#In the words of my friend (who helped me sort a new shipment once): | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratkook · 3 years

Text

eleven months. (m) myg. one.

masterlist.

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: fluff, slow burn!!!, eventual smut, warnings: none this chapter. word count: 2.8k author’s note: this chapter is on the shorter side, just diving into them meeting and giving you all a small glimpse into them as individuals! im really excited for this story so let me know what you think, feel free to scream about anything in my inbox bye ily lmao summary: it’s been years of yoongi living his routine life, accustomed to his pace of living, going with the flow and simply existing. until you come along. yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, but he weirdly craves it. craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what’s coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. and maybe you can help with that.

Yoongi loves the rain, really he does. The way the clouds gloom over the city, encompassing it in this darkness that reminds him of underexposed film. He wishes he could always see the world through this filter, always smell the scent of wet soil and tarmac as he makes his way through the streets. Something about hearing the soft patter hitting the sidewalk, bouncing off the rooftops and dripping from the gutters calms him. A soft smile spreads across his face as he exhales the smoke in his lungs, letting the stick hang loosely off his lips while his hands clutch onto his umbrella.

When he stomps his foot into a wide puddle, the cold water splashes up onto his ankle and he grimaces. He hates being caught in the middle of rain. It didn’t matter if he had his umbrella or not, or if he managed to bundle enough for the downpour, he hates stepping into puddles and getting his socks wet. Hates how some of the raindrops that slipped under his umbrella—since it was now raining sideways—have managed to make his cigarette slightly soggy.

Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth this time, he holds it in front of his face with a frown. It was halfway done but no longer burning properly due to how wet it had become.

What a waste.

As he passes a trash can, he stubs it out fully and tosses it inside, a small pout on his face at the loss of something to fidget with. But then he sees the glowing sign inching closer, the bright neon yellow standing out in the grim weather. The illuminated Rkive360 in the distance stops him from slipping out another smoke, choosing to stuff his unoccupied hand into the pocket of his jeans, moving his legs a little faster to get to his destination.

The bell at the top of the door jingles as he stumbles in, his foot tripping over the small lip of the mat by the door. That was a safety hazard he’d playfully bitch to Namjoon about later.

“Yoongi, hey!” When he balances out, closing his umbrella and giving it a good shake by the door, he looks up and grins at Taehyung. He spots him standing by a flat spread of clothes a few feet away, folding out some new items as he stares at Yoongi with a genuine smile. His curls flop over his eyes and Yoongi chuckles to himself as he wonders how a guy like him was here folding shirts when he should probably be the face of Gucci or something.

Well, that’s life.

“Hey man,” Yoongi mumbles out, his eyes catching the plastic bin beside the door that’s labeled ‘umbrellas here’ in a messy scribble he can only attribute to Taehyung. Not needing to be told twice, he sticks his dripping umbrella upside down into it and shuffles inside the shop, taking a minute to look around like he always did.

Record stores have always been his safe space, even as a teenager. The amount of time spent in one after school, loitering inside with his friends as he sorted through the racks of CDs and vinyl, exiting with his bag of new goodies that left him excited to get home and play them. It was god sent that his best friend decided to open up his own place years ago, keeping it fully stocked with anything he could imagine. Maybe Yoongi was a little biased, but this was definitely the best shop in the country.

It’s a welcoming place, pops of color in every corner, tall standing sculptures mixed in with displays of music, autographed albums and posters framed onto the wall behind the counter. It’s the full embodiment of his best friend, down to the tiny KAWS figurines perched beside the register and the music playing through the speakers. The small melody in the background fills his ears once the door is shut, recognizing the song playing as Dang! by Mac Miller and he bobs along as he approaches Taehyung.

“Quick question,” he starts, his hands coming up to shake at his gray hair that was slightly damp from the rain. Taehyung sets the shirt down, resting both of his palms on the table as he leans towards Yoongi with interest. “Any chance you guys miraculously got Seventeen Seconds in your stock this week?”

Taehyung hums in thought, his brows furrowing together as he tries to mentally sort through the massive boxes of new vinyl Namjoon had brought in a few days ago. New shipment comes once a week but every now and then Namjoon goes out of his way to find specific records, never missing with his selection.

A small flash of blurry trees crosses his mind and then he's smiling at him. “Yeah, we actually got it the other day. Pretty sure Namjoon hunted it down for you since you’ve been asking. It should be in the back.” His thumb points behind him, towards the display tables that held all the LP’s available at the store, a very familiar spot.

Yoongi mumbles out a thanks as he makes his way over, eyes already locked onto the bin that he knew would hold his prized possession. It’s not until he gets a few feet closer that he sees your crouched frame over a box, figure slightly hidden by a giant CD rack. You’re rummaging through the records, almost making him flinch when you quickly stand back up and find their proper spot in the display. You don’t notice him approaching until he’s right beside you, eyes once again glued to the bins lined in alphabetical order once the initial shock of another person subsided.

That’s when you give him a glance, sending him a soft smile as you slip the record in its rightful spot, crouching back down to grab the next bunch. His hand pauses on the edge of the bin at the glimpse of something familiar, momentarily distracted by your shirt. When you stand back up, feeling him staring at you, you slowly turn to face him once more with your eyebrows raised up in question.

He takes note of the tag clipped to your shirt, it reads Sana but he’s used to dealing with Sana and you are definitely not her. You’re new.

The smile remains on your lips as you rest your hip against the edge of the table holding up the record bins, preparing to put your best customer service voice to use. His eyes glance at the writing on your shirt again, cracking a grin when he confirms it's a New Order shirt tucked into your black jeans. “You like New Order?”

Your smile falters slightly, your arms crossing in front of you as you narrow your eyes at him in defense, not entirely sure how to take his tone. “If you’re about to ask me to name five of their songs I’ll have to walk away to avoid getting fired.”

His smile widens at that, soft and gummy, breaking his cold appearance as his arms raise up in front of him in surrender. “No, just an observation.”

Your demeanor softens again, your arms sagging back down to your sides and smiling once more. “Good, it's my first day on the job and I’d really like to keep it.”

Yoongi chuckles softly, going back to his searching for his precious album, leaning over the third bin dedicated to bands starting with the letter C. His nimble fingers flip through the LPs until he gets to the Cure, sorting through Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, passing Pornography until he reaches Wish and his brows furrow, flicking back and forth as if the album he wanted would magically appear.

“Need help finding something?” You speak up again when you take note of him sorting through the same chunk of vinyl. He grunts lightly, letting the stack slant back in a heap as he purses his lips.

“Yeah actually, Taehyung said you guys got the album Seventeen Seconds but I don’t see it.

You step back from reorganizing the bin labeled S, trying to remember if you had brought the record out or if it was still sitting in the second box ready to be unpacked. Your brain was already overwhelmed from all of the information you had been given on your first day, trying to unscramble the entire backroom and it’s countless boxes—most of which were unlabeled because Taehyung said it’s not necessary since he knows where everything is.

Much like Taehyung, you recall seeing a flash of the album cover when you sorted through the new box of records, knowing exactly where it was tucked away since you had been the one to store it. You were under strict orders to not put it out on the floor, because according to Namjoon, if someone else took this album you’d be attending his funeral.

“Oh, uh gimme a sec.” You shuffle away, leaving him behind as you approach Taehyung, still folding away. “Hey, Tae?”

He hums in question, turning to stare at you with a small smile. “Whats up?”

“That guy is asking for Seventeen Seconds but Namjoon told me he’d be murdered if I gave this out to anyone.”

Taehyung starts laughing instantly, setting the shirt down as he stares at a confused looking Yoongi still standing by the LP’s. “Yeah, he was saving it for him specifically.”

“Got it, okay. Thanks.” You make a beeline back to the tables at the back, passing Yoongi with a polite smile. “Be right back!” you exclaim, wagging your finger at him as you make your way towards the back room, clearly on a mission.

Yoongi just stands there as you enter the employee stock room, not trying to cross any professional lines and follow you since you have no idea who he is. It's only a few feet away and you left the door propped open so when a few minutes pass and he hears rustling, followed by a heavy sounding thud and some curse words, he can’t help but wander over and peak his head in.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning against the door frame with a smirk on his face when he sees the way you’re frozen, one foot on the ledge of the shelf and the other on a not so sturdy looking stool, caught in the act of a poorly made decision. Below you lay two brown boxes that carry shirts you’re meant to unpack later, definitely the cause of the loud thud he had heard.

“Yep,” you confirm as you pluck out the record you need, shoving the box back into its safe spot and hopping down haphazardly. “Here you go.”

Grabbing the record carefully, he flips it over to skim the track list and smiles widely when he looks back up at you. That familiar warmth fills his chest as he holds the new item, making him feel the same way he had as a teenager when he bought his first LP. He had been searching for this vinyl for months now. It wasn’t as if it was no longer in production, he just couldn’t seem to find it in stock anywhere he looked and buying it internationally was the last resort he would take since the shipping fees were downright illegal. “Thanks.”

You’re already hunched down on the floor as you open up one of the boxes that had fallen in your haste to scale the shelves, deciding to just unpack in now since you were here.

“Yeah, no problem. Tae can ring you up at the front.” Sending him off with a smile and a wave, he takes that as his cue to exit, making his way to the front again.

When he leaves the backroom you flop onto your butt with a huff, your legs sprawling out with the second box in between them. You were hoping your words didn’t come across as rude to him but you couldn’t take the way his sharp eyes stared at you. Had he lingered any longer you would have embarrassed yourself, it was a miracle your footing hadn’t slipped on your way down from the shelves. You can’t imagine your ego being able to recover from a tumble like that.

Taehyung spots Yoongi leaning against the front counter, setting the final shirt down and going to stand behind it with a smile. “Did you find everything okay?” he asks automatically, the general phrases they had to use coming out without a thought and Yoongi scoffs, sliding the record across the counter and nodding.

“Of course I did, you let Namjoon know that I said your customer service is unmatched.” His finger gently rubs against the first black KAWS figurine, smiling at the remaining four as he remembers how Namjoon had excitedly told him that this was their friend group, representing them all perfectly.

Taehyung grins with a roll of his eyes, scanning the album and slipping it into the brown paper bag they provided. “Wonderful. Your total is 40,000 won.”

“Wow, your customer service voice is phenomenal.”

Taehyung laughs now, his nose crinkling up at Yoongi's sarcastic tone, watching how Yoongi grins back at him, succeeding in getting him to crack. “Fuck you, man.”

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi hums with a chuckle as he pulls out his wallet, sorting through his bills and handing them to Taehyung. “Who’s New Order girl?”

Tae raises his brows as he enters the amount into the POS, the drawer popping open against his hips. “Oh, Y/N?” Yoongi only shrugs, you had Sana’s name tag on so how the hell should he know.

Taehyung stuffs the money into the drawer and slams it shut, ripping off the receipt from the machine and slipping it into the bag. “She just started today, can’t remember where she moved from, some place far though.” He shrugs as he hands the bag over to Yoongi.

The older boy ruffles his damp hair up, accepting the bag with his right hand. “Oh, cool. Well thanks, I’ll see you guys later then?” Taehyung just waves him off with a smile, similar to the way you did and he laughs to himself when he realizes Taehyung must be the one in charge of training you.

As he approaches the front door he pulls out his pack of cigarettes once more, sliding one out and slipping it between his lips. He finds himself looking towards the back of the shop again, seeing you resuming your organization, but your head lifts up as you feel him staring at you from his spot at the door. The spark of his lighter flashes across his face when he lights up his smoke, opening his umbrella once more now that he's partially outside. When your eyes meet, he smiles around the stick, giving you a nod before turning and walking back out into the rain.

You watch as his figure disappears down the street, his dark silhouette blending in with the rest of the people roaming the city, and when you can no longer see him through the store window you turn towards Taehyung. He’s stood at the POS, fidgeting with the screen, but when you call his name he glances up at you. “Is he a regular?”

He nods in response, eyes going back to stare at the screen as he begins to print out a sheet to fulfill the online orders the store received. “Yeah, he comes in at least once a week. Buys strictly vinyl. I think Namjoon mentioned he’s a music producer, or maybe it was a DJ, I can’t remember.”

Taehyung evidently doesn’t have the best memory, that much had been made clear in the short span you’ve known him. He had forgotten your name twice during your interview, Namjoon having to subtly repeat it for him, he had also asked you three times where you were from and at first you thought he was joking but when his face remained serious you realized he had really forgotten already.

“Hey, where’d you move from again?” he asks one more, genuinely curious as if you hadn’t told him a handful of times already.

“I told you, Iceland.” It’s a lie, but when he hums in thought—pretending to suddenly remember—you chuckle at the newfound way to mess with him.

He’s quick to start questioning you about Iceland, nodding along to the lies you spill while you both go back to your tasks of sorting albums and folding shirts. It makes your first full shift eventful, passing jokes back and forth as the sky grows gloomier. As distracting as your conversations get, you can’t help but glance up through the windows whenever a dark clad figure walks by, the thought of the sharp eyed stranger lingering in your mind.

#min yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts fics #bts imagines #new #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #heartsforbts #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner

293 notes · View notes

ironwoman359 · 3 years

Text

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 4

Navigation: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Summary: As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince, side Moxiety and Dukeceit

Content Warnings (overall): arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst Chapter 4 Warnings: possessive behavior, verbal and physical abuse, angst, allusions to abuse and murder

Word Count: 4067

Read on AO3: here!

A/N: Co-written with @5-falsehoods-phonated, check out his masterlist here and check out mine here!

---

“And when I tried to get down, Remus spooked the pony and it bolted, with me still clinging to the saddle for dear life.”

Virgil snorted, then immediately brought his hand up to cover his smile.

“You wound me!” Roman said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Eight-year-old me was certain that his life was going to end, and you’re laughing?”

“I can’t help that the mental image of you dangling off the saddle of a pony and screaming your head off is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” Virgil replied.

“Be nice, Virgil!” Patton scolded, even as he fought back giggles of his own. “I’m sure it was very scary at the time!”

“You’re telling me,” Roman agreed. “I wouldn’t set foot near the stables for a month.”

“I can’t believe that after all that you somehow grew up to be a competent rider,” Virgil said.

“Well, I probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my older brother Remy. He started taking me with him when he went out on his rides; I felt a lot safer riding double with him than I did by myself.”

“Your brothers sound wonderful,” Patton said, smiling.

“Oh, they’re the absolute worst,” Roman said. “But also I love them more than anyone.”

“I hope we’ll get to meet them at the wedding!”

Roman’s smile went brittle around the edges, and he forced himself to nod.

“I hope so too,” he said quietly.

Patton’s brow wrinkled, and Roman knew that look, that was Patton’s “I’m worried about you” look, and as much as he had come to view Patton and Virgil as his friends, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get into the whole “my twin brother ran away from home to escape noble life and I haven’t seen him in years and might never see him again” topic with them just yet.

“Well this has been great,” Virgil cut in suddenly. “But it’s getting close to midday; I need to get back to work, and you need to get to your little lunch date.”

“Excuse you, it is a perfectly professional business meeting!” Roman protested, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Sure it is. That’s why you meet with Logan every single day and always perk up or get this silly smile on your face whenever you mention something that he said, most of which has nothing to do with business.”

Roman gave Virgil a deadpan look. “Do you really want me to retaliate right now?” he asked, glancing pointedly at Patton.

Virgil’s cheeks flushed pink, and he waved Roman away.

“Go on, then!” he said. “Go have your perfectly professional business meeting.”

“I will!” Roman said primly, but as he stood to leave, he shot Virgil a grateful smile, and Virgil nodded in return.

After parting with Patton at the house’s entrance, Roman made the short trek down to the library alone. He hadn’t been sure how he would manage living at the Howard Estate at first, but his life had settled into a predictable yet comfortable routine since the engagement banquet.

Patton brought breakfast to his room every morning, and after Roman insisted several times that he preferred the company, Patton now stayed to eat with him most mornings. After breakfast, Roman changed into his riding clothes and the two headed down to the stables together, where Virgil was waiting for them with Angel. Roman took his morning ride, and Patton and Virgil did whatever it was they liked to do when they were alone together.

When he returned, Roman helped Virgil groom Angel, and the three of them often fell into easy conversation with one another. At midday, Roman took his lunch in the library with Logan, and he spent the afternoons on his own, exploring the mansion or indulging in his creative hobbies. All in all, his days were mostly pleasant, until dinnertime, of course.

His nightly dinner with Lord Howard was, to his disappointment, the most boring and uncomfortable part of Roman’s day. It became clear to Roman after a few attempts of engaging with his fiance that Lord Howard wasn’t even slightly interested in talking with him; what he wanted was somebody to talk at. Roman sat, night after night, and listened to the earl rant about frustrating business partners, idiotic city officials, and even tiny annoyances like a scuff on his boot or a fly in his office. It was difficult to not feel like an emotional punching bag, and Roman always left dinner exhausted from playing the polite, doting fiance that Lord Howard expected him to be.

Roman stepped into the library, and smiled when he saw Logan sitting at a table beneath a window, the afternoon sun casting golden beams of light through his long hair.

At least there were more positives than negatives to living at this estate.

“Ah, Roman,” Logan said, smiling as he approached. “Excellent timing, I was just beginning to review my weekly report for Lord Howard. Would you care to assist me?”

“Always,” Roman said, sitting down across from him.

They poured over the receipts and summaries and work orders together, and Roman couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of work that Logan did every single day.

“Honestly, Logan, you do almost too much for the earl. Especially considering what he pays you.”

Roman had seen the payroll receipts for all the staff, and he couldn’t help but be a little insulted on the servants’ behalf. One of the ways Lord Howard kept costs down was clearly at the expense of his staff.

“While I may agree with your sentiment, the fact of the matter is that if I did not do all this, the estate would fall apart,” Logan said. “And regardless of any...personal feelings about his lordship, there are far too many people who depend on him and his estate for me to consider stopping.”

Logan paused, frowning as he scanned a document, then sighed.

“For instance, his lordship neglected to sign off on a shipment of new armor to the city guard, despite my reminding him to do so three times in the last week.”

He scrawled something along the bottom of the document and set it aside, and Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Was that Lord Howard’s name you just wrote?”

Logan fiddled with his glasses, and he glanced around the room before answering. “This is...not the first time that his lordship has neglected his duties on what he perceives to be minor issues. I, uh...take the liberty of correcting such oversights for him.”

“You can forge his handwriting?” Roman translated, and Logan nodded sheepishly. “That’s amazing!”

Logan blinked, looking up at Roman in clear surprise. “I...it is?”

“Are you kidding me?” Roman exclaimed. “Of course it is...you’re so talented, Logan, really. I’m not exaggerating when I say you’re wasted as a secretary.”

“Oh...well, thank you, Roman,” Logan said, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. “I must admit, you also have far more potential than his lordship would care to acknowledge.”

“I’ll get him to see sense soon,” Roman insisted. “Then maybe together, we can make some real changes around here!”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I am glad to share your company, at least.”

It was Roman’s turn to blush, but before he could think of a reply, the sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Patton approaching their table.

“Sorry for interrupting, Kiddos, but I’ve been asked to fetch Roman here and get him ready.”

“Get me ready?” Roman asked, and Patton nodded.

“His lordship requests your presence at a business meeting he has in an hour with other estate holders. I’ve been instructed to dress you for the event and bring you to his lordship.”

Roman forced down the twinge of discomfort in the back of his mind at the earl choosing an outfit for him like he was some sort of doll, and grinned as he got to his feet.

“You see, Logan?” he said. “This is our chance!”

“If it is a meeting with other nobility, then I’m afraid I won’t be present,” Logan said. “Lord Howard does not wish for...commoners to be present at such negotiations. He instructs me on what measures need to be taken afterwards.”

“That’ll be the first thing we change then, once I make him see reason,” Roman said. “You’ll see, this is going to be the start of something great!”

“I hope you are right,” Logan said with a small smile. “Good luck, Roman.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Roman said as he followed Patton out of the library.

I’ll certainly need it.

--- --- ---

Roman fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, shooting a glance over to the earl to make sure he hadn’t noticed. The silky fabric that his pants were made of stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made his legs itch horribly, but he had been in similar attire before and had had plenty of practice in the art of keeping his poise while screaming internally. Thankfully, even though he was seated right next to Lord Howard, he had yet to draw his attention. Howard had been too occupied bragging about his various business exports for most of the meeting to pay much attention to him.

Even through his discomfort, Roman had been learning a lot about his fiance, dutifully keeping mental notes on everything he heard, from which parts of land he had inherited to which ones he had bought or negotiated into owning. Overseas businesses and local investments both let his power reach farther than one might first suspect, and all that put together was what kept the Howard Estate with its acres of land, sprawling mansion and extensive grounds and highly specialized staff all running smoothly.

It was a lot to manage, so it made sense that Lord Howard had Logan figure out most of the work and only signed off on the most important things himself. Having someone as competent as Logan run things in the background so the true estate head could make the actual appearances as the business leader was a strategy many nobles used to keep their properties under control.

Craning his neck to look up at his fiance from his lower seat, Roman furrowed his brow in thought. He wondered just how much Logan did that the earl never saw anything about until he reaped the benefits of it. Sure, Logan was extremely capable, but relying entirely on one person to manage everything seemed a bit foolhardy to Roman.

Tuning back into the conversation, Roman perked up as another lord gestured stiffly at a stack of documents in front of him, smooth calculation clear in his tone of voice. Negotiations were something Roman had always prided himself in handling, and handling well. He had often spoken circles around his own father in their practice debates, and it was rare that Roman participated in a discussion without gaining something in his own favor.

As neither party at the moment looked particularly stressed, Roman figured with a slight twinge of disappointment that such measures shouldn’t be needed this time. He would have liked to show off just a bit and make Lord Howard see what a useful asset he could actually be in their marriage, but he supposed that could wait until a more appropriate opportunity.

“I have most of the influence in this field anyway. Signing your bit of land over to me now would cause fewer problems for you in the future; especially if I don’t have to take it by force when I’m looking to expand.” Punctuating his statement with a firm tap to the papers, the opposing lord sat back with a satisfied smirk.

The icy glare Lord Howard fixed him with was enough to wipe the smirk fully off his face, however, and he tilted back slightly as the earl leaned forward to fold his hands smoothly in front of him.

“I’m not in the habit of signing away what’s rightfully mine, Lord Rilken, Baron of Vilvik.”

Roman flinched slightly at the way he practically spat the other man’s title…a title he shared, and had never once felt insecure about until this very moment. The way he spoke to these men, these people in positions of power, like they were nothing but dirt to be brushed off his own much more impressive riches- it was enough to make Roman want to run all the way back to his own estate and beg for another way, plead to wait for someone else to ask for his hand or to find someone himself. He stiffened in his seat and shook the irrational thoughts away.

No, this is how one played the game when negotiating important matters. Put up a cold and intimidating front until the other person backed down or bent to your own suggestions. If anything, Lord Howard's act was admirable; it almost immediately shut down any arguments, even if it hardly held any semblance of tact. Realizing this would be a good opportunity to show his skills, Roman leaned forward and placed his own hands on the table in front of him, gaining the attention of the opposing business owners quickly.

“It might prove advantageous to you both to simply form a partnership and share the land and business potential it holds. With as much power as the both of you hold over this branch, you’d be able to expand much faster and reap more benefits than you would if you spent all of your time attempting to take control over the others’ sections.” Pleased with himself, Roman glanced over to Lord Howard, expecting at least to have impressed him since he hadn’t really had the time to explain all that he had been trained in and what he could bring to the estate with their union.

However, as he met Lord Howard’s eyes, ice ran through his veins. The earl was glaring, staring him down like a particularly resilient bug that he could hardly wait to smash beneath a steel-toed boot. The room went so quiet that Roman could swear that the other nobles were holding their breath, and glancing around in his peripherals, he saw everyone sitting around the table gawking at him as if he’d just committed high treason. Had he really said something so wrong? Was this not what was customary, nay, expected behavior of the soon to be co-owner of the estate? Shrinking down slightly as his ears burned red, he finally lowered his eyes as the earl turned away. Roman heard him take a deep breath before saying in a deliberately controlled voice:

“You must forgive my fiance, he hails from a country estate you see; he isn’t accustomed to the way things work here yet. If you would be so kind as to excuse us for just a moment so that I may explain a few things?” Not waiting for an answer, the earl stood and held out his hand for Roman to take. “If you would step into the hall with me, dearest?”

Recognizing the order under the request, Roman stood quickly and took Lord Howard’s hand, wincing at how tightly he was gripped and practically dragged out of the room. The door was opened just a bit too forcefully to calm his nerves in the slightest and he watched as Lord Howard seemed to barely refrain from slamming it back closed, instead closing it with deliberate calm before whirling around to face him and jerking his hand out of Roman’s to tower before him.

“Let me make this perfectly clear, you do not speak out of turn in these meetings. You do not speak above me or-”

“But I didn’t! I was only-” Roman didn’t register what the dull smacking sound echoing in his ears and making them ring was until pain bloomed and spread from his lower jaw to his entire cheek. Raising his hand to his face in disbelief, he felt a bit of wetness and looked to see blood on his fingertips. Fear and horror twisted in his gut as he realized one of Lord Howard’s rings must have caught on his cheek and opened a cut. His jaw ached and his teeth felt numb; the blow had been hard enough to rattle them in his skull. Romans looked up and flinched as he saw Howard’s hand still raised to strike should he choose to speak again, and he shrunk in on himself in an attempt to seem too small to expend more energy on.

“You,” The earl spat, “do not speak above me, or make suggestions on my behalf. You are not here to offer up useless opinions that were not asked for or needed. You were brought into that room to sit obediently and look pretty on my arm and that is the full extent that your role will ever be. Have I made myself clear?”

Roman hesitated for just a second too long, and Lord Howard reached down to grip his chin, tipping his head so he had no choice but to look his assailant directly in the eyes. “My dear, I believe I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

Biting back a whimper Roman nodded as much as he could with his face trapped in the steely grip. “Yes my lord, I understand perfectly. I apologize for overstepping, it won’t happen again.”

The answer, as demeaning as it had felt to say, seemed to appease the still seething man, and Howard dropped his chin and stepped back with a wolfish smile.

“Very good, see to it that it doesn’t. Now, I believe we’ve been here long enough. If you’re done blubbering, you may join me.”

Startling a bit at the choice of phrasing, Roman hesitantly reached up to touch his face, wincing as he realized there was more than just blood on his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he carefully wiped the tears away before plastering on a small smile and moving to stand just behind the earl. He was loath to go back into the room like this, humiliation and blood reddening his cheeks, but he didn’t dare speak up for fear of more punishment. As Lord Howard opened the door and moved back to his place at the head of the table, he hardly spared Roman another glance, and Roman had no choice but to meekly follow.

Sitting down, Roman realized most of the people at the table were staring at him like one would a fresh kill, their expressions a mixture of pity and approval while they averted their eyes. Sinking down even lower as the meeting resumed, he realized this was to be the second part of his punishment. He was to learn and remember his role as Lord Howard’s betrothed and eventual husband. Sit still and look pretty, step a toe out of line and be punished, and make sure everyone in the room knew that the power held over him was just as absolute as the power the earl held over everything else.

“I’m pleased to know some people still know how to keep common folk in line. Truly, the disrespect-” Roman’s ears rang as someone close by whispered to another just loud enough for him to overhear, making him want to sink down even lower and let the floor swallow him.

The meeting continued on for what seemed like forever, but unlike before, Roman didn’t absorb a single word of what was said. The voices of the other lords washed over him as he sat as still as he could, hands clenched in his lap to keep them from trembling. When at last Lord Howard stood, Roman almost stood up next to him, but caught himself just in time and sent a questioning glance up at his fiance.

Lord Howard’s lips curled into a smile, and he held his arm out to Roman in invitation. Roman swallowed down his revulsion and stood, slipping his arm into the earl’s and schooling his face into a pretty smile. Lord Howard covered Roman’s hand with his own, and Roman’s skin burned at the touch.

“Well gentlemen, this concludes our discussion for the day, I do thank you all for coming.”

One by one the nobles stood, nodding to Lord Howard as they filed out of the room. Roman’s cheeks heated as several of them swept their eyes over him as they passed, their gazes lingering on the bruise blooming on his face. When at last, every one of them was gone, Lord Howard turned his attention to Roman, all false pleasantries gone from his expression.

“I trust that after today, any...confusion about your role here has been cleared up?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, my lord,” Roman whispered, and the earl smiled.

“Good. Now go clean yourself up. Dinner is at seven o’clock sharp, and I expect you to look presentable.”

“Yes, my lord,” Roman repeated, and as soon as Lord Howard dropped his arm, he practically bolted from the room.

He hurried through the corridors of the mansion, head down and eyes stinging. When he finally reached his room, he all but slammed the door behind him, and collapsed to the floor, his shoulders shaking as he released the sob he’d been holding back for the past hour.

He let himself cry, for how long, he wasn’t sure, not only for the sting on his cheek and the shame that came with it, but for every doubt, every grief, every pain that he’d pushed down and bottled up over the past month.

After everything he’d been through, everything he’d sacrificed, was this really his fate? Chained forever to a man who only saw him as something to own, to display, to use...

Roman lifted his head slowly.

“Remember all that we've taught you, and you'll do fine."

His father had taught him everything he knew about business, about politics, about matters of the state. He knew how to act with decorum, how to spot an opportunity, and how to charm a room while negotiating, all thanks to his father’s teachings.

But now, with tears running down his face and a bruise blossoming on his cheek, he remembered another set of lessons.

Lessons his mother had given him as a teenager, after time had run its course and he was no longer the slightly awkward, gangly kid he had once been.

“You’ve grown into a handsome young man,” his mother had said to him on his eighteenth birthday. “Your father believes that when you are married, it will be purely for political reasons. You need to know that this may not be the case.”

Roman had tried to forget the lessons his mother had passed down to him, had told himself that he would never need them...but here he was, sobbing on the floor, the first of what he knew would be many marks on his skin if he didn’t tread carefully.

Roman learned everything he knew about running an estate from his father, but he learned everything about acting from his mother. Thanks to her, he knew how to conceal his emotions, how to smile when his stomach rolled over and how to sigh when his skin burned. He knew how to mold himself into the perfect husband, because if he did not let himself be molded he would find himself broken before it was too late.

“Too late for what, mother?” the younger him had asked, eyes wide and horrified, and she’d smiled in a way he’d never seen before.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your grandfather died?”

Roman knew what situations were most likely to result in “accidents,” what weapons were easily concealed and what poisons were difficult to detect. He knew how to pluck a nose hair to bring tears to his eyes and slap his cheeks so they appeared flushed. He knew how to appear calm and collected when he was suffering, and how to appear stricken with grief when all he felt was relief.

He had been preparing for marriage his whole life...every kind of marriage. And now that he knew the kind of husband that Lord Howard really wanted, he knew exactly what kind of husband he was going to be.

Even if he wouldn’t be one for very long.

--- --- ---

Previous | Next

Everything Taglist: @poison-lyra, @spacevirgil, @mirror2thespirit, @stormcrawler75, @backatthebein, @bubblycricket, @callboxkat, @theinvisiblespoon, @fandomsofrandom, @hold-our-destiny, @broadwaytheanimatedseries, @grey-lysander, @leaves-and-bounds @storytellerofuntoldlegends, @funsizedgremlin, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @slightlyobssesive, @today-only-happens-once, @fluidityandgiggles, @faithfreedom-art, @theymaynotbedenied, @redone0-0dreamer, @lamp-calm-sanders, @heythereprincey, @evetheodd, @thedundundunnnsong, @fandomloverangel, @i-read-by-lamp @msu82

Sanders Sides Taglist: @spacevirgil, @nerd-in-space, @littlemiracle05, @silverrhayn, @starsinger,@callboxkat, @fantasyandfairfolk, @fanartfunart, @dwbh888, @analogical-mess, @hold-our-destiny, @broadwaytheanimatedseries, @nightmarejasmine, @sanderstalker, @storytellerofuntoldlegends, @a-lexicon-of-words, @llamaly, @funsizedgremlin, @punknerdmusings, @hikariyukino, @milomeepit, @theymaynotbedenied, @sassy-in-glasses, @musicphanpie-b, @fluidityandgiggles @asymmetricalgarbage8888, @lamp-calm-sanders, @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @felicianoromano, @chaosfamder, @dorkoverse, @idontevenfreakingknow22, @shortandfantastic, @the-gilbird, @raygelkitty, @your-heads-not-in-the-gutter, @opaque-puppet @ravenclawicecream, @ladyartemisia28, @awesome-and-unique-username

#sanders sides #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logince #moxiety #you don't own me #my writing #abuse tw

62 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Kitchen Romance

➜ Words: 11.1k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Chef!AU

➜ Summary: You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors' ancestors were matchmakers and it's all because of a special, inborn gift. A gift that allows you to see each person's fated ones above their heads. But it's not so much a gift when one day, your boss walks in with YOU above him.

cr.

The kitchen is in chaos.

The heat swelters in the still air, stifling with the summer warmth that’s forced most people indoors with air conditioning. But here, there’s no such privilege. Not when open fires on frying pans were at every stovetop and grease was splattering everyone like a water fountain show. You feel yourself being roasted alive, a layer of oil sitting on top of your skin, and there’s barely a moment to wipe away the sweat rolling from your hairline. Your hands are wrinkled as you scrub down the nth dish from the pile that’s stacked above your head, but before you can finish, Taehyung’s desperately calling out for you. You shout back at him that you’re coming and then you’re helping him peel the potatoes. There’s no room to complain. Especially not when— “What is this?!” For a moment, time itself stops. The pandemonium halts, fire flickering, knives held mid-air. Everyone’s head has swiveled over to the dark-haired man standing at the end of the island. Kim Seokjin holds up a plate of baked salmon with methi prawns. His plump lips are pulled downwards. That’s never a good sign. “The presentation is sloppy!” he yells and you flinch from the sheer volume of his booming voice. “Are you people blind?! We can’t serve this! It’s an embarrassment! Do it again!” “Yes, chef!” Everyone apologizes, including you, and Seokjin huffs, moving out of the kitchen. Namjoon, sous-chef, shakes his head. “Focus! Dinner service hasn't even begun yet!” Luckily, everyone’s on edge and meticulous enough with Seokjin walking around and scrutinizing every action that the rest of the night goes off without another hitch. By the end, you’re finishing up on cleaning and washing the dishes. “Good night, Y/N.” Jihyo waves, bag strap slung on her shoulder. “See you.” You muster a smile while you keep scrubbing. “Bye.” “Night,” Yoongi says while Taehyung fixes you a grin. You watch them leave and then focus on completing the rest of your tasks. It’s not long before you’re switching all the lights off and changing from your uniform. The walk back to your apartment proves to be excruciating. You’re beyond exhausted, lugging your legs along to carry the rest of your body while forcing your eyes to remain open, so you can at least see where you’re going. When the door opens, you immediately jump into the shower to wash off the grime, nearly falling asleep in the process. By the time you flop onto your bed, your hair is still dripping wet, but as your muscles ease into the mattress, you’re knocked out into a deep slumber. Rest is merely a blink of time. The alarm on your phone is blaring before you can dream or feel even remotely refreshed. It’s deafening to your ears and you reach over to shut it off. Finding the sun already up in the sky, you force yourself to sit up, get ready, grab breakfast and eat on your way to work. “If it’s too hard, you should come home,” the voice on the other side of the line coaxes. “Your dad and I are so worried about you sometimes.” “I’m fine, mom.” You’re chewing in your cheek, phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder as you parade down the block. “Trust me.” “Have you at least been eating well?” You glance at the granola bar in hand. “Yeah. Sort of.” “The city is scary. There’s no shame in coming home, dear. Your grandma misses you a lot. She always asks about you.” “I’m fine, mom,” you reassure her for the second time. “I really am. And tell grandma—” Accidentally, your shoulder collides with a businessman’s. Apologies spring from you, but rather than looking at the stranger like you should be, your eyes unintentionally wander above his head. To the cloud of fog. And a woman’s smiling face you see emerge from it. The man’s brows lift at how you’re staring into space and he moves out of the way. You’re forced out of your trance and you continue to apologize until he’s completely gone from sight. You damn yourself for not being more careful. You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors’ ancestors were matchmakers. Your mother once told you that back in the day, some peasants in your family couldn’t sew, sell or do any labour, so they begged heavens and out of pity, they were granted a small gift. A gift that’s been passed down to every generation since. While you’re not sure if the story is true or not, what’s certain is that from the moment you were born, you could see a cloud of fog above everyone’s head. It’s like speech bubbles or thought bubbles in comic strips. But instead of words, the fog comes with another person’s face. It’s the one who they’re meant to be with. Ironically enough, you’ve never seen one above your own head. Though you’ve come to accept that. Romance will never be a major aspect of your life, so you’ve switched gears into focusing on your career and finding fulfillment elsewhere. You also knew early on that you didn’t want to be a matchmaker like the rest of your family. You want to be a— “Good morning, chef.” “Good morning.” Namjoon nods with a smile. “Things weren’t too bad yesterday, but let’s try to be less sloppy for dinner service tonight. Hoseok, what time is the shipment of seafood coming in?” Namjoon continues going through the daily routine, updating each person on the schedule and the shipments. But it’s not long during the morning meeting in the kitchen that the back door creaking can be heard. Instantly, everything comes to a halt. Everyone turns themselves and greets the head chef simultaneously. Seokjin rounds the corner. “We have a lot to do today, people. Tonight’s special is going to be watermelon with smoked salmon mousse—” You gasp. Automatically, your hands lift to cover your mouth, yet too late to muffle the loud noise. Your eyes are as large as saucers. Your heart stutters in your chest, nearly giving out. Instead of the polished brunette woman above Seokjin’s head that was always there, you see someone else. Someone very familiar that you’ve seen in the mirror a thousand times. You. You’re frozen — palms clammy, knees weak. And everyone’s turned around to stare, even Kim Seokjin himself. His brow is cocked and he eyes you intensely for daring to interrupt him. “Are you okay?” Jihyo whispers, leaning in and nudging you with her elbow. You start to breathe again, frantically. Yet no matter how much you gasp for air, you can’t feel the oxygen entering your lungs. But you force yourself to bow your head anyway, retaining an exterior that’s not oozing of sheer panic. “S-S-Sor..ry. I…. have something in my throat.” You clear it and Seokjin sighs, continuing with what he was saying. The first task is to wash the salad and it’s easy enough, but your eyes continue to wander up to the dark-haired, doe-eyed man from across the kitchen. Black shirt with a white apron around his waist, he emanates intimidation from his god-like looks alone and constant frown. Your eyes connect and you instantaneously whip yourself around. You start to sweat when Seokjin beelines to you. “Do you have an issue with me?” You shake your head furiously. “Then focus!” the man spits. “You’re drowning the salad!” You wince as he slams the faucet down. This can’t be. This can’t be it. It doesn’t make sense whatsoever. On your break, you’re crouched over by the bathrooms and much to your dismay, your mom is hysterically laughing at you. “Just because you never saw your match, doesn’t mean you’re alone, Y/N! Poor soul, where did you ever get that idea from? No one can see their own. I didn’t and neither did your aunt or grandma.” “Why didn’t you tell me that?” The syllables hiss out of you and you spare a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s coming. You’ve come to accept that you would never be romantically involved with anyone. To find out that Seokjin, your boss, is your match out of everyone, it’s taking you for a hysteric spin. “I thought you already knew!” she exclaims on the other line. “Plus, nothing comes from knowing your own. But who is it? Are you going to bring them home? I would love to know what sort of person is going to end up with my dear daughter. Oh, your grandma will be so excited to hear the news!” “Now’s not the time, mom,” you grieve, palm pressed to your forehead. There’s an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m never going to end up with him.” “You can’t change fate, Y/N.” “Fate changes all the time.” “Are you okay?” There’s a lower voice behind you and you flinch, turning around to see Hoseok’s alarmed expression. You stand up, apologizing internally as you hang up on your mom. “Sorry. It...was a family emergency. But everything’s fine.” “Okay. Well, Namjoon wants you to grab some more flour from the storage room.” “I’ll be right on it.” You swiftly return back to work before you risk losing your job any more than you have today. But all the while, you damn yourself. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened. You ending up with Kim Seokjin, the scary boss that notoriously fires people in your position, is the last thing you wanted to occur. It’s like you’re living in a nightmare where you’re the only one who’s aware of your own dire circumstances and inevitable doom. // “Would it be that bad if he fell in love with you?” Hyoyeon eyes you lazily from across the table as she stirs her drink with her straw. She’s one of your oldest friends who happen to live in the city and one of the few who knows about your gift. “Yes. It would be that bad!” You’re exasperated. You thought she would be up and arms about it like you are. “How could I ever look at my boss like that?!” “You never know,” Hyoyeon sing-songs much to your chagrin. “Don’t give me that. How would you like it if your boss fell in love with you?” “My boss is a Karen going into her sixties.” “Exactly.” Her lips pop off her straw, wearing a visage of distaste. “This and that aren’t the same, Y/N. I didn’t think Soobin would be with me and when you told me, I was mad. But look at us now! He’s not half bad.” “You’re married.” “Precisely.” She laughs, practically glowing from happiness. “And you know, Seokjin isn’t bad either. He’s like what? Only a few years older than you. Ambitious. Wealthy. Handsome. He did that one photoshoot for that magazine and he was so goddamn handsome. Like holy fuck, I almost got pregnant from just—” “Alright. I get it.” “—and he’s like one of the top chefs of the country. Imagine having that kind of food for the rest of your life.” “That’s not going to happen,” you mumble. If it changed once, it can change again. The more you think about it, the more assured you become. You’ll do everything in your power to change it. // The kitchen has fallen into a lull. Jihyo, the pantry chef, works on tossing salads while the butcher chef, Yoongi, is filleting fresh tuna. Sauté chef Hoseok is preparing his piccata sauce while you help Taehyung, the entremetier, with ingredients for the soup. Everyone has their designated roles here, most of which are fancier than yours. As a kitchen assistant, if you aren’t helping Taehyung then you’re washing dishes. But everyone needed to start from somewhere, so you aren’t going to complain. Working for Kim Seokjin is a privilege, albeit, he’s fearsome and hard to please. You clear your throat. “Has...anyone seen that woman lately?” Taehyung turns his head. “Who?” “That woman came to the restaurant a few times and was with Chef Kim....” A petite and dainty physique. Long, dark hair. Her eyes glimmered in the light and her pinked lips pulled softly when she greeted you all. She was poised, oozed of grace, sophistication, money. And she was the one who you saw above Seokjin’s head since you met him. Hell, you saw him above her head, and while you were surprised that in spite of his scariness, he actually had someone, they strangely suited each other well. They were supposed to be together. Until recently. You wonder what happened. What the change was. Why you’re suddenly his match now. Jihyo turns around, ears perked from the conversation. “Right! I haven’t seen her around lately either! I wondered if something happened.” “You mean Kim Jisoo?” Yoongi lolls his head to the side and when Taehyung gives a curious expression as to how he knows, he says, “Hoseok and I were sent to her flower shop to pick up an order once.” “Were they even dating?” Taehyung asks, looking up from where he’s chopping cucumbers. “They were,” Namjoon pipes up and you look towards him, having expected him to shut down the conversation around the head chef, but he merely smiles. “But I haven’t seen her recently either.” Jihyo hums. “I wonder if something happened.” “Maybe they broke up,” Yoongi offers absentmindedly. “Well, that wouldn’t be surprising.” Taehyung pauses and looks over to you, lifting a brow as if trying to find an ally. “He seems like he can be pretty hard to get along with.” But the opinion isn’t unpopular and there are several snickers throughout the kitchen. “Seokjin’s just serious about his work,” Hoseok says with a smile. “But they were pretty serious.” “Really?” You turn to Namjoon directly. It’s not often that you’d be so straightforward, but you want answers. You want explanations. “Did he ever say anything to you? On what could’ve happened?” He shakes his head and then there’s a loud boom of the backdoor. Your blood runs cold. Everyone’s eyes widen, but there’s no time to react or to take back what he could’ve heard. Seokjin walks in with his eyes narrowed in on you specifically. “If all of you have enough time to talk about my personal life, then you can work twice as hard and twice as fast tonight.” Everyone holds in their sighs. With your downcast head, your eyes search the floor. “I’m sorry, chef.” But the apology falls onto deaf ears. // It’s a busy shift. With your tail caught in between your legs, it’s either a cutting board in front of you with a knife in hand or plates and a rough sponge by the sink. Oil from the fryer nearby splashes onto you, the grease coating bowls staining your apron, the heat sticking your tied back hair to your scalp. Yet you wish you could do more. Not just chop bell peppers, finely mince garlic or prepare starches. Not just rinsing bowls to stack into the dishwasher and wash large pots and plates by hand. While you’ve become accustomed to knives, keeping a rapid and constant beat as you slice whatever is in front of you, you wish you could cook. Not just be an accessory to the kitchen. Or an extra member to assist the chefs. But for now, you count your blessings. Humming to yourself late at night while you finish. “What are you still doing here?” The crystal clear voice has you flinching, startled to death and you turn around to see Kim Seokjin in the flesh. White shirt rolled to his elbows, black trousers, expensive Rolex on his wrist that could pay the rest of your student loans with. You gawk at him. Speechless. Scared. He doesn’t wait for you to find your tongue, dismissing your silence. “Where are the others? They should be cleaning up too. Just because dinner service is over, doesn’t mean they can leave.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, no longer speaking to you but himself. “I won’t have anyone slacking in my kitchen.” “I-It’s fine, chef.” Your voice is barely a squeak, but you muster the courage, not wanting them to get yelled at tomorrow. You turn around, quickening up your scrubbing until your nails start to hurt. “I’m supposed to be washing the dishes anyway.” “It shouldn’t be taking you this long.” You wonder if he’s scolding you. It goes silent. “Finish up and go change,” Seokjin says shortly and you nod. It takes another ten minutes for the task to be completed and then you’re wiping down the counters before heading to the lockers to change out of your apron and uniform. Usually, you’d come out, turn off all the lights and begin the final trek home. But today, your blood runs cold. Your mouth fills with cotton when you step out. Against your own assumption, the head chef has not in fact left. Instead, Seokjin is leaning against the counter with his coat on, furiously tapping on his phone with his thick brows furrowed like they usually are. You swallow hard and bow your head as you pass him. “Good night, chef.” “Wait.” Immediately, you halt. He pockets his device. “Are you walking?” The absence of an answer is enough of an indication for him. “I’ll drive you. It’s dangerous to walk home at this time of night.” It isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t an offer either. It’s a command. And soon, you discover yourself in his expensive Mercedes. The vehicle is black, sleek and you’re afraid of touching the leather seats more than you have to in case you stain it with poverty and have him sue you for damages. Or fire you. “Turn left,” his fancy navigation system deadpans and it startles you. Yet Seokjin is undeterred and with one hand on the wheel, he turns at the light, allowing the car to roll smoothly over the pavement. The passing lamp posts’ glow also illuminate his features, his plump lips and the slope of his nose. If Hyoyeon was here she would be salivating at the sight, how his chin is lifted, head slightly cocked. You would be too, if you weren’t so afraid. Kim Seokjin exudes confidence and intimidation, rightfully so too. He’s worlds out of your league. And as your eyes stray from his profile to focus on the cloud above his head, your smiling expression still emerges. You don’t understand how someone like you can be with someone like him. “Is there something on my face?” His question leaking with annoyance shakes you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from him frantically to look out the window. “N-No.” The tense quietness that follows is enough that you want to bang your head against the dashboard and hope you get knocked out to spare you from this awkwardness. Then again, you might just end up with a bruise and his car repair bill which would be even wors— “You won’t be seeing Jisoo anymore,” Seokjin suddenly says and your head swivels to him. “She decided to cheat on me and that was a deal breaker, so I broke it off.” “Oh.” “I didn’t know you were one for gossip, but go ahead and tell the others if you’d like.” “I..I’m sorry.” Your downcast head faces your lap and you swallow hard. “It’s personal and I shouldn’t have intruded or asked. It was wrong and unprofessional of me for bringing it up.” “No.” There’s a moment of silence as he looks straight ahead. “It was wrong of me to act the way I did.” You blink wide-eyed and Seokjin parks at the curb. “My reaction was a bit uncalled for — it’s something I’m still working on.” You stare at him and finally, the man meets your gaze. “You can get out now.” “O-Oh.” You scramble out the car. “T-Thank you.” The moment the door shuts, he drives off. Fate can be changed. It’s rare, but choices influence futures and who someone ends up with can change depending on the actions they take. You just never expected Seokjin’s reason for the change to be so heartbreaking. Even if he stated it factually and his expression never wavered, you could sense it in his voice. The sadness you didn’t know he could possess. // “What made you think I would like him?” Jihyo is exasperated as she wipes down the counter and Taehyung grins as he sweeps the floor. “The guy literally kept on going about rock climbing, bungee jumping and skydiving. Do I look like an adrenaline junkie to you, Kim Taehyung?” “Hey, hey. Yeonjun is nice, okay? I just thought you would be into the rough look.” “Not at all. This is the last time I’m letting you set me up.” Yoongi smirks as he passes by. “I’ll take it that your blind date didn’t go well?” Jihyo glares at him. Hoseok turns around with an amused smile. “It was your fault with trusting Taehyung with this sort of thing. What kind of guy are you into? Maybe I could set you up with someone better.” She sighs wistfully. “I don’t even know anymore. I just want someone reliable and half decent.” In the meanwhile, your eyes flicker up to the cloud above her head. There’s a bright eyed young man there and you smile, unloading the dishwasher as you continue listening to their conversation. “See? It wasn’t my fault!” Taehyung pipes up to defend himself. “How am I supposed to know what kind of person you’d be into if you don’t know yourself?” “Oh, so you know?” “Of course I do!” He scoffs and becomes dreamy as he muses, “I want someone with long hair and dresses fashionably, someone who’s sweet and gentle, like a puppy.” But based on the person above him, they appear rougher around the edges with shorter hair and a frown. But you let Taehyung have it, not commenting a single word. You’ve learnt from experience that it doesn’t work well if you come out of nowhere and try to involve yourself. They continue talking about ideals, even Namjoon that pinches in he’s been seeing someone lately — an old friend who he went to school with that he never thought of romantically until recently. You’re having fun just listening in until the question is directed at you. “Me?” You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know either. I haven’t really thought about it before.” “Oh, don’t give me that.” Taehyung nudges you. “Everyone has some idea.” But you’ve sincerely never considered it before. You always thought you would live in solitude without another companion and even came to terms with it. But things have changed. “I guess….someone kind and considerate. Thoughtful. I don’t care what they do, except that they have to be a good person.” It might be a generic answer, but as you think about Seokjin, you know you don’t want someone domineering and frightening. Yet from last night, Seokjin didn’t seem so daunting in the car. “Yeah, I can see that.” Jihyo nods. “What about Chef Kim?” you ask, eyes glistening in the light, curious beyond belief. “What do you think his ideal is?” The people around the kitchen hum, speculating over the boss’ preferences. They’re equally intrigued by the question. “Anyone who won’t shit their pants when he’s around,” Taehyung laughs as he finishes sweeping and pours the grime from the dustpan into the trash. As Yoongi wraps a bowl, he mindlessly offers, “He seems to like the serious type,” “What was Jisoo like?” Jihyo asks, tapping her chin with a frown. “Sophisticated,” Hoseok suggests and you look at him, breathing a sigh of relief. Out of all things, you were definitely not sophisticated. “Gentle.” “Sweet,” Namjoon says with confidence, having known the man the most after years of working together, “He likes the hard-working and earnest ones who prove themselves to be more than he expects.” As if summoning the devil himself, Kim Seokjin comes from the back area and walks straight through the kitchen. “Stop slacking,” he states in a monotone and everyone returns to their tasks with a simultaneous ‘yes, chef’. But as he passes by you, he pauses for a moment. “Everyone needs to leave on time today. If there’s anything that isn’t clean, you need to work together so that it is.” “Yes, chef,” sounds throughout the kitchen once more. You know being passive won’t solve anything. You need to actively do something that will repulse him, make it so he’ll vow never to get involved with you. If he makes the decision, fate itself will change and you won’t have to end up together. The only plausible strategy to repulse you have at the moment is to embody the reverse of what Seokjin’s ideals are. The opposite of what appeals to him — sophisticated, sweet and gentle. // It takes you a while to pinpoint what the exact opposite is. But you find it. Loud. Obnoxious. Aggressive. You need to be these things in a way that doesn’t get you fired, but just enough that it alters who his match is. Part of you isn't sure you have it in you to be this way, but it’s worth a shot. You’ll do anything to change fate. “What the hell are you still doing in my kitchen?” Seokjin is standing meters away, half shrouded in the darkness. Your eyes flicker up at him but you resume dicing the carrots into one inch lengths. Only half the blade is lifted off the wooden cutting board and it descends at a rapid rhythm, rather therapeutic to listen to. There’s an urge to cower down, but you channel your aggression, pretending it’s Taehyung and not Kim Seokjin — head chef with two Michelin stars — enough money to assassinate you and cover up the crime. “Everyone went out to have dinner together, but I came back to get a head start on prepping ingredients for tomorrow. I need the practice anyway. Why? Is it a problem?” The man’s brow is lifted at your upfront behaviour. “Get out. I’ll drive you back.” “I’m going to finish this first,” you retort without a breath to waste. Seokjin scoffs and puts down the keys he just grabbed. He sighs exhaustingly and you feel his stare burning into you. It’s hard to ignore it. You even start sweating until he moves towards the fridge, and that’s when you finally steal the chance to peek at him. “Are you going to eat? I can make you something.” “It’s fine.” He grabs two eggs, some shredded cabbage, a handful of spinach and a stick of butter. You don’t question it, solely focusing on your task until there’s sizzling on the pan and he leaves the stove to look over you. “Your technique is poor.” “What?!” Your voice is loud unintentionally, but you’re wholly shocked. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your knife skills. You’ve spent countless time on refining it and getting it to meet standards. “You could go faster,” he deadpans. “Your grip is too tense and you’re holding the knife too high up. You want to hold it at that balance point, so you have the most control over it and the weight is properly distributed.” Seokjin smoothly grabs a knife off the rack and holds it in front of you. You copy him. “It's easier to push the blade through when you're holding it there.” “Like this?” You begin chopping again and he hums. Against your will, a smile finds your features. It’s the first time he praised you— well...it’s less of a praise and more of a half-hearted noise of approval, but it still counts. Seokjin takes the pan from the heat and switches it off. He grabs a fork from the drawer to start eating and you look over, finishing the job. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your blatant ogling. “Do you have an issue?” You smile at him, stepping forward. “Can I have a bite?” Seokjin scoffs. But you lean over and he steps aside, allowing you to nab a fork from the drawer to take some. It’s not like you’re particularly hungry, but you’re curious as to what he’s made. It’s been a long time since you’ve had food from the head chef himself and asking him for his dinner might just be off-putting enough that he’ll hate you forever. It wouldn’t be impossible considering he’s so picky. You swear, one mistake is all it takes for him to hold a grudge till the day he dies. Yet, what you don’t expect is for the scrambled eggs to melt on your tongue. He’s sautéd the spinach, left the cabbage undercooked to add a crunch, and the eggs are fluffy in your mouth, a vivid gold that adds to the haphazard presentation. “This...this is delicious!” He chews in his cheek. “It’s something I eat when there’s nothing in the fridge.” You’re amazed. The fact that Kim Seokjin can’t recognize his own ingenuity is painful. “You should add this to the menu.” He scoffs. “You think I would add scrambled eggs next to the caviar and truffle? I think you forgot this is a fine dining restaurant.” “It’s fine,” you mumble. “I mean if it tastes good, it tastes good, right, chef?” A tiny smile fixes at his visage, tugging his plump lip upwards. “You sure have a lot more opinions tonight.” “Well, I’ve decided to speak my thoughts more,” you hum, scooping up another spoonful of his meal. Your eyes flicker up as you chew with your mouth wide open. “Why? Is it unattractive?” “It’s interesting,” he says with a smile that’s more visible until he barks, “Hurry up eating so I can drive you home.” You scoff at him as he walks away and you finish his dinner off. // Everyone’s on edge. “It’s more akin to pretentious artwork without any real flavour than real food,” Hoseok reads from his phone to the entire kitchen. “Head chef, Kim Seokjin, is not far from what his cooking lacks too. A pretentious and egotistical nature, it’s no wonder his personal life is in shambles.” Your fist tightens. Not only did the published article criticize his dishes, claiming it lost its touch and that he’s lost his roots, but they attacked his personality. His personal life. Going into detail of how his relationship was broken off unexpectedly. “Oh shit,” Taehyung exhales. “Was that really posted online for everyone to see?” Jihyo asks in a pitched voice, equally horrified and panicked. Hoseok nods and before anyone can say anything, the backdoor is heard. Without prompting, everyone swiftly moves to their station, not uttering a single peep. Seokjin comes in, his expression unchanged and he deadpans the usual greeting as he moves past the kitchen. Your face above his head hasn’t changed. But you know it’s not the time to dwell on it. For the rest of the shift, Taehyung’s on his best behaviour and neither Jihyo nor Yoongi make snarky comments. It’s come at a cost — the morale is lower than usual. The atmosphere is tense and even Namjoon’s earnest encouragement can’t help. Out of the corner of your eye, you can’t help but watch Seokjin. He doesn’t make mention to the article, yet by the deep furrow of his brow, you can tell he’s in a grumpy mood. It’s understandable. But you wonder why it seems like he’s less angry and more hurt. If it were you, you’d be furious. The personal details of your life outed publicly and not only were your skills scrutinized, but your personality too. Seokjin was cheated on and now chastised. Even if he’s resilient, it’s too much for anyone to take. It doesn’t look like he has friends to rely on either. “Are you coming, Y/N?” Jihyo asks, turning around as you linger behind her. The restaurant’s lights are turned off, the kitchen long cleaned and your clothes changed into a fresh pair that doesn’t reek of dish soap and fish. But you feel unsettled. Like there’s still one more thing you haven’t finished doing. “No, it’s alright. I forgot something. You can go right ahead.” She nods, joining the others and you walk to the back, pushing the doors of the kitchen open. There’s still a light on and you find Seokjin sitting on a stool by a counter. He looks up at you, visage in a neutral state. Neither a frown nor a smile. “What are you still doing here?” Your hand tightens on your bag strap and you approach him. “Are you okay?” Seokjin smiles at you. For the first time, it isn’t mocking — it’s gentle and tinged with sadness. The corner of his plump lips quirk ever so subtly and his arm extends, hand plopping on top of your head before it slides off. “I’m fine. It’s still early enough that I don’t need to drive you. You should go home before the sun completely sets.” Wordlessly, you begin to walk away. But then a sharp inhale is stolen through your parted lips. Before you can second guess yourself, you grab Kim Seokjin. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he glares at you. “We should go out for a drink.” You don’t waver even with the incredulous look on his face. “What’s wrong? Never had a drink with an employee before? It looks like you need one and I’ll only offer once. I’m pretty busy myself, you know.” It’s aggressive, obnoxious, a bit loud. It’s all the things you suppose he dislikes in a person, yet somehow the two of you have never been closer. You end up in some hole in the wall, drinking shots of soju that burn its way down your throat. Seokjin sits across from you with an amused smile on his face that’s so irritating you want to slap it off, and you damn yourself for letting it slip your mind that you’re a lightweight. “Aren’t you hurt, Kim?” The words slightly slur on your tongue. “‘s ridiculous! To criticize your food is one thing, but to criticize your personality and talk about your personal life ‘s just crossing the line!” His lips pull, his eyes flicker down to the empty bottle beside you. “Yeah. It is.” “Then why aren’t you mad?!” Your fist pounds the wooden table. “Getting cheated on is sad enough! Why do they gotta rub it in, huh?” His brow lifts, but you continue, “should sue them!” Seokjin exhales on a sip. “It’s part of the business.” “No, ’s not!” “It was my ex who told them anyway. She’s upset that I kicked her out of the apartment.” “Then that’s more reason to be mad!” You press your face into your hands, angry at how he’s not angry. “How can you be so nice? How can you be so nice and no one knows it?!” Seokjin smiles to himself. “This freaking sucks,” you moan. He sighs at your drunken state and orders water for you. The old lady tottles by with a big smile and you get a chance to see the cloud of fog and the face above her head. “I brought the bean sprouts back,” her husband calls from the entrance at the same time with a grocery bag. “I’ll be right there.” She places the glass down in front of you. “Here you go.” Jealousy colours you pink inside. “You met your soulmate,” you exhale at her quietly. The woman’s eyes twinkle. “That old man? He gives me more headaches than anything. I’d rather this handsome man be my soulmate,” she quips, casting a glance at an embarrassed Seokjin who thanks her for her compliment. Her husband calls her again and she hurries back. Seokjin leans forward with a skeptical look. “Are you okay?” “I’m envious,” you sigh wistfully, looking on at the married couple at the back with your chin rested in your palm. After a moment, you shift towards the man across from you. Seokjin really is handsome. “I come from a long line of matchmakers, you know, and I have this ability.” He plays along. “What ability?” “I see the faces of who people are gonna end up with.” You drink the water, cooling your throat, but above the rim of the glass, you recognize his scoff and amusement. The glass slams down on the table in your protest. “It’s true! It’s been like that since I was a baby!” “Okay, okay. I believe you.” He clearly doesn’t believe you. Irritated, you straighten your spine. “A long, long time ago back in High School, I really, really, really liked this guy.” Seokjin’s brows raise, not sure where you’re going with this. “Alright…?” He nudges the glass of water back to you. “I knew he wasn’t gonna end up with me, but he asked me out. And like a total idiot, I-I went out with him anyway. Then guess what happened?” He has no idea. A thick lump forms in your throat and makes it hard to speak. “He met the girl he‘s supposed to end up with, so I broke it off. They got married a year after high school. So I was right. I was...right.” Tears flood your vision, clouding the dark-haired man in front of you. You forgo the water for the shot Seokjin poured himself and you down it. You were right. But it hurt. Seokjin’s voice is soft, though it does little to console you. “So….because of your ‘ability’, you haven’t gone out with anyone else?” You nod. “I’d be setting myself up for a failure anyway.” Your head lifts and your tired gaze connects with his. “My family wanted me to be a matchmaker like them. But I love, love, love cooking and I wanna be a chef. Like you.” The corner of his mouth quirks. You’re honest — in a way he wouldn’t have expected from sober you. But he doesn’t mind it whatsoever. “I know you don’t believe me. But look.” You reach over, tapping him relentlessly on the shoulder and your hand barely comes to cover your mouth as if you’re children exchanging secrets across the table. “See those two women over there? They’re gonna end up together.” Your whispers are all too loud and Seokjin glares, not sure if you’re hysterical or delusional. Or both. You turn to the window and he follows your line of sight. At the same time, a couple holding hands passes by and you shake your head. “They don’t end up together.” “How do you know?” “I already said! I see it. Above their heads.” Then you turn your head, looking at him. Seokjin’s startled, having not realized that you’ve leaned in so close, that your faces are mere inches away. But before he can shift back, your lip pulls and you murmur, “We’re supposed to end up together.” His brow raises. “It was gonna be someone else. Then one day, you came into work and poof! It was my face! Just like that. I almost got a heart attack, you know!” Giggles start to spill out of you. “It was a huge shock cause I always thought I was gonna be alone since I can’t see my own. Well, sometimes fate changes, so it might change again! Don’t worry!” He exhales, squeezing out the air from his lungs. He stands, grabbing his coat and then tugging your arm up. “You’ve had too much to drink. C’mon. Let’s go.” “Aye, aye, captain— I mean chef!” His smile is small, but all too evident. He should smile more, even if it ruins the cold and aloof exterior he’s got going on. It’s cute and makes him look younger. So you express the idea and he chops your head lightly with his hand and gives you a rather gentle ‘shut up’ that has you grinning more. // The sunlight burns your vision and there’s a pounding headache at your temples. There’s an overwhelming urge to pull the covers over your head, but as the slits of your eyes open and you realize there’s a strange floral scent to the sheets, you bolt upwards. It hurts all the senses in your body, but your eyes register the neat recipe books lined on the shelf, trophies and certificates on the walls, a poster of the planets, a telescope and Kim Seokjin’s family picture by his nightstand. And then you scream. “Christ. Relax!” He appears at the doorway, eyeing you with his arms crossed. “You were drunk, so I took you home.” Absentmindedly, you tug the covers up to your chest in spite of still wearing the same clothes from last night. Your dry voice croaks out. “We...we didn’t do anything scandalous did—” “No!” He shuts the thought down before it runs wild in your head and Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do anything to you, jesus christ, woman! Just get up. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll make you some breakfast and a hangover drink.” You follow his instructions, cleaning yourself up to the best of your abilities with the limited supplies, but it’s surreal to be in Seokjin’s penthouse. It’s clean and organized, like you expected, though a lot more cozy and warm. You didn’t know he traveled so frequently and that he had an interest in astronomy — if there’s anything the telescope and posters tells you. “Stop snooping,” he calls out from the kitchen, looking up to where you’re investigating his movie collection. You come over with a half-hearted apology and he sets down a bowl of oatmeal and a mysterious concoction in a tall glass. Both taste heavenly, enough to work up your appetite ten folds. But then he says, “Eat fast. It’s a special day today.” You’re not sure what he means by it, but you simply nod and nurse your headache. You remember what you told him last night, how you revealed all your secrets in one long tangent and you cringe at yourself. Seokjin probably thinks you’re a complete nut. But strangely enough, when you look at the cloud above his head, your face hasn’t changed. “Why are you staring?” “I’m not,” you mutter and tear your eyes away, unsuspecting to his smile. But in spite of how close and upfront you might’ve gotten with Seokjin, he still tells you to walk to work yourself — that it’s close enough and too much of a hassle if he drives you. So you cuss him out as you’re striding down the block as he zooms past you in his expensive vehicle. You hope he notices your glare from across the kitchen, but if he does, he doesn’t comment. “Today, we have some special guests for dinner service. A few of my friends will be coming and one of them will be proposing, so let’s make sure we give them a good dinner and memory.” “Yes, chef.” The news is exciting and even puts a buzz in the kitchen. “Finally, we’re doing something cool,” Taehyung says to you with a swollen smile. “I love a good proposal story.” “Always the one watching the proposal, never the one getting proposed to,” Yoongi quips as he brushes past and Hoseok snickers. “Hey, I’m working on it!” “I’m surprised Seokjin actually has friends though,” Jihyo comments and right when Yoongi turns to add something, they both pale as Seokjin strides past. He glares at them and is even more frightening in his silence. They immediately apologize and he hums, moving out the kitchen. You, Hoseok, and Namjoon laugh. Evening eventually comes and Seokjin temporarily calls a halt to the kitchen in favour of his old friends meeting his staff. It’s unusual to see him in such a good mood, smiling and being sociable. It’s strange in general to see this side of him, but it’s not unwelcome whatsoever. There’s seven of them, a mix of females and males, and you follow Hoseok’s lead in greeting and shaking their hands. Quickly, you recognize who's going to be proposing to who tonight. It’s not hard to miss considering the man is visibly nervous and the close female by his side keeps glancing at him in worry. “Are you alright, Jimin?” “Huh? Yeah.” The blonde with full cheeks and soft features smiles timidly, scratching the back of his neck. He’s dressed too nicely for this to merely be a dinner. “I’m fine. Just not feeling well.” “Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the clinic?” The short-haired female asks, concern evident in the faint knot between her brows. “There’s one down the street. I can go with you.” “I’ll keep an eye on him, Yuri,” the man who introduced himself as Jungkook reassures her, “If anything I’ll take him.” “Jimin’s just excited to try out the food.” Seokjin grins, drawing attention away from his friend. “Rest assured, everyone will feel better after eating and if you get sick tonight, it’s not food poisoning, alright?” There’s laughter in the group and another says, “You’ve been bragging about your restaurant for so long, I thought you were never going to invite us to eat here.” “Well, we’re usually booked full house, but it’s a slower season so I thought why not.” Yet the conversations drown away from your ears as your eyes unintentionally flicker upwards. You don’t mean to — it’s still a habit you’re trying to break. But you feel blood drain from your face as you discern the image that emerges from the fog above Jimin’s head and above Yuri’s. “Y/N?” Taehyung waves his hand in front of your eyes and you snap out of your trance. “Why are you staring into space? We’re going back.” “O-Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something.” You return to the kitchen, forcing yourself to focus and getting back to your task. It’s none of your business. You know better than to involve yourself and it’s not like anyone would believe you in the first place. People’s lives have nothing to do with you. You have to turn a blind eye. It’s none of your business, it’s none of your business— But as you leave to the back area to grab ingredients, you catch the man leaving the bathroom. “Oh, you’re one of Seokjin’s chefs right?” Jimin stops and smiles at you, inhibiting your escape. You shake your head. “I-I’m only a kitchen assistant.” “But you’re still part of his staff.” His eyes are rounded and bright. “Is he mean at all? We’ve been trying to squeeze it out of him, but he won’t give us any details. I heard a bit of shouting, so I was curious.” “Oh, he’s always shouting.” The corner of your mouth quirks and Jimin grins. “He’s a bit mean, but Chef Kim’s just serious about his work and we respect him for it.” “It seems like you understand him better than I do. Anyway, the soup was amazing. I already told Jin, but I thought I should let you know since you’re the one who brought it out to us.” “Thank you.” Your eyes travel above his head and then you notice the way he’s fiddling with a box inside his pants pocket. You swallow hard. “Are you proposing tonight?” Jimin’s head whips up. “How’d you know?” “Chef Kim let all of us know, so we can make sure it’s a memorable dinner service.” His expression softens and he bobs his head. Jimin takes out the ring box and studies it carefully. “I am. I hope it wasn’t too obvious. I know she’ll say yes, but I’m still nervous. She’s the love of my life and these things only happen once,.” “Well….” You give an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes it happens more than once for people.” “Not for us,” Jimin declares in such self-assurance that it’s uncomfortable. His smile filled with affection doesn’t help either. “She’s the one. I don’t think I’ll love anyone more than her.” Your pupils flicker up to the cloud above his head that says otherwise. It gnaws at you, mocking you, and you’re uncertain if you can sleep tonight if you don’t say at least something. So you take the leap. “Are….you...sure?” “What?” “Never mind.” You turn around, having regretted it the moment it spilled. “Please enjoy dinner!” “Wait!” The man unexpectedly grabs you out of sheer instinct, halting you in your spot. He searches your face while his own crumples into a frown. “Did Yuri say something to you?” “No!” you frantically spit before taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m just….I just….” The philosophy you’ve forced yourself to take collapses at his earnest visage. You were never good at being unattached. “D-Do you think this is a good idea? Are you absolutely sure about this?” “What’s going on here?” There’s a lower voice, a husky timbre. Seokjin stands at the end of the dark corridor and all traces of his outgoing personality are gone. It’s replaced with the serious demeanour you’re used to. He beckons you. “Can I speak to you for a moment, Y/N?” Jimin returns back to the table, even more unnerved than before while you’re pulled outside. You feel small with your back against the brick and Seokjin looming over you. “What the hell are you doing?” You flinch from his tone. You’ve never seen him so angry. He isn’t shouting, screaming or imposing. But the irritation seethes out of him, simmering underneath his skin. You swallow hard, downcast eyes searching the gravel. You think about how dark it’s getting with the sun setting over the horizon. “I…” “Are you seriously trying to talk him out of it?! What gives you the right—” You snap. There’s no reason he should be upset, no reason you should be treated this way. So with your teeth gritted, you give him the truth that’s hard to hear. The truth that you alone must bear. “They’re not going to end up together!” “What?” Seokjin wears the same incredulous look from last night. It’s futile. Still, your mouth runs off into mumbles, “I can see it above their faces. That woman, Yuri, she’s…..paired with that other man. Jungkook.” You give up. Waving the white flag. In the silence that follows, you expect Seokjin to fire you, or call the nearest hospital. Either you’re a nut or unsuitable to work in his kitchen. Maybe both. What you don’t anticipate is his startled expression, horrified as if you just told him there’s a ghost behind him. “How….how’d you know that?” The syllables unusually stutter out of him. It’s not like Seokjin to be inarticulate. “Jungkook hasn’t told anyone he loves her except for me.” It’s your turn to be surprised. The quietness lingers. Then, he sighs. “Don’t get involved,” he scolds, gentler than before. At the same moment, there are cheers from inside that leak out — clapping and hollering — you know Jimin’s proposed. Seokjin turns away, returning to the restaurant floor and you resume your position in the kitchen. Jihyo asks if there’s anything wrong, but you brush her off. For the rest of the night, you concentrate on your job and Seokjin’s friends bid farewell after their stomachs are full from dessert and there’s a diamond on Yuri’s finger. “Job well done everyone.” Seokjin has a satisfied look when he returns and Namjoon shares a smile with everyone. Clean up finishes soon after, but before you can leave, he calls you specifically. “Y/N, come here.” Taehyung looks at you with widened eyes, but you don’t utter a word, staying behind. The kitchen filters out and even Yoongi sends a sympathetic look your way before departing. It’s never a good thing to be called back. You brace yourself. If Seokjin didn’t make a scene firing you earlier than certainly will now. There’s no reason not to — you tried to stop an engagement between his close friends and he probably thinks you’re psychotic. You stand there in silence for a good minute as he fills out some paperwork. It feels like you’re in the principal’s office. Then, the corner of his mouth moves as he casts a glance at you. “Sometimes you borrow the kitchen to practice, right? You can practice tonight.” Confusion renders you immobile, filling your mouth with cotton, but you manage a slight nod. You start to chop vegetables into bowls, dicing and mincing ingredients that will be needed for tomorrow. All the while, Seokjin sits meters away from you with a bunch of papers. Either doing his taxes or filing a report to admit you into the hospital. You’re not sure which one it is. But halfway through, he pipes up again. “You should make something for the two of us to eat.” “Yes, chef.” On any other night, you would be bursting with excitement, knowing it was a chance to impress him. But now you wonder if this will be your last chance to cook. Within minutes, you have a pot on the stove, boiling for ten minutes. “Sit down,” he commands, motioning to the other stool and you oblige. Seokjin makes drinks in the meanwhile, asking what you want. When you mumble anything’s fine, he pulls out a few bottles from the back cabinet and starts mixing. You didn’t know he can bartend, but it’s almost expected that Kim Seokjin can do anything at this point. The atmosphere is terribly awkward, so you exhale from your nose and speak up, “I’m sorry. I...I know I stepped out of line. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I’m really so—” “I believe you,” Seokjin interjects, gaze meeting yours across the counter. Your breath hitches. “I didn’t believe you at first. About the whole ability thing. But when you told me that Jimin and Yuri won’t make it, I knew there was no other possible way.” He pours the drink into two glasses. “Jungkook and Yuri grew up together. He told me a long time ago he was in love with her and I was sworn to secrecy. No one else knows. Not his brother, his mom, or Jimin.” He passes it to you and sighs, taking a sip. “But there’s nothing I can do to stop Jimin or to help Jungkook. It’s something they have to figure out on their own.” You nod, gripping the stem of the glass. “I know.” There’s a pregnant pause. You lift your eyes and it connects with Seokjin’s. Instantly, you feel yourself breaking into a sweat at how intense he looks at you. “Is it true then?” he asks in the quaintness of the kitchen, his voice thick and low. “Are we going to end up together?” “It might change!” The words come out all too frantically in fear he’ll freak out like you did. You know it’s a lot to take in. “Things change all the time. You were supposed to end up with Jisoo, but then, but then things happened so….nothing’s ever certain. It all depends on our actions and choices. I know you don’t like people like me. I don’t have anything to offer you anyway—” “You need to have more confidence in yourself.” Your voice dies on your tongue. Seokjin’s staring at you again in a way that makes your palms clammy, so intense that you wonder if he’s scrutinizing your pores. You swallow hard, tearing your own gawking away until you hear sizzling. The two of you turn to where the pot is almost over boiling and you run over, grabbing it off the stove. “I-It’s done.” He grabs bowls as you set it down and uncover the lid. “What do we have here?” You’re embarrassed. It’s nothing like his fine dining dishes, or even his comfort food that somehow tastes like heaven. “It’s just carrot and potato curry stew. It’s actually something my family cooks…..so it’s nothing fancy.” Seokjin’s spoon dips into the liquid and it’s your turn to watch intently. He smells it, sips and his expression is kept blank. You stand. “I can throw it out if you want—!” “Why are you so jumpy today?” The corner of his plump lips curls. “And why would I want to throw out something so delicious?” Your heart stutters in your chest and tears fill your vision. He might not fire you after all and on top of that, both your inborn ability and cooking skills have been validated. You feel overwhelmed. Especially when he finishes his first bowl and goes for seconds. “This is what I’ve been missing in my cooking,” Seokjin murmurs with a tiny smile. “When they said I was missing my roots, I think I know what they mean now. Thank you, Y/N.” You’re not sure who’s filled with more gratitude. He smiles and you nod at him earnestly, speechless on what to say. At the end of the night, Seokjin drives you home in his black Mercedes. A kind of lull fills that car and it isn’t frightening like it usually would be. Rather, it’s comfortable. A little too short lasting. He parks the car at the curb in front of your apartment and you get out. “Thank you.” Yet after you shut the door, he rolls down the window and stops you. “Y/N.” You look at him and he smiles again. A phenomenon that used to be so rare that seems to happen frequently now. “I hope it doesn’t change.” Kim Seokjin gazes at you, eyes connected across the distance that feels like it’s closing. He never wavers and a lump forms into your throat. “Are we going to end up together?” — Your own words echo in the recesses of your mind— “It might change! Things change all the time.” But here he is. Going against all your efforts of trying to change fate itself. “I hope it doesn’t change. And I hope you don’t want it to change either.” Seokjin drives off, leaving you absolutely stunned. You wonder if he knows what he’s saying. But as you watch his car fade into the distance, somehow you’re not appalled or scared at the idea of being with him anymore.

The kitchen is an organized pandemonium. A place where everyone knows exactly what they’re supposed to do and moves in fluid motions by one another, like a busy crosswalk in the downtown area. It’s a kind of silent teamwork and while you’re merely helping Taehyung chop vegetables or washing the accumulated dishes, you know your role is still an important one. You just wish you could a little more. The moment the back door creaking can be heard, everything comes to a halt. Seokjin rounds the corner as everyone simultaneously greets him. “Good afternoon, chef.” “Afternoon.” There’s a smile on his features, one that surprises a few and makes the others unsettled. “There’s going to be a special menu item today, so I want that prepared as soon as possible.” He hands the new recipe to Namjoon who frowns upon the sprawled notes. “Carrot...and potato soup with chickpea crumble?” “If you need details, ask Y/N,” Seokjin says with a tiny smile. “It’s her recipe.” At once, everyone turns to you with shocked expressions. It’s one thing for Seokjin to suddenly introduce something new, but to introduce yours, it’s both unprecedented and a privilege. You stare at him and his smile widens slightly. “I hope you don’t mind.” “N-Not at all.” The daily tasks commence, but not without a pat on the back from Yoongi, a congratulations from Jihyo and a smile sent your way by Taehyung. Namjoon and Hoseok ask for your help and it’s the first time you’re not just mincing garlic in the corner or washing a stack of dishes. Pride bursts through you and you look across the kitchen to Kim Seokjin. He scoffs at how big your smile is, feigns a glare and tells you to get back to work. The rest of the dinner service goes smoothly. Your appetizer gets compliments from several and you couldn’t be any happier, even when everyone’s left and you’re still scrubbing dishes. There’s a click of a tongue beside you. Seokjin stands with his arms crossed. “You always find ways to make me pay you overtime. Move over.” He rolls up his sleeves and helps you wash the last pots and pans. “Thank you for today. It was a good surprise.” He hums and the pair of you finish up before he tells you to unload the dishwasher tomorrow. “Go change and grab your coat. It’s getting late.” “Are you going to drive me home?” “No. We’re going to scope out some competition.” “Competition?” “We’re going to eat at a restaurant called Dog World,” Seokjin brushes off quickly, but when you continue to blink at him, he sighs and waves you off. “Don’t ask too many questions, alright? This is my excuse for asking you out on a date.” If you weren’t caught off guard before, you’re wholly stunned speechless now. A deer in headlights. And it makes the older bastard grin widely. “Don’t worry.” His voice knocks down into a gentler tone. “You can reject me if you want. I don’t want you to be pressured because I’m your boss, even though I don’t think that matters to you. But you should also know I’m not doing this because of what you see.” He gestures above his head, unknowingly batting the cloud of fog you can perceive. “I’m doing this because I want to.” It sinks into you and your head tilts to your shoulder. “You….want to go out on a date with me?” The corner of Seokjin’s lip pulls and he diverts his vision elsewhere. You notice how his ears are turning red. “Ever since you sat down with me and told me that getting cheated on was sad enough and that they shouldn’t rub it in.” There’s silence. The first stretch of it is because you genuinely don’t know what to say to him. But the second stretch that follows is when you realize just how nervous he is and there’s a ruthless urge to keep him on the edge. You make him simmer in fear, a similar kind to the countless ones he’s given you during stressful shifts in the kitchen. There’s something powerful yet endearing about how Kim Seokjin anticipates your answer. You never thought he could be this way. He just keeps surprising you. When you can’t contain it anymore, you burst out laughing. “I’ll accept on the condition that if you take my recipe permanently, you’ll need to pay me royalties appropriately. Don’t think I won’t take you out to court, Kim.” Seokjin grins and for the first time, certainty sews into you. You have a feeling fate isn’t going to change and you hope it doesn’t either.

[Epilogue] The kitchen is your home. You’re sure Jin would adamantly argue that the house was perfectly fine to be considered your home, but there’s still a charm to the busy kitchen that has drawn you in since childhood. Even if the heat swelters in the still air and is stifling, even when grease and oil splatter and stains your clothes, the effort in cooking makes the food that comes from it even more delicious. “What is this?” All heads turn at your voice and you motion to the plate about to be brought out. “The rice is on the wrong side of the plate! Re-do this, and watch the plating people! I know it’s easy to forget but it’s important to be consistent with the presentation!” “Yes, chef!” It’s strenuous and difficult to be here. It took years to get to where you are, but you wouldn’t trade it in for anything. The reward is worth it. You love your job — maybe even more than Jin, and while you’re sure he wouldn’t be surprised, he’d still playfully whine about being casted aside. The rest of the night goes off without a hitch and once the kitchen is all clean, you switch off the lights and lock the doors. And like magic, the person you’ve been thinking about all day is leaning against the car parked on the curb, arms crossed as he stares out into the starry sky. “About time. I’ve been waiting for the past twenty minutes.” You scoff with a smile and discern the cold cloud emitting from his lips each time he exhales. This is the exact opposite of what you intended to happen. Sometimes you wonder if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy — by knowing he was going to be with you and trying to avoid it, you inadvertently made him closer to you. But whatever the case may be, you’re glad for the outcome. You close the distance and slap your hands against his frozen cheeks, trying to warm them up. A smile tugs on your features. “Sorry. You’re cold, aren’t you? You should’ve just waited in the car.” “But I wanted to see you right away,” he mutters, putting his hands on top of yours to keep you there, then he adds, “and it gives me reason to do this.” Seokjin grins and leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips, one that you smile into. If any of his old kitchen staff or even the current group saw him now, they’d faint with how grossly affectionate he was being. Then again, they might just be used to it considering Jin hasn’t ever paid mind to other people. He’s never been one to opt out of public displays of affection either. “You know I’ve been thinking lately.” “About?” “How hard I tried to get rid of you and how I couldn’t. You’re kind of like a pest.” Your husband of two years straightens his spine, wholly offended. “Pest?” Laughter bubbles out of your chest and you press another chaste kiss to his lips before you’re pushing him aside to get into the car. Seokjin chuckles, rounding the vehicle to get into the driver’s seat. “Are you hungry?” “Not really.” “Namjoon and Taehyung want us to go to the opening of their restaurant.” “Their opening event lasts for three days right? We can always go tomorrow.” You turn to him as he pulls off, driving down the street. “I’m kind of craving your comfort food tonight.” Jin grins, easily obliging while your eyes flicker up to the cloud of fog above his head. You see yourself smiling as widely as you are now, and you’re thankful you have your ability.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin fluff #jin scenario #jin reader insert #seokjin fluff #seokjin scenario #Jin as a scary chef :( who's just hardcore about his passion #yo this got Jungle Park Hoseok vibes lol ngl #actually it was inspired by the k-drama Oh My Ghost #I never finished watching it really but I based off the way their kitchen worked with this fic #so if it doesn't seem like a traditional kitchen that's why #I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot!#It's a more classic Jimlingss fluff #with a decent storyline

1K notes · View notes

bnhabadass · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Hawks x Reader Warnings: N/A Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4.5k Synopsis: You're surprised when your best friend tells you she's dating pro hero Hawks. As you get to know him throughout his frequent visits to the tea shop you work at, your uncertain despisal of him may just turn into romance.

When your best friend told you that she was dating the number two hero you laughed in her face. “It’s true!” she pleaded. Her eyes gleamed against the hanging lights in your kitchen. She looked as if she were a lovestruck middle schooler doodling hearts and writing her initials in the margins of her notepad. But you knew her like the back of your hand and you were well aware of her habit of compulsive lying.

You spent the following week teasing her relentlessly for making up such an outlandish lie. Yui Nakamura, your best friend in the world. She was an up-and-coming actress who claimed that she was slowly taking Japan by storm.

“I guess I just caught the number two hero’s heart from my last film,” she told you. It was all she could talk about for a solid week, leaving you rolling your eyes and sticking your tongue out in a fake gagging motion every time his name was brought up.

It wasn’t until she brought him into your place of work that you finally realized she was telling the truth. The small jingle bells tied to the doorknob of the shop rang as you were crouched behind the counter, sorting loose tea leaves into their respective jars.

“This is my favorite place to get an iced tea in this hot weather,” her sickeningly sweet voice cooed.

Your ears perked up. Grabbing one of the jars of tea leaves, you stood up with a big smile on your face, ready to greet your friend. That smile, however, didn’t last long. Instead it was replaced with a punch in your gut and a ringing in your ears as you saw the person standing in front of you holding hands with your best friend was the number two hero in Japan.

You should have known something was off when the few people sitting in the leather chairs and at the counter looking out into the street had gone silent. Everyone’s jaws were slack in amazement at the hero before their eyes. A few people whispered about how much more handsome he looked up close or how they didn’t realize how vibrant his wings actually were.

The only person who didn’t look shocked or happy that he was there was the number two hero himself.

“(Y/n)!” Yui exclaimed. “How’ve you been?”

“Um, good,” you managed to choke out. Your eyes never left the winged hero.

“I see you’ve noticed my boyfriend,” she giggled. Her happy-go-lucky smile never left her face. It seemed as though her biggest wish had come true. It’s no secret that she had been pining after the hero for years, playing back footage of his rescues and showing them to you over and over again. She would always cover her eyes when watching his fights because she “couldn’t bare to see his beautiful face get hurt” and you would have to tell her when the scary parts were over.

“Hawks,” you spat out.

His golden eyes dug daggers into you. “Yes?” His tone was uninterested and very clearly bored. It left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I, um, well I, ya know, I didn’t–”

Yui cut off your stumbling with a fluttering laugh, the kind of laugh they romanticize in a shoujo manga. “(Y/n)-chan didn’t believe me when I told her you were my boyfriend,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Now come on, Hawky, what do you want?”

Hawks visibly cringed at the nickname she had given him. Hawky, like the sport but spelled like the bird. Even you could admit that it was pretty bad.

“I think I’ll have the iced hibiscus tea,” she said. Her hands fumbled for her wallet.

“I’ll take a small sencha.” You never expected the winged hero to drink tea. It seemed so unlike him. He seemed much more of a coffee kind of person, needing the extra energy to fulfill his hectic life.

“All right, your total is 540¥,” you said. As you brewed their tea, you couldn’t help but keep an eye on Hawks and the little things about him. Sure he was attractive, but was that really enough to satisfy your friend? He didn’t seem very interested in her as she tugged on his sleeve like a little kid clinging to their parents.

As you called their names with their orders in hand, you were surprised when neither of them went to grab their drinks. Instead, Hawks sent two of his feathers to grab them out of your hands. They were so delicate yet so strong.

Yui smiled as the feather fluttered around her before presenting her drink in front of her.

“Let’s go,” Hawks said, still with a look of boredom plastered to his face, but maybe there was more to him than you thought.

You got to know Hawks a little more during the next few months. It’s true that when you first met him he was not your cup of tea. He and Yui would come into the shop and as Yui chatted your ear off about all the sweet nothings he would tell her, Hawks always seemed to zone out or lose interest in the conversation relatively fast. From the outside it looked like he didn’t care about her and that made your blood boil. But there had to be more to it, right? You’re sure that Yui wouldn’t bother with someone who didn’t seem to care about her.

It was at the end of summer when Yui told you the exciting news. She was cast as a major role in a new film and would be flown to Yakushima Island for the shoot. As she told you the good news, her smile never faltered. It was as if all her dreams were coming true and the different pieces of her life were being put together like a puzzle.

“I’m really happy for you,” you said while pouring hot water over a tea bag with oolong in it. “I can’t wait to see the film when it’s released.”

“I can’t wait for you to see it too! It’s going to be rough being away from Hawky for so long but I think we’ll both manage.”

You turned around before she could see you rolling your eyes at the ludacris nickname. You’re not sure how it managed to stick throughout the months, and every time you hear the words pass her lips it triggers a shudder to run through you. “When do you leave?”

“Next week. You have no idea how excited I am, (Y/n).”

You were happy for her, you really were. Yet part of you felt like you were being left behind, stuck in the mud. While she had her handsome top pro hero of a boyfriend, you spent your nights alone and as she went off to chase her dreams of being one of the most famous actresses in Japan, you were still pouring hot water over tea leaves as you have been for the past two years. It didn’t seem fair, but you would never let her know that.

The next week went by quicker than you had hoped and Yui was off to the airport. She, of course, stopped by for one last cup of tea before she left.

Once she was gone the leaves began to change. Red, orange and yellow leaves fluttered through the air onto the ground and gusts of wind would push them across town, occasionally dropping them off in front of the tea shop’s door.

This time of year was always your favorite. The smell of cinnamon and spice floating through every tea, pastry and coffee shop always made you smile in delight. A new shipment of pumpkin tea had just arrived and you couldn’t resist ducking down to stick your nose in the box and smell the leaves through their packaging under the counter.

The homey smell ravished your senses. Your mind was instantly filled with wonderful fall memories. Jumping in piles of leaves as a kid, drinking hot tea by the window and watching the rain outside trickle down the gutter of your childhood home. Carving pumpkins and dressing up in inappropriate halloween costumes back in your college days. It all came back.

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

The all too familiar voice of Hawks startled you, and as you leapt up out of shock, you hit your head on the counter top. “Ow,” you croaked. Reaching for the fridge next to one of the display cases of teas, you grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and placed it on your head. “Hi.”

“Hello to you too.” There was a cocky grin on his face, unlike what you’ve seen of him before.

“Yui’s out of town.” Why was he here? There was no reason for him to be if his girlfriend was gone. Since he started showing up with Yui, the shop had gotten much more traction. More people had shown up asking when the pro hero was coming next or which seat he sat in. You were sick of it all.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t get a cup of my favorite tea from my favorite barista.” His cheeky smile grew and you beat yourself up for blushing at him compliment.

“What’ll it be then? A small sencha?” You grabbed one of the small to-go cups in preparation.

“Nah let’s switch it up a bit.” He eyed the list of teas up and down, ogling the glass containers with delicate tea bags placed inside. “What box were you sticking your nose in just now?”

You looked down at your feet in shame, cheeks heating up at the memory. You had hoped he would forget about what he just saw or at least wouldn’t mention it out of pity for you. “Pumpkin tea. It’s a new shipment that just came in.”

“Huh,” he pondered. “Is it good?”

Your head shot up. “Seriously? You’ve never had pumpkin tea before?”

“Nah the commission doesn’t really like it when I eat or drink things that aren’t in my diet.” He wove his hand through his blonde locks, pushing them back out of his face. “They’ve been a bit more chill about things since I started dating Nakamura, but I’m still on a pretty strict food regiment.”

The fact that he referred to your best friend by her last name almost made your heart ache. For how much she doted on him he barely seemed to care. “That sucks,” you said. “Do you want to try it?”

He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, let’s give it a whirl.”

You heated the water and poured it out in a hot stream over the tea bag. “Here you go. That’ll be 280¥.”

He slid the coins over to you and held the piping hot to-go cup up to his nose, breathing in the heat and letting it run through him. A soft smile overcame his features and he pressed the cup to his lips, letting the brew hit his tongue. His eyes shot open. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t it really good?”

“It is!” He smiled up at you and you couldn’t help but drink in every detail of it. It was a happy and relaxed smile, one that a child would give after tasting candy for the first time. His eyes grew brighter than the sun as the tea coated his taste buds and pulled him into euphoria.

“Um, excuse me?” a small voice croaked from behind Hawks.

He moved to the side, revealing a small young woman holding hands with a little boy. He was chewing on an action figure and as he pulled the head out of his mouth you could see the bright flames of Endeavor coated in a layer of thick saliva.

“Hey there,” Hawks said. “I’m sorry, do you need to order?”

“No no no!” The rosey cheeks of the young woman deepened as chills of embarrassment filled her. “My son here is a really big fan and, well, we were hoping we could get an autograph.”

You weren’t sure how something like this would play out. You’ve seen the stares and the hushed whispers people give when watching Hawks and Yui in the shop. They almost look too scared to approach him, yet this flustered woman came out of nowhere.

“Yeah of course!” Hawks’ cheeky smile widened. He squatted so he was eye level with the boy. “What’s your name, little guy?”

The kid slid behind his mother’s hip, unsure of what to do or say.

“I see you like Endeavor. You have good taste. He’s one of my favorite heroes too.”

You watched in awe, jaw slack as if you had been slapped in the face, as you watched Hawks laugh and ruffle the kid’s hair. He signed a notebook that the kid’s mother gave him and just as he was about to say goodbye, the kid shot his arms up in Hawks’ direction. You could feel yourself melt on the spot as he picked up the giggling boy, spinning him around. It was so unlike him to do that, but at the same time it was everything you had ever imagined in the stories that Yui would tell.

That was the first time that you realized you were beginning to fall for your best friend’s boyfriend, and after that nothing would be the same.

Hawks came in and out of the shop more and more frequently, only now ordering a small pumpkin tea. As the days went by, the weather grew colder. Chilly winds howled past the store and jingled the chimes out front.

Hawks sauntered in, giving you the grin and nod he was now accustomed to.

“Small pumpkin?” you asked, gripping your scarf and holding it closer around your neck.

“You know it,” he winked.

You hated how every time he walked up to the counter your breath would hitch and your heart would skip a beat. The little wink he gave you definitely didn’t go unnoticed by you. You hid the flushed feeling by burying your face up to the tip of your nose in your scarf.

“So what’s been going on in tea land?” he asked. His fingers danced across the display of cup sizes and tea cakes to the side of the register. They stopped, resting on the side of the jar labeled “TIPS” in a fat black marker over bright colorful construction paper.

“Same old,” you replied. “How’s hero work?”

“Same old.” The two of you had grown comfortable with minimal conversation, almost finding it endearing that the two of you could communicate so much with so few words.

“And Yui?”

Hawks took a moment before answering. You looked up from the tea you were preparing but averted your eyes the second you realized he was staring at you. “I’m thinking of breaking up with her.”

You couldn’t pay attention to what he said next. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears at hearing his words. He was breaking up with her. The recent nights you had spent fantasizing what it would be like to be the one held in his arms at night seemed more in your grasp. The thought scared you a little.

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Huh?” He snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sorry, I think I zoned out a little.” You could feel your face heating up. “Why are you breaking up with her?”

“It’s been about four months,” he said, still toying with the rim of the tip jar.

It bothered you a little how he kept looking at it. Either put in a tip or leave it alone, you wanted to yell at him.

“Four months,” he repeated as if he needed to double check. “That’s when our contract is up, at least.”

You were confused. What was he talking about? “What do you mean?” The skepticism on your face made you look like a puppy being taunted with a bone.

“Heh, you’re cute when you’re confused,” he said. “Our relationship,” he trailed off in thought, trying to find the right words. “It was never real, I guess. Never has been.”

As Hawks spoke about the contract the two of them were under, that her agent and the people working at the commission made them sign, your jaw became more and more unhinged.

“Why did they force you to date in the first place?” The shrill of your voice was hard to tame.

“Her agent knows my people well,” he admitted, referring to the commission. “And they thought this would be good for her publicity. They were right since it got her the big movie she’s working on, but they told us if nothing happens after four months we can end it.”

“I see.” You were still trying to put the pieces together in your mind. “So you never really loved her.”

He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “I thought that was pretty obvious,” he admitted. “Look, I know she’s your best friend and all but she’s kinda hard to be around and to get along with at times.”

Deep down you knew he was right, but hearing it come from someone that you knew Yui loved and trusted made your blood boil. What made you feel even worse was the growing hope within you that if Hawks didn’t like someone like her, he could possibly fall for someone like you.

He looked down at his phone to check the time. “Shit, I have training with my intern in ten minutes.” As you slid his drink towards him he fished into his wallet to pay. Taking out an extra bill, he folded it up and put it in the tip jar. “Promise me that when I break things off with her you’ll be there to comfort her?”

The question took you off guard but you nodded anyway.

He smiled a deep and genuine smile that showed so much more emotion than could be understood by the human brain. “Thanks. She’ll need a good friend like you to keep her company.” And with that, he dashed out the door quicker than your eyes could follow.

A week went by and you heard nothing. Hawks didn’t come into the shop to tell you how it went and Yui hadn’t texted you with any of her usual updates for how the movie was going. It wasn’t until you were locking up shop on a Friday night that you received a FaceTime request from Yui. You texted her, assuring her that once you got home you’d call her back. You knew that he did it and she needed to hear from you right now.

Snuggled into the plush fabric of the side-of-the-road sofa in the middle of your living room, you called her back. It only took one ring before she picked up. Her face was blotchy and red and the makeup she wore on set was streaking down her features.

“What happened?” you asked, fully aware of the situation.

She explained in detail everything that had happened, from the warm tea she was holding in her dressing room when he called her to break things off to the way his eyes shimmered with both sadness and relief as he told her what was on his mind.

You tried to reason with her as she blew her snotty nose into tissue after tissue. Phrases like “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you” and “You’re better than him anyway” often came up. Truth be told, you were only paying attention to her side of the story half the time. You slipped in and out, mind wandering over to where Hawks may be and how he must be doing.

“Maybe he had a reason for doing it,” you finally said once she had started to calm down.

“What?”

“Do you think he, I dunno, wasn’t happy?” You shrugged a bit. Your eyes traced the rhombus patterns on your carpet as they avoided Yui’s saddened expression. “Maybe he just wanted to be a free bird is all.”

You looked up from your carpet and came face to face with Yui’s eyes. Once doughy and glossed over with a thick layer of gelatinous tears, they now held a form of anger and hurt that you have never seen from her. “How could you say that?” she asked. “How could you even think of taking his side?”

“I’m not taking a side, I–”

“Yes you are!” Her face was turning red and as much as you wished to defend the man you had caught feelings for you also wanted to be there for Yui. “I don’t know how you could defend him right now, you guys aren’t even friends.”

Hearing her say that hit you deep in the chest. Of course she didn’t know how often Hawks had swung by the shop. Of course he wouldn’t tell her.

“You barely know him, (Y/n), so why are you defending him?”

Why were you defending him? Even with Yui out of the picture, there would still be a slim chance that Hawks actually felt the same way you did. He’s the number two hero, an icon in more ways than one. His fangirls pooled at his feet constantly. Why would you, just a simpleton working at a tea shop, have a chance with him?

“I can’t even talk to you right now.” She was looking down, refusing to make eye contact with you through the small screen.

“Yui, I–”

“No. Just,” she trailed off. “Call me when you know whose side you’re on.”

And with that she hung up and you were left alone. You felt terrible, like the worst friend in existence. You needed something to calm yourself down after the shitshow you had a feeling would be your last conversation with her for a long time.

Your shaky figure got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, putting up the water for a cup of tea. Your hands visibly calmed down once you gripped the hot mug with the pumpkin tea bag swirling inside.

“Hey baby bird.” As you walked into the living room, the person lounging on your sofa startled you. You let out a scream and the hot tea sloshed out of your mug and hit your chest, the thin material of your shirt and the knit sweater you dawned doing little to nothing to stop the burning sensation. “Ah shit.”

Hawks ran up to you and pressed the sleeve of his hero costume against your chest. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

The wince you gave him let him know his answer. “What are you doing here?” you managed to croak out once the heat subsided. “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

“Followed you home,” he said like it was nothing.

“So you stalked me.”

“I like to call it stealth training.” The grin on his face resembled a snarky cat and as pissed off and angry you were about him and Yui and everything, you couldn’t help letting out a laugh.

The aura between you two was both friendly and awkward. It seemed as though you both wanted to say something but didn’t know what. As Hawks kept rubbing his sleeve against your damp clothes, his eyes trailed over your face and tried reading into what you were thinking.

“I talked to Yui,” you finally let out. “She’s mad at me.”

“So I heard.” He stopped moving and rested his arm on your shoulder. “You deserve better friends.”

You looked away. “No. She does.”

He let out a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You, (Y/n), are kind, compassionate, care about your customers and you actually take time to listen to others. And I know Nakamura would say the same thing.”

Somehow the use of your friends last name didn’t bother you as much as it used to. What did cause you to blush was the sound of Hawks saying your own name. The sound of it leaving his lips had an imprint on you like no other.

“And those,” he continued, “are some of the many reasons why I started to fall for you.”

You felt a sting in your cheeks as they grew hot from his words. He liked you? Did you hear that correctly? He fell for you? The same way you fell for him? The only thing you could think to do was let out a “huh?”

And Hawks let out a toe curling laugh. “I like you. Have liked you for a while now.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were so overwhelmed with emotion. All you could even think to do was stare at him with your mouth agape.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in your face. “Earth to (Y/n).”

You shook your head and the rest of your body, getting any jitters out. “Um, yeah.”

He barked out another laugh. “So, do you got something to say to me or are you gonna leave me hanging?”

You took a sharp inhale. “I think that I might also like you,” you said. “A bit.”

“Now was that so hard to say?” He took a step forward, raising a hand to cup your face. He wasn’t ready, however, when you stepped away, shielding yourself from him. “What’s wrong?”

“Yui is what’s wrong.”

It dawned on him how difficult and confused you must’ve been feeling, especially if you’ve liked him for as long as he’s had feelings for you. Yui Nakamura is your best friend so of course having feelings for her boyfriend, her ex boyfriend, would make you fall into a pit of despair.

“I’m sorry.” You turned away, walking back to your kitchen.

Even though you clearly wanted to be left alone, Hawks followed you and stayed in the door frame as you put up water for another cup of tea. “You remember when I caught you sniffing the heck out of that box of Pumpkin tea?”

You made a disgruntled noise of agony as you buried your head in your hands.

He chuckled. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you. When did you know you had them for me?”

You sighed. “Look, Hawks. I really wish that things were different and that Yui wouldn’t be mad at me, but–”

“It’s a simple question, baby bird.” He reveled in the nickname.

Your eyes wandered over to the kettle and the soft heat that rose from the stove. “I think it was when I saw you give that kid and his mom and autograph and, I don’t know, you’re just...really good with kids is all.”

“Is that really all?” His cocky smirk struck you and you couldn’t help but hit him playfully.

“Shut up, asshole.” The kettle went off and you grabbed two mugs, placing pumpkin tea bags in each. “I like you, but I love Yui.”

“So I’m assuming that it would be inappropriate for me to kiss you right now?”

You handed him one of the now full mugs, your face lowered to hide your subtle embarrassment. “You are correct.” The two of you stood there in the middle of your cramped kitchen, neither darring to take a sip. “But,” you started. “We can maybe cuddle on the couch a bit and talk, if that’s something you want.”

His golden eyes brightened. “Yeah, baby bird. I’d like that.”

#my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #mha hawks #autumn #fall collab #sweater weather collab #bnha sanctuary #mha x reader #bnha x reader

474 notes · View notes

trulycertain · 3 years

Text

small scandals

f!De Sardet/Vasco, 2.5k. One of the most disgustingly fluffy things I've written. Based on the thought that Constantin would totally have opinions on who you romance.

A carriage rattles along the cobbles outside, and she lies there, half-listening to it. The few mornings she can be in her own bed, she’s come to know it; it’s the ten o’clock grain shipment. Ordinarily, she’d already be in a meeting somewhere, or traipsing along a dirt road, perhaps with Kurt and Vasco at her back. But she had a morning free, and this… is not an ordinary morning. She’d been settling in with paperwork and then she’d heard the knock at her door and… well.

She should move. Probably. But her bed is so warm, and – unusually, but in a wonderful development – it contains Vasco.

This really was meant to be a brief assignation. And she was sure they were meant to be talking about… something. Potential routes for tomorrow, perhaps. She has no idea why they’re lying next to each other, words barely thought-out and… comfortable, somehow.

She says with a lazy half-grin, “’Important business with the legate’? Did Cécile actually believe you?” She’d close her eyes, but she likes looking at him too much to manage it for long. Softness suits him. And besides, the thought of him politely tipping his hat and lying to her housekeeper...

He tilts his head, consideringly. “She sent me upstairs.” But his voice is wry.

“Mm. She definitely knows.”

He sighs, that long-suffering thing she’s learned to like far too much, and says, “Try living on a ship.”

“Try living around nobles,” she counters, and laughs at his pained expression. “Exactly.”

He says, quietly, “They can’t all be that bad. Rumour is, there’s one that some Naut captain’s fond of.”

She says, “That legate’s always been an odd one.” But she presses her forehead to his, eyes sliding closed, and she feels his hand stroke through her hair.

The gentleness should surprise her – almost did, at first, coming from the frustrated, tattooed sailor who’d barked orders at his crew – but she realised soon into their acquaintance that he is gentle. Subtle as he tries to be, and much as he’d probably mutter something offhand and drily amused about it. That same sailor was worried for a cabin boy. And he was horrified at the Guard’s ghost camps, asked her to avoid bloodshed at every turn and stepped forward for his brother without a moment’s doubt. He tossed her antidotes in the middle of battle and held off beasts for her; he apologised for his early shortness, called her a good person without hesitation, argued to a Naut that the noble who’d caused him so much trouble was sea-born, and we always help one of our own. She'd dared to suspect, but still, that gentleness was far more than she’d ever have imagined, turned on her.

She’s half-dozing when she wakes up and says, startled, “Constantin." She reaches out of bed and gropes for her watch. "I’ve got a meeting in…” She flips it open, checking. “Ten minutes. Damn.”

A quiet, displeased noise from next to her, and Vasco mutters, “Can I at least get dressed before we have to think of your cousin?”

She pauses, looks back to him… and has some trouble looking away. “Don’t strain yourself on my account.”

He raises a brow, but there’s wryness lurking around the corners of his mouth.

She only smiles at him. She was aiming for lascivious, but it softens into something fonder before she can help it. She probably shouldn’t tell the truth quite so easily, what with being a diplomat, but around him it always slips out. Generally meetings aren’t such a trial, tired as she is - but generally she doesn’t have an unnecessarily handsome Naut stretched out in her bed, wild-haired and with the sunlight clinging to his skin.

She shifts across to kiss him, and for a golden moment, he responds in kind, a hand under her chin.

(She’s still not used to that. It was the sort of idle daydream she always told herself would never come to fruition, even if he was sarcastic in turn, even if he smiled at her and she wondered…)

Then he pulls away. “You should go,” he says. She suspects he's trying for gently chiding, but it lands in amused instead.

“I won’t be long,” she says, and the words come out too hopeful.

It’s not that she expects him to stay like some sort of bedwarmer, she just…

Well, she thinks, considering him again, she wouldn’t entirely mind.

But she knows he’s not made to be idle. Neither is she, normally; it was one of the reasons they understood each other, and one of the things she could tell surprised him at first, when he was used to the thoughtlessness of nobility. And she hadn’t quite meant to lose track of time, she’d just…

“I’ll meet you at the docks,” he says. “I need to check in on a shipment. The Guard are lying in the ledgers again.” He adds, in a mutter, “Not that that’s unusual.”

She nods. “Of course.” And then she drags herself away to hunt for her clothing.

She can feel him watching her; it prickles up her spine, a certain warmth that’s growing familiar. She should probably be more self-conscious. She was often teased about her lack of delicacy, growing up in court. She’s about six feet of lankiness and leg – excellent for her reach with a rapier, but not ideal for a court lady. Also, since she’s come here, new scars, and lean muscle that some would say makes her look like a labourer. But he’s called her beautiful more than once, kissing the word breathlessly into her skin, and somehow, she believes him. She certainly believes the way his eyes linger. She looks over her shoulder and his gaze meets hers, without a hint of shame. Then he rolls out of her bed, too.

She’s buttoning her doublet when she feels his hand against hers. She looks down, and takes her hat from him with a nod of thanks. He half-smiles at her, with the ruefulness that comes from having to snatch these moments while they can, in between governors and dantrigs and narrowly-averted civil wars. She places it on her head, idly watching him re-tie his hair and start to re-don the mantle of the quiet, hawk-eyed shadow at her back.

She tries not to be embarrassed. Neither of them is entirely used to this, not yet. They’ve only managed perhaps three occasions where the world has relented enough to give them any time together; they’ve only had one night sleeping in the same bed. And her previous dalliances were at court, not with a friend who knows her, who looks at her like… that. Not with a man who read her poetry and actually seemed to mean it.

She can’t help but step forwards, pretending to pull up the collar of his coat, adjusting a buckle. Absolutely because they’re trying for some measure of discretion, and not because she’d like to touch him again, for as long as she can.

He knows, of course. He’s spent long enough watching her back, and he’s always been good with people - differently from the way she is, but good all the same. When she looks up from her work, his eyes are warm and a little amused on hers.

And then he’s pulling her in, gently but inexorably, and kissing her. It’s a slow, lingering thing that makes them both breathless, and he holds her there, a gloved hand smoothing down her lapel. Suddenly she suspects she isn’t the only one having trouble tearing herself away.

When they part, he stares at her for a moment, dark-eyed - then reaches up and swiftly adjusts her hat where it’s been knocked askew. She can’t help grinning stupidly at him.

And then he takes his own tricorne from her bedside table and pulls it on, and they leave the house with the ease of their usual missions. She pretends not to have a spring in her step. And she certainly doesn’t look over her shoulder when they part in the square.

Constantin is, for once, not holding court. She finds him in his office, he greets her - as usual - as if she’s just come back after being thought dead at sea, and they make an itinerary of which higher-ups she’ll have to meet in Hikmet.

All in all, entirely normal, until she says, standing, “Well, I ought to be off. I’ll take Aphra and Vasco; they might be useful.”

And Constantin smiles at her and says, “Of course. Take care of yourself! And give my regards to your Naut.’”

She freezes mid-way through reaching for her hat.

Their eyes meet. She carefully doesn't say anything.

Then she breaks. “He’s not my - “

He’s lazing in his chair, with the smugness of victory. In that obnoxiously cheerful I know something you don’t way, the one that makes her fingers itch to push him out of a tree.

She raises an eyebrow. “Should I ask how you know?”

“Oh, no,” he waves a hand, “you were both being very discreet. You remember the time I asked you if you wanted to go out drinking?”

She sits down, slowly, and tries not to feel like a mouse lowering itself into a trap. She says, with gentle understatement, “There were a few.”

“Yes, well. The most recent one. The one where you refused, because you had terribly important business to attend to.” He looks like some sort of painting of innocence, and that’s how she knows she’s damned to never, ever live this down. “You might have left his poisons belt on the bannister.”

She’s too court-trained to blush, but she feels heat trying to crawl into her face all the same. “There’s more than one poisons belt in New Serene.”

“Only a few with a Naut’s compass carved into them. And what were you talking about a few weeks ago? Your painstaking modifications…”

She tries to regain her equilibrium. “I… We’re Merchants. We give gifts.”

“I know, cousin, and I’m very grateful for my last two hats. The feather was a lovely touch.” He leans his chin on his hand. “But the last time I saw you, you were inexplicably cheerful. Normally I like watching all the longing gazes, while he stares nobly elsewhere or prepares your maps. It’s the best entertainment I’ve had in years. Only, all those had stopped, and suddenly you were studiously trying not to look at him.” He tilts his head, and grins like the cat that’s caught the canary. “And you’re blushing. Adorable.”

“Constantin...” She attempts to hide from the onslaught, but there really isn’t anywhere to go.

“I only wanted to offer my congratulations.” He stands, as if propelled from his chair by the force of his own smugness. “My father would kill you, of course. It’s rather marvellous, really. You were always the one he never had to worry about. I was so certain you’d end up single, or with one of those dreadfully dull nobles from a court somewhere.” He pauses like he’s just remembered she’s there. “Nice, of course, and as long as you were happy – But to think, a Naut! Usually I’m the resident disappointment. Was it the tattoos? They are so very fascinating...” And then he must catch sight of her face, because that pulls him to a stop. “I’m sorry. I’ve got ahead of myself.” And he sits, just a little deflated.

“He’s not some scandal,” she says, quietly. “He’s my – He’s Vasco.”

He’s sober, now, watching her softly. “I know. And I really am pleased for you both.” He looks back to his own papers. “You may have to be subtle, to prevent accusations of favouritism for the Nauts, but… you certainly don’t have to hide it from me. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s almost worthy of you.”

She squints at that. “How does he look at me?”

“I thought you’d have noticed! That said, he is rather subtle, isn’t he?” He grins at her. “Hmm… Like a man who’s been hit about the head with something heavy. That sort of not-quite-dazed look. He looks” – and he considers the bookshelves, mouth a theatrical moue of contemplation – “like a man startled by his own luck. I’ve seen enough winners at cards. Only the odd moment, of course, and then he wipes it away and pretends to be very solemn and businesslike.”

She stares, warming at the thought despite herself. “I… he does?”

“He's not bad. I’m sure anyone else wouldn’t catch it. But we, dear cousin, were raised at court.” He looks at her - incredulous, delighted. “And you call yourself a diplomat!”

“I was… busy.”

“Yes. Throwing him your own adoring looks.”

“Being a diplomatic envoy.” She’s quite sure her shade of purple is clashing violently with her coat.

He ostentatiously checks his nails. “Do Nauts marry, perchance?”

“So help me, Constantin, I will leave your court and never come back - “

And then he’s laughing, rich and uninhibited, and it rings like a bell off the high ceiling. It’s been too long since she’s heard that.

“Constantin knows,” she announces, when they’re in a camp a quarter of the way to Hikmet, and Aphra’s left to answer a call of nature. “And he’s laughing at us both.”

Vasco’s brows raise, and then he says, flatly, “I’m not surprised. The man’s been smirking at me in the throne room for a month.”

“I…That’s just his face.”

“To you, it might be. He’s worse than my crew.”

“I... think he’s threatening to buy you a drink.” Grimacing, she admits, “I might have fled before he finished talking.”

He considers her, sharp-eyed and face carefully straight, and says, “I could poison him, if you like.”

“Please don’t. They might make me governor.”

The facade cracks, and he smiles at her, broadly and all sharp teeth. Then it fades. “Do you mind him knowing?” And his voice is quiet, that sort of carefully brisk that means he’s trying to bandage being businesslike over potential hurt. The same tentativeness she saw when he asked her what she thought of the poem, as if he had any hope of hiding what he really meant.

Her first instinct has always been to try charm, and when words fail her, to joke; that’ll end with her in a duel someday. “That I’m with a brave, dashing captain who’s one of the best in the fleet? No. I was just trying not to make him jealous.” She says, with her own uncertainty, “Why? Do you mind him knowing?”

He looks surprised at the question – and then thoughtful, and more than a little fond. “I’ve weathered worse than a bit of scuttlebutt,” he says, stepping forwards to close the distance between them, his hand drifting upwards to map her jaw, her cheek. He smiles when she leans into it, and then he’s kissing her, gentle and far too sweet for a man who can terrify bandits. “My tempest,” he says softly, against her skin, resting there.

A man startled by his own luck.

And now she’s certain her smile must make her look like a fool and would have her pilloried at court, but she can’t bring herself to care. She just lets the silence grow for a moment, and leans into the warmth of him.

Even so, she can’t quite help herself: “I’ve changed my mind. You can poison him, if it would make you feel better.”

He laughs at that, one of her favourite sounds in the world. But he doesn’t let go of her.

#de sardet x vasco #de sardet #vasco #constantin d'orsay #greedfall #my fic #marie de sardet #idiot and fiasco #also based on how fantastically sappy vasco is when you #romance him #and how difficult it probably is to have any honeymoon period #when you're a horrendously busy diplomat and a horrendously busy captain

61 notes · View notes

meshlasolus · 3 years

Text

Cruel Irony

8/?

Bale!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Okay so tomorrow I will not be posting a new chapter of I.I. as I am taking a break, but rest assured the following day it will be posted.

Series Summary: Growing up on infinity Island, Moyra is taught very well in the art of assassination. As the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, she sits highly amongst the brotherhood known as the League of Shadows. When her father orders her to lure a stranger from the outside to be recruited amongst the mysterious clan, she will question everything she's ever believed.

Chapter Warnings: literally nothing. Maybe fluff. idk

Walking towards the large tarmac Bruce had pulled us along to, I couldn't help but let my jaw fall slack a bit at the sight before me. A private jet. A real one.

"That time you told me you thought at this age you'd be flying around in a jet, or living on a yacht.... I thought you were kidding." I never took my eyes away from the beautiful piece of aircraft, thinking of how many other luxuries Bruce had been hiding.

"At the time, I was." He looked back to me, smirking. As we walked closer and closer, the side folded down and out walked an older man, with a bright smile.

"Master Wayne, you've been gone a long time." The man's thick accent dripped over his words when they parted with his mouth.

"Yes, I have." Bruce agreed, stopping right before reaching the unfolded staircase that reached the tarmac.

"You look very fashionable, part from the mud." The other man added on. I took a step closer to Bruce, earning the eyes of his friend, and a smile from him as well.

"And who might this lovely lass be?" The man smirked at Bruce, clearly with a deeper meaning that I would not catch onto.

"Alfred, this is Moyra. Moyra, this is my butler, Alfred Pennyworth." He gestured between the two of us.

I smiled and gave a polite nod, and Alfred did the same, although his manners went even further.

"It's quite the pleasure, miss." He seemed to be a very formal, stereotypical butler, but I could tell just by looking at him there was a bit more under the surface.

"The pleasure's all mine." I insisted, before Bruce began to usher me onto the jet with haste.

"Ladied first." He joked, but I was quick to counter him.

"I may be a woman, but you of all people know I am no lady."

Once inside, I took a moment to admire the interior of the space. I walked further around, glancing back at Bruce when I noticed he was staring right back.

"It's a lot to get used to, I know." He patted a seat for me to sit down into, and I was more than happy to take a seat in the lavish cushioned throne for my behind. It definitely was a lot to take in.

Once seated I looked up at Bruce like I didn't believe any of this was real.

"And at one point you were stealing food to get by."

He didn't say anything in reply, he just nodded, tapping a compartment above my head and pulling out a small screen of some sort. He turned it on and showed it to me.

"You have a favorite movie?" He asked, and I was quick to answer.

"I've only ever seen one." I told him, and though he'd lived in the exact place that I did for four years, he was still partly shocked.

"Which one?" Now he was curious. What was the single film that I'd ever witnessed?

"Back to the Future. Ironically, I swiped it off of a Wayne Enterprises shipment truck." I explained. Mr. Pennyworth seemed to be listening in on our conversation as of now and came to offer me an ice cold bottle of water. It looked like a piece of heaven.

"Thank you." I told him with a sweet expression. Never had I been so grateful for water. Not since I'd lived on a mountian with fresh snowy peaks.

"If I may reccomend a film, miss... the title 'Mean Girls' is quite a treat." He chuckled, and Bruce furrowed his brows a bit at the mention of it. "It was released into theaters last year, master Wayne."

Bruce scrolled through the movies on the small device, and selected the film titled mean girls, starring Lindsay Lohan, who he had only ever seen in The Parent Trap. He handed me the screen once it started playing and went to sit in the back of the jet with Alfred.

I felt a little excluded, but figured Bruce needed time to catch up with someone he had not seen in a long time.

I laughed quite a bit at the movie, even though a lot of the jokes went straight over my head, I was still witty when it came to comedic circumstances, and appreciated the humor in the film. It was over too soon, and since I did not know how to put another one on, or what I would even put on, I decided I wouldn't bother Bruce, and would catch some sleep. It had been a very eventful day, and I was exhausted to say the least. Bruce must be even worse for wear, he'd carried my father so far down that mountain.

I set the little screen down, and leaned back into my seat. I absentmindedly kicked my boots off and curled into myself, letting the chair recline just a bit so i didn't have a kink in my neck as I laid.

I fell asleep in no time, and disregarded any words that were said about me once I'd fallen into my state of slumber.

Alfred's eyes drifted over to where I was, clinging to myself for warmth.

"So how did we come upon this one?" He chuckled, and Bruce also turned around to take a look at my sleeping form.

"Actually, she was the one who found me." He started, taking a sip of his drink before looking back at his friend and butler. "Started stalking me, took me a few months to even notice. I thought Falconi sent her. I set a trap to catch her and...." he laughed, shaking his head. "I'll never forget... she not only got out of the trap, but then proceeded to correct the way I was holding my knife."

"She's quite the little minx, then." Alfred assumed, smirking at Bruce again with a raised eyebrow.

"She may be.... but I owe her, a lot." He stared over with a gaze that held feelings unknown, and because if it, Alfred also directed his line of sight.

"Well, she is something, isn't she?" He pondered, sipping his cool beverage along with his friend, and master.

"You have no idea."

🦇

Stepping inside Wayne manor for the first time is a treat for anyone, but especially for someone like me. I'd never been rich, or even craved the lifestyle that was included, but standing in this place seemed almost ethereal. All the details of this house were more than gorgeous.

"Having fun?" Bruce teased, noticing my slightly open mouth and fastly wandering eyes.

"Like you wouldn't believe." I didn't pay any mind to the fact he'd been taunting me, for I was to overwhelmed and enraptured by the ground I stood on. Marble floors, I'd never seen anything like this.

"You want a tour?"

"I'd love one."

And so he began to lead me from one room to another, giving me some brief history and facts in each area. Details of what was built when and by whom.

"This was my parent's favorite room. I used to come in here when they'd sit after my father came home from work." He smiled at the fond memory.

After I'd been in several of the rooms here, it felt more natural to be here, like I was meant to live somewhere as lavish as this all my life. My smile never dropped from my face once, until I found a few old picture frames. One held a small boy, and a little girl playing together.

"Is this you?" I pointed at the frame, and he held it up, examining it closer.

"Believe it or not." He said with a grin, setting the frame back when he was done.

I moved on to another picture set. I came across one with a beautiful woman, her hair wrapped up delicately, and her makeup done to the nines. She wore very minimal jewelry except for a simple strand of pearls around her neck. She was the pure definition of elegance and grace, and I couldn't take my eyes away from such a lovely lady.

"You know... you've reminded me of my mother since I met you." Bruce came up behind me, his arms coming around mine as he picked up the frame and placed it in my hands. "You look like her."

"I'll take that as the greatest compliment of my life." I told him, never taking my eyes off of the beautiful woman. I could see where Bruce got his striking good looks from. "She was so beautiful."

I put the frame back on the credenza it had been pulled from, before turning around to face Bruce. He'd not moved back at all from where he stood, so we were almost face to face. My blush was not so easily hidden on my face due to our proximity, and looking away didn't feel right either.

Bruce began to look at me differently than he had all day, and I didn't understand what it meant. Years of training to decipher what others were thinking, and yet I did not know what went through his mind as he leaned in closer to me. My eyes never left his the whole time. Everything happened slowly, and for that I was grateful. It gave me time to comprehend all the subtle things that happened in a row. His left hand met my waist ever so gently, and my heart raced. He kept getting closer and closer to me, but before any other small event could take place, he was interrupted.

"Master Wayne, the rooms have been prepared." Alfred's voice sounded from across the room, and when I turned my head to see him grinning, my face turned even more red than it had already been.

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce acknowledged his butler with a smile and a nod, and with a smirk, Alfred turned and left the room. I didn't quite feel embarrassed, but a little confused at the encounter.

I backed away from Bruce, knowing that moment was over. Bruce seemed a little disappointed, but covered it up with enthusiasm the next moment. "Follow me."

We went through a multitude of hallways before he stopped between two doors at the end of the hall.

"The rules stay the same here. My door," he pointed to the one on the left of him, then turned to the other, "your door."

"Just like back home." I said, following him into the room he'd said was mine.

"If it's not too much to ask, I want you to think of this as home." He leaned against the wall, watching as I flopped my back on the bed, and practically moaned for how soft ot was.

"No problem..." I sunk deeper into the silky comforter, my face rolling over to press against the material.

He crossed his arms and laughed at me, before inevitably doing the same, flopping onto the bed beside me.

"How old are we?" I asked as a joke, to which he answered with one.

"I'm not sure about you, but I'm only ten." He muttered against the matress. I could hear his smile and how wide it was, though I did not witness it fully.

We laid there in a peaceful silence for a few seconds more before I chimed in with a fake tone of sorrow.

"I hate to tell you this, Bruce.... but it looks as if you've been replaced." I said, pushing up onto one arm.

"How so?" He did the same as I did, although his brow was furrowed at hearing this.

"This blanket's gonna keep me warm just fine, no need for you." I pretend to quiver my bottim lip, and he rolled his eyes, pushing me backward onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

After getting settled in and showered, I'd changed into the pair of sweats Bruce had set out for me. Venturing into the room I heard voices coming from, I saw Bruce and Alfred in a very joyous conversation.

"There you are miss, I believe you're just in time for shopping." Alfred nodded happily, and though I didn't fully understand the meaning of his words, I repeated the last part.

"Shopping?"

"Oh you'll like this part..." Bruce insisted.

Tags are open!!!

@huntheimpossible @testudies @stardustednerd

#bale!bruce wayne x reader #bale!bruce wayne #christian bale #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #batmom #batman #batman x batmom #batman x reader #the joker #batman begins #the dark knight

57 notes · View notes

arllenn · 3 years

Text

image des: I really loved the fact that your brought their past into the light, that you made them actually effected and reflected on it. So often I just see stories focusing on their relationship with the "new" characters (Caesar, Luminous, Johann, The Gen fam) so following that line of thought.

Can I request a flashback scene? Like when we get requested to make it snow (at the beginning of the game) the group of friends reaction to it snowing makes you reflected on your past. In which a fluffy meeting/promise happens between Z, Renata and you. Or even any fluff you can think of between the three? It can be when they were kids or the age they were at during the game.

Admittedly I would love it if you can really focus on Z and the Character interaction/relationship because we all know he cares for Renata; they have that slacker x mother hen childhood friend vibe going on. But the idea that Z and you are ACTUALLY close (it just LOOKS like your friends with Renata and only friendly acquaintances with Z from the outside) makes me happy and bittersweet.

Sorry this got so long!

Tags for this chapter: fluff, hurt no comfort, bittersweetness, pure angst at first tho Tw: mentions of death and cannon typical violence, puke, death Time setting: pre japan like imagine if the mc got an adjustment period at cassell before they got shipped off to dragon war

You smiled happy to be of help to the friends who were separating today. Their cheerful giggles and cries of happiness as they raved over being able to leave on a snowy day just like the one from when they had met made your insides bubble with warmth and nostalgia. Z, Renata and you had been the same once..... before, before Herzog had...

You shake your head, now isn't the time for this. You wring your wrists, it's a habit you picked up from Z, though you two do it for different reasons. You feel a bit light headed, your knees are weak, it's so weird to see snow and not see your beloved friends among it. It just felt wrong to not feel their warmth around you in this cold tempature. The others giggling is getting too loud, it's beggining to ring in your ears and bounce around in your head at the same time as the memories of Renata and Z pour out of your head and spill in front of your eyes. You stiffly walk over to Claudia, left foot, left hand, right foot, right hand. Back and forth back and forth. You want to leave, but it’d feel wrong just going without checking with her.

“We met and departed on a snowy day.” She sounds so happy and while you’re glad that you were able to help them you also can’t help but feel cloying jealousy at the fact that this trio, Claudia, Susu and Leah get to be together, to meet and depart on snowy days filled with joy, while you can’t. You want to be able to see Z and Renata, you want to be able to tease them while jumping for joy and promising to stay in contact. You want to be able to send them off with a smile on your face and a promise to be well.

But you can’t.

And that’s it.

There’s no going back and searching, there’s no making up after an argument, there’s just nothing. Renata is dead Z is dead everyone is dead! And you can’t do anything about it.

Staggering away you start walking towards one of the benches in the courtyard that face the library. To say that you collapse on it would be an understatement. It’s like all the bones in your body liquified then disappeared at that moment. You clench at the snow on the bench, using the all too familiar feeling of it to guide you through your memories. The day you arrived at the orphanage, the first time you met Renata, Z and you arguing over who would get to hold which of Renata’s hands, the day Vera had arrived, so small and only a year old. You remembered her small finger curling around your own while Z helped you readjust how you held her.

Just Renata, Z and you.

But now it’s just you. You clench at your throat, clawing at it as if that’ll destroy the lump forming in it. You bring your knees up to meet with your chest. Burying your head in your arms. It hurts, you want to see them. At this point you’d even take Anton and Khorkina’s belittling of you or even Ivan and Sherkman failing horribly to hide the fact that they were dating over anything else that could possibly occur right now.

Rubbing your face on your knees you try to get rid of the few silent tears that have begun to spill. It doesn’t work, in fact it just makes everything so, so much worse. Memories of your childhood fly by, you’re loosing your grip on reality you know that. You don’t want to do it here. Not on a bench where anyone can see, if you’re completely honest you don’t want to confront them at all. But that isn’t an option, it’s never going to be an option for you, because you’re trying so hard to push them down and stamp them out right now. And it’s not working.

One of the wandering vending machines come up to you, clawed arm holding something in it. You can't see it at all, your line of sight only contains your legs after all, but you can hear the distinctive beeps of the machine, the whirring of its mechanical organs that allow it to move. You can feel the jagged edges of a wrapper lightly scratching at your leg through your uniform. The robot beeps twice shoving the snack into your leg once again before dropping it and skittering off. Lifting your head up you stared down at the snack you had been left with. Maybe the world really does hate you. Maybe you deserve to constantly have your mind ripped at and heart torn apart, because laying there in front of you is a cookie a chocolate chip one at that. The second your eyes land on the bubbly font that spells out chocolate you cant help but watch in horror as Vera falls in front of you, mere feet away, body still warm as she hits the snow, dead. You feel the bile rise in your throat, it isn't something that you can just swallow down either. Hand clapped over your mouth you stand, getting ready to run.

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

You have no idea how you've made it back to your dorm room without puking on the way here, but now you're sitting over your toilet dry heaving into it. You stare down at the item that made you like this the choco- you spit into the toilet. Cookie, you'll just refer to it as a cookie. You consider tearing off the top half of the wrapper but then the smell of the cookie and the chocolate might just tip you over the edge. Instead you settle for smacking it away from you. In some small way it makes you feel better.

You hate that Herzog has ruined this for you. You hate that you can’t even see the word chocolate without feeling your insides churn, you hate that you can’t see snow without seeing your friends bloodied corpses staring back at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. Cookies were the first dessert that you had ever tasted and the last one. You remember the day you had first tried to bake them.

That day Z had let you in his room, Renata was sick, and neither of you were allowed to be around her as per Herzogs orders. With the knowledge that you have now you think you understand why you weren’t allowed to see her back then. Rather than actually being ill Renata was probably suffering from the side effects of the incomplete evolution pills. But either way natural disease or not it had been just you and Z. Sitting side by side on his bed, you laying with your torso hanging off his bed partially, practically upside down, and him crisscross leaned up against the wall that his bed bordered, a hand close enough to your leg to catch you if you started to slip. You two had been mindlessly talking, reading some book that you’ve forgotten the name of now, alternating turns each chapter. When you had gotten to a part where the main character was making cookies for their friend as a get well gift.

“Hey Z, have you ever had a cookie? I mean I’ve heard of them but I’ve never even seen one.”

“I can’t say that I have,” he yawned, “I’m not a big fan of sugar in general. That combined with the fact that the orphanage doesn’t even get the ingredients for them makes it obvious that I’d never even have the chance to try them, same as you.”

“That’s too bad, based on the description I think they’d be pretty good. You think Renata has ever had one?”

“I’m not her, I wouldn’t know.”

“I mean fair enough, but I kinda expected that you would, you guys spend forever having those late night talks after you send me to bed.”

You haul yourself up and spin on your ass so that you’re looking him in the eye, “Speaking of~, I won’t allow you to marry my daughter young man!” You cross your arms in an ‘X’ in front of you shaking your head. “Absolutely not don’t think I’ll allow anything of the sort!!”

Snorting he had pushed on your forehead with his finger until you were laying down the same as before and used his foot to roll you away from him. “2/10, If you’re going to give me a shovel talk then you should at least be intimidating, 1, and 2 you should do it in front of Renata so that you can embarrass her, who just gives that kinda talk straight to the supposed,” he raised his hands and gave out finger quotations “boyfriend?”

“Is that back talk I hear sonny? Don’t make me get up there!”

”Yeah because you haven’t already.” You can’t see him from your position but you can hear the smile on his voice. An accomplishment if you’ve ever seen one! You mean the stoic eternally tired Z was snorting and smiling because of what you said! You always loved times like this, when you would manage to break through his exterior and draw out a reaction, (preferably positive!!), out of him. Tapping his knee you grip onto his leg to pull yourself up once more, you can see him contemplating rolling you off the bed, thankfully he chooses peace for once.

”No okay but dead seriously, let’s go make cookies for Renata. We just got the shipments a little while ago, there’s got to be some of the stuff we need in there! We’ll just ask Herzog,”

“Or steal”

“Yes, or steal, come on it’ll be great!”

“Normally Renata would be here to stop you, which I am always grateful for since it means that I don’t have to be the one to talk you out of these things,”

You snap your fingers, “Speed it up Z, do I have a partner or am I gonna have to start running before you catch me?”

He claps a hand over your mouth which you look down at “Don’t you dare lick me,” is what he says in response to your stares. “As I was saying before someone cut me off,” if gives you a pointed stare, “Normally Renata would be here to be the voice of reason, however since she’s ‘sick’ and I don’t want to have her on my neck about you getting in trouble later here are my words of caution,” He takes his hand off your mouth and pats slaps your cheek twice before bringing the tips of his fingers in between the book page that you had been on and the next, folding it over and closing it. “Don’t, and if you do don’t get caught.”

It was your turn to snort, “What the heck, you suggested stealing in the first place!” You laughed. He shrugged his shoulders and set the book down on his bedside table getting up off the bed and bringing his arms above his head to stretch.

”I never said that we weren’t going to steal if that’s what you decide to do I simply offered you a word of advice about you stealing alone.

”AWWWW Z I knew there was a reason I put up with you!” You cried jumping up off the bed and attempting to latch onto his back,

He turned to face you swatting your hands away, muttering about you being “too big for him to carry like that anymore”

“What was that!?”

He pinched your cheek with one hand and used the other to ruffle your hair in a way that you knew wasn’t meant to be affectionate but instead to mess it up. “Look at how big the babies gotten! It can walk and talk now! Go ahead say ‘papa’ again!” You knew that you could never win against Z in a fight, all attempts left you on the floor with him sitting on you, or you hiding behind Renata and you exercising your lying and puppy dog eyes abilities. But boy oh boy did Z have a way of activating your Cain instinct and making you want to slap the shit out of him (affectionately of course). You heaved out a long suffering groan, and pulled Z’s hands off of you. You walked over to where his dresser was and sucked your teeth as you stared at your reflection. You tried your best to undo his damage to your hair, but it was a lost cause, hanging your head you turned to him with what you hoped was a horrifying, knee shaking, earth quaking, chicken baking, glare.

“This is why you’re an orphan.”

“Fair enough.” He said with a shrug before motioning towards the door, are we leaving now or what.”

“I’m coming, we’re going.” You said waving your hand at him in a shooing motion.

The minute you stepped outside it had been like you were ass blasted into one of the shipment containers mega freezers. You rubbed at your arms, lamenting the fact that you lived on a hunk of ice in the middle of a polar bears ass cheeks. “Okaaay so,” you clapped your hands together, “Do we know where Herzog is?” Z yawned and shook his head no from beside you. “Alright thank you for your participation! Gold star! I’ll go ask Anton, you stay here. And don’t fall asleep!” You ran off to go find Anton ignoring Z’s comment about you acting like a stray dog.

Heaving you clutched at the toilet, sobbing over the loss of your friends. You couldn’t even think of the times back then as being over, you just can’t.

No, that’s not right, you know they’re over, you know those peaceful days of snow and teasing are over. And yet you still long for them, you want to feel Z’s hands in your hair once more, want to feel the thrill of catching him off guard and running to hide behind Renata. You want back the times that you had spent, absorbed in watching Vera as she took her first steps, your young self amazed that anyone could ever be so small. You miss those moments when you seriously contemplated smashing Antons face into the ice under your feet, missed the random times when Ivan would pull you away to look at something cool that he had found. You just missed being homeyou miss the safe feeling that you had been provided with daily back then. Ignorance truly is bliss you suppose. If you had survived not knowing about what Herzog had done, if you survived thinking that all of this was just some randoms attack on you and your family would you have been happier? It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.

You dry heave and spit into the toilet, bile rising in your throat but not to the point in which it would spill past your lips. Your vision is blurry from the tears and your head throbs with the pain of the pressure your tears are both building up and releasing. “I wanna go home…” you mumble slowly laying yourself down on the floor, hands clutched into your hair, fingers threading themselves in with the strands and pulling at them like a tide. You would yank at your hair then let it all fall out of your grip, massaging your scalp slightly, and then yanking at it again. You continued in this way as the blurry memory of that day played in front of you. Anton being no help, Khorkina doing her best to goad you into punching her, Ivan being somewhere that you swear was unreasonably high up. Eventually finding Herzog and asking him, him granting you permission as long as you cleaned up after yourselves, running back to Z with the good news.

“Z! Z! Listen to this!” He looked up at you from his spot on the stairs, clearly bored out of his mind, but hey at least he hadn’t fallen asleep like you asked!

He made a twirling motion with his hand “What is it?”

You placed your hands on your hips and grinned, “Herzog says we can use the stuff in the kitchen as long as we clean up afterwards!” You gave an overzealous thumbs up afterwards to make your point even clearer.

“That’s great!” He said all too sarcastically. Getting up he put both hands on your shoulders resting all of his weight on them before finally standing up straight shushing you and your whining.

It hurry you so much to know that everyone is gone. It hurts to know that you’ll never get that chance to just see them again, to hear their voices, catch a glimpse of them on the street. Instead they’re all dead and there’s nothing that you can do about it. You had watched everyone die, you had seen their eyes glaze over and go out of focus. You had seen how their blood stained the pure white snow a bright and somber red. You had run past them as you registered them as dead, praying to nothing but everything at the same time that at least one of them would live. That you would get to hold at least one of them in your arms as you two promised to stay with each other. But you didn’t get that. Instead you got to watch as Renata faded into the distance, your last hope, you got to claw through icy waters, pleading your legs to move, to allow you to save your dearest friend….

”Z, Z, Z! Help me I have no idea why the egg keeps cracking like that!”

“Maybe it’s cracking like that because you keep squeezing them until they explode.”

“Don’t use that tone of voice with me young man! I’ll have you know that Dr.Herzog says that I’ve made great progress in my home economics studies.” You proudly bumped your chest with your fist only to look down and see your uniform covered in egg goop. Z snickered before handing you a rag and motioning for you to hand him the bowl and the eggs. You slid it over to him with your elbow and focused on cleaning your hands and uniform up.

”Here,” he held up one of the eggs,”I’ll show you how to crack an egg, so that you don't end up wasting all of them.” He hit it lightly on the edge of the bowl, holding both ends of the egg with his fingers and pulling his palm so that the egg slowly slipped out of the shell before proceeding to throw the shell somewhere off to the side of him. He pushed the bowl back towards you with a smug look on his face. "You get it now?"

"Yep, yep, yep," you waved your hand at him dismissively before turning back to the book. "Okay so now we mix wet ingredients and dry, then we add in the chocolate." Getting the chocolate for the recipe had been the hardest part. With how rare chocolate is at the orphanage and the fact that you weren't allowed into your room because of how sick Renata was it had been hard to find any. Eventually after bribing Z and way too much effort on your part, you had ended up on Z's shoulders searching through the backs of the older and dustier cabinets, in one of which you had found a chocolate bar that was a week off from its expiration date. Not the best but it could've been 10 times worse you suppose. Z pushed the chocolate towards you with this hand before resting his head on his hand.

"So how much longer do we have? It's getting late." Z stifled a yawn.

You glanced at the book and back down at the cookie batter that you were currently scooping out and onto the baking sheet. They didn't hold their shape as well as the book described them as being able to but you supposed that it was just a matter of reality vs. idealized fiction. "Um I don't know. The book says that they need 25 minutes to bake properly and who knows how long its going to take to clean this all up."

"Well good luck with that." He said slapping his hand down on the table, turning around on his stool, and standing up.

Even if it was just the memory of the sound, the slapping of Z's hand on the table sent a wave of nausea scorching through your body. Everything was a blur, reality, what you were really seeing, cold white tile and the rug in front of the shower were blending together with the cold white of snow, the rug that was in you and Renata's cabin. You felt hands on your face, were they from the memory of Renata checking your temperature or were they your own? Your vision was swimming, you were underwater, you were lying on the bathroom floor. You were drowning, you're lying on the bathroom floor. You're dying, you can't see.

You clamored up in a haze, you have to run! You have to get to Renata and Vera and Anton and and and and! And you slam into a desk that was out in the middle of Hezog's lab. Z is right there, Renata is right there, Vera is right there! All you need to do is reach out a little further and you'll be there! You'll be able to save them! You finally latch onto Z's uniform begging him not to go, begging him to stay with you, because if you go alone then everyone will die. "PLEASE Z!" You yell out. "I need you, I need you, I need you, everyone's dying, dead, dying dead, dying, dead, I can't save them! PLEASE!" And then the Z you're holding onto collapses, leaving nothing but a pile of clothes behind. His uniform lies bloodied in your hands. Renata lies bloodied in your hands. Anton lies just out of reach, dead. "Come back, please." You clutch onto Z's uniform harder. The tears don't falter as you trace your hands along the sleeves of the uniform. "The sleeves are too short you should get Herzog to make you a new one." You chuckle fondly. only...

Only...

Only the uniform has too many mistakes for it to have ever been Z's, theres too big a difference in size. It doesn't smell the same. It's not his... it's yours. You're not at the orphanage, you're in your dorm at Cassel. You're sitting on hardwood floors right now, not the powdery snowfall of home. Its warm, not cold, theres no dead bodies, only you and the mess that you made when you stormed through here earlier. You choke on a sob, tears coming down in even thicker streams, your headache had bloomed into a splendid migraine. You can barely see straight, but you know for sure that this isn't anywhere near, by or in the orphanage. And it can never be. The orphanage is gone now. Everyone's bodies are probably still lying on top of the snow, glassy eyes unfocused and unseeing, faces twisted in fear. Or maybe they've been charred to ashes, with nothing left to remember them by, their remains carried by the winds or at the bottom of the sea. You clutch your uniform tighter, biting down on it to muffle your screams and sobbing.

You have no idea how long you've been here. Your tears have faded now, only leaving the uncomfortable burning of the dried tear tracks in their memory. You don't stare at anything in particular, theres nothing left of your emotions, just the dull ache of apathy. Your vision is spotted with dancing black circles and lines. They look a bit like what you imagine TV static would look like but you really have no idea. Your conscious waves and ebbs like the tides from back home. You can't think of anything other than the feeling of the cloth clutched in your embrace right now. Sighing you bury your face in it, resigning yourself to a night on the floor.

#dragon raja #zero dragon raja #dragon raja mc #z dragon raja #Dragon raja herzog #fanfic #dragon raja fanfic #Writing #angst #hurt no comfort #fluff #I suck at tagging

32 notes · View notes

queen-scribbles · 3 years

Text

The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat. “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history. “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here. “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection... charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be.

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen.

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

#queens fic #shoh #shepherds summer 2021 #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #ryn/red #i really got find them a ship tag #if you think their canon pining is good HOO BOY JUST WAIT #flamingelmo.gif #tlbt

25 notes · View notes

cotncandyboifics · 3 years

Text

A Lovely Night: Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2.5k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Swearing, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: i like this chapter a lot :) the stage has been set.

...

The next morning, Virgil had an opening shift at the knitting and sewing supply store he worked for. He'd found it the first week the three of them had moved to this town for college, and immediately took a liking to it, likely thanks to his long-lasting hobby of clothing alteration. He'd made some good money to save up in high school from making and selling custom hoodies and other clothing, even having taken a few commissions over the years.

It wasn't rare occurrence, that he was opening the store, and on this particular morning it wasn't so dreadful (once he'd pried himself away from his half-asleep boyfriends, who both vaguely grumbled protests at the incomplete cuddle pile as Virgil was getting ready). Virgil had gotten to his favorite coffee shop, where Janus' brother Patton worked, in time that it would be open and he also wouldn't be late for his shift, which was rare. It only worked out that way if Virgil's bus commute was perfectly timed.

Now caffeinated, and somewhat less-pessimistic-than-usual about the day ahead of him, Virgil retrieved the keys to the shop from his pocket, fumbling for a bit before finding the right one. He let out a breath as he found it, unlocking the door as he'd done a thousand times before and stepping in, shutting the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Virgil noted the clock on the wall, reading 5:02 am. The shop opened at 6, and he had more than enough sorting and stocking to do before then.

The next hour passed rather quickly. His co-worker Emile showed up shortly after him, and they both spent the rest of the time before the shop opened restocking and organizing the horrendous amounts of yarn and string and such supplies throughout the store and in the back room.

Shortly 6 am arrived, and it was time for the two of them to draw straws to decide who would man the register and help customers while the other continued stocking. Typically Virgil enjoyed the latter while Emile enjoyed the former, but their manager had insisted that they make the odds more random in order to get them both more comfortable in their unpreferred positions.

True to their manager's sentiment, Virgil drew the register stick. They both sighed at each other, and Emile returned to sorting through some cerulean yarn balls. Virgil made his way to the front of the store, unlocking the doors and flipping the sign to open, before making himself at home behind the register.

Generally, customers were rare at this time of morning, save for a few early-riser regulars. The bell at the top of the door chimed. Virgil didn't look up, expecting to see Margaret in her usual morning power-walk getup, coming in to check up on whether they'd gotten a shipment of lavender yarn yet.

"Morning, Marge. We still haven't gotten any lavender in, if-" Virgil halted his speaking upon looking up, feeling his throat constrict as he realized who had entered. At any rate, this person was certainly not Margaret.

The first thing that caught Virgil's attention about this new customer was their eyes. They were a burning blue, with small subtle mushes of gray here and there. Through their vaguely foggy colors, those eyes cut sharp like ice shards. The customer seemed entirely calm and stoic, however that did not extend to the ferocious - however not hostile - intensity with which they were staring Virgil down. Of course this intensity did not extend past their eyes, as the very slight twinge of a polite smile was seated at the corners of their mouth. Virgil briefly noted some seemingly familiar physical characteristics (although he was extremely wary to assume anything - what would be the chances of him and his boyfriends all meeting the same man individually, completely perchance?); shining black hair, square-framed glasses, the freckles, the pale and sunken nature of their face. Or, as Virgil certainly noticed, the subtle pronunciation of his cheekbones and jawline. They wore a black coat and a navy patterned scarf that appeared to be hand-knitted.

Virgil stumbled his way over to the closest register to the door - he wasn't sure why they even had two, they never needed to use them both simultaneously - and leaned haphazardly on the counter, propping his chin up on his palm.

"Sorry, hello, I thought you'd be someone else. Marge is usually the first in. What can I do for you?" His face felt really hot, and he was pretty sure that much was obvious to the newcomer, but he tried his best not to think about it.

The stranger didn't speak for a moment, merely leaning forward slightly with a furrowed brow. Virgil panicked for a moment, but followed their line of sight to the name tag on his hoodie. It was quite scuffed up, and the name "Virgil" was scarcely discernible through various smears of odd substances. Virgil quickly unpinned the name tag, beginning to rub away at the gunk with a sweater-covered thumb.

"It's Virgil, sorry about that," He spoke, hiding his hot cheeks behind his bangs as he scratched at his name tag feverishly. He quickly decided on just setting it down, wanting to give the newcomer his full attention.

"Good morning, Virgil," they spoke, and wow, was Virgil gay. The strangers' voice was deep and smooth, and reminded him a bit of Janus'. But this had a tactful, almost clinical and calculated sincerity, whereas Janus' was far more lilted and drawly. Regardless, Virgil felt his throat constricting a bit. He tried subtly coughing the feeling away. "I am in search of some high quality yarn, as a gift for a dear friend of mine. It is my understanding that this establishment is highly regarded for its products' quality?" Virgil tried not to stare. The stranger was running their fingers down and up the inside of one of the lapels of their coat very slowly, and that reminded Virgil terribly of Janus. He felt like he was in high school all over again, ogling over a tall pretty boy.

Regardless of his gay panic, Virgil cleared his throat. "Yeah, we try," His voice cracked slightly, and he tried clearing his throat again. "I mean, we have some pretty awesome suppliers, and we have a really, uh... Big selection of stuff. Do you, do you know what it is you want to get for your friend, exactly?" Virgil thanked any gods that existed had allowed him to formulate a coherent sentence, and he was glad to have the expectation of speaking temporarily off himself.

The customer tapped his chin with the side of his index finger, - which again, reminded Virgil painfully of Janus - humming as he continued surveying his surroundings. "I think he'd appreciate a selection of soft or pastel colors, and he adores the color blue. I think white would be a suitable addition as well. Do you sort your yarns by color?" he inquired, returning his heavy gaze to Virgil and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Virgil tried not to audibly gulp.

"Yeah, we do. here, let me show you to the right aisle," Virgil stepped away from the register, and tried to get out from behind the counter, only to completely trip over a cardboard box and fall directly onto his face.

"Goodness, are you alright?" the stranger paced quickly over to where Virgil was groaning on the floor, attempting to pull himself up onto his elbows. They reached a pale-white and very bony hand down to Virgil, who stared at it for a little too long before taking it gingerly.

The customer pulled firmly, and Virgil did too, and they both slightly miscalculated how much strength they needed to apply in order for Virgil to stand. Virgil stumbled forward just a bit as he rose. He looked up slightly and found himself nose to nose with the now wide-eyed man. Virgil yelped slightly, jumping away like a startled cat.

"Sh-shoot, sorry about that," Virgil took to fidgeting a bit aggressively with his hoodie strings, curling them around and between his fingers. "Uh, this way," he pushed a bit awkwardly past the man, looking at his shoes as he walked and willing away the burning heat he felt in his cheeks. Of course the first cute guy he encounters besides his boyfriends is right there when he falls on his face.

He paced over to the aisle with hues of blue and purple yarn, spotting Emile still working with a large box of cerulean. After a momentary panic and trying to wave Emile's attention without making any noise, the stranger turned the corner into the aisle Virgil had led him to. Virgil sighed to himself, annoyed at an in-no-way-at-fault Emile who still hadn't noticed their presence.

Virgil cleared his throat. "Hey, Emile, could you take register while I help this... customer?" Virgil had to take a moment to recall a phrase to describe him besides 'very beautiful man'.

"Uh-" Emile went to say he could help the customer for Virgil, since they were meant to stay in the vicinity of their assigned roles, but Virgil was looking at him with an intensity that blatantly said 'I am begging you to let me help this very gorgeous man to find his yarn and if you don't so help me god I will impale your severed and rotting skull on a rusty metal pole'. Emile chuckled a little shrilly. "Yeah, sure Virge," Emile slid past the two of them, making his way to the register as the chime of the door sounded again. "Welcome in, Margaret! Do-you-how-do?"

Virgil turned his attention back to the man looming slightly over him, leading him down the aisle to the softer and lighter shades. The customer was already scanning the shelves with a tactful intensity that made Virgil almost as anxious as it did further attracted to him.

"This variety is more than adequate," he spoke, almost under his breath, and Virgil tried not to shudder at the rumble in his voice.

"Um, great," Virgil piped up after a moment, and the icy gaze of the tall boy was on him once again. His cheeks felt real hot. "I can, get you a bag for... what you pick out? Er, a gift bag, if you'd like?" Virgil tapped the side of his fist into his hip a few times, trying to expel some of his nervousness. The stranger smiled softly.

"That would be excellent. Thank you, Virgil." He turned back to examining his options, and Virgil scurried off to find a gift bag.

The bags were all by the front register, and he grumbled a bit to himself on the way, preparing for some relentless teasing from his coworker for the next century at minimum. Emile was just waving Margaret off when Virgil rounded the corner, stepping behind the counter to rummage through some boxes for a gift bag.

"Sooo, Virgil," Emile started, tone entirely teasing as he leaned a little too far on the counter, tapping his orange pen on his lips.

"Don't. Say. Anything." Virgil hissed through clenched teeth, glancing up to give Emile another pointed glare for good measure. Emile chuckled lightly, leaning back on the counter a bit.

"Whaat? I won't! I'm totally innocent, see?" Emile puffed out his bottom lip and made his eyes look big. Virgil scoffed.

"Is that a cartoon reference?"

Emile grinned, shrugging. "Probably."

Virgil found the gift bags - finally - and began scampering off and away from the prying gaze of his overly curious co-worker.

Virgil helped the customer to find and collect the proper amount and variety of yarns that he wanted. As it turned out, it was a relatively easy task; aside from being impossibly and unintentionally charming, the stranger was mindful and courteous, and working with him was proving to be relatively easy. They bantered a bit, falling into a casual conversation as they searched for yarn, as well as while they walked back to the register for Virgil to ring his items up.

Emile gave Virgil a pointed look as he approached, trading him places as he walked with a skip in his step back to his yet unstocked shelves. Virgil rolled his eyes at him, stepping extra carefully behind the counter so as not to trip on any stray cardboard boxes. He leaned against the counter in front of the register, beginning to type numbers into it as though he knew the yarn prices like the back of his hand.

the customer stood at the counter before Virgil, vaguely examining his purchase as he watched Virgil slightly through his peripheral. He noticed the way Virgil bit at the inside corner of his mouth, worrying the flesh between his canines as he focused on adding the prices.

"Alright... your total is 82.53," Virgil said slowly, looking up at the stranger, who had - oddly enough - already been looking at him. The stranger glanced away momentarily, clearing his throat and reaching into an inside pocket of his coat for his wallet.

He produced a pristine black leather wallet, pulling a shiny navy blue debit card from between its folds and setting the wallet on the counter as he handed off the card. Virgil took the card and charged it, the customer punching in his PIN through the keypad.

A faint buzzing sounded from within the man's coat, and he reached in once more with knitted eyebrows. He pulled out what seemed to be his phone, eyes widening as he saw whatever was on the screen. Virgil couldn't see, but he figured someone must be calling him.

"My apologies, I must depart," The man spoke quietly, grabbing his gift bag of yarn and bringing his phone to his face as he made hastily for the door. Virgil didn't hear what he said when he answered the phone, but his brow was still furrowed when Virgil caught a glimpse of his face walking down the sidewalk out the store window.

"Bye..." Virgil said to the empty store front.

He looked down, seeing the customer's debit card still in his hand. "Shit." He saw the wallet set on the counter before him as well. He grabbed it, opening it to return the debit card to its proper place and see if there was a way of contacting the man within the wallet.

As he opened it, a white card similar in shape and size to the debit card fell to the floor. Virgil retrieved it, flipping it over to see what it was.

"No way..." Virgil was holding a driver's license. The name it was registered under was too familiar for it to be a coincidence.

He'd need to be giving one Logan Lattimer a call on his break.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #ts virgil #emile picani #analogical #anaroceit #anaroloceit #theyre so gay oml

32 notes · View notes

hisunshiine · 3 years

Text

Escape ✈︎ Chapter 1

✈︎ chapter 1: dear lucky ARMY... | ✈︎ Escape Series — 18+, Mature

✈︎ genre: none this chapter future smut, fluff, angst

✈︎ word count: 1,143 words

✈︎ pairing: none this chapter

✈︎ warnings: none this chapter

✈︎ summary: It was a running joke within the fandom that you all should just buy an island, move there, and have Namjoon be the president. That is, it 𝘸𝘢𝘴 a running joke, until one day on Twitter, it all came to a head. When the GoFundMe receives enough money and instructions to purchase said island, what choice is there to make but to do it?

✈︎ a/n: hi! this story is near and dear to me and @mrsparkjimin18′s heart! we started this story last year to help cope with covid-19 for both us and our friends who are readers! we hope that we can do the same for you and provide an escape. the first 2 chapters are short and start off slow, but i promise it picks up chapter 3 with our first pairing and some smut and then it doesn’t stop. lol

It has been a few weeks since you and the girls came up with the idea to start a GoFundMe, and donations have been flowing in. You receive a message from Vanessa, saying it’s urgent and to call her immediately.

“Nessa, what’s going on? What is so urgent?” You ask. You can hear her rapidly clicking the keys on her keyboard.

“Have you checked our GoFundMe today?” she asks. You wonder why she is asking, feeling nervous at the tone in her voice.

“No, have we reached our goal of twenty thousand dollars?! That would be amazing and it has only been--”

She cuts you off.

“Girl… no… w-we, I mean somebody, an anonymous donor donated an extremely generous amount, just check the account. I have to make sure I am not losing my mind.”

You open your laptop and pull up the account, when you see the donation you drop your phone and scream.

“Is this real?!?! I-I….WE ARE GOING TO BUY AN ISLAND!!!!!!” You remember that Vanessa is still on the phone.

“Hello?! Y/N!!!! What the hell? So I’m not crazy?!” She is just as excited as you are.

“No, you’re not...the donor also put a note of a few islands we could purchase. Well, what do you want to do?”

Vanessa answers quickly.

“We need to start looking into this donor's suggestions, like now.” You both agree to let the other admins of the page look into the islands and you will have to decide by tomorrow.

After researching all night, everybody has agreed to purchase a Caribbean Island: Long Caye, Belize. The island already has standing properties, enough for a decent amount of people to live in for starters, so there wasn’t any work that needed to be done right away.

Since everyone had come to an agreement on which island to choose, Vanessa reached out to the donor, notifying them that you all were thankful to them for not only their donation, but also their list of islands, as it made it easier for you all to make a choice. After a few days, of which you were growing more and more nervous, the donor finally messaged back and disclosed that they were willing to pay for a charter plane to transport 14 lucky people to the island.

Of course the seven of you will all be going, since you were the ones who came up with the idea. Vanessa suggested a Twitter Giveaway, with 7 lucky winners to come live on Bangtania Island. The giveaway contest will run for two weeks, and then upon it’s closing, the 7 winners will be chosen and then announced two weeks after. This would give you all enough time to go through the entries and select the 7 lucky people who would join your group of seven and fly to your newly acquired island, Bangtania.

The amount of people who entered the giveaway was insane. Of course there were those who didn’t believe that such a thing was real, but Vanessa posted the proof of the purchase on the giveaway account page, along with a video made with you and the 6 other girls, and now it was almost draining watching the notifications rack up. Daily you each took turns monitoring entries and adding the names to the raffle, cross checking entries with the word document to make sure there weren’t double entries from the same page.

You couldn’t wait till it was over, having already packed up your stuff as soon as you had seen the donations on GoFundMe had exceeded the amount needed; you just wanted to be done with all the bullshit and go live on your own island with other ARMY that you had made friends with on Twitter.

Sitting on the plane, 13 girls surrounding you laughing and drinking the complimentary champagne on board, you read over the email that everyone had received a few days before departure.

Hey guys, the donor sent this email to me and asked me to forward it to you all!

Dear lucky ARMY,

Congratulations on being one of the 14 to kick off this new venture. I ran across your GoFundMe while looking for worthwhile groups to donate to, and I saw what you had written about everything your fandom has gone through, and how you needed an escape. In these trying times, I can understand that need, and I hope that my donation was able to help you with your goal so that you will enjoy living on the island. We may not know each other, but I was so moved by your passion for your favorite group, that I have decided to continue to help you all out. The charity I have extended doesn’t just end at the plane, as I have decided to continue to donate to help your small island nation thrive, as it is a very good tax write off for me. Since you have no source of income from the island just yet, I will be helping send shipments to the island of what you need. It would be best to appoint someone to be in charge of things, like keeping track of food, water, toiletries, etc. so that you can stay stocked up for everyone. I will be sending a delivery to arrive before you get there of some basics that will help with getting started. You will find it in the main house. I trust Miss Vanessa has received the key to get everyone situated upon your arrival. I have already sent someone to set up the water and electricity, as well as internet access. Once there it will be prudent that you set up some type of form of government, unfortunately a country cannot function without one, but with so few people, this should not be difficult. Trust one another, and as your favorite boys say, love yourself, and love each other, and enjoy.

The rest of the email provided the addresses of the different buildings on the island, like the main house, the empty building that could be seen as a sort of town hall, and the convenient little storefronts off the very small port area for docking boats.

The storefronts were not actively in use, and one shop was an open room that was full of mailboxes for deliveries, and each of you was given your own for post, which was nice. You were all able to share your address with friends and family before leaving, instructing them with how to send you care packages and letters.

You looked up from your phone as you could hear a rather loud chorus of laughter; Talia had said something funny and Vanessa was hunched over wiping away tears from laughing so hard. Everyone on board was in good spirits, you couldn’t imagine it getting any better than this.

#hisunshiine #hisunshiine writings #hisunshiinewritings #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts story #bangtansorciere #bangtanuniversity #bangtanwhq #bangtaninn #mrsparkjimin18 #Escape Series #Escape #Escape BTS #BTS Escape Series #ot7 x reader

36 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ash Pt 2

Sunrise again came with a grumble from you at the curious tap of another tiny bird on the other side of the window used to seeing the empty room that flew off in their proud game at another successful wake of the stowaway. Onto your back you rolled and started to get up only to see a body there in a chair a few feet from you. Off the bench you grabbed your bag and before you could blink the fog from your eyes the bag had collided with the face of the Lord Glorfindel, who at the shock of having not expected that simply clasped his hand over the bag he’d been too slow to block. Your gasp let him know you now had a clue on who had been sent to greet you and in the move of the bag his eyes fell on your wide eyes tear stained face with hands clasped over your mouth.

The sudden droplet from his nose however had those hands move to collect said bag that you dug into for a cloth handkerchief that you pressed to the underside of his nose. “That was your face, I am so sorry. I don’t wake up with company.” Tentatively his hand rose and in the security of the cloth a skin tingle worthy brush of fingertips along the lower half of two of your fingers that had his lips part. Though the shock of that was nothing to the cradle of his chin and lean in from you for a moment that had his heart skip for what he couldn’t help but imagine. Though the kiss he expected didn’t come as his head was guided back and to the side then down again, “Your nose doesn’t look broken. I am so sorry,” timid in the center of the ridge of his nose your fingertip tapped in three spots. “I feel so bad I don’t even know your name and I hit you in the face for no reason you were just sitting there,” that had you pause and tilt your head a moment in his dry swallow from nerves he couldn’t explain. “Were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Your head straightened again and he answered, “Yes, King Thranduil requested that I inform you he wishes to escort you to Dale today.” That had your fingers retract from his chin to curl against your chest granting him full view of the rings on your finger. “My name is Lord Glorfindel of the once great kingdom of Gondolin.”

“Am I in trouble?” You blurted out and he had to hold back his smirk behind the cloth.

“Not at all. It would appear you have not been properly welcomed by King Thranduil as most new arrivals usually are. That is all.”

“Oh, a Lord, of all the people, might as well go and punch the Prince for good measure at this rate I’m going with the Nobles here,” you said and to the cold droplet that fell down from your chin you wiped your face with a second handkerchief from your bag, “I must look a state.”

“Not at all. And no fault is taken I startled you,” he said lowering the cloth, “See, stopped already. And further you would not have hit Prince Legolas his reflexes are faster than mine after his guard rounds.” At the unfolding of the cloth his eyes focused on his name embroidered on the handkerchief and he asked, “This has my name on it?”

“Enchanted bag, it does that. If I gave you socks from it they would have your crest on them.”

“Ah, thank you. I shall treasure it, are you prepared for the Public Breakfast?”

“Sure,” you said fumbling up to your feet to shoulder your bag and walk with him after his pivot on his heels to guide you the whole way to the line where he waited for you and went to sit beside you at the table you had chosen. Even if he had wanted to talk the others around you simply burst with their stories they had readied the day prior and were glad to see you grin to yourself and even hints of your full smile in the giggles a few stirred from you brightening the usual expression seen on you considerably and the mood of the hall in doing so.

True to his word however the Lord kept at your side. Up till beside the final wagon King Thranduil was waiting next to in a deep silver velvet robe that touched the path his feet shifted on to face you fully upon sight of Lord Glorfindel, with hands adjusting the folds on the burnt orange wrap draped around his back and the bends of his arms. Right up to his side you went feeling his eyes drop over your embroidered black vest with mint vines that bled into another fold away skirt in mint with black vines and leaves, not too contrary to your pale yellow tunic that had black stitched accents in the ends of your sleeves and the collar.

“Colors like that were you to lay in a pumpkin patch everybody would be fighting to pick you as the most magnificent and tastiest pumpkin of them all, and I am not overly fond of pumpkins so that is saying something.” That was the first thing out of your mouth post curtsy and in the lift of your hand to smooth over your forehead your eyes dropped in a glance at the ground then up again to the sound of his voice velvety as ever while he kept his cool demeanor to not show his amusement with the image of your words that played out in his and the now smirking Lord Glorfindel’s minds.

“Thank you, that is truly kind of you to state my Seamstress will be honored for the compliment of her work. If I may, might I inquire your proper name? I have received several differing accounts on the matter.”

Your hand lowered to rest on the top button of your vest just under your bust, “Jaqiearae Pluto Pear.”

“No title?” He asked in a hint of a verbal nudge sensing that by your dress and jewels alone there was at least some title or wealth involved.

“Not anymore.”

Softly he sighed and glanced to the wagon that was ready to go and he offered his hand you looked to then to the wagon and you said, “Wagon, right.” Onto his hand yours settled in a means of an anchor without any sort of weight in the dip of your other hand to split your skirt to climb the pop down steps with both hands retracting once you were on the wagon and took up and empty spot on the end. Across from where he settled when he had climbed on behind you. To this amusing scene Glorfindel settled the steps in the wagon and helped to close the back door and gave it a pat for the horse to start off that had your eyes shift from the Lord who turned on his way back into the Palace to the start of the path to Dale.

“Your ring has been split,” to him your eyes darted then on your lap your right hand moved to smooth two fingers around the rings and down you looked at his addition of, “Once we have returned today our Smiths would be glad to mend it for you.”

Up again you looked and said, “It’s not broken. This is my betrothal ring and the wedding band. They are meant to be separate.”

The words registered in his mind and he asked, “You are married? Was your husband swept away as well?”

“I was, and most likely with the rest of the island from those waves.” His lips parted and you said, “For now it’s merely beautiful and when I run out of job offers someone would be likely to pay something for it towards my purse to keep me fed.”

“Well,” he said shifting a bit forward on his bench uncertain of which of his hundreds of questions to ask, “What is your husband’s name so I may send that off in case others have been able to rescue him as well.” Right at him with your lips parted you paused and closed your mouth in a stunned moment of realization. “I assure you that there are no kingdoms amongst our allies who would cause him harm should they find him.”

“I don’t remember his name,” you said that narrowed his eyes in confusion. “I can’t remember the last time I heard it either.” You said with eyes drifting off over the back of the wagon.

Again he moved forward now to the edge of his seat with a tentative pat of his fingertips on the end of your crossed knee on his extended hand to get your focus again, “Lady Jaqiearae.” When your eyes landed on him he asked, “Are you experiencing trouble with your memory from a blow to the head during the flood?”

“No,” you sighed and said, “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me, I am trying to understand and help you find your husband.”

“Someone cut off his head, even if you found him I highly doubt even if he was found it could do anything to help me now. And if he was able to somehow heal himself he would have no reason to find me aside from locking me away again.”

That had him inhale and his body tense along with his jaw in the retraction of his arm to his knee to clench his fingers around his wrap, “He kept you prisoner?” You nodded and he said to the clear truthful lingering hint of fear in your eyes, “No one is taking you anywhere I can assure you that. Did you find any clue as to who killed him to free you?”

“I don’t think anyone was trying to free me. Everything was on fire, and he was dead when I was freed and, there was just, this wave. And something hit me, on the head, and I’ve never even heard of Dale before but they pulled me out of the water there. And I’ve certainly never heard of Greenwood either, or any of the people who have been named for me while I have been here.”

“Perhaps this should have been handled a good deal better, for your new beginning especially. Normally when new comers are brought to my lands they are fed, bathed and given place in our Refuge Houses where they may stay until they are certain if they would wish to remain here and become a citizen or if they should wish to be taken to another Elven Kingdom, such as Rivendell or Lothlorien.” Both he paused for as if you might recognize those names then continued, “Then should you choose to remain one of our guest quarters could be chosen as your main dwelling, usually chosen near to a friend you have made amongst your stay. Upon our return, once you are fed of course, a tour of a few will be given to you to aid in the choice.”

“How much-,”

“No charge. For each employer a record is taken of each task and a portion of the funds to be pay is kept and noted down for a yearly tax of sorts to go towards housing. And as for our Healers none of their attentions are bound to charges at all. The crown foots any shipment charges for supplies or materials for their ingredients to several rare remedies. And our people grow our food and aid in the raising of our cattle and capture of our fish so those who wish to dine in our public halls are free to do so thrice daily with ample teas welcome to all from the kitchens at any hour. You have my word, no one is going to take you away or try to lock you away again. You are free now, and free to choose where you go.” From there he began to share more on the two kingdoms he had named for you including their ruling families he shared would be attending an upcoming ball that you among every other citizen and guest were welcome to attend.

All the way to Dale you tried your best to absorb all he had shared until he climbed out and helped you down to the ground, his hands folded over his middle in the retraction of your hand to join you to the same shop you had promised to return to. “So, Your Majesty, what are you going to do in Dale today?”

“I am quite curious as to how you have been earning funds. I may just aid in your deliveries.”

“Ah,” you said luring his eyes to you in a quick glance to see if you might be pleased or bothered at the offer to remain near to you for the day.

Broakbem’s shop came into view and outside next to his frog statue you saw the man himself with a basket in hand and a grin that eased across his face, “There you are, Mistress Pear!” His head bowed to Thranduil who made his eyes flinch wider in realization for who it was beside you, “King Thranduil,” to you again he spoke, “We have an order from King Thror and he asked for you specifically to deliver this.”

Thranduil said with a pleased glint in his eyes when you glanced up at him curious as to who and where King Thror might be, “Marvelous, I shall escort you. I am overdue to visit Erebor this month.”

You nodded and gave the Dwarf a grin accepting the basket you cradled to your chest to keep from bumping anyone else and joined Thranduil in a turn to head back towards the gates. Once out of earshot you asked, “Who is Thror?”

Again he caught your gaze in a sideways glance and replied, “King of the Dwarves of Erebor and keeper of the Arkenstone, which joins the seven first born clans of Dwarves who rule various Dwarf Kingdoms all throughout Middle Earth.”

“Dwarves?” you asked a bit softer that ticked up the corner of his mouth.

“The shorter peoples around us, mainly with facial hair and stockier builds usually mid four foot to low five foot range. Not to be mistaken for Hobbits, who never wear shoes as they have overly large feet coated in thick hair who are roughly always shorter than five feet tall. Whereas Elves, with ears such as ours, may be anywhere from the six foot to seven foot range or taller. Mortals, or Men are like the Hobbits and Dwarves mortal, and may reach anywhere from Dwarf to low Elf height range, though those who are half Elven, named Dunedin, can be taller and on occasion granted immortality.”

“How long do they all live?”

In a soft exhale he answered coolly, “Hobbits roughly under a century, Men are similar, though Dunedin can reach a second century on occasion and Dwarves may live to a few thousand years if they are not cut down in battle.”

“So, do Hobbits have Kings?”

“No, they have Thains, Mayors of sorts who simply settle disruptions to the peace. Men, however, Rohan, Gondor and the Easterlings all have their own leaders, while those near Bree have Rangers who mind the peace under rule of the King of Gondor. Who perished not very many years ago, however his Steward remains in charge until his son is old enough to take up his crown.”

“Are they going to be at the celebration you mentioned?”

“No, Elven Kingdoms only for this one. We will break you in to an understanding of these lands before the mortals would travel to my lands.”

“And you know all of them, well?”

“Not every Hobbit, we have a Hobbiton near to my Northern Palace whose Thain tolerates my invitations to trade, Lord Celeborn has one near his kingdom where his mother in law hailed from, their people are quite entangled with the little ones from his half Hobbit wife. However others such as those in the far West like the Shire tend to prefer complete seclusion unless a Dwarf from Ered Luin is called upon for their building and forging skills.”

“The Thain tolerates you?” you asked with a smirk that had him give a hushed chuckle himself. “I cannot imagine what you might have done to bother him.”

“I cut it rather close to their annual tulip festival last year. However I made up for it by sending some of our finest wines and several of our tales of the stars their younglings adore.” He paused a moment then asked, “Do you have children?”

Again you looked up at him catching the glint of fear in his eyes you might have lost a child in that imprisonment or the flood, “It is not possible for me to have had children.”

His eyes remained on you in a tilt of his head in a confusing wave of calm, “At all?”

“I was offered wine upon my arrival and I awoke locked away. I was alone until I arrived here.”

“I am truly pained by your struggles. Should there be a notion of what I might do to aid in any troubles you face in settling in your freedom inform me.”

“Thank you.” Back at the gates Thranduil gave the message to the same wagon that brought you here that he helped you up into again after accepting hold of the basket he then passed back for his own climb inside.

Outside the gates that you had frozen peering up at the statues on either side Thranduil climbed down and took hold of the basket off your lap that lured your eyes back to him. Down you climbed to take the basket back and at his side you walked calmly to a few feet from the bridge over the rushing river that had you step into Thranduil’s side at a flashback of being trapped beneath the water again. Behind your back his arm eased with a rest of his hand behind your shoulder to guide you a bit closer to his side to comfort you from the understandable fear of the river.

The guards upon seeing you and the King opened the gate and allowed you through to find a Dwarf their waiting there to be your guide. Hushedly the King shared about portraits and statues all the way back to the sitting room where you eyed the couches full of Dwarves across from an empty couch. On the edge of the rug you curtseyed and gave the group a flinch of a grin to King Thranduil’s head nod, “King Thror I had intended to remain in Dale today and assist Lady Jaqiearae on her deliveries. As she is unfamiliar with these lands I volunteered to join her on this one as well.”

Thror smirked and gestured his hand for one of the younger Dwarves to accept the basket in your arms you nodded in return to theirs then watched them carry it to a table alongside the wall to Thror stating, “Perfectly understandable, King Thranduil. In fact the main reason for inviting the young Lady was to learn more from our newest arrival as to where we might be searching for other survivors. Please, do sit.” You nodded and moved around the couch that you lowered to sit in Thranduil’s subtle nod that you could sit first for him to settle down after once he had accepted the painted pebble that the little bashful blonde boy possibly no more than two by his size had brought him. Beside you Thranduil settled with careful motions to arrange his robe and wrap to not fall onto your skirt or arm his arm and hands were careful to avoid contact with.

Up at you the boy peered with a bashful grin then darted back to his mother to Thror stating, “Perhaps first, allow me to introduce my family. My wife Queen Niro, our son Crown Prince Thrain and his wife Princess Diaa. Their children are, Princes Thorin, Frerin and Princess Dis and her husband Prince Consort Vili, the little one is their son Fili while my granddaughter is carrying her second child.”

“Congratulations.” You said.

And Dis smiled replying, “Thank you.”

Thror asked, “Might we ask where you hail from?”

“Well I was born in Nunieffe.” Parting their lips, “I told King Thranduil earlier that I’d never heard of Dale or Greenwood or any other land or person I’ve been told of since surfacing in Dale.” Now to a soft inhale you could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you again.

Niro, “Do you have family?”

“I was an only child, however when I was fifteen my father sold me to the King of Ruun.”

Thranduil, still with eyes on you listened as Thror asked, “As a servant?”

“To be his wife.”

Mouths dropped open and Thranduil asked, “Your father sold you? How could he?”

“My father was a tradesman, and he wanted a son. A King from the richest most powerful kingdom in the land came after sight of me on his visit with an offer of 8,000 pieces of silver for my hand in marriage.”

Diaa, “He must have loved you greatly to have paid such a dowry.”

Thranduil sighed and you said, “No, that was our first meeting and he managed to convince my father it would be best to take me right away so I might grow to be Queen and learn over time how to understand and rule over Ruun at his side.”

Thror asked with narrowed eyes, “Did he at least try to form a bond with you?”

You shook your head and answered, “There was a supper prepared for me upon my arrival, where he showed me this collection of glass orbs with scenes inside. One was a castle with a glass lake surrounded by fake grass and flowers, another had some trees and animals, another with a boat and two figures fishing. The rest had winter scenes over mountains, cabins or valleys with odd structures. He told me to choose from the collection my favorite, that I was to treat it as the most important decision of my life. So I chose the one with the castle. I remember he offered me some wine and in my first sip everything went dark and when I woke up he had trapped me inside the orb I had chosen.”

Thranduil closed his eyes a moment to remain silent in his bubbling rage as Thror asked, “Do you know why he trapped you?”

“No, first I assumed it might be a test, or tradition from Ruun. But randomly he would fold his hand over the orb and that would cast everything to darkness, and then he would shake it or toss it from hand to hand. And inside it was far from safe, I would be thrown from wall to wall and I couldn’t stop myself. He wouldn’t stop until I would start to beg him to. Only,” you said to a tear that dropped down your cheek, that had Thranduil move his hand from his lap to gently lay on your lower arm for comfort. “One day I didn’t beg anymore and the game got less fun I suppose. I don’t know what I did, or why he locked me away other than I overheard from outside that each birthday of mine was a countdown to something big. I hoped it may be an age that might be considered adulthood and then I could be free to be seen by the public, but they never said why I was locked away or what he got out of it.”

Niro asked in a frail tone, “How did you escape?”

“I didn’t. Someone picked up the orb and must have dropped it because when it broke I was on the ground on top of it, the glass sliced all up my left side. And everything was on fire, I couldn’t breathe, barely from the smoke. I turned my head and my husband’s body was there with his head a few feet away from it. That scared me so I scrambled to the wall and ran into to a bookcase. And I was going to try to use one of the shelves to force myself up when I looked out the window and, this massive wave was coming.” Your head shook to the drop of another tear. “When the water got in the room something hit me on the head and next thing I knew I was in the river.”

From the third tear that made you notice you were crying in a subtle reach into the pocket of your vest a handkerchief was brought out to dry your face only for Thranduil to ask, “How long did he keep you in that prison?”

Your eyes met his and you said, “Well I just turned twelve hundred and six. That day.”

Breaking off the math you were doing Thror spoke again, “You are truly brave Queen Jaqiearae.”

That had you look at him, “I’m not a Queen, even if you could call me that the kingdom and people I was meant to be ruling are now at the bottom of the sea.”

Niro, “A Queen in exile is a Queen all the same. You shall be treated to your true rank.”

Thranduil spoke again, “So shall my people.” You locked eyes on him again at your side with a kind but firm gaze to assure you he spoke the truth, “You shall be treated to your true rank and given every comfort you were denied for over a thousand years.”

“But you’re King.”

“True,” he said with a nod, “This will not be the first time an exiled Noble has been sent to my lands by Eru. My people have grown fond of you amongst us, you will not lack for friendship soon enough. When we return I will make certain of the spread of the news. You may work all you wish and continue as you have. I repeat again, you are free now, free to choose your path however you wish.”

You nodded and turned your head for the offer of tea for the beginning of a sharing of what else might be intriguing about your former world until the tea had ended and Thranduil guided you up and out at the subtle hint that they had a schedule to return to. Silently you walked with him nearly to the front gates again when you said, “No one is going to believe I was a Queen who was locked up for over a thousand years in a kingdom that was taken by the sea.”

To himself Thranduil chortled and drew your eye at the odd reaction only to have his eyes on you in saying, “Perhaps I should share the names of the islands of our beloved Valinor that were also taken back by the sea, among others here in Middle Earth.” The list grew, oddly a comfort to you, and ended with him saying, “Then there is Doriath. Besieged by the Feanoreans twice. Where I am from, also taken by the sea from what we have heard. It was a long hard path here since the fall of our monarch the second time.”

“How did you keep your people’s spirits up after that tragedy happening twice?”

“Oh I did nothing. My family ran a shop in the markets, once we reached Lindon it was over crowded so we continued our march away from the sea to what would be the Greater Greenwood. Others chose to follow my parents and myself until we met the Silvans here in these woods who took up my parents as their own monarchs. My father fell to war and my mother sailed to Valinor not long ago wishing to find him in the Halls of Mandos. I wished to thank you,” he said with a subtle ease of his hand onto your back welcoming the step into his side to the rail less bridge you had to cross again. “My mother’s horse it has been over a year since we have seen her so content. You got her to run and leap again, truly we had feared losing her to her broken heart. Thank you.”

“Well, I always loved to stare at the horses when I was a child that weren’t far from the shop as they would pass by. I tend to have a special weakness for freckled ones. She shouldn’t miss the sun when lost in the shadows.” The comment had his hand lingering on your back a moment more in a glance of reflection to take in the sunken expression on your face in its draw back to put on a flinch of a smile for a mask to those around you once again. Back to Dale you were driven and true to his word the King remained fixed at your side all day. And while you went inside to hand off the deliveries he took it upon himself to mentally share with each passing Elf you crossed your newly revealed rank. That somehow explained so much to those who had spoken to you so far or at least been near to you at some point that caught hints of a heart breaking past you had been withholding.

“And this will be yours. Well up to your true rank.” Thranduil said upon leading you into the front room of a spacious apartment.

With lips parted your head turned to peer up at the King, “You can’t be serious, this is, how many rooms is this?”

“I am serious,” he replied to your spin in a half circle to count the doorways and hallways. “Twelve rooms,”

“Twelve?! What am I supposed to do with twelve rooms?” You asked with eyes fixed on him again that drew a soft chuckle from the King.

“A great deal, anything you wish.”

“Twelve rooms,” you whispered in another turn and deeper in he led you from the sitting room, study, parlor, kitchen, dining room, bedrooms and baths including a spacious closet that you eyed the various shelves, hanging bars and cubbies you could fill with all your things. The bedroom already had a spacious bed and night tables with various tables about for candle holders and one for a potted plant requiring only few hours of firelight fitting for this windowless apartment with only tunnels in the ceiling mirrored to reflect sunlight from far above in the larger rooms. The sitting room was furnished with the others currently empty.

“This apartment is in the middle of being refurbished, a majority of the furniture was to be traded out for fresher adornments and very fortunate as now you may head the decorations yourself. To match whatever you have managed to tuck away, Lord Glorfindel has shared about your enchanted bag, perhaps you have furniture of your own some of our workers may assist in shifting about to your liking. Even some who would be glad to add your housekeeping to their daily chores. Even a spare undercook who has been aching to have their own kitchen to prepare your meals for you.”

“I can cook, or I’m sure I could learn, to cook for myself, and I can clean.”

With a soft grin he replied, “Then perhaps an undercook who may aid in your cooking lessons until you tire of the help. I shall inform the kitchens. There are a great many eager cooks to be chosen for private residences, so many in fact we rotate a number for my own apartment and meals and those of my son’s.”

“Perhaps, and this won’t cost extra?”

“Not at all.” His eyes looked you over in your curious inspection of another towel closet with spare sheets and pillows that you closed again. “Please do not mind any costs, what you bring in spare tasks and attention is returned by spare chances for those who wish to master those fields they have chosen. If you wish I shall let you test your new bath and speak to the kitchens to compile a list of applicants for you. Our Public Meals are always welcome to you still whenever you wish.” Your lips parted and he said, “A simple nod of heads will suffice in our meetings and partings, Queens lower for no one, with the exception of children on occasion of course. Not in these lands. The bath here is spring fed, similar to those in our public baths for you. You do accept this apartment? If not there are always more to inspect.”

“Yes,” You managed to reply softly easing his concern this might not be to your tastes.

Your head nodded in return for his and smoothly he turned in a stroll for the door to leave you in the apartment alone to fully soak in that it was yours. Into front the doors a sigil of your name would be engraved for any in passing to know to whom it belongs. Good to his word he went to the kitchens where they were already buzzing with the news from all their King had uncovered and shared to those from Dale’s rounds that day.

To their shock a new Queen was among them, one in a great need of healing and protection most commonly understood to be in a great need of trust after all that had been endured. His entrance to the kitchens did not go unnoticed and every body turned to greet their King who stated, “Queen Jaqiearae has agreed to accept the Swan Apartments in the Royal Wing. She has expressed a wish to learn to cook for herself, however until then perhaps an undercook may apply for her daily meals and possibly upon later dates agreed upon lessons. I shall allow you to assemble candidates of those willing to apply and approach Her Highness when you please.”

The eager kitchen staff nodded and in his departure began to buzz again at the exciting news and a dozen of those willing, half for meals and half for the private lessons had begun to speak on when to approach the new Queen for their own try outs for the new job. Though with that came up other jobs yet to be mentioned of a personal ladies maid to care for your apartment and to entrust your clothing was properly tended to as the few pieces they had seen were of fine quality unlike what they had come across in these lands before.

From a bath to the Public Dining Hall you went and slipped into the line with plenty of head nods only to cement the feeling that you were only going to be permanently apart from everyone else here now that you have a title to enforce that. Useless though it may be it seemed to matter something here to these people, including the six who had said they would be up to trying out as your own personal cook and the six who would be willing to offer cooking lessons when you were willing from basic meats, veggies to baking, jams and fruit trays if you wanted.

Pt 3

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00, @lilith15000, @devilishminx328

#Thranduil #Glorfindel #Thror #The Durins #Fallen to Middle Earth #Found in the Library #Escorted by the King #Voicing the Past #Old Titles #Hobbit #lotr

18 notes · View notes

kimberly-spirits13 · 4 years

Text

Bat Pranks and Gun Fights (Request)

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Synopsis: (Reader is like Deadpool) For a month you had been trying to prank Batman with your best friend Jason. The task was easier said than done but one night, you finally get the chance but halfway through the night, you get interrupted by a more serious matter.

Warnings: Language, mentions of getting shot but not anything graphic at all, also at the end there is some mention of some stronger pain killers that eventually cause the reader to fall asleep really quickly so if that bothers anyone just FYI it’s there

Word Count: 2502

As an antihero, you did what you saw right. You knew the law, you follow the law... mostly... but besides that, the point of your job is to find loopholes and ways to go about your business technically not breaking the law. Another added to that is that you also go around annoying those who are very precise about following the law as best they can. Take Batman for instance, one of the most terrifying and iconic heroes you knew, lived just outside your base city of New York. That’s where you and Jason worked most of the time if he wasn’t in Gotham anyways. The Batman was someone to be feared, someone to be honored. You on the other hand had heard the stories of what he had done to Jason and thought he was an old grumpy asshole that needed to be taught a lesson.

So, for the entire month that’s what you tried to do. All you were really doing was prank Batman in a harmless way so that you wouldn’t be thrown off a building but every time you got close, something happened. Now you were suiting up in your apartment ready for another night of crime fighting. Tonight was your night to prank the Batman. You were heading out to Gotham and meeting up with Jason for the bust. After a few minutes, you found yourself hopping onto your motorcycle and heading down the interstate down towards Gotham. __________________________________________

It seemed like no time had really passed by since you were on the interstate and now riding with Jason to where Bruce would be.

“So, any other plans tonight other than possibly being thrown off a building by the old man?” Jason asked.

“No, not really.” You replied on the headset of your helmet, “I’ve been tracking a group of people that are smuggling contraband into the US through the Hudson River. It’s weapons like guns and a shit ton of modified explosives.” “You know, the usual.”

Jason laughed some before making a sharp turn into an alley. You did the same, stopping behind his bike and putting the kickstand down. The important thing about keeping your bike in some random alley way was making sure no one could steal it. That was what your codes and finger print was for. That thing wasn’t moving but for only yours and one other person’s finger print ID. You hadn’t revealed who that other person was.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asked.

“I figure until he catches us, something simple like making his smoke shields go off randomly.” You answered shrugging.

“Oh come on, that would be lame.” Jason side eyed you, “The demon could do better.”

“Not if we did it in front of Gordon.” You smiled, a glint of mischief glazing over your eyes, “I mean just imagine the commissioner giving a rundown of some serious crime happening and suddenly Batman starts smoking from behind.” “The look on his face would be hilarious.”

“You’re not wrong.” Jason thought about it for a second, “Okay, until we get caught he escalate more and more in what we do. But for now, this sounds like it could be fun.”

You smiled at the look on Jason’s face. Whenever he took off his helmet, his hair would always swoosh over. You liked how it looked, just not really how it smelled when it got really sweaty. You always made a face when he did and sometimes would spray a flowery perfume that you got as a joke in his hair to improve on the smell. It’s not like he would do anything to you for it but maybe jokingly flip you off.

The two of you climbed up onto the building where Gordon and Batman typically meet. Lucky for you, tonight was a full moon as you liked to call it since you really couldn’t see the moon that well in Gotham with all of the pollution and possible rain clouds. A full moon here meant that the Bat-signal was up and running. There was something big going on somewhere and Batman had to be notified.

As you reached the top, you and Jason ducked behind a cover spot on the building closest to where Gordon was waiting.

“Move over, I’m in the open Hood!” You hissed nudging his side.

“I can’t move over or I’ll be open too.”

You huffed and looked at the height of what you were trying to hide behind.

“Fine then.” In order to solve this dilemma, you laid on top of Jason. You were both facing the same direction, you were just stacked. You laid your chin on his helmet some and smirked down at him. You couldn’t see the look on your face, but judging by his change in position, you could tell he wasn’t expecting that.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked.

“Fixing the issue. Anyways, why are you so tall? My feet hardly touch yours.”

Jason sighed, “Maybe it’s cause I’m not short like somebody here.”

“I’m not short!” You demanded, “You’re just a giant Jason.”

__________________________________________

Time passed and you two were getting tired of the pranks that were being played on the Bat. You were pretty positive he was tired of it too. You weren’t doing anything to get anyone killed, just to cause minor annoyances. It was funny to watch, but now your mind was drifting elsewhere. You wondered what Jason thought when you climbed onto him. It wasn’t like you were doing something to get anything started, you were just curious what he thought of you. You thought that maybe there was a chance that he possibly liked you back.

Your thoughts would have consumed you longer if you weren’t alerted by your tracker on the smugglers. At the sight of what you were seeing, your eyes widened. “I’ve gotta go.” You said jumping up from next to Jason.

“What is it?”

“The targets have almost reached the docks. If I go now, I can make it and stop them.”

�� “Do you even know what you’re walking into?” Jason asked.

“I have somewhat of an idea.” You lied a tiny bit knowing that there could be more than you originally planned, “I’ll be fine.”

“You’d better be.” He was quick to say, “Don’t go getting yourself killed tonight. Trust me when I say it isn’t fun.” “Yes, yes, I’ve got that part.” You rolled your eyes, “Anyways, I’ll call you when I’m done with this party.”

__________________________________________

Now you were at the docks. It was colder than you’d expected with the breeze coming in and reinforcements were waiting for the cargo load. You would have to strike fast for this to work. The one problem was you didn’t know how that would play out. Dropping from your hiding place, you crept up behind one of the guards on the outer rim of security. With a sword in hand, you took him out.

“Oops, didn’t see you there buddy.” You smirked some and moved onto the next one. It was an easy job so far. The security was terrible on the rims as you’d imagine and no one was raising any sort of alarm.

After finishing this part, you climbed back up to see that there were even more heavily armed men aboard the ship than you had ever anticipated.

“No big deal.” You mumbled, “Just like all the times before. Crack a few jokes, kill a few idiots, and at the end, blow some stuff up. It’s just what you do now a days.”

Time was ticking and the slot for best entry was getting smaller and smaller. You looked around once more and then dropped to the ground when the shipments were on the docks so that they couldn’t be moved after the boat caught flames from the devices you’d planted around it.

“Hey boys. I hope you don’t mind but, I saw you were having a moving in party and wanted to drop by and give a house warming gift. Well, then again, I guess catching the boat on fire wasn’t the best gift, but it certainly did the job well.” You smirked taking the approaching ones out and avoiding the flying bullets.

You only slowed down just a bit when one slightly grazed your arm, “Okay, who did that?” “This was a brand -new suit and I did not want it damaged tonight.” “God, who taught you manners? A fish?”

It was all running well again. The advisories were being taken out, weapons were being destroyed and... you looked up to see one of the crates of explosives. If you wanted to, you could light that baby up and let it do your job for you. The issue was making it out on time without any other survivors. You didn’t need any lose ends on this mission. There was a moment of pause before someone called out your name.

“Y/S/H/N, need any help?” You looked behind you to see Jason shooting at some guys.

“What are you doing here Hood?” You looked almost a little too shocked to see him, you really were a bit too shocked to see him.

“Got a bad feeling and figured you might need back up at some point. Not saying you’re not capable, just watching out.” He explained loading in another magazine.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” You looked back up at the crate, “Say there is one thing you could do though.”

“And that is?”

“Cover me while I go take out whoever is hording that massive crate of explosives.”

You didn’t give him any time to protest on your actions. It was always unclear to you why he was so protective of you in those regards but no one else. It wasn’t like you were his significant other or something. That is, no matter how much you wanted to be.

“You had no business coming here tonight.” Some taller man said shooting at you.

“Neither did you but I guess we both found some.” You retorted firing back as well.

“If you’re here for information, you won’t ever get it.”

“Trust me buddy, I have all of the information I need.” “You’re not really a hard group to track.” Rolling your eyes, you shot the man in the arm, making him cry out in pain, “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Not if I detonate these.” He gave you a look like no other you’d really seen before.

Sometimes you’d meet people that had fairly evil motives. Other times it was just the run of the mill henchmen. But sometimes, like just on these missions, you’d come across a group or one singular person that was so dedicated to a cause or leader, they’d rather die themselves with what they were hiding than give it up. Those people were some of the scariest.

“Hood get out of here!” You said into the coms.

“What’s going on up there?”

“I’m about to try and stop this guy from taking the docks out.” You answered grimly knowing that this wouldn’t end well for either you nor the man in question.

“What are you crazy?” Jason yelled.

“maybe.”

You jumped over the crate to where the man was and shot him down before looking over at the count down. There wasn’t much time before it set off. You quickly started typing codes that you had picked up into the device. It wasn’t until after a few seconds that you noticed how close the time was getting. Sighing, you knew the only thing to do was leave. You turned around, not seeing the last remaining henchmen behind you and was shot in the side. The moment Jason registered what was going on, he shot the man who was now aiming at him and jumped onto the boat to grab you. That was when he noticed the spot on your arm as well as your bleeding side.

There were less than 10 seconds on the clock. Jason ran as fast as he could when the explosion went off. It sent him stumbling to the ground since he was a decent distance, that stumble didn’t help you though. You were sure you hadn’t been hit anywhere super important, it just hurt, a lot.

“Come on Y/N/N, stay with me.” He went to your bike which was the only one there since he zeta beamed to New York.

He was in too much of a rush to remember that your bike needed finger print ID to start going. With you straddling him so he could make sure you didn’t fall off, he cursed under his breath.

“I know you’re not going to like this, but I need you to get the bike going.” He said to you.

“You can do it.” You groaned.

“No, I need your ID fo-“ He stopped when you cut him off.

“I told you, you can do it.”

That was when he realized what you meant and started up the bike himself with his own ID. He smiled at the gesture. Maybe you really did trust him enough. Maybe you actually felt the same about him as he did you.

__________________________________________

High on pain killers you sat on your bathtub ledge getting stitches from Jason while draped over him for support. He was pretty sure you would either start ranting about something extremely random that he might be able to use for blackmail, or you’d start snoring. Either one was fine to him as long as you didn’t stop breathing. That was when there would be issues.

“Jaybird, you know I really like you right?” You asked making his cheeks heat up.

“I didn’t know that.” He had to clear his throat.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought you looked really nice. Then I got to know you and now you’re even better.”

“Well what if I told you I liked you a lot too?” Jason asked smiling at what you had said.

You sat up and looked at him quickly, “Really?”

“Yes, and don’t rip out your stitches. I don’t want to put them back in.”

“Well if you really liked me, you’d kiss me like what they do in the movies.” You smirked some at Jason.

“What kind of movies have you been watching recently.” He scrunched up his nose faking a look of disgust.

“Jason Peter Todd, I mean it.”

Jason gave your stiches a once over before pulling you into a kiss. You could feel him smiling into the kiss before pulling away.

“What else do they do in movies?” He asked.

There was no response.

“Y/N? ...Doll?” Jason looked down to see you asleep sitting up, whatever Alfred had recommended, it worked because you were out like a light.

He laughed and carried you into your room, tucking you in. He went to go sleep in the living room but stopped when your hand didn’t let go of his. Jason sighed holding in a chuckle before changing into his own night clothes and climbing in next to you.

I hope you guys liked this one. I know it’s a bit longer but I really liked the request and things just kept coming to mind of what to add to it. I’ve got something big coming for a fic unless I scrap it. It’ll be long and Idk when I’ll finish it, but you’ll know when it gets here. Anyways, I hope you’re all having a wonderful day and week and continue to have a great one. Stay safe and healthy and make sure to take care of yourself when you need it.

#batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #dc comics #dc x reader #dc characters #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x you

189 notes · View notes