larger than he is.

Panic has made him stupid. He’s dropped his bag, is more wriggling than anything else, not going for eyes or anything of use, but he just can’t think, because the last time they did this, they… “I won’t go back to the Circus!” he bellows, vowing it, already making plans to swallow his own tongue or chew out his own arteries or whatever it takes to avoid it.

They both laugh at him.

“Did we say we was taking you there?”

“Don’t listen so good, does he?”

“Big stupid Eye, guess it don’t got no ears,” and they laugh and laugh.

His arm is going numb. He kicks with each word. “Put! Me! Down!”

Breekon or Hope does—with an overhand throw, hard, into the sidewalk.

Jon is dazed. He lies still, gasping up at the spinning, brick-lined street, thinking vaguely that his left shoulder might be broken, and that his death will only make the news because it’s happening in such an upper-class area.

There’s no one here. No one in the windows. No one driving by. It seems obscene they should do this in broad daylight.

They lean over him. One holds up a wide, thin envelope. “This is for you,” says whichever one it is.

Jon stares at them, uncomprehending.

“Think you broke him,” says one.

“Naw, he came that way,” says the other, and they laugh and laugh.

Jon makes a tiny, helpless whine that he hates, and tries to sit up.

Breekon or Hope smacks him in the chest with the envelope. “Take it.”

“It’s for you.”

“Got your name on it, and everything.”

“Wh…w… who is it from?” Jon compels, and feels the question surge with power but without his permission because he knows avatars do not like being compelled and they always, always react with violence.

And they do.

They answer him—they couldn't help that—but whatever the answer was, it’s lost as one of them hits him, too. Suddenly he’s back on the sidewalk, flat out, blinking at two Breekons and two Hopes.

“Gotta sign for it,” they say like that didn’t happen.

So powerful, thinks Jon, and almost laughs hysterically. “Are you serious?”

“‘S wot we do.”

Leaning in: “We’re delivery men.” And for no damn reason, they laugh and laugh.

Jon is shaking as he sits up, and has to fight not to vomit.

He takes the pen he’s handed. Scribbles somewhere on the clipboard (though whether it was anywhere near the signature box, he will never know), and leans on his good hand, head down, as they drop the envelope next to him.

“See you soon,” says one.

“Nikola… didn’t… send you?” he gasps.

And maybe because he didn’t try to compel them that time, or maybe because they just enjoy his fear, they answer. “No need,” says one.

“She got something better,” says the other.

“Just sittin’ around, gatherin’ dust…”

“Grave dust!” And off they are again, laughing.

Jon says nothing more until they leave.

The Eye is doing its thing. All of that would likely have been a hospital trip, otherwise; but his vision has cleared, and whatever cracked in his shoulder seems to be solidifying. His stomach is still twisting, but it’s empty, and that’s his own fault.

He stares at the envelope.

It’s boring. Plain. Nothing but his name on it in block letters.

And there’s no reason for him to know what it is, absolutely no reason for him to already be guessing as he picks it up (don’t do it) (I have to I need to know), but at the last second, some neglected brain cell flips into gear and he does not reach into the envelope.

Instead, he turns it over and dumps it on the sidewalk.

A Guest for Mister Spider stares up at him, objectively innocuous and honestly crude—matte white with scratchy black webs on the corners, its font a half-written, half-carved scrawl.

Mister Spider has not changed. Standing upright, spindly black legs supporting a disturbingly swollen abdomen. It looks like it’s in the middle of a dance; its face is nothing but eyes of all shapes and sizes. And on its head sits a small, red bowler hat—the only color seen.

But not the only color in the book, no. As Mister Spider repeatedly rejects his dinner guests' gifts, the stain of their blood grows and grows, until it covers everything, until even Mister Horse’s son isn’t enough to sate Mister Spider’s bloated appetite.

KNOCK KNOCK. WHO IS IT, MISTER SPIDER?

Jon knows he’s panicking, knows fear is filling all his cracks and crevices and pushing out anything resembling sense because the Web wants him to pick up this book.

He feels it happening—a choice that is not his, a will that is not his own, sour and unfamiliar.

He knows what this is. He’s been here before. He can’t see the webs on his hands, or around his throat, or wherever the fuck they are, but he feels them.

Something wants him to reach for that book, pick it up, read, and head to Mister Spider’s door to be taken.

Except he’s not doing it.

He can’t pull away. Any movement he makes is only toward it. But he’s actually resisting, which should not be possible.

The Eye. Michael said he had protections; the Eye was giving him enough willpower to resist the Web—at least for a while.

That was incredible. But it wasn’t enough.

Jon is breathing hard. He can’t look away, can’t escape. Trying to lean back only leans him forward, trying to move his hand further only inches it near.

He’s shaking now, straining. It isn’t physical; this is a battle of wills.

He’d lost that battle handily when he was eight, when this book caught him fair and square, when that bully (Daniel? Darren?) more than twice his age knocked it out of his hands, and shoved him to the ground, and picked up the book to mock him.

And then was caught in Jon’s place, because he’d touched it.

Instead of being eaten, Jon got to watch Mister Spider eat.

It’s pulling him.

If he calls for help, someone else could touch the book. He can’t let that happen again.

Spots dance in his vision. The Eye’s help is not enough.

His hand has inched closer.

“No!” he wheezes. “No!”

Michael pulls him away.

Long arms around him, sharp fingers nicking clothes and skin as he’s lifted and physically yanked further from the book, and Jon’s body fights without his permission.

“No!” he cries, not trying to fight, not trying to get loose, but his body does it anyway, squirming and writhing toward that square, printed hell.

Michael tosses him into its Corridors.

He hits the weird, yellow carpet in a clumsy pile, and lies there, gasping.

He feels like he got run over.

Wait. Did he?

He feels sick, feels sore.

Was that because of the delivery men, or…

Was that today?

Wait. Did the Web get him?

Wait.

He doesn’t think it did. Did it? He can’t remember.

The last few moments seem so hazy. But something is hurting his hip. He rolls over and sticks his hand in his pocket and finds the little bear.

Martin, he thinks, though he can’t recall if Martin gave it to him or he gave it to Martin.

Wait. Of course he didn’t give it to Martin, it’s here.

“Good lord,” he mutters, sitting up and rubbing his head.

“That took you longer than usual, Archivist,” says Michael, who is, naturally, behind him.

Jon jumps. “How long have you been there?”

“A while.” Michael tilts its head too far, smiling brightly. “That was very nice.”

“What was? My deranged condition?”

Michael laughs.

“Feel like I’ve been put through a concrete mixer,” Jon mutters, leaning forward.

But his limbs are his own.

His will is his own.

The relief is so strong, it almost makes him cry. He slumps forward again, face in his hands.

“The Mother of Puppets really wants your attention,” says Michael cheerfully. “Not that I can blame her. You’re very entertaining.”

“She’d have had me if you hadn’t come along.” Jon sounds rough. Feels rough.

“Yes.”

“I... I owe you.”

“Yes, you do,” says Michael.

Jon’s empty, abused stomach grumbles. “What did you do with the book?”

“What I did last time, which should have been enough—punched through its center to put it to sleep, then threw it into a place that is not. You see? I am helping you, Archivist.”

“Was… was it the same book?” Because then it could be the same as his childhood, because then it could be following him, because then—

Michael is completely uninterested in provenance. “Do you still wish for a door to Beijing? I would think you’d need a rest first—you will hardly make the best impression this way, will you?”

Jon tries to think.

It’s odd, in here. Would be restful, if he let it; thoughts drifting away, letting everything mean its opposite, no longer being sure of guilt or doom or monsterdom.

It should be scary, though. It really should. How broken am I? he wonders. “How… did you know to come just then? Where were you, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s very strange, Archivist,” says Michael in a strangely light tone, one that makes Jon feel like it has actual hackles to raise. “I suddenly knew you were in trouble. Isn’t that funny?”

Jon stares at it. “How?”

Michael smiles. “I think the Mother of Puppets has some sort of stake in your adventure. Or perhaps It Knows You decided to share. Isn’t that nice? Everyone likes you! Though I will remind you, your death is promised to me.”

“Oh. Good,” says Jon just for something to say, and lies back on the carpet.

He’s not spinning. He feels like he’s spinning. Up and down are flexible in this space.

You should be terrified, he reminds himself.

Michael isn’t asking what happened. It doesn’t seem to care. It sits there, watching Jon, as if he’s doing something far more interesting than breathing.

“I do still need to go to Beijing. Um. I also need to come back to London. Is that… included?”

Michael tilts its head.

Jon suddenly has a bad feeling he gave it the idea.

“Yes,” says Michael so magnanimously it might as well be granting him a knighthood.

Jon manages a smile. “Thank you.”

“I lie, Archivist,” it reminds him.

“Not all the time, or you’d just never make sense at all.”

“I make sense?” says Michael with wide-eyed innocence.

Jon laughs. Again.

The damned monster looks overly pleased.

“I think I can go now.” Jon stands, slowly, and sighs. “New clothes. Right. At least these weren’t mine. Oh, damn, my—”

Michael holds up Jon’s bag, which most definitely was not there a moment before. “I did not forget, Archivist. What would you do without me, I wonder?”

“I’d have to beg Elias for a new passport, which is the worst-case scenario,” Jon mutters with a weak smile. He takes the bag. Stares down at it. Realizes his hands are still shaking.

Stop it, he tells them.

“Am I not helpful?”

“Yes, yes.” Then it hits him. “What, you’re ‘wooing’ me again?”

“Of course. It strikes me, upon thought, that this will be a longer project than first expected,” Michael says.

Jon laughs. He has to. What has his life become? “Well, good luck with that. Nobody’s ever managed that project to completion yet.”

“Perhaps they did not ask.”

Jon looks at it.

It knows, he thinks. It knows that Jon has almost no choices in his life right now.

That’s why it kept checking last night. That’s why it’s verbalizing now.

Jon doesn’t have words for what this is. Respect? Consent? None of those are quite right.

“There is blood on you, Archivist,” Michael says, low and pleasant.

Jon looks down at himself. “Where?”

And it’s behind him, right up against him, hands on his shoulders and fingers reaching all the way to his hips, its presence looming, bending over him so its long, golden curls obscure Jon’s vision, and it grins madly at him upside down.

(Oh good, there’s the missing fear.)

It is very still. “If you wish, Archivist, I will withdraw,” it says.

And he is afraid (how could he not be), but he… doesn’t want it to withdraw. “N… not yet.”

One long, sharp finger brushes the side of his head. “This is where you bled.”

Staring at Michael (he could look away any time he wants), he reaches up, touches, winces.

“It will have healed soon enough, Archivist, but might I suggest you take… a bit of time?”

“I don’t have time. The Uknowing is soon, Michael.”

“You do have time. Here. With me.”

Jon pauses.

Michael can do that—keep people for weeks in here (to Tim and Martin’s shared trauma), releasing them moments from when it snatched them from the world.

But is that right? Is that fair? Why should he get to rest when the rest of the planet—

“Just for a while, Archivist,” Michael says. “Then we shall return, and you shall find new clothing, and wash away the blood. Then, your hands will no longer shake.”

Jon sighs. This day is not at all going to plan. “Yes. I… you know what? Yes. Yes.” He sits down.

It sits with him.

Close. “Your silly Beijing archive will be there,” it says.

Did I acclimate that quickly? I am going crazy, he thinks. “It’s not silly,” Jon mutters, defending a repository of knowledge he’s never seen.

Michael nudges his hand, and Jon looks down to see a small plate with what looks like an ordinary sandwich on it.

It’s not like the weird pastry of the day before—no mind-bending twists, no suspicious extra dimensions. “What is this?”

“Your stomach is very loud,” says Michael as if offended by bodily processes.

The laugh helps. Somehow, this isn’t the same as Elias’ cucumber.

It’s tuna. And it’s not boring. And it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Jon eats, and sits in silence, and dozes, though he did not mean to.

Eventually, he takes Michael’s offered door back to the penthouse, and outside, no time has passed at all.

The Pu Songling Research Centre turns out to be a near-complete bust—with two exceptions.

The librarian, Zhang Xiaolin, is friendly and helpful, and her English is very good, which Jon appreciates.

She is seems to think Jon is more interesting than he is. “Elias made a good choice for Archivist,” she tells him. “I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him. It doesn’t seem to be a problem now.”

And of course, Jon politely says, “Oh, I suppose not,” because he feels lousy for being lousy at other languages, and it isn’t until he storms out of the library with only one tidbit of information that Michael informs him he’d been hearing and speaking flawless Mandarin for the past half-hour.

“No,” he says, breathless.

Michael thinks that is hilarious.

Jon opens his phone and looks at the statement he’d already recorded, the one he took a picture of in case the tape somehow didn’t make it back (he wasn’t sure yet how the Corridors affected electronics, but he’d be shocked if they didn’t do something), only to find that it was, indeed, Mandarin.

He pulls out his tape recorder. He’d recorded in English; he’d translated the thing on the fly, and hadn’t even noticed.

Michael watches the fumbling of various tools, looking more amused by the moment. “Do you wish to leave now?”

“I…” He shakes his head. Deal with it later, deal with it later. “Can we go somewhere first? From here, Gertrude went to Chicago.”

“Certainly, Archivist,” says Michael, its grin far too wide.

“What?” Jon bristles.

“You are becoming very familiar.”

Jon hunches. “I don’t have to go through your doors, you know. I could just buy a plane ticket.”

“Oh, Archivist… What a beautiful mistake that would be!”

“What do you mean?”

“Trapped in a narrow tube, at the mercy of the Falling Titan, with so little to occupy your mind?” Michael laughs. “You’d eat the fear of every single person on that airplane.”

Something in Jon’s chest abruptly gains a hundred pounds. “I… I wouldn’t. What are you talking about? I have better control than that.”

Michael bends double, to eye-height. “And sitting next to them, stewing, while they hold their stories to themselves… and you feel them, smell them like baked bread, salivate for them and daydream over what they could mean…. For thirteen hours? What do you think would happen, Archivist? Because if you do buy a ticket, I will be there. I want to watch.”

That was the most lascivious thing it had ever said. Even Jon couldn’t miss it.

“All right,” he mutters, looking elsewhere, face burning. “You’ve made your point. But it’s not that I couldn’t do it,” he has to add. For clarity.

Michael brushes its fingertips over his cheek. Such a light touch; tingling. Fond.

It occurs to Jon that it would have benefited from Jon’s unwise plane trip.

Michael warned him. Because Michael knew he wouldn’t want to do that to people.

This is rapidly becoming something far more intimate than Jon expected, and he shudders. “Chicago. If you please.”

It laughs at him and opens a door.

He is tired. Dragging. Swears it feels like jet-lag, even though it couldn’t possibly be.

They take a hotel.

Jon is absolutely over Breekon and Hope and Mister Spider, he tells himself, will not jump at shadows and fear more Spider-traps.

Michael lies beside him on the queen-size bed, studying him closely. “May I touch you?”

Jon swallows. “To… to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. You may do that.”

“I would like to do more,” says Michael.

Jon swallows again. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Then I shall not.”

It’s like liquid joy, rushing over him. Choice. When was the last time anyone cared about his choice?

Jon rolls over so it won’t see him tearing up. It’s stupid. This is stupid. It’s a tactic, a technique, that’s all. The thing behind him is a manipulative monster, and—

It begins to stroke his hair. Pointed fingertips, barely touching, running along his scalp.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.

Tension melts out of his shoulders, his neck, his hands.

It’s really not going to push, he thinks, and without even meaning to, falls asleep.

He slept well, yes; but he doesn’t feel like he slept at all.

It’s jet-lag, somehow, he tells himself as he questions people anywhere around Gertrude’s forwarding address in West Pullman.

The rental manager doesn’t know much, but there was another forwarding address to the Usher Foundation in Washington, DC.

And a memory the poor man doesn’t seem to realize scarred him: calliope music in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason.

The Circus was here.

Shaken, Jon takes the forwarding address, then changes his mind. He’s so close—he might as well go and see where Gerard Keay died. There might be more information. “I need to go to Pittsburgh. Can we do that?”

“Of course, Archivist,” purrs Michael. “I am being very good. Do you see?”

He has to laugh. “Yes. Yes, I see,” Jon says, and lets Michael open a door.

The headache starts not long after.

It’s the annoying kind, messing with his vision, playing just a little with his hearing. He has to squint at people, which makes them less inclined to answer simple questions.

He’s lucky to find a nurse at UPMC Presbyterian who remembers Keay, he tells himself. He’s horrified at the knowledge (imparted by the Eye, not the nurse) that Gertrude took a weird joy in pretending to be Gerard’s mother.

Faux maternal roles or not, it sounds like Gerard died alone.

Jon hopes—deeply, desperately hopes—it wasn’t another sacrifice.

“I heard the old lady was arrested,” adds the nurse with the delight that comes of reviving old gossip, so now Jon has to go to the nearest station.

At two-fifteen, he compels a policeman.

He had to, he tells himself. The idiot wouldn’t tell him anything, and Jon’s trying to save his life, too, even if he doesn’t know it. Jon can’t afford to be lied to or blown off. There’s no time.

Even so, he learns almost nothing. It doesn’t help the headache. And now, he feels weirdly, heavily watched, even more than usual.

“We have to go to Washington,” he tells Michael hoarsely, who tilts its head.

“Your god is feeding off you,” it warns him.

Like Jude Perry warned him. Feed your god, or…

Jon scowls. It’s only been a couple of days without a statement. “It can go without supper for a night. Please. Washington.”

“Whatever you say, Archivist.” It opens a door.

He tells himself to be patient. That Gertrude hadn’t intended to be followed, and he’s doing well with what breadcrumbs he has.

Dizziness has joined the headache. It feels like hasn’t eaten in a month. Again.

Even with Michael’s doors, he has precisely enough time to arrive in Washington and check in at the hotel he picked before collapsing right in the lobby.

“Welcome back, Archivist,” says Michael, who is draped on top of him in a hotel bed.

It feels… amazing.

His head still hurts. He is still dizzy. But it’s less, somehow, his perception of whatever’s wrong now dimmed.

Michael has dimmed whatever the Eye was doing to him. Somehow. Michael fits against him, and Jon feels safe.

(Which is wrong.)

Compressed, somehow.

(Weighted blanket of madness!)

He should ask it to get off him.

He doesn’t. ’“Wh…what….”

“You fainted,” says Michael. “I am very impressed, Archivist. Your denial is quite developed.”

“My…” He wriggles his feet. It took off his shoes. “What happened?”

“You took and took, and did not feed your god, so it fed on you,” says Michael, cheerfully. “I carried you. You see? I am your friend.”

Jon cannot imagine the scene it must have caused, or what anyone might have thought of a six and a half foot blond man, grinning and carrying Jon like an unconscious bride.

He squinches his eyes closed. Almost laughs, but doesn’t have the energy.

He still doesn’t ask it to get off him.

This, he decides, feels very good.

“You have a present,” says Michael.

Fear spikes.

“No,” says Michael, patient. “Not from the Mother.” And it holds up an airmail packet.

The post-date is about five minutes after he’d made the reservation at this hotel.

Jon stares at it. Grabs it. Sits up.

Michael slides off him like heavy sheets and presses right up next to him, watching his response.

Jon is glad it did not pull away. He dares not analyze that now.

Inside are two statements and another note on fine stationery.

To tide you over.

Jon had picked this hotel, he thought, at random. It looked nice; it was near the Usher Foundation. He’d gotten the reservation that afternoon.

“This is not happening,” mutters Jon.

Michael leans even closer to look. “Oh, my,” it says.

“How the hell did he know?” Jon says.

“He watches you with great interest, Archivist,” says Michael. Its hair has fallen over his arm, onto his hands, onto the statements.

“Is anybody not watching?” he snaps.

Michael just chuckles.

Jon wants to say something truly caustic, but he can’t. He’s reading, and he forgets everything else.

It’s a horrible story, of course. They all are; that’s the entire point.

He devours it, a starving man, lives its fear, the smell of smoke and the terror of open flame, the cruelty of the Desolation, and the Eye drinks it in, not requiring a new story, just requiring his experience as the flair that gives it flavor.

He’s panting when he’s done, flushed. The headache is gone.

He thrums with energy.

Michael watches.

“How did he know I needed this?” whispers Jon. “Am I addicted?”

“You have needs, Archivist. All living things do.” Michael’s tone is almost… gentle.

Almost.

Jon doesn’t like this.

A year ago, he could’ve gone a week without a statement, easily.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I’m turning into a monster, Jon thinks, and it panics him. “I am not the same as you,” he suddenly snaps, yanking away from it to stalk beside the bed.

Michael looks startled, but says nothing.

And the terrible thing is that Jon feels amazing. Incredible. Revived by another person’s horror.

It’s terrifying.

“A living tale will last you longer, of course,” says Michael, “but I suspect you already know that.”

Jon rips the statement to shreds.

It’s childish, but it feels better. He looks around—yes, one of the paintings has people in it, a group of ladies in 19th-century clothing, sitting in a garden.

“Is he watching?” says Jon.

“I wouldn’t know, Archivist,” says Michael.

He flips them off, anyway.

Then he tries to lift the painting and turn it around, but it is stuck to the wall somehow. So he fetches a towel from the bathroom and drapes it over. “Take that,” he mutters.

“You should… rest, Archivist,” says Michael, sounding oddly confused.

Jon narrows his eyes. “What?” he snaps. “Why are you talking like that? Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ or give me ridiculous answers.”

“I… dislike becoming without a choice,” says Michael, and frowns. “But I ought not.” It looks at him.

This is not a good look.

Jon takes a step back.

Something is going on behind its eyes.

Something fraught, embattled. A resentment peers through, with confusion—a glimpse of the monster, the thing that plays with people until they die, disorientated, in its halls. Behind is the thing that looked upon him to kill him in the Circus’ ugly warehouse, that does not view him with amusement, or whatever it is Michael normally projects.

That, Jon realizes, is not Michael. He takes another step back.

“I should be enjoying this, Archivist,” says Michael, and its tone is poison. It rises from the bed without bones like some kind of weird serpent, and looms there, bent slightly to accommodate the height of the room.

Jon swallows. “I’m not becoming,” he whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say. “It’s not that.”

“Oh, you are, Archivist. Truly, I am witnessing a beautiful thing—the slicing away of your humanity, the becoming of that which no longer suffers from pointless, useless hesitation, but I do not like it. And. I. Should.”

When did it get closer?

It doesn't feel like Michael at all, right now.

So close, looming. Blocking out the light from the room, its hair caging him in on either side. He stares up at it, frozen.

“Why am I not enjoying this, Archivist?” It touches his face, but this… this is a threat, he knows it is a threat, and stays very still. “Did you do something to me, perhaps? Are you changing my nature? Or… is it this… of the pointless self your Gertrude burned into my being?”

“She’s not my Gertrude.” The denial comes fast, quick. Breathless. “Very much not my Gertrude.”

“No,” says Michael, thoughtful, soft. Its fingertips drag down his cheek just a tiny bit, and they draw blood.

He flinches.

“No,” says Michael again. “You are not like her at all.” And then it… shrinks, without shrinking, withdraws and piles back onto the bed with a flourish that would make Elias proud, and just looks at him.

Jon sits shakily on the chair by the bed and thinks.

Was that another part of the Spiral, looking at him for a moment there, another limb, to use Michael’s own analogy?

It was bad. That was sure. “Am I hurting you, Michael?” he says, softly. “Hurting you, somehow? By my… whatever it is I give off. Exude. Am I doing you harm?”

“Would you care if you were, Archivist?” Michael sounds like itself again, like that hadn’t happened. “You need me, after all.”

“Not enough to do you harm,” says Jon. “I could manage without you. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could do it. And if I’m… if I’m harming you…”

Michael suddenly laughs. “Are you breaking up with me, Archivist?”

Jon sputters. “Be serious!”

“I am, Archivist. This is new territory for me, as well—and unlike you, it is not in my nature to… take in knowledge in this way. Yes; I will say, for now, that perhaps you do hurt me.”

“I,” Jon stammers, horrified.

“You have protections. To enter your dreams each night… it pains me, Archivist. It burns, like passing through a skin of fire.”

Jon gasps. “We can part ways for a while! I… I’m already in DC, I can… I don’t know, maybe they won’t ask too many questions. I can get a ticket back, I…”

It suddenly laughs. “Oh, Archivist, the look on your face!” It’s on its back, holding itself as if its sides are ready to split, and its fingers are poking holes in the bed linens.

“What?” Jon says.

“I hardly have to do anything,” it cackles, and waggles its fingers at him. “You create all your doubt, all your fear, all by yourself.”

Jon stills.

A month ago, before Nikola, he’d have fallen for this.

He knows he would. Occam’s Razor—it was making fun of him again, having a quick snack on his insecurities.

But it has been quite a month, and whatever can be said about becoming, unwilling or not… he is stronger.

He knows it is lying. “Michael.”

“Oh, let me enjoy this for just a moment more, Archivist!”

“Michael, I know you’re lying to me.”

It stops.

The other peers out from behind those human-like eyes again, and Jon can see now that this is indeed more of what Michael is, not something different, but more of the Spiral, more of its attention than he had before.

It is confused, and it is angry.

He is terrified.

“That is a sentence,” says Michael.

“Would it help you to spend the night away from me?” says Jon.

“It would not help you, Archivist.”

“Answer the question.” And he did not mean to put power into that, did not mean to try to compel the embodiment of delusion, but it happened, just happened.

“Yes,” says Michael, and then looks utterly shocked.

They both stare at each other.

I just compelled a god, he thinks, and swallows.

“Very powerful,” says Michael, like a sweet nothing, and stands. “Shall I do this, Archivist? Leave you to your own devices? You are not very safe, without me.”

“You’re not safe with me, apparently,” says Jon. “So that’s my choice. Go. For… for a while.”

Without another word, it walks to the wall, where a yellow door—utterly incongruous in this place—appears. It walks through, and takes the door with it.

It respected his choice. At once. Jon is shaken.

And he can see something where the door was. An outline of some kind. Fading, but there—a remnant of Michael’s power.

That’s… new.

He swallows.

Stop the Unknowing, he tells himself. That’s why you’re doing this. That’s why…

There’s no going back, though. Every step he takes is one-way.

Just how much of a monster is he going to be by the time this is all done?

Will he still be himself?

There’s no answer to that. There can’t be. The Eye doesn’t know the future.

But it is eager to see.

He misses Michael. That didn’t take long.

Jon goes to bed without dinner, vaguely satisfied with punishing himself the only way he can.

part seven

#tma au #tma fic #jonathan sims #johnathan sims #michael distortion #tma michael #elias bouchard #martin blackwood #tim stoker #and eat it too

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Lust — Kaz Brekker

Gif by @kitsyoung

Request: “Hey. I really like your writing and I was wondering if you would consider writing a Kaz piece with the smut prompts 76, 1 & 33. Obviously with your au rules. If it’s too much I completely understand tho”

“7, 17, 36, and 73 from the smut list for Kaz Brekker please? If not, no worries! 💖 Thank you!”

“Holy shit that last kaz brekker smut- AMAZING. Was wondering if you could write another smut with smut prompt #6? Of course if this bothers you just ignore it. Thank you so much 🥰”

Smut prompts:

1. “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”

6. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

7. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

17. “after that little stunt? you’re not getting off that easy”

33. “Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.”

36. "If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.“

73. “You know, you look real pretty when you cry.”

76. “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, explicit smut, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, nsfw, jealous, mention of fight.

Word count: 5k

A/N: All smut requests for Kaz must follow these rules.

Thank you so much for the requests and for all affection 💖 I decided to compile these requests, since they were the same central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. I hope you like it and good reading.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — — —

There is a theory that always, somewhere, there will be a person capable of making you lose your breath, and your reasoning, whenever he appears on the scene. Someone who robs you of your breath, your heartbeat, your ability to think clearly and your control to keep your hands not shaking.

And Kaz Brekker would always be that person for you.

From the first time you laid eyes on him, it's been a feeling of dying and going to heaven. Except that Heaven was, in reality, a hot, burning hell. Where your greatest punishment was being forced to watch his tall figure, who exuded masculinity by every inch, walking in front of you like a Renaissance painting very superb.

Nothing that Van Gogh, Da Vinci, and Picasso created has bordered on the personification of beauty that he was.

Kaz was beautiful in a very mysterious, dangerous and chilling way. You would describe his aura as the height of midnight in an enigmatic city, his hair the color of the core of sin and his features as lines that the god Ares would have drawn. Everything about him reeked of the fog of suspense stories, with a touch of lust.

All the looks he directed at you were caustic, flickering and intense as a candle flame, reverberating through your veins like angry eels and always make the room feeling charged with electricity, like the ground after the fall of a lightning. Everything between the two of you seemed to be filled with something fiery and arcane. From the gazes, the rubbing of shoulders, the times when the skins touched. Everything was a compilation of sensations that make you catch your breath whenever Kaz Brekker appeared.

He was your kryptonite. In all senses.

And that was exasperating in the extreme, at staggering levels. You felt your center of your sex vibrate whenever he directed you that voice whit baritone intonation and predatory looks, whenever the button-down shirts were tight enough for you to revel in the contours of his body, or sometimes when he wore the cane to signal or stopper something. This was the worst of them. His cane.

Have you lost count of how many times Kaz stopped you as counting money, by putting the tip of the cane over your hands, or stopped you from going somewhere by blocking your path with the cane, lifting the object horizontally in front of your belly. And every time you felt your legs tremble, your breath fade and a very dirty part of your brain whisper that you wanted him to use that object in you in more fun ways.

Your body was so responsive that there were times when you knew, with every fiber of your soul, that Kaz was able to read the paths in which your thoughts wandered. He lowered his gaze to you, in that breathless connection that promised to contain the most nefarious paths of sin, and maliciously curved the left corner of his lips in an arrogant, oblique expression. At such times, you could feel in your soul the words he did not say:

I know the perverted things that you are thinking.

And the truth was, he really knew. Kaz memorized every change in your breathing, every blush on your cheeks, every trembling of your hands, every your trembling look whit a frightened girl who had been caught thinking of something impure. He knew how your body was responsive, needy. And he himself had to control himself not to push you over the desk in his office and fuck you like an aggressive animal, bringing all your perverted thoughts to life.

It wasn't his physical reactions that kept him from taking action, but an even more visseral reaction than the pulsing desire he felt for you. Mine. The primal, determined, burning sensation of possession. That it ran through his veins like hot, bubbling lava. The desire was familiar, but this statement, not. Like the jealousy he felt for you, he quickly recognized the danger he was in.

If Kaz touched you…he knew he would never be able to let you go.

Mine. A statement that resonated spontaneously whenever he saw you, a testament to the reactions the two of you triggered in each other. However, not even the awareness of the dangerous game that was between you was able to dispel the climate of provocative sensuality that pulsed in the places whenever the two of you were together.

It was like playing with a powerful drug. One slip and he would be addicted forever.

On days like this, when Kaz had just come out of an exasperating meeting with Peka, a businessman and mobster who was always looking for ways to try and bring Kaz down, his already bad temper turned to terrible. He felt compelled to break something, drink a whole bottle of the best English whiskey in that club, and punch someone. Kaz felt the anger pulse through his veins, in a pure and perfect way.

He left the office, turning off his cell phone so he wouldn't be disturbed and descending the stairs to the center of his Crow Club, mind buzzing and anger seeping in his blood. He needed to unwind, maybe get into the car and head home. Maybe actually drink that whiskey bottle. Maybe both.

Kaz was about to take another step down, running a gloved hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, when his gaze met your figure. And that was when the already terrible temper rose to the very badly.

Normally, a vision like that would have just bothered him, a compulsion to do something. But that day, Kaz was at the height of his angriest feelings. And seeing you, bold as a goddess in that little black dress, next to Jesper at the gambling table and flirting with a guy to your left, did things with every last bit of patience and self-control he had.

His eyes never left you as he took another step, running his hand through his hair again to contain the unruly strands. You were laughing, downing another drink and placing a card on the table. You turn back to the man to your left, your eyelashes fluttered gracefully in a promise to allow him to guide your rein tonight.

But there would be no goddamn rein for that fucking guy to guide.

Kaz gripped his cane tightly, descending the other short stairs and advancing toward your with dangerous, determined, and angry steps.

"...in this part of the year, criminal law cases drop a lot." The damn guy was telling you, his boring blond hair falling over his blue eyes in a way Kaz found annoying.

To fucking hell with that blond-haired Dande.

“Y/n, Jesper!” Kaz tapped the end of his cane on the table, stopping the cards under the polished wooden end.

Everyone at the table looked at him startled, their actions frozen. He saw you swallow hard, a soft tremor sigh in your shoulders.

Good!

“Shouldn't you be at the door?” Kaz turned to Jesper, his eyes sparks with annoyance.

“Right now, Boss.” He stood up, giving you a strained smile and heading towards the door.

“Kaz…” You started, voice softly intoxicated.

You knew you weren't supposed to be at the gambling table, let alone so late at night and drunk, even if Jesper was by your side. You had the ability to win every play, in any game, and that ended up not only driving the others away, but leaving the men, already drunk and irrational, aggressive and with an extremely bruised ego. And they almost always wanted to retaliate physically. As much as there were security guards and cameras everywhere to keep something bad from happening, Kaz couldn't stand the thought of someone hurting you. Not even blinking insultingly in your direction.

He sent you an icy, sharp, steady look. A clear warning for you to stop there any excuse you were about to give. To be careful with the next words you would say. You swallowed hard, looking away and getting up from the table. Slightly wobbly from the drink, you fished your coat from the chair next to you, giving a strained, apologetic smile to the guy you'd been flirting with so far.

“I better go home and call an uber and…” You started, but Kaz cut your sentence.

“I'll driver you.”

His tone exuded annoyance and impatience, giving no opening to any objections, demonstrating that he was in no mood for games. Much less defiance of his orders. You knew him too well to recognize that that night had pulled his nerves beyond what he could handle, the strain and irritation in his eyes told you something had happened beyond what you knew. His jaw, straight and strong as glass, was clenched tightly, his night-colored hair was disheveled in an overwhelmingly attractive way, and his black robes sinfully marred every line of his body.

You should have become wary of the dangerous energy that he exuded through every pore at that moment. However, to your inebriated and excited brain, Kaz Brekker has never looked so fucking hot! Your underbelly vibrated in response to the personification of sin that Kaz was, your heart racing at alarming levels as you followed him out, walking over to his car.

Like every piece of Brekker's clothing, his car was sleek black, with big black wheels, tinted glass and dark leather seats. Hades' chariot. You felt your breath catch when Kaz opened the passenger door for you, his eyes avoiding yours, his jaw still clenched and dangerous energy exhaling through every fiber of his tall, lean body.

Holy Mother of God, this man was a perdition!

Kaz contained an instinctive desire to go back inside and tell that aspiring Dande that you weren't available. Instead, he closed the door when you got in and turned around in the car, closing his own and squeezing the steering wheel harder than he would have liked.

Midnight height light streamed in through the darkened car windows and gently illuminated the curve of your cheek, highlighting your skin that Kaz might have named the color of the gods. So much attention was too seductive. Emotions and reactions still bubbled through each his vein like scandant water, mingling with months of frustrated desires and burning sexual tension.

At that moment, jealousy laced him. Mine. Amazing and at the same time propelled by dangerous strength, Kaz tried to trap that feeling back into the dungeon of his soul. He controlled his fury, yet he couldn't completely tame. Annoyance turned to anger. Starting driving the car forward, Kaz tried to think of anything but how you looked like the Goddess Aphrodite on that dark bench. Splendid as a heat ray in a winter day.

“Kaz…” You started, that gentle, repentant tone that stirred every spark in his soul.

He hated how his name on your lips sounded so sensual, so right and so delicious. He would give everything he had to hear you moan his name.

“Don't start” he warned, now not because of latent annoyance, but because he didn't know if he could stop himself if he heard your voice.

However, you didn't make things any easier for him.

"You don't have to be so angry." You go "I wasn't even using all my intellect on the game, I wasn't trying to win."

Kaz didn't even know if that was the core of the problem anymore. Was he angry that you went to a table where it was dangerous? Yes. But the waters were much deeper than that, much more dangerous. The way your smile, sweet and sensual, was directed at that guy, reeled in Kaz's mind, impregnated with the plague. He felt the blood burn in his veins just remembering how melted you looked for that man. And as much as he couldn't blame you, because you were free and single, the primal, irrational part of him screamed so much louder now.

Mine.

“This does not matter anymore.” It was the only thing he managed to say, the very sensations drowning him.

“And it wasn't even that dangerous.” But unlike him, you were obliterating the burning emotions that Kaz exuded. “There were only a few players drunker than a door, and Jesper was on my side, and also James, who was very charming and...”

Kaz almost lost direction, making the car bounce smoothly. He staked his eyes at you, puzzled and bubbling.

“James?”

“Yeah, the blond guy who…”

"I don't want to know, Y/n." He cut you off "I don't want to hear about the guys you allow to drool around you like mangy dogs."

The distilled rage was impossible to contain, and before Kaz knew it, the words were out. He turned forward again, his hands tighter on the steering wheel.

“Wait…” Your tone was slightly smug, and the way you rubbed one thigh against the other was impossible for Kaz to miss.

The grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“You are jealous?” Your intonation dropped to a low, sensual, provocative level.

Suddenly, Kaz's entire body became very aware of your body inches away. He could feel the heat that you radiated and the lyrical, sweet and sinful scent of your perfume flooded all his senses. The air grew thin, puffy and stuffy, and if it had been December cold outside, Kaz would still feel the height of summer in that car. Flashes of excitement and danger rippled through the car, and the brief silence grew even more charged with sexual tension and lustful anticipation that stirred every fiber of Kaz's being.

He made the mistake of looking at you again, and your softly mischievous smile that promised a lifetime of satisfied desires only served to incite his madness. Kaz had never understood how a man could want a woman so badly that he acted irrationally and carelessly. But now he understood. And when he realized you tried to stifle a sensual sigh from the way he was looking at you, his body won the fight against his mind and Kaz stopped abruptly the car at the red traffic light.

The sexual tension between you had become unbearable. In one moment, Kaz was fighting the series of overwhelming and disturbing emotions that dominated his entire being, and in the next moment, he had taken your mouth with his in a fiery, fierce, animal kiss. Stealing all the air from both of you, his thoughts, and his sanity.

He held your face firmly in his hands, his fingers going down to the strands of hair at the nape of your neck, turning everything into something more caustic and desperate. Yours hands went to his arms, moving up to his shoulders and cupping the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. Kaz's tongue inched into your mouth without waiting for permission, conquering and claiming every fiber of your body, of your soul, in a continued of kisses you couldn't tell where one ended and another began.

The moan of satisfaction you let out gave him a lust and desire unlike anything Brekker had ever felt. Like hot, addictive honey down in his throat. He was still gripped by jealousy, annoyance and possessiveness. With the desire for you pulsing in his body just like his heartbeat.

Kaz pulled back millimetrically, his blue eyes overshadowed by the heat of the moment, his lips red and swollen from the sinful kisses he gave you. At that moment, Kaz Brekker looked like an angry young God, and you've never felt more attracted to someone in your life than you are now.

You looked at him, panting and needy, wishing with all your might that he repeat the same actions. And you knew he realized that. Perfectly. You saw the spark of male satisfaction ignite in his eyes as he absorbed your desire. He was so close... so very close, and you couldn't stand the enormous anxiety for a caress, a kiss, anything.

His cocky smile intensified as you put more pressure in your touch his skin, your fingers trailing down his neck and back to his shoulders, silently pleading for him to do something with you. Anything he wanted.

Kaz lowered his one gloved hand to your jaw, thumb and forefinger squeezing your chin and making you look at him directly, you staring into the deep, shrewd blue of his eyes. He pulled you closer by the grip on your chin, the husky, erotic words hitting your lips like a promise of sin as he said:

“Maybe I should get you a collar so you don't forget who you belong to.”

It was impossible to control the loud, needy sigh that escaped, your center throbbing in despair and wetting the thin cloth of your panties. You wanted he to touch you more, pull your body against his until there was not a single sigh left, claim your soul and your body as his. You had parted your lips to say something, most likely a plea for him to continue, but the traffic light turned green and Kaz took his hands off you, straightening up on the bench and putting the car move.

In the absence of his warmth, his body, you felt cold, empty and frozen. As if Kaz were your sun and you were Icarus. Feeling the compulsion to need to get closer, complete its magnitude and bask in his rays. Every cell in your body begged for him, in needy and submissive requests, telling you to accept anything he told you, that he gave you, as long as it touched you.

“If I knew that to make you kiss me I would have to flirt with someone else, I would have done it a long time ago.” You teased, a satisfied, malicious smile on your lips.

Kaz looked at you in annoyance. In a clear warning that you should never more do that again.

"If you wanted me to kiss you like the brat you are, you just needed to have asked." He countered your game to the full.

"But if I want more than that?" But just as he knew how to play, so did you.

You swiped the tip of your tongue across your lips, kicking off your shoes and pulling your legs over the dashboard of the car, exposing your nearly bare thighs through the thin black fabric of your dress. Your actions instantly caught Kaz's eyes, and his grip on the steering wheel grew stronger and his breathing heavier.

The air inside the car became more ardent, burn, charged with eroticism and lust that left both of you breathless. An electrifying energy coursed through their bodies, as if they had been struck by a bolt of fire. You wanted him in a way you never thought you could want anyone.

Kaz took a deep breath, and looked at you with dangerous predator eyes as he said:

"If I have to pull over, you won't be able to walk for the next week."

The words made your body tremble. But if Kaz was trying to dissuade you, that was the last thing he should have told you. Instead of taming the fire inside you, it threw gasoline into the aggressive fire. You pressed your thighs together, your body sensitive to his words filled with burning promise.

In five minutes of insane courage, you took your feet off the dashboard, leaned toward Kaz, and brushed his neck with your lips. In slow, burning, hot kisses, you traced a path to the pulse in his neck, opening your lips slightly to brush your tongue over that pulse point.

“Please.” You beg.

Kaz's moan was low, but loud enough in your mind. You were being his undoing and you knew it. Suddenly, the car veered to the right and came to an abrupt stop. You would have lost your balance if Kaz's hands hadn't clung to your waist, pulling you in one movement to his left thigh, pressing your soaked core into the black fabric of his pants.

You gasped loudly, or he, or both. And in the next moment, his mouth was on yours again. The kiss was more aggressive, possessive, angry and ardent. Kaz kissed you as if he wanted to decree you his, proclaim his possession. You didn't see when he removed his gloves, but the touch of his skin with on your thighs was all you could think of.

“Kaz…” You moaned into his mouth, and the grip on your thighs moved up to your hip, digging his fingers into your thin dress-covered skin with such force it was sure to leave marks tomorrow. "Please."

You knew what you were begging for, but the moment Kaz forced your waist to move against his thigh, rubbing your pulsing core against his thigh, you forgot even your own name. And Kaz knew it. Then, like dominant man who wanted to see you surrendered to him that he was, his mouth went to your ear as he whispered:

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Kaz wiggled his thigh against you, making your clit roll against the soggy fabric of your panties.

You moaned loudly, your hands tightening on his shirt, your face hiding in his chest as an overwhelming, aching pleasure invaded your system. It felt good, but unbearable for being so little, churning something in your belly that made you despair for more.

"Y-yes." You whimpered, rolling your hips on his thigh.

Kaz's bare hand crept up the slit between your thighs, your dress already balled up at the top of your waist, and dipped his fingers into the juncture of your pussy and his thigh, pulling your panties to the side and making you feel the fabric of his dark pants against your wet, hot flesh. You moaned louder, your grip on his shirt tighter and your hips rocked harder for have any friction.

“Do you want me to fuck you like the little slut you are? Is that what you've wanted all this time?” His words, husky and strong, in that intense, dominant intonation, sent all your self-control to hell.

"Yes." You sobbed. “I-I need you."

But his hand in your panties went up to your chin, and he forced you to look him in the eye once more. The electric intensity of that look turned you on even more, making you gasp as his thigh still rocked against your throbbing clit.

“After that little stunt? you’re not getting off that easy” It was very hard to think with all the stimuli he was giving you, but the thunderous blue eyes warned you to pay attention to his words “Do you think you deserve me to fuck you?”

His gaze invaded you so deep and so warm and intense that you wondered if he was trying to leave a burning imprint on your soul. All over your body, overwhelming desires resonated, and you gave in to the compulsion to roll his thigh further, whimpering from the pressure on your clit.

"I'm s-so sorry." You whimpered, eyes pleading with he "It won't happen again."

"Won't happen what?" He tightened his grip on your chin, not painfully, but firmly to get your attention.

"It won't happen again, Sir."

The reward for your obedience came in an aggressive, hungry kiss, his hand in your chin dropping for your hip and wiggle his thigh at your needy pussy.

"Do you want to cum?" He teased you.

"Yes, S-sir."

"The only way you're getting off is on my thigh."

Then, as if to reiterate his statement, his mouth clutte to yours once more, his thigh swayed with more vigor and his bare hands moved up to the neckline of your dress.

His warm palms and long fingers lowered the straps of your dress and released your braless breasts, your nipples hard with pleasure and your breasts swollen with arousal.

Your moan was muffled by Kaz's, and he just released your mouth to lower his lips to your left breast, capturing the innocent nipple with his mouth and rolling his tongue across your flesh. You moaned louder, your waist twisting desperately against his thigh as your hands tangled in the strands of his black hair.

Kaz delighted in every inch of you, his hands going back to your waist as his mouth attacked your other breast, leaving a trail of hot saliva on his tight, needy nipples. Brekker was consumed by a fierce hunger and need, so overpowering that he pressed his fingers to your skin as if you were his last meal. He'd wanted for so long to do all that, to dive into your body like a starving man, savoring every inch of your warm skin.

Letting out a loud, delighted moan, Kaz increased his thigh movements as he suckled on your nipple, feeling flung to hell heaven as you squealed softly and collapsed onto his thigh, smearing his black fabric with your hot cum. But Kaz couldn't care less about the fucking pants. His cock hard and rigid as a sword hilt throbbed desperately, commanding him to sink into the heat of your slippery walls.

"This is much better than I dreamin." You whimpered softly, your face still buried in his neck, your waist wiggling slyly in his thigh.

"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" He teased you, taking his hands to your panties away from the center of your pussy and pulling them between your legs, tucking them in his pants pocket.

You nodded, your mouth dipping into his neck in broken kisses as your hands went to his pants belt, trying to get rid of any barrier between the two of you as quickly as possible.

"Please, please." You begged, flustered as Kaz stopped your hip movements with his hands "I need to feel you inside me."

Your plea was sated with an arrogant kiss as Kaz reached for his pants, pulling the fabric of the boxer together and letting pop out his dick throbbing, pulsing and his swollen head, brushing in your pussy with lazy strides.

"S-sir!" You cried, trying to earn more.

"Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you."

The strong, long arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your chest against his chest as Kaz guided his dick to the entrance to your pussy, with one hand. He play whit you, pressing his head into your entrance just enough to make you feel the pressure, recoiling when you swayed frantically for more. The painful pleasure sent tears to your eyes, and you sobbed loudly as you were just toy in his hands.

A few hot tears ran down your face as you whimpered, helpless in his arms to get what you wanted.

"You know, you look real pretty when you cry." Kaz pressed his mouth to yours.

In that second, he completely sank his dick into you, swallowing your loud scream as the thickness of it widened you and hit the bottom of the well. The grip of his arm around you tightened, and Kaz lifted you and brought you let down badly, drown his dick even more deeply inside your hot, wet, desperate walls.

"S-sir!" You moaned loudly, his mouth leaving yours, but not pulling away enough and letting you feel his hard breath hit your lips.

You followed his thrusts, bouncing your waist up and down hard and letting his dick beat frantically inside you, robbing you of your breath and your ability to think. Your moans mingled with his, the pornographic sounds of their bodies crashing together were loud and you thanked God the car windows were black and the street was deserted.

"So fucking good slut!" Kaz growled against your lips, one hand leaving your body to snake down to your throat, maintaining a firm, dominant grip.

You moaned his name and his title between loud moans and broken sobs. Yours hands closed around the shirt off his shoulders and the waist shimmied between the thrusts, making sure his dick was completely inside you.

“You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat!” Kaz tightened his grip on yoir neck, watching you tilt your head back and expose your entire body to the delight of his eyes.

He growled louder, spurred on by that sinful sight, and increased the rhythm that pounded inside you, filling every inch of you and sinking down as anatomically as possible. Kaz felt possessed by a wild beast, insatiable and euphoric, and each thrust he gave you was more force he inflicted on you, marking you as his.

Kaz pulled your neck to him, pressing your mouth to his as he growled against your lips: “Mine.”

You nodded frantically, the apex bursting in a burst of pleasure as his dick came out and sank in hard, desperate, urgent strokes.

“Yours”

You promised, kissing him urgently and swallowing a low cry as his dick shuddered inside you, flooding you with the hot liquid until your walls overflowed, giving you a feeling of being incredibly full. You whimpered into his mouth, exchanging a sloppy kiss as Kaz gave you a few more thrusts, making sure his cum would fill your every inch, not letting you dare waste a drop.

“Mine” he repeated through the kiss.

so, the weather??? HAHAHA, anyway friends, i hope you enjoyed. Don’t forget consult the rules if you want to request for some Kaz smut. Love u. O

#kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz x kruge #kaz brekker au #kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker could break my legs with his cane and i would say thank you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker #shadow and bone smut #inejgayfa #jesper fahey #kaz x jesper

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drakenology · 3 years

Text

www.pornscape.com/janitors-closet-kirishima

janitor’s closet - kirishima x reader

categories: cunnilingus, blow job, riding, exhibitionism, slight degradation, unprotected sex, cussing, cervix kissin’, nasty hook up in the janitor’s closet.

author’s note: welcome to the pornscape! i hope you guys enjoy this event and this piece as well. please check out the others who have participated and as always, cum again ;). read the other works here

Hanamura Corp; a place known for legitimate business. Every employee including yourself was very capable of their job and it was wonderful to be a part of. But God was it fucking boring. Everyone there just ignored each other, did their job and clocked out once their shift was done and over with. With the exception of a few women you’d talk to around break time, The entire building was often so quiet you forgot other people worked there.

One thing that made your job a little bit exciting was the escapades that took place every Wednesday in the janitor’s closet. The janitor who worked mostly Wednesdays was quite possibly the most gorgeous man to walk those halls.

Ejiro Kirishima; a sweetheart who worked as a janitor here at Hanamura Corp for a few years now. What he was doing working as a janitor and as not a male model was a mystery.

He was tall; 6′11 to be exact, with long red hair he often had tied back in a messy bun, strands of his hair cheekily escaping from the sides. Not to mention his body. Eijiro was an absolute beast of a man; his entire body was ripped. His arms were gigantic and covered in tattoos. The women of the facility often gossiped about the ginormous janitor who came by their cubicles with a warm smile and a tip of his cap.

“God, he’s so sexy. I’d like to just jump his fucking bones.”

“I wonder what he’s like in bed. Probably an insatiable beast.”

“I just know his dick is huge. Fuck, I can only imagine.”

She guessed right. His dick is huge. How do you know that? Because you’re the one fucking him in the Janitor’s closet every so often. Every Wednesday when he worked, he’d walk past your cubicle and tap you on the shoulder. You’d turn and practically drool at the sight of him, knowing that in a few hours you’d be getting railed until you can hardly walk back to your desk. How this became so routine? Hell, you’ve long since forgotten. But who gives a fuck about the details?

“See you at noon?” He’d whisper in your ear, chuckling when you nod meekly. 12 o’clock was the time everyone usually took their lunch break which had proven to be the perfect time to get fucked on the job.

Once the clock struck 12, you slide your panties off under your desk and tuck them in your briefcase, a rule set by Kirishima to ensure that your cunt is exposed and ready for his filling. You walk towards the janitor’s closet; the one next to the women’s room and stand there to wait, awkwardly waving at the women who came out of the restroom with a weird stare. Suddenly the door opens and someone pulls you inside.

Finally. He kissed you hard, his big stern hands grabbing and caressing your ass as if he owned you and everything attached to you. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist when he lifts you and pins you against the cold steel supply shelf. “Miss me, gorgeous?” Kirishima asks, his lips ghosting over yours as he hikes your skirt up over your ass, biting his lip when he feels you’re completely bare underneath.

“You’re such a little slut for me, taking your panties off to come and get fucked in the janitor’s closet.” He starts kissing your neck, nibbling slightly to mark you just a little; he can’t help himself.

You’re already getting so hot, your slick pooling at his fingertips as they run along your folds. He stands you on your feet and turns you around, getting down on his knees to worship your ass. His hands slap each cheek firmly, causing you to flinch and lean into the wall, ass sticking out for him.

Before you can speak, his hands spread your ass apart, spitting onto your pussy. His tongue starts lapping up your slick folds as his hands squeeze your ass, your nails digging into your palms as you groan into your sleeves. You’re mewling so much you could swear someone could hear you, Kirishima’s thick fingers now sliding inside you while he stands on his feet.

“Gotta get that tight cunt ready for me, baby. You like that?” He huffs into your hair, pumping his fingers inside you at a slow pace. You nod as you back your hips into his hand, Kirishima grabbing one hip to keep you still.

“So eager. Stay still would, ya?” Kirishima taunts, speeding up his fingers as he smacked you ass to scold you. You yelp, the sting from the hit fading into blinding pleasure as he fingered you, your cunt squelching and making obscene noises as you feel your legs turn to pudding.

“Kiri I c-can’t, you’re gonna make me c-cum!” You whine, chewing on your bottom lip.

“That’s the idea. Mm, cum all over my fucking fingers.” He urged, his fingers diving deeper into your greedy walls, your cunt sucking him inside as you cum with a hard clench. Kirishima smirked and pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them into his mouth with a moan at your flavor.

“Good fuckin’ girl. On your knees.” He demands, pointing towards the floor. You obliged, moaning when you see him take his cock out of his uniform pants. Good lord, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing it in all its glory.

He was impossibly thick and long, prominent veins running along the shaft and a perfectly soft and spongey head; the one that kissed your cervix with every thrust. You open your mouth for him, tongue lolling out as he sticks his cock inside. Your lips wrap around him, moaning at the taste of his skin as you bob your head. Kirishima takes a fistful of your hair and fucks your throat, hissing when you gag and drool all over his cock. Your hands start grabbing at your breasts, unbuttoning your top to pull them outside of your bra.

“God, look at you..” Kirishima groans, you giggling when he pulls you off his cock with a lewd “pop” sound. “Such a dirty girl.” Kirishima takes his thick cock and slaps it against your wet lips, pressing between them to get your mouth open again. Sucking him off got you so wet; the sounds of slurping and gagging. All of his dirty words laced with pleasurable grunts stirred your insides as your cunt ached with need.

Every time his cock hit the back of your throat you moan, reaching your hand down to help relieve the ache in your core.

“Shit..” Eijiro moans at the state of you, a usually prim and proper business woman on her knees for him looking so fucking sloppy.

It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, taking his hand to pinch and play with your nipples as you suckle on his dick head, taking it and slapping it against your tongue with a love struck look in your eye.

He burned that image of you in his mind, wanting to revisit this moment later when he was alone while bucking his hips to get you to wrap those soft lips around his cock again. Your fingers rub lazy circles on your swollen clit, moaning around his dick as he fucked your mouth.

“So fucking sexy, baby.” He hissed, pulling his cock from your lips and sitting on his haunches.

“C’mere.” He demands, slapping his thighs to get you to sit in his lap. You straddle his waist, his length resting on your slick cunt. He grinds your hips against his, the under side of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit with a groan. Kirishima lowers his hand and gives you the filling you’ve been craving all week, pressing his length against your weeping hole and pulling your hips down onto his length.

The dull stretch caused you to grab onto his shoulders and hold tight, bouncing on his cock slowly to adjust to his monster of a cock. It was all so delicious; Kiri running his thumb along your swollen bud with a satisfied grunt.

“Fuck, I’m cumming already, Eiji- shit!” You wail, breathy moans leaving your lips as he ruts his hips upwards, one of his big hands grabbing at your breast, the other rubbing your clit in soft circles.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby..” He groans, rolling your hips into his as his hands run along your soft ass, striking it harshly. You’re drooling into his shoulder, holding onto the shelf that contained cleaning supplies for good measure, trying to keep up with his movements. With all the shaking, all the cleaning products started toppling over, loud clangs of the metal shelf echoing through the small closet to mask your loud moans.

You both let out breathy half giggles, melting into each other’s bodies as Kirishima reached up to wrap your hair around his hand to yank it, attacking your now exposed neck with hot kisses and nibbles. He stands on his feet, fingers pressed into your ass to keep a tight grip on you as he lowered you onto his cock. You see stars as Eijiro picks you up and drops you onto his thick cock, scrambled sentences leaving your mouth as your mouth hangs open in bliss.

Kirishima kicks over a bucket, the stupid thing in his path as he pressed your bare back against the cold concrete wall. He rolls his hip into yours, lips wrapped around one of your nipples, nibbling lightly. Grunting and high pitched whines fill the closet, your bodies practically sticking together from the heat you both omitted. Tongues intertwined with each other, hands traveling along naked skin as he hit your g-spot over and over again in a blind rage.

“F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum for you, baby.” you squeal, toes curling so hard you feel a cramp coming on; Kirishima bucking into with more fervor as you both reach a climax.

“’M gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you my fuckin’ cum dump.” He huffed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with every hit against your cervix.

You both grunt; Kirishima painting your insides white as he rests you both onto the floor, grinding his hips a few more times before pulling out his flaccid form. Your back laid flat on the cold floor, looking up at him with clouded eyes from all the tears you shed from your encounter. Sex with Kirishima made working at this stuffy place so much more worth it. As he looked down at you he helped fix your clothes, the timer on his watch beeping to signal it was time to get back to work.

“Ya know, we don’t have to wait to see each other once a week. I could fuck you like this every day, every night...” Eijiro said, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Are you asking me out?” You tease, sitting up to button up your shirt.

“Depends.. are you saying yes?” He asks, raising his eyebrow as he adjusts his pants.

“Maybe.”

#bnha smut #bnha kirishima #kirishima smut #bnha bakugo x reader #bnha kirishima smut #bnha kirishima x reader #bnha todoroki x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha izuku #bnha izuku smut #the pornscape 💗

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joheunsaram · 3 years

Note

tracing one person’s lips with a finger before tilting their chin up for a kiss

any member :D

Simmer

word count- 547

pairing- Jimin x Reader

rating- PG

genre- fluff, brooklyn99!au (kinda)

an - so your request came in as I finished marathoning a season of Brooklyn 99 so a precinct setting it is haha I hope you like it E! 💕

s/o to the lovely @casuallyimagining for beta reading this!

“Wow, your lips are pretty,” you giggled, a little snort escaping you despite your best efforts, which only exacerbated your glee. You stared at the plush flesh, pink that faded into beige at the borders with a perfect cupid’s bow, and an idea popped into your head. “Can I put lipstick on you?”

Jimin laughed, exasperated but endeared, his arm tightening around your shoulders before he composed himself enough to pull away and roll his eyes at your request. “You’re drunk,” he pointed out, words a little slurred, betraying his hypocrisy.

“Oh come on! Just this one time, please?” You pouted, trying your best to impersonate that one Puss in Boots meme, and Jimin was weak. He pretended you didn’t affect him, much like he had done all year since you had arrived at the precinct. The fact that you were cutely pouting at him was enough to make his head spin. More than the fact that the two of you were here at all, on the old couch in the staff lounge, drunk on cheap tequila you found stashed under one of the desks.

After trying his best to evade your request, he relented, unable to help the smile lifting the lips you had called pretty as you searched your pockets for the tube that always kept your lips scarlet. Successfully locating it, you held it up with a flourish, kneeling on the couch next to him and getting to work. You were delicate, each stroke of the pastel barely tugging his lips, and he couldn’t help but focus on yours caught between your teeth as your brows furrowed in concentration. It was unfair how his heart sped up just a little.

“Oh oops!” you murmured as your hand trembled a little, spilling the red past the perfect outline of his lips. Your hand on his jaw, you tilted his chin higher, using a finger to lightly erase your mistake, slowly tracing his soft lower lip. It was odd seeing the usually stoic Jimin like this. He was always handsome with his bright eyes and symmetrical features, but with his unfairly beautiful lips painted, he looked almost ethereal even under the jarring fluorescent lights.

You didn’t know how long you stared at him, your eyes tracing his features from those crimson lips to his cheekbones shining in the light, but when your eyes met, your breath hitched. Because maybe, for the first time, Jimin wasn’t looking at you with his usual professional nonchalance. He seemed almost as lost in your gaze as you were in his, and with time almost halting, you were leaning in.

Matching lips against each other, passion was an afterthought as the two of you gently explored the unpredictable change in your relationship. You had spent your career chasing after criminals, but the thrill of a closed case never even came close to the adrenaline rushing through your veins at that moment.

His hands easily pulled you onto his lap, and with your arms around his neck, nothing felt better than losing yourself in the scent of his cologne and the taste of the cheap liquor on his tongue.

And when the two of you parted, lipstick smeared and faces flushed, you knew you could never go back to ignoring him again.

Check out my masterlist 💕

Send me a kiss prompt and a member for a drabble 😘

#jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenarios #thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet #52hertz #clubzerooclock #btsgoldnet #ficscafe #btscreatorscorner #purplearmynet #btsnoonanet

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

me time (m)

summary; the first time virgin!mc meets her mans (but she doesn’t know it yet) pairing; jungkook x virgin!mc genre/warnings; fluff, college!au, boarding house!au, based on the virgin!oc discourse, female masturbation (thanks to the pretty bridgertons), a lil sad and longing at the end w/c; 1.3k a/n; y’all really brought manhater!mc and virgin!mc to life! this couldn’t be done without all of your fabulous input and support. obviously the virginverse is freeform at this point—think of this more as a prequel for these two. set in freshman year of college, when they’re just acquaintances. (do you guys think of cher from clueless when u think virgin!mc? very outgoing n’cute but also very innocent?) anyway, happy valentine’s day i hope you and your boo (whether digital or in-person) get your me/we time💖

Your wooden lap desk is toppled to the side. Good thing the space between the mattress and floor is small, your pink monstera-shaped rug softening the blow when your water bottle, pencils and laptop fall to the floor. In the back of your head you know everything is fine because the last episode of Bridgerton is still playing, an orchestral version of Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next continuing on as if nothing’s astray.

Yet you’re nothing but astray, forgotten about the episode and writhing against your too-small twin as you let yourself cum for the umpeeth time.

You’ve lost track at this point (how couldn't you? Bridgerton is hot) but from the way your hair mats to your face like a second skin and your pussy feels spent and battered, it’s been awhile. This should be your new Valentine’s Day tradition, fucking yourself until you pass out on your vibrator.

“Ah, ah fu—uck, yyyes!”

The sheets are sopping. The grey cotton fabric does nothing to hide your juices that seep from your bare cunt to the mattress. Flinging your silicone toy to the side, you pull your hair up and out of your face.

Water, you need water. Maybe a cup of green tea with a dollop of honey. Sugar always helps the immediate low after a good couple of rounds.

However, you’ll never get used to the feeling of cleaning up yourself. The feeling that you’ve done something completely lewd all on your own, no one to assure you the things you’re doing are weird. It’s okay though. You love to be alone, it takes a lot for you to feel lonely.

You slip on a pair of dolphin-cut shorts, too tiny that they are drowned beneath your emerald green slip dress. Quickly opening the door to your room, you’re met with absolute silence. White walls containing empty rooms and a living room without a soul. Just like you’re expecting in a college boardhouse on Valentine’s Day.

What you’re not expecting however, is Jeon Jungkook staring at you the second you crack your door open.

“If you’re screaming that loud, your partner must be doing a good job.”

Jungkook lives on the other side of the boarding house, therefore you’ve never really interacted with him. Excluding the landlord there’s only five other tenants, a group large enough that you’ve never had to have one-on-one with him.

You really didn’t think anyone would be in the house on Valentine’s, especially Jungkook. He’s an absolute cutie pie, even though you don’t know anything about him. The only thing you really know is that his sparkly brown eyes are to die for, they remind you of coffee milk tea, a craving you only indulge in at the end of finals season.

To your surprise, Jungkook looks like he hasn’t gone out all weekend. Him, single? As if! Yet you can’t justify any reasoning behind him being home if did have a girlfriend or boyfriend. His dark hair is fluffy and freshly showered, and you can’t ignore the smell of linens from his soft sweats and long navy hoodie.

Normally, you’d be quiet during Me Time. You’ve perfected the art, stuffing your mouth with your pillow or playing action movies to muffle out the sound. You thought you were in the clear. The thought of Jungkook overhearing you turns you on a little, makes the dampness between your panties even more evident, but you keep that self-indulgent secret to yourself.

“Oh, well,” you curl your lips in a smirk, closing the door behind you so he doesn’t see that your room is actually very much devoid of life, “she’s very powerful.”

She, meaning your favorite vibrator in your entire world. It has ten settings and a heating mechanism. More importantly, it’s rechargeable. You don’t know how you’d survive freshman year otherwise.

“Okay, TMI,” despite the fact Jungkook’s blushing he’s chuckling, holding a hand out for you in the narrow hallway, “after you.”

You quickly slip past him, walking into the shared kitchenette. Bare feet slapping against the hardwood, your eyes immediately gravitate toward the upper cabinet. Jungkook is following you, presumably to get his own late night snack. When you lift your arms to reach your mug, you feel a little bit of cool air brush against the uppers of your thighs. It’s a nightgown, a pretty satin slip that falls over your curves and leaves much to the imagination. A couple more centimeters to get your mug and you’ll be definitely flashing Jungkook.

“Um,” you practically hear the twisted face he’s making.

“Sorry—I’m sorry!” you blurt, waving your fingers to catch the handle of your mug, “I’m really not trying to flash you—please don’t fill a harassment report! I just can’t reach my mug.”

“No, that’s my mug.”

“What, no! I’ve been drinking from this mug all year!”

“You’ve been drinking from my mug?” Jungkook is affronted, walking past you to easily grab the mug you’ve been struggling to reach for the past minute. He flexes the bottom part of the mug in your face, where his initials are painted in black. “This is my mug, my parents put my handprint on it when I was a year old.”

It’s then you notice on the lower shelf, there’s an identical mug. This mug has been buried all the way in the back, dust collecting on the rim. It also has a baby handprint on it, although upon closer inspection it’s smaller and in a more faded shade of black. That’s your mug.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you feel your heart fall all the way to your ass, feeling guilty, “I’m so sorry. I’ve washed it and everything, if it makes you feel any better.”

He frowns, holding the white porcelain between his hands. A litany of ideas run through your brain. Is he disgusted by using the same mug as you? Have you potentially ruined a prized family treasure?

Thrusting the mug into your chest he says, “Make me a hot chocolate and we’re even.”

You smile a little, eager to please. You quickly get to work, simmering the pan with warm milk and melting chopped chocolate. You rinse your mug with some hot water, letting it sit next to his awaiting mug. For a bit of flair you add a capful of vanilla extract, all while Jungkook watches you with mild awe. The smell of sweet late night confections fill the kitchen, a fitting theme for a Valentine’s night.

“You’re not burning the milk,” Jungkook murmurs more to himself than you, watching as you pour the hot chocolate in cups without spilling a drop.

Jungkook is known to burn things in the house. The only thing he doesn’t burn is ramen, and that’s purely due to survival skills.

“What can I say, I’m an expert,” you wink, handing him his mug and you holding yours.

With matching mugs, the two of you take your first sips of the melty beverage. You lean against the stove facing him, while he faces you against the marble island. Jungkook smiles and a bit of cocoa touches his petal pink lips. He says it’s perfect and you smile into your cup, absolutely swelling with pride.

Jungkook’s probably working on his photos. He always says his editing bug is itchy at night. While in passing you’ve said you’d love to see his work, however that gesture of kindness never really amounted to anything. Maybe tonight’s the night. You like art, you’d love to be a little more educated with it. Just as you’re about to ask and strike up some conversation, Jungkook beats you to it.

“Well, hope you and your partner have a good Valentine’s,” Jungkook holds his cup in salute, walking back into his room, “just keep it down.”

Oh well. You sigh to yourself, letting Jungkook walk away without a fight or a retort. After all, it was you who implied you were sneaking in a bed partner tonight. Sinking your eyes into the brown liquid, you fall into a lull. The creamy liquid swirls in your grasp, making your muddied reflection ripple away.

You love to be alone, but it takes someone like Jeon Jungkook to remind you that life gets a little lonely.

#ficswithluv #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btsguild #btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut

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anonymousfiction211 · 3 years

Text

Handcuffed together 11: Expectations

A/N:

A few days later than origanlly planned, but here is the next chapter ;)

Word count: 2.065

Two weeks.

You were in the house with Thor for two weeks and still haven’t heard anything of the team. In those two weeks you had played every board game that was in the house with Thor. Watched a bunch of series and movies. Even got drunk one evening. If you thought that combat training with Thor was hard, combat training with Thor while having a major hang over was much worse.

Slowly losing your mind, you were getting on Thor’s nerves on purpose. Hoping he would let you out of the house, but he couldn’t be convinced. You tried to sneak out a few times, but he had caught you. Apparently growing up with a trickster brother, you learn a thing or two. With plenty of time to think about the whole situation you decided that you were mad at Loki, very mad. You knew he had arranged this, thinking it was the right thing. But he didn’t talk to you about it, he didn’t give you any choice or voice in this, that made you angry. You didn’t want a relationship where he would just make his own plans, without consulting you. Or that he would think it is okay to do whatever he wants.

Thor tried to defend Loki’s action, but even he had to admit that he understood your point of view. After that the two of you decided not to talk about it, trying to make the best of the whole situation. Halfway through the third week Thor got a call from Tony. The security system should keep out Thanos’ minions, tough not Thanos himself. There was half a plan, so the two of you could return back to the tower. Finally, you walked with Thor outside. Inhaling the fresh and warm air, you saw the jet with Natasha approaching. Looking around you asked Thor ‘So, where are we exactly?’

‘Some country called Italy’ he answered.

Your jaw dropped ‘I’ve been in Italy this WHOLE TIME. And weren’t able to see a thing?’ you yelled.

‘So, excited to see that boyfriend of yours. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he missed you terribly’ Natasha beamed.

On the flight back to Stark Tower

The flight home was long. Thor didn’t come with you and Natasha. He had some things to sort out on Asgard, regarding the Tesseract. Leaving you alone with Natasha. You sat down in the co-pilot seat, and watched Natasha fly for a while.

‘I- I don’t know’ you answered.

‘How come?’ she asked.

‘Seriously? Avoiding me, knocking me out and shipping me to Italy, without even talking to me comes to mind’ you angrily reacted.

‘Not the most tactical approach, but effective. I mean, it’s Loki. What did you expect? A heart to heart?’ she said.

‘Wow, thanks for your understanding’ you sarcastically reacted.

‘Come on, it took him literally attacking you to finally tell us everything that he went through and is still going through. And still he is extremely vague about it’ she answered. ‘The only reason he agreed to stay was if we got you out of there. Thor and I had to stop him thrice from leaving that night. I was exhausted’

‘He tried to leave?’ you didn’t think he actually was serious when he said that maybe he tried.

‘Almost succeeded, I might add’ she said.

The rest of the flight the two of you rode in silence.

‘Don’t tell me he left’ you said to Steve.

At Stark Tower

Entering Stark tower, you were greeted by the whole team, expect Loki. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘No, he didn’t. He just rarely leaves his room since it happened’ Steve said.

‘(Y/N), I think maybe we should talk’ Tony said to your surprise. He has been keeping a distance from you since you and Loki started to get involved with each other.

‘Not now’ Steve sighed to Tony.

You raised an eyebrow but nobody gave you an explanation. Not wanting to waist anymore time you left it at that, and went straight to Loki’s room. You knocked on the door.

‘Door is open’ you heard him say.

Entering his room, he emerged from his bathroom. He was shirtless and his hair was still wet. Resisting the urge to run into his arms, you closed the door and stood still in the room. When you looked at him many emotions surged through you. You had missed him, but you still felt betrayed and angry.

‘How could you?’ you asked, holding back your tears and anger.

Loki looked sad, maybe a bit guilty. ‘I had to’ he answered.

In your anger you made an energy ball and flung it at Loki. He dodged the ball by ducking down, making it disappear in the bathroom. You heard a loud crash and saw several bottle flying and breaking through. Now it was Loki’s turn to look angry and betrayed.

‘Darling, calm down. Let’s talk’ he said.

He took a step in your direction. The fact that he told you to calm down had the opposite effect. Shooting another ball, he redirected it towards the wall where his closet was. Clothes were falling out and the closet was damaged. Loki kept walking towards you, redirecting the balls you threw at him. His desk was split in half, the cushions on his bed were hit making feather fly across the room and the table was slightly burning. Loki got closer and closer, making you step backwards with your back against the door. He grabbed your wrists with one hand and pinned them above your head. Grabbing your chin harshly you hissed in pain.

‘You want to fight? Let’s fight’ he said angrily.

He released your chin and pulled you from the door. He pushed you towards the middle of the room. You attacked him by hand, but he blocked you easily. Punching you in your ribs, making you groan and bend over. Even tough it hurt slightly, you knew he was holding back. You tried to punch him in the face, but he dodged you making you spin around. Grabbing your hips from behind he holds you close to his back.

‘Pathetic’ he whispered in your ear.

Spinning around again you started to walk towards him, while trying to hit him. You tried to throw your punched as fast as you could, but he was faster. He blocked every attack you threw at him, but didn’t attack back. When he was almost with his back against the wall he sweeped your leg, making you fall on your back.

‘Improvement. Yes. Enough? No’ he said. You saw the mischievous look on his face, he was certainly enjoying your rage.

You made an unexpected move and kicked his legs out from under him. He fell down with a groan, wiping the smug smile from his face. You pinned yourself above him, your knees pinning the arms against his body. Grabbing his chin like he did earlier you growled ‘You can’t just decide and act like you do, without including me!’

Loki didn’t look fazed, he looked calm. A bit too calm for your liking.

‘I can when it is about your safety’ you heard him say from behind you. Two hands grabbed you by your waist and pulled you up. The Loki under you faded away and you started to struggle against the arms around you. He threw you on the bed, making feathers once again fill the room.

‘It’s been a while, but I’ll get you purring again kitten’ he suggestively said. Crashing his lips down on your before you could protest. He broke the kiss and started to trail his kisses down your neck, marking you like he did the first time. You cried out but he ignored you. You were still struggling against his grip and the weight of his body on yours.

‘Stop. You can’t just send me away and expect me to go back to you whenever you like’ you said angrily.

Loki stopped what he was doing and looked into your eyes with an intense gaze. ‘And you can’t expect me to be with you if my presence endangered the woman I love’ he growled. With a hand wave the both of you were naked. Your wrists were tied together above your head to the headboard of the bed. There was a large ball in your mouth, preventing you from speaking. The ball was connected with chains to clams on your nipples, forcing you to look down at Loki. When you tried to move your head you pulled on your nipples, making you moan and Loki smirk. He positioned himself between your legs and worked your clit with his tongue. Slowly circling it with the tip and licking it with the flat of his tongue. He maintained eye contact with you the whole time. Even tough you wanted to, you couldn’t look away.

Right before you orgasm hit you, he stopped. Groaning around the ball he just laughed. A paint brush appeared in his hand. With one hand he opened your folds, exposing your throbbing clit to him. With the other he started to stroke it with the brush. The feeling kept you on edge, but it was nowhere firm enough to topple you over. Your nipples started to hurt, so you had no other option than to watch Loki play with your body. In an attempt to come you bucked your hips to create more friction, but Loki made the brush disappear.

‘What is it, kitten?’ he taunted.

He made the ball in your mouth disappear, but kept the clams on. ‘Now?’ he said.

Totally out of breath you gasped for air a few times. ‘Please, fuck me’ you begged him.

‘Good girl’ he praised.

He entered you with his cock in on smooth motion. He started to thrust into you in a fast pace, hitting the exact right spot. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He started to leave open mouth kisses on your neck and mouth. One hand slowly trailed downwards and played with your sensitive clit. You came hard, clenching your walls around his cock. Loki groaned loudly and you felt his cock twitch and spill his seed in you. He thrusted sloppily a few times and collapsed on top of you.

He was heavy, but it made you feel secure. The restraints disappear and you wrapped your hands around his back. Loki popped up on his elbows but stayed on top of you.

‘I missed you terribly’ he whispered against your lips while kissing you.

‘I missed you too’ you said back.

‘I didn’t want to send you away, but I had no other choice. Darling, if I ever think I’m a danger to you.. I’m going to send you away. And I know you will hate me for it. But I’d rather have that than kill you’ he started to trail his tongue up and down your neck, biting you slightly to make you squirm. You felt his cock starting to erect again.

‘And if you can’t handle that, I suggest you leave now’ he whispered in your ear. You felt two fingers enter you and his thumb started to toy with your clit again. You tried to get away from the overstimulation, but Loki’s weight prevented you to. After a long-time having sex and cuddling with each other, even Loki was finally tired. You were completely exhausted. Still, he pulled you out of bed and sent you to your own room. After the mandatory shower there was a beautiful green dress on the bed. You put it on and found a note under the dress.

- See you at the roof – L

When you got out of the elevator you saw Loki. He was standing in a suit near beautiful set table with candles and roses. There was a bottle of wine in the cooler. It was dark and the lights of the buildings were beautiful to see. Loki smiled brightly when he saw you. Walking towards him he pulled a chair for you. When you set down you felt his lips against your ear. ‘I am not going to apologise, but will make it up to you for spending two weeks with my idiot brother’ he said while kissing your ear lobe. When he set down it was Steve who served you your first course. He winked at you ‘Just friends, hmm?’ he said.

Permanent tag list: @delightfulheartdream @the-best-phineas @pescadoavocado @theaudacitytowrite

Series tag list: @l0nelyasian @mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes @ragweed98 @thehornytitties @oh-my-gerd @morganmofresh @saiyanstars @rahne85 @charistory @not-your-bitch @kamrynnnnn

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Note

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer)

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight.

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting.

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips.

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.”

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams.

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds.

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second.

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened.

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked.

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair.

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything.

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?”

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all.

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start.

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch.

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.”

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her.

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her.

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill.

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim.

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years

Text

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

Here's the part where I stir up trouble because it's me and you know this by now.

Warnings: Mentions of threats, death, and suicide. I'm sorry if that's triggering. It's just mentioned.

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 11

You hadn't returned to the Baron again last night, and he hadn't called for you either. You managed to avoid him for the rest of the day.

Today, however, was a new day, and you couldn't keep avoiding him. You put on your stoic face, kept your mind on the job, and made your way up to his office.

At breakfast you had been joined by Natasha and Clint down in the kitchen. It was clear bt the way Clint was looking at you that Natasha had brought him into the loop.

"Why did you tell him?"

"I didn't. He has eyes, too. He can see it just as clearly as anyone," she states.

Clint grins.

You glare at him.

Clint just shrugged and agreed with her. He was the only one to tell you anything alone these lines:

"I think you should open up to him. Sure, you didn't get off on the right foot, but I think he likes you. Really. Maybe give him a chance?"

You chose to ignore that statement and get on with your work. If no one else was going to take their job seriously, then you had to be extra serious for them.

His life was still in danger.

You knock on the door, taking a deep breath as you waited for his reaponce. It cane moments later.

"Enter."

If only his voice didn't send shivers down your spine everytime you heard it.

You enter his office, barely looking at him, and make your way over to where you normally stand. However, you had noticed the way his desk was organised.

Much like yesterday, there was a tea set on a tray. It was a different set to yesterday's. These cups were a pale green and each one a a small pink rose painted on either side of the cup. The teapot had a dozen little roses around the top where the lid sat.

It was a pretty set. Once again, simple, but classy.

He poured two cups again.

"Please, join me," he spoke softly.

You did not want a repeat of yesterday. You remained standing.

Noticing that you hadn't made a move, he gazes up at you with gentle brown eyes. His lips are pulled into a soft smile.

You knew you shouldn't have looked at him, but now it was too late. Those dark eyes are luring you in, and don't forget that smile.

Why did you suddenly want to kiss him?

You swallow thickly, keeping eye contact with him as he continues to look at you with a smile.

"Please."

The way he speaks is so soft. He very clearly wanted you to join him. You hesitate.

"I'm on duty, sir."

"I want you to join me."

You look at the empty seat across from him. The tea would get cold if you didn't join him. Right, yeah, that's why you're going to sit down with him, you didn't want the tea to get cold.

You move over to the chair and take a seat, not looking at the way he was smiling at you now.

A plate of cupcakes sits between you. He takes one.

You look at the sight. Seeing the Baron with his dainty tea set, a cupcake, and a bright expression on his face, he looked so happy and relaxed.

You rather liked this side to the Baron.

You pick up the cup and sip from it. Another delicious tea from his collection. You won't mention how you knew he had a collection of different flavoured tea in a box downstairs in the kitchen.

You smiled at the thought of it though.

It made you feel like you had discovered something about him. A little thing he likes that he doesn't share with anyone else.

Except you, of course.

"How many tea sets do you have?" You ask, now forgetting all about that professional head you had tried to put on earlier. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to humour him.

He smiles widely at you.

"I have six as it stands. I do like to look at others, but I only get the ones that really catch my eye."

You have no idea what was going on with Helmut. The man was beyond pleased. You had initiated a conversation with him. You wanted to talk to him. He couldn't believe it. Perhaps he hadn't offended you as much as he thought after all.

Now, he just had to keep you talking.

"Six? Goodness. Do you use them all?"

"Yes. I switch between them," he grins.

"I'd like to see the others."

"All in due time."

You smile softly.

His heart could literally beat out of his chest right now. He made you smile, and you weren't even trying to hide it.

Feeling a little more willing to be less... stuck up, you reach out and grab one of the cakes.

This pleases him further.

You both eat the cakes and drink the tea. You let yourself smile openly around him.

You were accept he wanted to spend time with you. You wondered if he would indulge you in some information.

"May I ask you something?"

He looks at you with a big gentle eyes. His lips curl in the smallest of smiles.

"Of course."

You put down your nearly empty tea cup and sit up straighter.

"Will you tell me about the group who are after you?"

His smile fades. He hadn't expected that question. To be honest he wanted to keep them as far from mind as possible, but he supposed he did owe you an explanation after everything you had been through.

"They call themselves The Agent Association. John Walker founded it when I retired from the army. He is part of the reason Sokovia has been suffering, when he brought his little gang here to try and recruit me."

"Recruit you? What did he want you for?"

"I have many skills under my belt. I believe he wanted to use me."

"And you turned him down?"

"Yes. I had just left the military. I was ready to return home and settle down. He didn't like that," Helmut's voice became sad. Something struck you and you realised that this went so much deeper than just that.

"What happened? What did he do?"

Helmut looks at you. During the next few moments of silence he was debating on if he should share everything with you. He trusted you, it more came down to if he could bring himself to tell you what happened.

"Baron?"

He wants to tell you. He wants to share what happened to him with you. The reason he had been so cold before you came along.

"There was a woman. She was beautiful. I fell in love rather quickly with her, and she promised to wait for me. He promised I would marry her upon my return and we would live here together. I didn't know she knew Walker. As it turned out, he was in love with her too."

You were suddenly felt with dread.

"Helmut?"

That was it. That was the first time you had used his name. He stared at you, caught off-guard by the way it sounded from your lips.

You hadn't seemed to notice what you had done. Clearly you had been so comfortable with him, you had just let it slip.

He gathers himself.

"Heike. That was her name. She wasn't here when I got home. Three days and no word. I had feared she had chosen him over me, but it was a week later when I heard what had happened."

You felt uncomfortable.

"Heike had passed away. Her family hadn't known I was home, so that's why I hadn't heard anything yet. I was devastated. Two days of being locked away here in mourning with a broken heart, Walker showed up. He broke down my door, he marched up to my room, and then he proceeded to attempt to kill me."

You stare wide eyed, lips parted, mind blank.

"Walker thought I was fine reason she was dead. That she couldn't take choosing and ended her life. I wanted him to kill me. I wanted to be with her in death. He didn't do it. He dropped me and left. I didn't hear from him in years, but one day he shows up with his agents. He wanted to prove to me he had power and influence. Sokovia began to decline and it was because of him."

Helmut had taken notice of how you were leaning forward, listening intensely.

"He's trying to kill you because he thinks Heike killed herself over you?" You ask, whispering softly.

He nods.

"That's awful."

You get up and walk to his side. You place a hand on his shoulder and let it rest there.

"It wasn't your fault."

He turns his head to where he sees your hand. He looks at it. Your touch feels warm, even through his blazer.

"Wasn't it?"

"Of course it wasn't... or are you saying it was?" You ask, softly.

He shakes his head.

"I don't know. What if she had?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?" You ask, looking at him seriously.

"Please."

You kneel down beside him, hand still settled on his shoulder. You meet his eyes with your own.

"If she had ended her own life, I don't think it was over you. By the sounds of it, she was in love with you. She promised to wait."

"Then what do you think happened?"

"Walker. He's trying to kill you, very nearly had twice at this point. Maybe this goes deeper than you think. You're taking it from his word and not your own investigation. Considering all that happened, he isn't a wise form of information."

Helmut places a hand over yours and looks you in the eye. He swallows, letting your words sink in. Your kindness toward him is enough to spur enough confidence in him.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckle gently.

He doesn't miss the shocked expression on your face. Startled, you take your hand back and stand up, but you don't walk away.

Already, he misses your touch.

He's not sorry for what he did, even if your reaction hurt him a little.

"Walker will not bring you harm. As your bodyguard I vow to protect you and see this through. I will not stop until Walker is stopped too."

Helmut looks at you with so much longing. His heart feels full. He smiles.

And I vow to protect you. I will not let him hurt you too. Walker will not hurt the people I love again.

He just can't bring himself to say it out loud.

Zemo no longer cares if it's your duty to protect him. He will not let you get hurt by the hands of Walker again.

When the time comes, the Baron will rest and the Colonol will come out to play.

I promise.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol @hb8301 @the-chaotic-cow @mssennimatilda @uncomfortablebagel @fictionlandslanddreams

#marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #au #baron helmut zemo #zemo #bodyguard au

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cinnamonrusts · 3 years

Text

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door. An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #ao3 original

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mintchanniemint · 3 years

Text

pairing: [still friends] bassist!chan x (fem)reader wordcount: ~2.6k [these events are not chronologically connected to the previous parts!] taglist: @100797-bc @chansrms

Achoo!

You groaned as your own sneeze made you feel like your whole head spinned for five minutes straight. You were desperately trying to reach for your phone on the bedside table but your forces were nearly nonexistent, it felt so difficult to even just move your eyes. You could hear the never-ending buzzing of the device, and you couldn't even wonder who would be able to make so many notifications pop up in such a short time. You had caught a bad cold, probably due to the previous night, but you weren't even able to tell your friends about it. You just hoped they didn't worry that much. You sighed, giving up on your small mission to let your hands finally reach your phone and decided to rest a little bit, hoping you would gain some energy to get up and go get some medicine for your headache. Not even ten minutes had passed and that peaceful, way too silent silence got interrupted by a really long hold on your doorbell.

You suddenly opened your eyes and stared intensely at the white ceiling. It's Chan. Only that guy was able to be so annoying just by ringing the bell. But how could you tell him you got sick? And that it was entirely your fault since he warned you and told you to bring a jacket with you and then found yourself in an unfortunate rainstorm with just a simple t-shirt?

"Eugh… give me a minute…" You murmured, somehow hoping your voice could reach your friend's ears although it left your mouth in a really low whisper. The ringing got even more annoying and obnoxious and you took a deep breath before finally trying to leave your warm bed. "The quicker I move, the faster it will end." You kept repeating to yourself as you got up, tried not to lose balance, stomped your feet around to catch both your slippers but being able to only wear one, and proceeding with quickly moving from your room to the front door, your right hand always following the wall by your side as everything around you was spinning.

You struggled a bit with the various locks but then you finally were able to open the door, and the annoying ringing stopped when your tired, heavy eyes met with the red haired guy's.

"Why didn't you answer my messages-"

Your ears were barely able to catch those words before everything around you suddenly turned off.

The next thing you saw was that familiar white ceiling: you were back in your bed, under many warm blankets, and a beeping thermometer under your arm. Your gaze slowly moved to your side, seeing a bottle of water where your phone was previously left on your nightstand. Raindrops gently hitting against the surface of the window as you got welcomed by your friend.

"You're awake." Chan's soft voice reached your senses as you felt like you were slowly relaxing. He sat on the bed and your eyes focused on his silky features, as his warm hand got the thermometer from under your arm and he checked the temperature.

"Is it bad?"

He only sighed, his eyes fixed on the display.

"That bad?" Your voice sounded a bit worried and he quickly turned off the small device and put it back in its case. His eyes met with yours and his gaze softened as he let his hand wander under the four piles of blankets just to look for yours, and hold it.

"It's really bad. Why didn't you listen to me and left without bringing a jacket with you."

There he goes! You huffed and you quickly pinched the same warm hand you were distractedly letting your fingers trace on a few seconds before.

"Did you really come all the way to my house, ring my damn door for, like, ten minutes without even giving me a break, only to scold me?"

"Yes."

You pinched his hand even harder.

"Not only for that."

Your two fingers let go of his hand for a second, distractedly tapping on the same spot they were previously pinching, waiting for him to continue.

"I also got to see you faint in front of me."

"You're such an idiot." You couldn't help but let a tired giggle leave your lips, as those words were blurred out together.

"Make sure to eat something before taking your medicine."

You looked at him in silence, blinking a few times as your eyes didn't move from his. It was as if you were trying to tell him something without actually saying it.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… don’t make me say it-

"Why are you looking at me like that."

"...Channie, I'm kinda sick, could you please make me some food? A sandwich maybe? Hm? Hm? Or porridge? What about some-"

"Don't call me Channie-"

"Oh, c'mon! Please, please, please!" You started whining right away, now both of your hands holding his and randomly pulling it and just… throwing a whole tantrum while trying to keep a cute tone in your voice. His expression didn't change a bit, he was definitely not surprised by that whole theatrical scene.

"Okay, okay. I'll make something for you. Stay here and sleep."

You suddenly stopped and looked at him with sparkly eyes as you started to loudly thank him.

"You don't look that sick anymore, though. Maybe I can just go home-"

"No, don't go!" Those words left your mouth before your brain could even register what you were going to say. You looked at Chan in silence as he was clearly processing what you said. Those were, really, a few simple words; but it was probably the veiled desperation hidden in your tone that got both of you quite startled. When did you even become this clingy?

He didn't say anything, probably not to make that small situation even more embarrassing, and left your room, not before making sure that you were going to rest and not follow him around.

"But Chan, this is my house!"

"I'm in charge of cooking today. I don't want to see you wander around the house like a lost raccoon looking for food."

You had no words left to win that debate so you just huffed and hid under your blankets, leaving only your face uncovered as you stared at a small wolf plushie sitting on your desk; its cute, closed eyes reciprocating your gaze. You started to feel your mind slowly wander from thought to thought before you finally fell asleep, hoping to feel better after the nap.

You couldn't really tell how much time had passed, but you tried to slowly open your heavy, tired eyes as you were feeling, once again, the whole world spinning around you.

"Gwah… Chan…?" You mumbled as you heard his steps, signaling that he probably just finished cooking some small meal for you. He left a bowl on the nightstand and sat on the bed. He probably could tell that you were more in pain than earlier.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache?" His voice reached your ears in a soft, low tone, the only way you could answer was by slowly nodding. You felt his big hand quickly reaching your forehead.

"Gosh, I can't even open my eyes…" You blurted out and slowly opened one eye as you tried to somehow focus on Chan, sitting right next to you, his back now facing you as he was looking for the thermometer he had used earlier to check your temperature.

Before you could even say anything else, he suddenly turned around once again, his dark eyes meeting with yours for a fraction of seconds before you squeezed your eyes.

"It hurts…" You mumbled under your breath. Chan just sighed, his soft hand slowly moving some strands of hair from your face. His hands felt quite cold, probably meaning that you were boiling hot since they were usually warm whenever he touched you. You turned your head, letting your cheek lazily rub against the palm of his hand. The red haired guy suddenly moved a bit closer to you, hesitant for a bit, before you felt his soft, plump lips rest against your forehead.

What…?!

You abruptly opened your eyes, but he was leaning against you and all you could see was his torso covered by one of his usual black hoodies.

"Chan-"

"Yeah, you're getting worse. Can you sit properly? So you can eat."

Damn… why couldn’t he just use the thermometer?! It’s literally in his hands!

That was quite unexpected, the words you were trying to say faded on the tips of your lips and before you could even realize it, you were now sitting on your bed. Chan moved various pillows behind your back so you could rest comfortably and he brought a small cloth to put on your lap, on top of the various layers of soft blankets that were covering you.

"What’s on the menu today, chef?" You giggled lightly, your voice not able to filter your tiredness as you suddenly sneezed. You were glad he left three boxes of tissues right next to you. You were able to catch a really light smile painting his lips before he sat down holding the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"Just some porridge." He replied with his usual colourless voice, although you had to admit that at this point you were able to see every single one of the many colours that he always coldly tried to hide from others.

"Here, be careful not to get your blankets dirty while eatin-"

"Aaaaahn..." You didn't even think twice before making that really childish noise as you opened your mouth, waiting for Chan to feed you. Your eyes met his as realization was slowly hitting you.

… wait a minute…

Was I just… supposed to… not… Chan… wasn't he…

Silence brutally struck in the room as you suddenly felt like that plushie on your desk got really and fascinatingly interesting to stare at and to give your whole attention to.

He wasn't going to feed me! I'm such an idiot! Why did I even think about that? What's wrong with me!!

Your mind was getting beaten up by such thoughts as your eyes intensely kept staring at the plushie, completely ignoring Chan next to you.

"I heard all of that."

You nearly screamed as you quickly looked at him, your eyes drowning in terror.

Is he some wizard or something? Did I talk out loud?! No… Maybe he’s an alien?

You quickly brought your hands on top of your head, as you started glaring at him, your lips pressed in a pout and your fingers slightly tapping on your head.

"What are you doing now, the food might get cold if you keep messing around, idiot."

"What am I thinking now? Can you read my mind?! How much do you know?!"

He looked at you, clearly unamused, and took a deep breath as he stirred the meal in the bowl.

"Here, open your mouth. You're clearly not gonna recover from this at all." Ignoring your words, he carefully led the spoon full of warm porridge to your pouty lips and, as you kept staring at him, hands still on your head, you slowly opened your mouth, welcoming the exquisite food that the bassist in front of you was able to make.

"Mh… it's really good!" You mumbled between spoonfuls. Chan kept feeding you and, after you thanked him for the meal, he gave you a glass of water and medicine.

"Drink it, so that headache won't bother you anymore." He said, as you were slowly drinking your medicine. It tasted so bad and you couldn't help but whine, looking at the glass in your hands with a rather upset expression, when you suddenly heard a giggle coming from Chan.

"You looked so ugly right now."

"Hey! So rude! Don’t make fun of me!" You jokingly stuck your tongue out. He smiled and lightly booped your nose before he got up and brought the bowl and glass back to the kitchen.

As you could faintly hear him washing the dishes, you lay down again under your blankets, your eyes following some random raindrops that would end up against your window, racing against each other and tracing abstract figures on the glass. You were feeling really thankful for Chan, if he wasn't there you probably would have spent the whole day sleeping not able to take care of yourself. He was always there for you, he would always come to help at the right moments and although sometimes you might have shown reluctance to him, you had to admit that you had always enjoyed every single second spent with him by your side.

As you were getting immersed in your own thoughts, your eyes suddenly met with those of the fluffy wolf plushie that was previously on your desk. You didn't notice Chan entering your room and in order to get your attention, and maybe also make you cheer up a bit, he decided to use that plushie you intensely stared at before you had your meal.

"Isn't he cute?" You smiled at him, taking the plushie in your hands and slowly patting its cute head.

"Mh." He nodded, he looked both way too focused and distracted at the same time. You often wondered what was going on in his mind, sometimes finding yourself wishing you were secretly able to read his thoughts.

"Chan, are you okay-"

"Be careful next time."

"Oh, c'mon… this stuff can happen! I'm completely fine now, thank you. And sorry… for probably ruining your whole day? It’s also raining, you shouldn’t have come all the way to my h-"

“I was in the area anyway.”

Yeah, no. He used that excuse so many times, along with his usual “I was at the grocery store” when the same exact store is also in his neighbourhood. He often tried to save himself saying that “the cookies in the one next to your house are better”, but you just let him be and as a consequence he was probably convinced you fully believed in that tiny lie.

You didn't get any kind of reply from him besides those few words, and you started to think that… maybe you did ruin his day? What if he had other plans? What if he was supposed to go practice but instead he got stuck spoonfeeding his way-too-stupid-but-not-enough-not-to-catch-a-cold friend?

You sighed, but before you could say anything, his hands took the plushie from yours and he carefully examined it in silence.

"Tell her she might be stupid, but that she would never ruin my days."

"Chan, what-"

"And tell her that she might be careless sometimes, but that she's also really strong and that I would always come to help her no matter what." His eyes were glued on the soft cartoonish wolf in his hands, and as every single word left his lips, you could feel your cheeks heating up and this time was definitely not because of the fever. As your tired eyes tried to focus a bit more on Chan’s face, you were able to notice that his cheeks as well were now tinted in a gentle light red.

"...And tell her that I can't read her mind. That place is probably some maze full of weird fantasies about me feeding her."

"Hey, stop that!" You suddenly looked away, covering your face with the blanket as you tried your best not to get up and use the little energy left in you to knock him out.

"You idiot!" You mumbled, your voice wasn't able to hide that shy smile printed on your face, but before you could even formulate a proper answer to everything he said, you heard a small, gentle and comically serious "boop." leave Chan's lips as he made the grey plushie gently hit your forehead.

"And lastly, tell her to get better soon. I want to go look at the stars with her again."

#skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #inkidz #skz scenarios #skz soft #skz fluff #bang chan au #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #skz au #bassist!chan #bang chan #skz chan fluff #skz chan au #skz chan scenario #stray kids fic #skz fics

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

Summary: Claire and Jamie finish out their day at work

Read on AO3

Read chp 27 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

a/n: A huge thank you to my friend @isthisclever (/isthiscleverr on twitter ;) ) for being an amazing beta for this chapter and also dealing with my writer's block/overall overthinking <3. Go check out her story "The Other Side," which one of my favs and is almost completed, ahh! While you're at it, maybe just stalk her whole AO3 page.

Thank you so much for your patience, lovely readers. I managed to get past the writer's block, and this 5k if what just sorta happened after a month of not writing. Hope you like it!!

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

The air felt heavy despite the fresh scents and slight breeze. Hand in hand with Claire, Jamie walked slowly around the trail that wound its way in a meandering circle around the park. If he was being honest, he was stalling, trying to give them both time to gather themselves before going back to Fraser Publishing. Jamie couldn't ignore the grief tugging at his insides, but he forced it down deep, praying that Claire couldn’t feel it from where she held onto his hand like it was her lifeline.

Oh Christ, if she could feel how his grief was eating him up inside...

A cloud hung over them for a long while, but Jamie was trying his best to reassure Claire with comforting touches and sweet words.Gradually, her face began to lift, and he caught sight of the spark of his faerie beneath the sheen of guilt and lost potential blanketing her face. It was still clearly on her mind, though, and Jamie couldn’t shake the discomfort that he was trying to shove itself forward from the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind.

It was well past lunchtime and when he should have taken her back, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to force her to go inside when she still seemed so… off.

Apparently that was the right decision because at one random moment, Claire stopped him and abruptly pulled him into a hug.

“What was that for, my wee faerie?” Jamie asked, brushing a few stray curls away from her forehead after holding her for a long moment.

“I love you,” she said simply.

There clearly was more on her mind. In that moment, he didn’t know whether to push her or to leave her be. He tilted his head down, catching her gaze, praying silently that he was making the right decision.

“What’s botherin’ ye, a leannan?” he asked. He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face higher so he could press a soft kiss to her lips.

“I just..” she started, but cut herself off to take a deep breath. “I just… I don’t know how to tell you how I’m feeling, Jamie. I’m sad. But also I’m so, so happy. I want to be with you, be happy with you—” she tugged on his hand which was still gripping hers “—forever. I just… want it to last, I suppose?”

“It will, Sassenach,” he assured in an exhale. “It will, lass.

“I,” her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Jamie wished he could take them all in the palm of his hand and keep them from spilling from her eyes. She didn’t cry, though, just blinked watery eyes up at him. “I know we haven’t talked much about… the rest of our lives… but— talking about not having babies today just made me think. Maybe... maybe I’m not meant to be forever for you?”

Jamie’s heart dropped below his toes, sinking down through the grass beneath his feet and likely down into the very core of the earth. He could barely force the words out through his suddenly raw throat when he asked shakily, “Do… do you no’ want that, Claire?”

She shook her head so violently that the curls swished back and forth over her face. The expression of horror at the question eased Jamie considerably, and her answer fully assuaged the rest of the rising panic.

“I do want that, Jamie. From the second I ran to you from that hill I knew it was forever. I love you more than the life that was mine. I just… if that’s not what’s best for you, I wouldn’t take the rest of your life from you. Your dreams.” It was her turn to raise a hand to his face, cupping his cheek with oceans of tender, selfless concern swimming in her eyes.

“It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he told her firmly, voice low. He believed it with every bone in his body. “And I told you before, I have no life but you, Claire.”

She blinked, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to break down into tears.

If he could have, he would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to her then and there. He knew it was forever, and he wanted desperately to share that with her, but there were conversations that needed to be had and preparations to be made before he could.

He let go of her hand and raised both to her face. He held her between his hands, cradling his whole entire world between his palms. Beseeching her to listen, he held her gaze for a long moment.

“I dinna have to be an empath like you to ken that ye’re still feelin’ guilty, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Please, listen to me. I wouldna tell ye this if it werena true.” He took a breath. “If you could gi’ up yer old life, yer people, yer home… for me... it is nothin’ for me to no’ be able to have biological children. I would trade everything I have to keep ye. Everything. And I wouldna think twice. I want ye forever, Sassenach, whatever that means.”

Her cheek was so soft under his fingers, and he was startled to find wetness there. He glanced up to her eyes to find that she’d finally lost her control and tears were escaping to roll down her face.

“Please, dinna cry anymore,” he pleaded, “I canna bear for ye to be in pain.”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, Jamie,” she whispered. “I’m crying because I love you.”

***

Walking back inside Fraser’s Publishing some time later, Claire seemed much more at peace. She no longer visibly waged war inside herself, and Jamie felt like he could finally breathe. The heartache they’d shared was far from over, but at least its troubles for that day could be left outside in the park.

As they came inside, they were greeted by Mrs. Crook, who immediately beckoned them over to her desk with an eager wave.

“Claire, darling! I have some homemade cookies I thought ye might like to try…”

“That’s verra kind, but she has food allergies, Mrs. Crook. She doesna accept food from anyone,” Jamie quickly cut in.

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Crook looked back toward Claire again. “I saw ye wi’ the Murray weans earlier, dear. Maybe ye would be interested in seein’ some photographs of my darling grandbairns?”

The woman was clearly desperate to bond with Claire, and Jamie couldn’t help but feel proud to see how much of an impression his lass had made. Claire shot him a quick smile, giving him a nod and a look that said “I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll meet ye back in my office,” Jamie said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of her curls.

Before she could even reply to him, Mrs. Crook had snagged her arm and was herding her over to her desk, Claire good-naturedly following while blowing Jamie a kiss.

Leaving the ladies in peace, Jamie started toward his office. Before he’d even made it out of the reception area, however, he found himself face-to-face with Geneva Dunsany, forcing him to grind to a halt.

Geneva was one of the lower level staff members in marketing and a relatively new hire. Jamie usually only hired people he knew personally, but John had insisted on her as a favor to her father, a longtime family friend. Jamie didn’t know much about her other than that she was competent enough at her job that he never had to interact much.

But here in front of him stood the dark-haired lass, her face caked in makeup that was a shade too dark and her fake lashes blinking up at him.

“I wondered if I might have a moment,” she asked.

Jamie spared a glance behind him, checking that Claire was alright. Upon seeing her chatting away with Mrs. Crook over a picture on the reception desk (and hopefully not in immediate danger of revealing her secret), he turned back to Geneva.

“Of course. What can I do for ye?”

“I had a question about… Well, I thought I might ask you to have a look over some quarterly reports I’ve completed.”

As she was speaking, Jamie shot another look over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry about Claire when she wasn’t by his side, and he was impatient to get her tucked safely away in his office so he could finally get some real work done.

Geneva was clearly displeased by his less than courteous behavior.

“Mr. Fraser,” she sighed.

He turned back toward her, reminding himself of his dedication to his company— as distracted as he was, an employee didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Geneva was already speaking again. “I was wondering if perhaps later today you could come by my office? Or I could come to yours?”

“Ms. Dunsany, I’m afraid I’m verra busy at the moment and I’ve lost a fair bit of time already… Perhaps ye could take it up wi’ John instead?”

“But…” her response faded from his attention as a familiar wee hand suddenly wrapped itself around his bicep and a body pressed flush against his side.

At Claire’s sudden appearance, Geneva cut herself off mid sentence, her painted mouth falling open into a disgruntled “o.”

“Hi, my love,” Claire all but purred to Jamie, giving his arm a squeeze. She tugged him slightly downward, enough so that she could stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.

Jamie was left bewildered as one of her hands snaked over to plant itself firmly on the center of his chest and rub back and forth.

“Hi, mo ghraidh, ehm—” he struggled to find words as Claire gave him another kiss, this time to his shoulder. He could barely focus his mind as it seemed her hands were everywhere at once: stroking his chest, rubbing his arm. What the devil had gotten into her?

He finally remembered what he was trying to do, and managed out a weak, “This is Geneva, our…” her job title flew out the window as Claire’s hand went from his chest to hook into one of his belt loops on the opposite side, effectively stopping his heart and his brain in one simple motion.

“Geneva, this is Claire,” the words burst out in a rush with zero brain cells behind them as he desperately tried to fulfill his social duties in the face of his girlfriend’s advances.

He lowered his head to try to catch a glance at Claire’s face, to make eye contact and glean some sort of clue about what had gotten into her, but he found she wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed straight ahead, right on Geneva.

“Hello,” Geneva said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. She took a step back from them as her eyes flicked up and down.

“Hello,” Claire replied, but her tone made Jamie start. Never before had he heard his faerie— his joyful, bubbly, loves-everyone-without-discrimination faerie— sound so cold. Her voice was low and steady, without even a hint of smile.

Jamie’s brain went on high alert as Geneva reached a hand out for a handshake. They had rehearsed this in the car (not that Claire’d had a chance to use it yet with all the hugs she’d been giving out), but Jamie was worried that all the training had gone from her mind when she had apparently lost her marbles.

However, Claire removed her right hand from where it had been placed over Jamie’s stomach to reach out and clasp Geneva’s while keeping herself firmly glued to Jamie’s side.

He could feel her stiffen against him the moment the two lasses made contact, and then, as if a rubber band had been snapped, Claire withdrew her hand and turned to Jamie with a jerk.

“I need something from your… room, darling,” she said forcefully, clearly forgetting the word for office.

“Of course, a leannan, what do ye—”

Before he could finish getting out his question, Claire was stepping in front of him to drag him away. He allowed himself to be tugged off by his faerie, leaving behind a nonplussed and rather displeased looking Geneva.

When they got down the hall to his office, Claire all but shoved him inside. Jamie stumbled through as Claire shut the door behind them. He was just beginning to ask, “What the devil has gotten into ye—?” when Claire was suddenly on top of him, her lips claiming his so insistently that it was almost an attack rather than a kiss.

His words were muffled by her lips, and he found himself getting shoved up against a wall as she took his mouth. All protestations died in his throat and her strange behavior was wiped from his mind as her kiss clouded his senses, filling him so entirely. He let her tangle her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her, and he didn’t resist even as she tugged hard and her tongue swiped into his mouth.

He was fairly certain that she would be the death of him, but he was more than willing to die of asphyxiation if it meant that her lips wouldn’t leave his. Her mouth pressed hot against his, demanding and consuming. Still, as his lungs screamed for air, and he urgently squeezed her waist where his hands were resting.

She tore her lips away, gasping for breath, and then stood there, panting. She was quite a sight. Her hair was mussed, lips puffy, and her eyes held a hard look, darker than he’d ever seen them before.

What the hell?

“What— what was that?” Jamie gasped, barely able to find his breath. Claire had clearly stolen it from him during that heated kiss, right along with his wits and perhaps even his free will.

“You’re mine,” Claire said hotly, drawing closer again so her body could press against his as she said it. Her eyes blazed as they locked with Jamie, as if daring him to disagree.

“Of course I’m yours, mo nighean donn, but what brought this on?”

Claire had been in the process of leaning in to trail a line of kisses down his neck when he spoke, and she halted on her second kiss to draw back with a huff.

Clearly bothered, she looked almost dangerous as she said in a low voice, “Geneva. She wants you.”

“What?” it was almost a laugh as Jamie reacted to her claim.

Claire took a tiny step back so she could properly meet his eyes, and then said, very resolutely, “She does, Jamie. I touched her, I know. I could tell even before I felt it that she wanted you.”

Jamie’s mouth fell open at this revelation. He knew better than to protest, and upon hearing her confirmation, he realized that Geneva had been rather forward lately, but that didn’t mean she…

Looking at Claire’s heated expression, it clearly did. His lass was inflamed. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and her jaw clenched tightly.

Jamie couldn’t help it as a smirk began to turn up the corner of his lips and a warm feeling of something akin to satisfaction spread in his chest.

“So ye’re tellin’ me… that whole scene outside, and then you all but attackin’ me in here… was because ye were jealous?”

“Well,” Claire shifted on her feet slightly, for the first time in several minutes breaking free from her severe look, “yes. You’re mine, and she—”

“Aye, I’m yers, mo ghraidh, no doubt about it,” he confirmed without hesitation, making sure she knew it was the absolute truth of his heart, “jes’ as ye’re mine.”

He couldn’t help but smile though as the pieces all fell into place. She’d seen him from across the room and gotten jealous, so she had marched on over to stake her claim on him before demonstrating her power by stealing him away, only to kiss the living daylights out of him. It all made sense now. Her behavior wasn’t random. It was possessive.

“You’re enjoying this!” Claire exclaimed, looking up at him with an open mouth. She was trying to sound appalled, but he could see the smile she was trying to smother turning up the corners of her lips.

The laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he grabbed her around the waist to pull her against him as he chuckled. “Ye’re too much, mo nighean donn. And it only makes me love ye more and more.”

Despite herself, she started laughing too, grabbing his shoulders as he hauled her against him.

“I suppose it was rather… petty,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“Mmmm, the way ye kissed me, though. I think I wish more lassies would take a fancy to me jes’ to get that reaction from ye again…”

She smacked him lightly on the chest, but she was still smiling as he leaned down to peck her on the lips.

“You don’t need silly girls to want you in order to get me to kiss you like that…” Claire teased, standing on her tiptoes so she could hover her lips over his.

“Oh, is that so? What must I do, then?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she breathed.

And then her lips were on his again, and she showed him exactly how little he had to do.

Jamie lost another solid twenty minutes of work time due to the makeout session with Claire that ended up with him pressed against his desk and Claire doing her darndest to make him lose every ounce of self control he’d ever possessed. He’d never been more grateful in his life that his office window had blinds and a locking door.

As nice as it was to have the very enjoyable attentions of his love, he had wasted so much of the day away already, and there was work to be done. He reluctantly detached his faerie, pulling her away by the waist while she murmured a protest.

Jamie swiped a thumb over her puffy lips as she pouted at him, resisting the urge to laugh.

How he loved her with his whole heart.

“Sorry, Sassenach, I really hafta finish up some work before everyone leaves for the day, and at this rate, I willna ever be able to stop kissin’ ye.”

She caught his fingers in a quick kiss before she frowned. “I don’t understand why all of you are so caught up with ‘work’,” she commented with distaste.

“I’m beginnin’ to agree wi’ ye, Sassenach,” Jamie snorted. The temptation to throw everything out the window and pay attention to absolutely nothing save this alluring creature in front of him was nearly enough to drive him mad. But Jamie loved his work, cared about his business, and he had to have some self control— what few scraps remained.

“Why dinna ye look through some of my books on the shelves while I work? I ken ye canna read the words, but there are some verra beautiful illustrations— uh, pictures, drawings— in some of them.”

Jamie cursed himself for not bringing adequate entertainment for her. Although, beyond Adso, the space heater, and the garden— well, and him, of course— Jamie wasn’t sure what exactly entertained Claire.

She agreed with only a brief pout, and Jamie could finally let out the breath he’d been holding when she was safely across the room, browsing the bookshelf. Feeling his heart rate finally descend (was it safe for it to be that elevated for that long?) he settled down in front of his computer.

He managed to get a good chunk of work done while Claire busied herself with flipping through nearly every book he owned. It turned out that it was an excellent idea, as she seemed well entertained. Every once in a while, Jamie would hear a gasp and have to look up to see the adorable expression of wonder on Claire’s face as she discovered another illustration. It was mainly the kids books, he noticed, that really wowed her. Likely because she could follow the story based on the pictures, and she grew absorbed. Before long, there was a semi-circle of opened books surrounding her on the floor. It warmed him to notice that she never closed them— always leaving them open when she found an illustration she particularly liked, as if she wanted to go back and see it again.

Despite her fascination and apparent entertainment, it was what felt like a short time later when Jamie was interrupted from deep concentration by a hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

“Claire, what are ye—?” he started, but was cut off when both of her hands smoothed over his shoulders.

“You’re so tense,” came her smooth voice startlingly close to his ear.

“Aye,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “I tend tae carry my stress there when I’m workin.”

“I don’t want you to be tense.” Her breath tickled his ear, and a shiver rolled down his spine. Warm hands began kneading into his shoulders, digging into the soreness of the muscles. Her touch was the perfect mix of gentle and strong, pulling the tension from his body. He couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips.

Her hands didn’t let up their work, but she sometimes paused to smooth over his shoulders in broad strokes. Without meaning to, his hands fell away from the keyboard and his head tilted back. His eyes were closed in relaxation… when had he closed his eyes?

He realized distantly that Claire was murmuring soothing words above him.

“Does that feel good? Let out the tension, darling. There. I’ve got you.”

She hit a particularly tense knot, but the magic of her fingers had it loosening after only a second.

“Oh Lord,” he breathed, feeling like he was in a trance. “Ye’re so good at this. I—”

His eyes suddenly popped open and he bolted up in his chair, “Christ, lass. Ye’re doin’ yer best tae distract me from my work, are ye no’?”

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, just relax, my love,” she murmured into his ear, pressing down on his shoulders to get him to sit back in his chair again.

He was onto her game now, though, and reached up to grab her hand and still her.

“I have tae work, lass.”

“I’m not stopping you,” she replied.

The hand he hadn’t seized stroked over his shoulder. Feeling unequipped to the task of arguing with her, Jamie simply let go and brought his hands back to the keyboard.

Alright, Fraser. This is a simple game. If you stop giving her attention, she’ll get bored and leave ye be.

He focused all this attention on the computer screen, ignoring her as she continued her ministrations. It wasn’t the best job, but he managed to type out a few sentences before suddenly there were soft lips tracing the shell of his ear.

Another shiver ran down his spine, and there was a slight tug of teeth on his earlobe before she kissed it again, soothing the spot with a flutter of breath.

“Sassenach,” he said in a warning tone.

“What? I’m not stopping you,” she replied innocently before stooping lower to brush her lips— just barely— down his throat.

“Ye ken verra well that ye are,” he sighed, the sound turning from frustration to pleasure as she hit a particular spot that made his stomach twist.

Her fingers were tracing just barely under his shirt, tucking themselves inside the collar. She didn’t seem to be listening, or maybe it was just that she didn’t care, because she refused to respond to the protestation. Instead, she breathed out, “Do you know you have beautiful collarbones?”

“I didna ken, and I thank ye for the observation. May I return to my work now?” Jamie asked, trying to keep the pleading from his tone.

She hummed to herself, “I’m not standing in your way.”

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t quite strong enough to ignore it. And she was in no mood to free him from her clutches on her own accord.

Swivelling so abruptly in his chair that Claire nearly fell over backward in surprise, he faced her. He took her hands in his and brushed his thumbs over the back of her knuckles.

“Listen, lass. There’s no way I’ll get anythin’ done while ye’re toyin’ wi’ me, and I still have much to do. So let me make ye a deal. Gi’ me one hour wi’out interruptions, and I’ll… well…” Jamie found himself at a loss for bargaining chips. Ifrinn. The lass had him so well in the palm of her hand that he already gave her whatever she wanted. He decided to flip it and open it up to her. “What do ye want? In return?”

Her eyes flashed with excitement and a twinkle of mischief. Jamie braced himself for some devious declaration or demand for a game that would prove tortuous for his self control, but instead of anything like that, Claire surprised him by smugly requesting, “I want one hour in front of the heater.”

Jamie nearly laughed out loud. He’d come to realize that the lass thought that the space heater was a precious, exhaustible commodity, not some piece of junk hooked up to electricity. He hadn’t wanted to disavow her of that notion for fear that she’d spend every waking second in front of it instead of with him, and it seemed now it was going to play the situation to his advantage.

“I think I may be able tae make that happen,” he said slowly, keeping his cards close to his chest.

“With you!” she added quickly, narrowing her eyes, “for the full hour.”

“Do we have a deal then?” he asked, putting on his best business face.

“We have a deal,” Claire nodded primly.

Rather than a handshake, Jamie opted for a quick peck of lips. As Claire drew away and made to head back toward the bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room, she looked like a cat that got the cream.

Better luck next time, lass. If you wanna bargain, better come knowing what’s of value.

Feeling smug in his own right, Jamie returned to his work. This time, it wasn’t his girlfriend’s hands on him distracting his mind. Rather, it was the unshakable feeling of fondness that filled his stomach and warmed him to his toes.

***

“Hey, Jamie?” Claire asked, breaking the silence about 45 minutes into the agreed hour.

“What is it, a leannan?”

He tore his gaze from his computer to find Claire looking up at him from where she sat on the floor at the foot of the bookshelf. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked so wee curled up in the corner, shooting him a troubled gaze with eyes that were round as a doe’s.

“I’m cold.”

Brows furrowing, he abandoned his work— in the middle of a sentence no less— and went to her. She was shivering, despite it being rather balmy in his office.

His wee faerie, typical.

“Here, lass.” Jamie stripped off his suit jacket to wrap around her shoulders. She took it gratefully, her hands brushing Jamie’s at the edges. That bit of contact jolted through him, shattering any notions of him returning to his work straight away, and he fell to his knees beside her so he could wrap her in a hug.

She melted instantly into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, and it was at that moment that he felt her shivering.

“Christ, lass, ye really are cold,” he burst out in concern.

“It’s cold,” she repeated, shifting herself within his arms to burrow closer.

“It’s no’ this cold,” he breathed.

She didn’t say anything, just trembled against him. She withdrew her hands from around his middle and instead tucked them against his chest between where their bodies were pressed together.

Jamie bit his bottom lip and repositioned himself to get comfortable. It seemed he was in for a longer break from his work than expected. His heart was beginning to beat faster as anxiety for his love rose in his chest.

“This is more than temperature, a ghraidh,” he said softly.

She shook her head where it laid on his shoulder but made no move to raise it and look at him.

“Ye were fine all mornin’,” he noted quietly as his brain began working in earnest.

“I’m fine now,” Claire insisted, her voice muffled from where her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder.

“I dinna think ye are,” Jamie finally said out loud, admitting the fear that had been rattling around inside of him for days now. He’d watched the little things add up, even worried over them, but every time he managed to convince himself it was nothing. Even just this morning he’d thought perhaps everything was in his head. Now, however, it was just another item to add to the growing list that was too long to be coincidence.

“I told you, Jamie. It’s nothing,” Claire said, her voice gaining an edge to it. “I can feel you worrying.”

Jamie swallowed thickly. A rush of guilt washed over him, and he wondered whether she could feel that too. Gah! It was impossible not to feel things, especially when it came to her. It was terrifying to know she could read them, and that what he was feeling could make things worse for her.

“This isna nothin’ Sassenach, but I dinna ken—”

Claire sat up abruptly, pushing herself away from him with two hands planted firmly on his chest until she had gained her distance. Irritation was rising in her as warm spots on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed a darker shade of gold.

“Don’t tell me about me like you know better than I do,” she said, brows drawing together in frustration.

“I’m no’, I just—”

Jamie reached for her, but she batted his hands away.

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing. If you were tired of trying to warm me up, you could have just said something.”

She was moving backward now, attempting to put more distance between them, but Jamie reached out to grasp her upper arm, holding her still. Her head whipped toward him, eyes hard and ready to lash out, but Jamie spoke before she could.

“Please, dinna go,” was all he could think to say.

It wasn’t like she was actually going to storm out of his office— at least he hoped not— but it still hurt for her to tear herself away like that. He didn’t want to fight.

Something— perhaps it was his pleading tone, the look on his face, or maybe she could actually feel his distress— made her freeze and give him her attention.

“I’m sorry if I made ye feel like ye werena my priority, mo ghraidh, because ye are. Always. I would abandon work entirely jes’ tae hold ye in my arms, for however long ye wanted. I’m jes’ worried, lass, I dinna mean to presume I ken more than you do about yer own body. I’m sorry. Please, lass, come here to me?”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. She remained stock still, her eyes locked with Jamie’s. There was a long moment where he watched the moisture gather in her eyes and the gears turn in her head as she fought within herself, and then she broke the stillness. She did come to him then, scrambling up into his lap and throwing her arms around him. A wet face pressed into the crook of his neck, and Jamie quickly brought his arms up to hold her, pressing her face into him and feeling relief course through him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know why I lashed out at you, Jamie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hush, hush, it’s okay, a leannan,” Jamie soothed, carding his fingers through her curls and rocking her back and forth. “Ye’ve had a long day. Ye’ve felt yer share of heartache, met so many new people and seen so many new things, and ye’re tired. Why dinna we head home now, aye?”

She drew back, blinking tears away from her eyelashes. “Maybe just in a moment?”

“Of course, Sassenach.” Jamie didn’t need to be an empath to know that she needed a second to gather herself together before she could face the task of exiting the building and encountering whatever people went along with that.

“Hey, I love you,” Jamie added softly, petting her hair, pulling it back away from her neck over and over. He stretched his thumb so he could smooth over the long muscle of her neck, feeling the soft skin and wishing he were at an angle that he could press a kiss there.

“I love you, too,” came her quiet response.

***

a/n: Important Update:

Hey friends! So I may be going off the grid a bit later in June, not 100% sure yet. There probably will end up being a brief hiatus for this story, and I wish I could tell you exactly what it will look like, but I don't know yet. I will keep you posted here. Thank you so much for your flexibility and investment in the story, and I'll do my best not to leave you at cliffhangers. While I still have time left, be prepared that updates may get a bit more frequent.

I don’t remember if I’ve announced it on here yet, but I also want to officially say that an Arc III is in the works! I’ve already started writing a bit on it because I’m so excited about it. So don’t worry, even if there is a brief hiatus, there is lots of story left. Thank you for sticking with me!!!

#wooohooo finally managed to write it!!!#all that was fair #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #update #fae claire

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