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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 13

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Agh, sorry about the longer wait for this part guys! I hit a bit of a writer’s block blegh

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAWN

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

Eivor dipped his hands into the bowl and stained his fingers with fresh blood, brushing the liquid onto his face. The red pigment of the medium stood out from his skin like stars in a night sky, and enhanced the barbarity that prowled behind his wild gaze.

Today was the day their clans would finally lead an assault on Kjotve’s fortress. Word had been sent to Fornburg about the upcoming attack, and the entirety of Bjornheimr’s villagers were bustling with preparations for the demanding journey ahead.

Everything had been set in place. Their plan, their warriors, their ships -- they were all ready to face the chaos that would clash into them head-on. The oceans were calm with the mercy of Njord’s blessing, and the seeress had done all she could to plant Tyr’s courage in the hearts of their men.

Now, the rest depended on the warriors themselves. They would have to charge the settlement with enough haste in order to save Thora before she embarked for Hel’s gates, and -- hopefully -- put Kjotve down in the process. Killing both him and Gorm was a task that even Eivor wasn’t certain they’d be able to pull off, but it was a goal worth striving for nonetheless. He just prayed that the gods favored them today.

Eivor looked up at the clouds sailing above them, and peered into their wispy structures as they glided through the air. The majority of the sky was still trapped in a deep slumber, and only a small portion of it had been greeted by the morning sun. Traces of the aurora could be seen lingering in the remaining darkness, and if he stared hard enough, the man could’ve sworn he saw the faces of fallen Einherjar looking back at him.

Eivor couldn’t fail today. He wouldn’t allow it. Thora’s life was depending on their victory, and their clans had already put in a tremendous amount of effort in keeping their people afloat. If anything went wrong this time... well, that wasn’t something he wished to dwell on at the moment.

He was already in enough distress due to everything going on between him and Sigurd, and he didn’t know if he could’ve handled the weight of another tragedy.

“Steel yourselves, men!” Ulfar’s voice boomed in the distance, grabbing the Wolf-Kissed’s attention. He was currently overseeing the preparations at the docks, and ensuring that their ships were ready to set sail. “The jarl’s daughter is depending on our victory. Do not waver, and do not scurry no matter what happens today. Hesitation will be our greatest hinderance.”

The old raider continued marching up and down the piers, keeping an eye on Bjornheimr’s warriors as they loaded their supplies onto the ships.

Meanwhile, Eivor carried on with his own business and secured a circular shield onto his back before sliding his axe into its holster, eager to shed blood. He had been thinking about the upcoming battle nonstop ever since Arngeir informed him of the plan, and found himself growing more and more restless by the minute. His head was racing with a million thoughts of how today’s war could’ve ended, and his heart was hammering against his chest like the thundering of a horse’s hooves.

Thankfully, there was a familiar face to calm him down.

“Eivor!”

Stopping what he was doing, Eivor came to a halt and glanced to his side, only to see Sigurd strolling towards him. The prince was clad in a sturdy suit of armor that consisted of leather and fur, and had the hilt of an impressive great-sword standing out from behind his shoulder. His face had been marked with a vibrant layer of blue war paint, and his hair radiated brazenly in the sun.

“Sigurd,” the young man replied, beaming at him. “You look ready for war. I’ll be honest -- I wasn’t sure if you’d join us in the upcoming battle.”

“Ulfar may have opposed the idea of me being a scout,” Sigurd said, “but I’ll not cower in the shadows and let our warriors sacrifice themselves for me. A king must be able to fight for himself, after all. If I can’t lead our men on the battlefield, then what good will I be on the throne?”

“A noble mindset to have,” Eivor commended, “but a risky one.”

“Indeed,” the prince conceded. “I’m... fully aware that there’s a chance I might not return from this assault. But I’m prepared for anything that awaits. So long as it guarantees Kjotve’s defeat.”

His lover’s face flattened with worry. “...Don’t talk like that. You’re a skilled warrior, Sigurd. I’m confident we’ll both see this through.”

“So am I. But fate is often unpredictable.”

Sigurd decided not to dwell on the grim matter anymore and switched over to another thought, bringing up a rather interesting proposal.

“Hey, Eivor. Listen. I’ve been thinking...” he stepped closer to the other man, “...if everything goes according to plan today -- we save your sister, we kill Kjotve, we rid Rygjafylke of his clan -- then me and my people will return to Fornburg. Permanently. Randvi will come with us too obviously, but I don’t know if we’ll ever return to Bjornheimr again. Apart from the occasional visit.”

Eivor had a feeling he already knew where this was going. “And?”

“And...” Sigurd continued, “I wanted to extend an invitation to you as well.”

He paused for a second, pointing a finger at himself. “Me?”

“Why not? I’ve seen you fight. You’re a man of many talents, Eivor. We could use someone like you. And besides...” a loving warmth coated the edges of his gaze, “...it’d be nice to have you around. We could go on raids together, I could show you around Fornburg, we could spend our nights drinking in the tavern... it would be wonderful. Don’t you think?”

Eivor was tempted to accept the enticing offer, but found himself hesitating nonetheless. The idea of being able to spend time with Sigurd whenever he wished was a dream like no other, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the man was married now. Would it even be possible for them to preserve a relationship such as that?

“...I don’t know, Sigurd.” He replied sincerely. “I want to go with you, but... it’s already hard enough dealing with the fact that you’re married to someone else. I don’t know if I could handle seeing you with Randvi every single day.”

The older man’s tone dimmed slightly. “Of course. That’s understandable. I... I can’t imagine the conflict you must be going through right now.” He raised a curious brow. “Will you at least consider the offer?”

Eivor gave him a faint smile. “I’ll think about it. For you.”

Sigurd returned the friendly expression with a lighthearted chuckle. “Then let us pray that I live long enough to hear the answer.” He patted a firm hand on Eivor’s back and began guiding him towards the ships, ready to get started with the day. “Come. You and I will be sailing with Ulfar. Has he informed you of the plan?”

“Only some of it. How is this going to work, exactly? Won’t the longships just get Kjotve’s attention?”

“We won’t be taking them all the way to the shoreline.” Sigurd explained. “The ships will bring us close to Kjotve’s fortress, but we’ll use rowboats for the rest of the journey. That way, we avoid alerting his men. Once our feet are on solid land,” he gestured to the cloak on his shoulders, “our hoods come up. Don’t let anyone see your face until Dag and his scouts give us the signal to attack.”

Eivor felt a sense of unease at the mention of his name. “So Dag will still be among the scouts? Even with all your suspicions?”

Sigurd sighed in annoyance. “I expressed my concerns to my father last night, but he didn’t seem to share any of them. He believes that Dag is loyal, and trusts him to get the job done. I suppose I can’t blame him. Dag has been closely tied to my family for decades now. My father trusts him like a son. Still... the sudden shift in his behavior gives me pause. I’m not sure I like the idea of sending him so close to Kjotve.”

“What about Ulfar? Has your mind been swayed about him?”

“Like I said before -- apart from Ingrida’s vision, I have no other reason to doubt his intentions. He has yet to do anything that would arouse suspicion, but somehow, that almost makes me more nervous. After all, the ones you trust the most have the biggest chance of stabbing you in the back. I just hope my instincts are wrong.”

“As do I. I’ve known Ulfar ever since I was a boy. He was always there to fill the absence that constantly followed me after my parents’ deaths. If he turns out to be the snake...” Eivor let out a breath, “...I don’t know how I’ll react.”

Sigurd rubbed his shoulder in a reassuring manner. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. Ulfar strikes me as a man of honor, and he has no reason to betray you. You’re like a son to him. The last thing he’d want to do is endanger you.”

“Well, that’s true, I suppose. But it’s like you said -- fate is often unpredictable.”

Approaching the longship, the two of them ventured down the pier as Ulfar waited at the other end, helping his raiders prepare for the arduous journey. A few other warriors had already filled some of the seats and taken hold of the oars, including Dag himself.

Eivor had to admit -- he was surprised Sigurd was willing to sail with Dag, considering the wall that had been erected between them recently. Even though he knew that the pair of them were childhood friends, he still got the impression that the prince wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Their relationship seemed to have vanished over these past couple weeks, and Dag wasn’t exactly jumping with joy at the sight of the redheaded vikingr either.

Though, now that he thought about it, Eivor supposed it’d be easier keeping an eye on him this way. It might’ve put them at greater risk being so close to a possible traitor, but at least they’d be able to watch his every move. His only worry was that Sigurd’s suspicions would be proven right -- and that they would realize it when it was too late.

“Ulfar!” The prince called out, greeting the grizzled raider.

“Ah,” Ulfar replied, “Sigurd. Eivor. There you are. Are you both ready to set sail?”

“I believe so.”

“Good. The sooner we leave for Kjotve’s fortress, the better. As you’re aware, Dag is one of the scouts we’ll be sending in, so I want to get him there as quickly as possible.”

Ulfar shifted his gaze to Eivor.

“And what about you, little cub? How are you holding up? Are you certain you’re ready for this fight?”

Eivor nodded. “Yes. Kjotve may have slipped from my grasp before, but I won’t let it happen again. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to save Thora.”

“Then bring honor to your family, Wolf-Kissed. Just make sure that your desire for vengeance does not overcome your sense of reason. I need you to be sharp today.”

“I will, Ulfar.”

The older man gestured towards the ship. “Then let us make haste. The day isn’t getting any younger, and I dread to think about what Kjotve will do to Thora if we don’t arrive on time. Find a seat, grab an oar, and prepare yourselves for the storm ahead. May Tyr’s courage guide your hand.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

A wooden groan emitted from the ship’s weathered body as it penetrated the ocean’s waves, gliding gently along with the wind that fluttered behind its sail.

At the moment, Ulfar and his men were completely surrounded by mist, and groping blindly through a barrier of fog. For as far as the eye could see, structures and figures alike had all been obscured into one massive haze, and the only things they could detect were the nearby silhouettes of rock formations poking out from underneath the water’s surface.

The sea was calm with a disturbing layer of stillness. The mellow breeze brushed over its glassy hills like the whispers of a chanting god, and it felt like there were eyes peering at them from behind the murky veil.

It was a dangerous path to trek, that much was clear. Many obstacles stood in the way of their journey to Kjotve’s shores, and the withering daylight did little to help in terms of guiding their way.

As for Eivor, the man was currently sitting in front of Sigurd and meticulously rowing his oar, making sure not to scrape the end against any of the icebergs dotting the landscape. His arms were sore from heaving its weight for hours on end, and he could feel his muscles straining with every move.

But he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Despite the ache spreading throughout his body, Eivor’s spirit remained fervent with an unwavering thirst for battle. He was eager to set foot on solid land, and quite frankly, part of him felt like a rabid dog being held back on a leash, just waiting for the moment he’d finally be allowed to dig his claws into the enemy.

His biggest concern right now, was that Dag would take that chance away from him.

“Alright, listen up, drengir,” Ulfar said, keeping his words at a low volume, “it won’t be long until we’re at the edges of Kjotve’s settlement. It doesn’t look like his men have noticed us yet, but any unwanted attention will surely bring our demise. So keep your mouths shut, unless you wish to let out your dying breath.”

He gestured in the distance. “Not too far away from here, one of our men will be waiting with a smaller boat. We’ll stop the ship just before it wanders into Kjotve’s line of sight, and then row you all to shore. Three at a time. Dag will be one of the first to leave. Who else will go with him?”

Almost instantly, Sigurd spoke up. “I’ll go.”

Dag shot him a glance, clearly suspicious as to why he was so willing to offer his company. But he said nothing of it.

“I’ll go too.” Eivor said.

Ulfar seemed pleased with that. “Very well. The three of you will sail to shore once we reach the other boat. In the meantime, we’ll stay behind, and ensure nothing comes your way. As for you, keep a low profile until we’re all together. Be as discreet as possible. Do not remove your hood. Understand?”

The three of them nodded in unison. “Yes.”

“Then keep your lips tight and your eyes open. We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

Sitting quietly in the boat, Eivor watched as the water around them rippled with the oarsman’s movement and bounced off the vessel’s rim, disturbing the silence with a soft trickle.

He could see the faded outlines of Kjotve’s settlement steadily coming into view like a beast emerging from the shadows, and already, many voices began to ring in the distance.

For their enemy, it was a day like any other. People carried on with their lives the same as usual, and not a single hint of dread polluted the tranquil atmosphere. Business thrived in the settlement as villagers ventured to and fro, and not too far away from them, Eivor could see the piers of the harbor standing calmly above the sea.

It was a sight that would’ve reminded the young man of his own home, had he not known of the cruelty lurking within. A plethora of civilians populated the bustling community, and a part of Eivor almost felt guilty due to the fact that he knew some of their lives would be lost in the crossfire today. He didn’t wish any harm upon the innocent villagers who dwelled under Kjotve’s rule, but at the same time, he had no intentions of losing his sister either.

He was going to get Thora back. He didn’t care what it took to find her.

“Alright,” the oarsmen announced as the boat slid onto shore, “we’re here. Now hurry up and get to work, you three. I need to bring the rest of your ship here as soon as possible.”

Sigurd was the first to hop off. His boots planted themselves into the ground with a light splash, and tiny bits of gravel could be heard cracking under his feet.

“Go on,” the prince told the oarsmen, pulling his hood over his face. “Return to Ulfar. We’ll take it from here.”

Dag stepped off the boat. “In the meantime, I’ll start looking for a way inside the fortress.”

“What, now?” Sigurd asked. “Shouldn’t you wait for the other scouts to arrive? Most of our men are still at sea.”

“I’d rather get a head start, in case things get messy. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Just wait for my signal.”

Eivor held up a hand. “Wait, what is the signal, exactly?”

Dag pointed to a brazier standing on one of the fortress’ towers. “See that beacon up there? My scouts will light it once we’ve finished paving the way for you.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” He questioned. “Wouldn’t that just alert Kjotve’s men of our presence?”

“Yes, but by the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be kicking down their door. Half of them will be dead before they’re able to put up any sort of fight.”

Eivor was still apprehensive about the idea, but figured there wasn’t enough time to argue. “...Very well. If you’re certain.”

A hint of hostility sharpened Dag’s tone. “I am. Now, you two just wait here for Ulfar and his men. I’ll find a way to open the gate. Pay attention to the beacon. I won’t take long.”

Scurrying off into the dense crowds, Dag vanished without saying another word and slipped behind the cover of Kjotve’s civilians, hastily navigating his way towards the looming fortress. Meanwhile, Sigurd and Eivor remained hidden among a thick gathering of bushes and avoided stepping into the light, suddenly feeling incredibly out of place.

This was hostile territory. The people around them might’ve been fellow Norsemen, but even then, Eivor felt like he didn’t belong. The overall nature of this region was completely foreign to him, and he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that someone was watching them.

“...So, what do you think?” Eivor whispered, earning a puzzled look from Sigurd.

“Think about what?”

The younger man tilted his head towards Dag. “About him. He was rather eager to take off without us, don’t you think? I realize we’re in the midst of an urgent matter, but still. His haste is... somewhat peculiar.”

Sigurd followed his line of sight. “Indeed. I offered to sail with Dag because I thought it’d be easier to keep an eye on him, but I think all I’ve done is make the man more cautious. I haven’t exactly been subtle with my scrutiny.”

Eivor shrugged, unable to push away the sense of doubt swelling in his chest. “...What if he’s not actually the rat?”

The prince cocked a brow. “You don’t think it’s him?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. If I were the rat, I’d let Kjotve know about the horde of warriors coming over the horizon. I wouldn’t even give them a chance to set foot on our land. And considering how we haven’t been cut down yet, a part of me is wondering if Dag truly is the traitor.”

Sigurd wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Hmm. I suppose. Or maybe Kjotve is just biding his time -- waiting for the right moment to strike.” He let out a sigh. “...There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“Well, if Dag is the rat, then... why would he do all this? What reason would he have to betray us?”

Eivor thought for a moment. “Maybe he doesn’t agree with this alliance. Maybe he sees my clan as weak.”

The older man had a different idea. “Possibly, but it still doesn’t make any sense. He never expressed any opposition to the alliance before, and he seemed to approve of it when we first came to Bjornheimr. His recent behavior feels more... personal.”

“You think it’s aimed at you?”

Sigurd hesitated for a second. “Actually, Eivor, if I’m being honest... I think it’s aimed at you.”

That caught the Wolf-Kissed’s attention. “What? Why would Dag be angry with me?”

The prince was at a loss. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that every time I mention your name, he gets this sour look on his face. Like I’ve just spit on his mother’s grave. He always becomes more reclusive whenever I talk about you, and even just a few minutes ago, he was rather antagonistic.” His eyes lit up with a sudden thought. “Dag hasn’t given you any trouble these past couple weeks, has he?”

Eivor shook his head. “No. Dag and I haven’t said a word to each other ever since your clan arrived. The only times I’ve spoken to him is when you’ve been around.” He trailed off into a brief silence. “...Do you... do you think it’s possible that Dag believes he’s being replaced? I mean, he’s a childhood friend of yours, isn’t he? Maybe he’s threatened by me.”

A look of bewilderment slapped Sigurd across the face. “Well, yes, but... I highly doubt that’s the case. He doesn’t know about our relationship. And besides, even if he did feel that way, surely that wouldn’t be enough to motivate treason. There must be more going on here than meets the eye.”

“I hope you’re right. It’d be a shame if that were the reality. All these lives lost, and for what? The fear of being left behind?”

Sigurd took on a more serious tone. “If my suspicions turn out to be correct about Dag, I will personally send that man to the gates of Helheim myself. The truth will be revealed sooner or later.”

Eivor’s eyes darted towards the sky upon the sudden appearance of a newborn flame, causing him to nudge the prince in the arm.

“Look,” he said, pointing towards the fire. “Dag’s lit the beacon. The gates are open. We should get moving.”

“Wait...!” The prince urged, placing a restrictive hand on Eivor’s chest. The other man gawked at him in confusion.

“What? What is it?”

Sigurd thought the answer was rather clear. “You don’t find it strange that he managed to open the gates so quickly? We’ve only just arrived. The rest of our men haven’t even joined us yet. How did Dag reach it so easily?”

The Wolf-Kissed shared his lover’s skepticism, but wasn’t willing to wait.

“Well, however he did it, we don’t have much of a choice anymore,” he reiterated. “We have to attack now. Everyone in this settlement will be able to see that beacon. Kjotve’s men will know something’s wrong. We need to go before they’re able to prepare for the assault. Otherwise, Thora will be killed.”

The older man sighed in anger. “Shit...! What on Earth is that man thinking? He disappears before the rest of our clan even arrives, and now he’s forcing us to launch the assault when he knows we’re still alone?” Sigurd stepped out from hiding, and took hold of his sword. “Dag and I are going to exchange a few words once this is over. For now though, just keep your guard up. Gods know how Kjotve is going to react to this.”

Sigurd stepped out from their hiding spot and approached the center of the village, glancing at Eivor over his shoulder.

“Follow me,” he instructed, “and don’t lower your hood. Even though I doubt we’ll be able to evade Kjotve’s warriors for much longer, I’d rather not be caught in the middle of this mess when half our clan is still at sea. If we’re lucky, we’ll find more of our people along the way. Now hurry up. Thora hasn’t got much time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

INSIDE KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

Rushing through the panicked crowds like snakes slithering through a bundle of weeds, Sigurd and Eivor hurried towards the fortress as disoriented civilians clamored all around them, trying to figure out what was going on.

The soul-shattering call of a war horn had sounded ever since Dag ignited the beacon, and now, clumps of scattered warriors were forcing their way through the cramped settlement, attempting to reach the enemy before they could launch a defense.

Fortunately, it looked like Eivor and Sigurd weren’t the only ones on Kjotve’s shores. A handful of familiar faces had also been delivered by the other boats including Randvi herself, and more of them were arriving by the minute.

As for Ulfar, the man was nowhere to be seen yet. Eivor figured he had originally been planning to sail with the last boat, but now, the Wolf-Kissed assumed he’d just bring the entire longship to land. The horn’s cries were practically loud enough to touch the edges of Rygjafylke’s borders, and he had no doubts that the old man would’ve heard it. He just prayed to the gods that his raiders arrived in time.

“In here!” Sigurd exclaimed, pressing his body against the gates. Eivor planted his palms into the surface and helped the prince push them open, creating a crack big enough for them to slip through.

Contrary to what they were expecting however, there were hardly any guards on the inside. Barely any of Kjotve’s men were patrolling the fortress’ perimeter, and the place seemed to be devoid of any life. At first, Eivor simply assumed that Dag had already killed most of them during his infiltration, but the realistic side of him knew better.

“Where is everyone?” He wondered aloud, stepping into the deserted keep. “The place looks abandoned.”

Sigurd wasn’t willing to let his guard down. “Don’t let it fool you. I’m certain Kjotve knows we’re coming now thanks to Dag. We’re likely running straight into a trap.”

“I know,” Eivor conceded, “but we have to keep moving. Even if it may be a trap, Thora needs us to find her now. We can’t waste any time.”

The older man flicked his eyes around. “Where do you think she would be?”

“Kjotve must be keeping her prisoner, so I imagine she’ll be in the dungeons.”

“Then we’ll have to make our way down. Come on. This way. I think I see some stairs.”

Ripping the shield off his back, Eivor took his axe in hand and followed Sigurd into one of the fortress’ many doorways, causing the distant sounds of battle to become muffled as they ventured behind the stone walls. The temperature in the air instantly sank upon their abrupt entry, and the lack of any sunlight made it feel as if they were roaming into an abyss.

It was eerily quiet in this section of the keep. They couldn’t hear anyone’s voices echoing off the walls, nor the clashing of any swords. The wind remained still despite the tempest that was building up outside, and a heavy stench sat just underneath Eivor’s nose.

It admittedly disturbed the young man, how familiar the stench was. He found no shortage of it in Bjornheimr after their first encounter with Kjotve’s clan, and now, the sickeningly sweet smell had returned.

The revolting aroma seeped into the thin crevices embedded in the wall, and it only seemed to intensify with every step they took. By now, the sound of something creaking had reached Eivor’s ears as well, and he could feel the pace of his heart increasing rapidly with each passing second.

“Do you smell that...?” The young man whispered, his voice laden with dread.

Sigurd gave him a grim look. “Yes. It... it smells like...” he let out a brief cough, “...oh, gods.”

Holding his shield out in front of him, Eivor braced himself for an ambush as they approached the bottom of the stairs, getting closer to what he assumed were the dungeons. The mysterious stench had completely filled his nostrils at this point, and a part of him even swore he could almost taste it.

At the other end of the staircase, Eivor barely made out the faint shadow of a lone figure swaying on the floor. No enemies had leapt out at them just yet, but even then, the young man felt the urgent desire to run from this place as soon as possible.

A pang of ice-cold fear had burrowed itself into the very flesh sitting on his bones, and for the first time in years, he found himself battling the temptation to drop his weapons and flee.

When he finally found the source of the smell though, his entire body froze in horror.

Dangling above him, Eivor saw the fresh corpse of a prisoner swinging lifelessly in the wind, hanging from the ceiling as if it were a chandelier. Its skin was grey due to the frost that had settled into its flesh, and its blank eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

There wasn’t anyone accompanying the body -- dead or alive -- but regardless, Eivor could still sense the spirit lingering in the vicinity, waiting for someone to discover its abandoned shell. Its unseen presence loomed over them like a wolf prowling in the woods, and within seconds, all the color had drained from the young man’s face.

He collapsed to his knees and stared hopelessly into the corpse’s eyes, doing everything he could to suppress the scream that was now building up in his throat.

“...Th-Thora?”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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cinebration · 4 years

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Playing Games (Victor Zsasz x Reader) [One-shot]

Anon asked: Soo an idea.. maybe one where you’re romans assistant and you’re kind of prudish so he has victor flirt with you and get you to open up?? Super flirty/angsty maybe??

I know I said I wasn’t acepting requests, but when I received this one, I saw it as a challenge. I wondered if I could write it without the interaction turning into sexual harassment.

I don’t think I succeeded. I hope anon likes it.

Zsasz headcanons:

1. Like in Choose Where, he has no sense of personal space, and he’s touch-oriented.

2. He can’t flirt worth a damn.

Tagged: @im-just-one-of-the-avengers

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment, language

Roman Sionis didn’t realize until after he hired you on as his assistant that he had a prude on his hands. It wasn’t necessarily that you were a real prude, but whenever you overheard his exploits or his leering comments toward men and women alike, your face colored. Without fail you would flee as soon as possible.

Roman loved it. Seeing you squirm and flounder in the face of blatant sexuality tickled him in all the right places.

He noticed after the first month you became particularly flustered and embarrassed around Zsasz whenever the man flashed his lupine smile in your direction. Roman didn’t blame you. Zsasz dripped animal charisma, sex in a scarred, lethal-eyed package. Roman himself had fallen prey to the man’s magnetism.

Roman pulled Zsasz aside one evening. He was making you stay late to finish busywork.

“Zsasz,” he murmured into the man’s ear, “I have a job for you.”

Zsasz’s lips pulled away from his teeth as Roman explained his plan.

You knew it was busywork meant to keep you late. Practically elbow deep in it, you looked helplessly at the time. The cusp of midnight arrived with a tolling of bells in your mind.

Why was Roman keeping you late?

The door of the office swung open silently but for the turn of the door knob. You glanced up to see Zsasz slink into the room, a curious look in his dark eyes.

You tensed. What Roman had taken for prudishness was in fact skittishness. Both men oozed sex and desire, even when they weren’t trying. Navigating between them was hell, your mind so befuddled with pheromones you were honestly surprised you could walk straight, let alone string a coherent sentence together.

You knew better. You had learned your lesson.

Zsasz sauntered over to the desk, lips pulling back into a feral grin.

Shit.

“What’re you doing?”

Everything the man said sounded like a threat. That knife of his was somewhere within reach of his hand.

“Coordinating invites to Roman’s party,” you answered, looking away from him.

He came around the desk and leaned over your shoulder, invading your space. The man, you had learned, lacked a sense of personal space.

“Hmm,” he purred above your head. “Why aren’t you here?”

“I don’t get an invite. I’ll be working.”

He sat down on the table, crowding your elbow. “Do you work all the time?”

You glanced aside at him without really looking, avoiding eye contact. Familiar unease slithered down your spine. Nodding, you stared down at the list printout in front of you and the computer monitor. The check marks you place beside each name were suddenly shaky.

“Have a drink with me.”

“No.” The word jumped out of your mouth.

Zsasz’s smile fell. “Lighten up.”

Fuck. It was happening again.

“It would be inappropriate,” you managed to say.

“I’m not the boss.”

He had a point. You hunched over the printout. “Still, aren’t you Roman’s?”

Zsasz smirked. “It’s his idea.”

You suddenly went cold, panic gripping your throat. The words flung out of you in an almost strangled shriek. “I’m not doing this again!”

Zsasz frowned, scarred brow furrowing. “What?”

You couldn’t stop yourself, not with the panic driving control from your mind. “I left my other job because of this behavior.”

You hadn’t wanted to lose your job, so you had endured the harassment, gritting through it until it had almost been too late, until things had almost gone too far.

“My boss,” you hissed, “blacklisted me, all because I quit so I wouldn’t have to sleep with him. It’s the only reason I’m working for Roman. He was the only one who would hire me.”

You pushed away from the desk, putting space between yourself and Zsasz. He watched you with that curious expression of his, the frown deepening.

“I need this job,” you said, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. You couldn’t tell him that if you lost this job you might as well starve to death. Refusing him and Roman would at least guarantee a quicker death. “I’m good at what I do. I can do a lot for Roman and his business, if he’ll let me. But I won’t play games.”

“We like games,” Zsasz said, flashing his teeth.

“Not this one.”

You fled from the room before Zsasz could say anything, hurrying down the corridor and out the back door to freedom.

Roman emerged from the other room where he had been watching on cameras. His pretty face pulled into a petulant frown. “Well, that was disappointing. She didn’t want to play.” Raking a hand through his hair, he announced, “I guess I’ll have to fire her. It’s a shame. She was the best assistant yet.”

Zsasz fixed his attention on his boss as the man threw himself into your desk chair, muttering to himself. His first bitter thought was that someone had sullied your innocence before him, that he had been denied the chance. He loved corrupting innocence, was practically drawn to it.

The panic on your face, in your voice, stuck in his mind. He couldn’t shake it.

“Roman,” he said quietly, walking over to him and placing his hands on the man’s shoulders, “I think she should stay.”

Roman made a flustered sound of dissent.

Gently massaging the man’s trapezoids in the way he liked it, Zsasz continued, “You said she was the best. You shouldn’t get rid of her. She’s done good work so far, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“If you fire her, she might go to one of your enemies.”

Roman frowned. “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Then she has to stay.”

Roman sighed, shrugged Zsasz’s hands off him. “If she won’t play—”

“I’ll get her to trust us.”

“You better.”

You returned to work the next morning, practically walking on tip-toe. Nobody stopped you. Roman was probably still asleep, loathe to give up his beauty sleep so early.

Creeping into the office, you straightened the desk and drew up the list of invites again, your attention focused on sounds outside the office.

The door opened just as you had started to relax.

Zsasz entered. You tensed.

In his hands was a sheathed knife.

A shudder of fear wracked you before cold resignation set in. You sat up straight, face set.

Zsasz paused before the desk, turning the knife in his hands. “I brought you something.”

He extended the knife to you.

Frowning, you glanced between the weapon and his face. You gently took it, arching an eyebrow in question.

“You wear it in your waistband,” he explained. “Try it on.”

Watching him warily, you stood and tried to slide the clip onto the outside of your pants.

“Not like that.” Coming around the desk, Zsasz reached out, both hands empty, and said, “I’m going to help you.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fixated on his hands.

Taking the knife, Zsasz pulled on your belt loop and slid the sheath against your skin. His fingers brushed your hip, sending delicious sparks up your side. Palpable body heat radiated off him, clouding your mind. Clipping the sheath into place, he relinquished the belt loop, his fingers lingering for a moment on your skin.

He imagined with sudden clarity you accidentally missing the sheath when resheathing the knife and slicing yourself, leaving a fine scar on your hip. The thought made his breath stutter.

“With this,” he purred, “you can hurt anyone who takes things too far.”

“Even you?” The words slipped past your lips.

His lips pulled back into that feral smile. “I like new scars.”

You nearly quailed beneath his intense gaze. “Thank you,” you said slowly, taking a step back.

“I can teach you how to use it.”

“That…would be nice.”

Nodding, Zsasz opened his mouth to say he was free whenever you wanted.

Roman’s voice barked your name. You jerked your head toward the closed door of the office, panic surging.

“Am I fired?” you asked.

“No.”

Smiling weakly, you strode from the room to answer roman’s summons.

The moment the office door closed, Zsasz went to the filing cabinet, searching for your hiring file. He flipped it open, looked for the name of your former employer and his address.

He had to pay the man a visit.

#Victor Zsasz x Reader #Victor Zsasz #Victor Zsasz imagine #Zsasz #bop Zsasz #Roman Sionis #Chris Messina #Chris Messina imagine #Roman Sionis x Reader if you squint #birds of prey #bop #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn

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seanfalco · 4 years

Note

Hello! I’ve read your Klaus fics and I absolutely love them! I was thinking, do you think I could request Y/N being fed up with Klaus and this time she doesn’t take him back. She found herself a new lover that treats her right and who she loves very much?

Words: 1.4k a/n: Decided to make this a sort of alternate non canon ending to Only When You’re Lonely. Prepare to hurt. Though is it fair of me to base reader’s new love interest off another Robert Sheehan character? because it makes me feel better anyway. Also catch me using parallels to current angst in Burning Out lol.

——

The day Klaus had waltzed back into your life with a coffee and some sweet words, you really thought you’d be able to stay just friends for once, but you soon found that keeping him at arm’s length was much harder than you’d ever anticipated. Especially when he seemed hellbent on winning you back.

Of course, you knew what he was doing -- you knew Klaus better than anyone and it didn’t help that he was trying so damn hard.

Why couldn’t he try this hard all the time if he cares so much, a tiny voice in your head asked and as much as you hated to admit it, it had a point.

However, the harder he tried and the longer this went on, the more torn you felt. Sean was a good guy -- one of the best you’d met in a long while and let’s face it, he didn’t come with the baggage that Klaus did.

You loved Klaus, you knew you probably always would, but you didn’t know how many more times your heart could take him leaving, to not committing when you gave him everything and you knew Sean could see it, the hesitation in your gaze whenever Klaus was around and you knew it wasn’t fair to him.

For once you found a keeper and you were going to drive him away because you couldn’t get over your ex -- hell, you couldn’t even technically call Klaus that, seeing as you’d never actually officially dated.

It was the night Klaus showed up at your show and you saw him in the crowd with Sean that you knew something wasn’t right, and as you pushed your way to them at the bar, your stomach prickled anxiously.

Covering your unease with a bright smile you embraced Klaus, feeling him melt in your arms as if he never wanted to leave before you pulled away to brush a kiss to Sean’s cheek, fitting yourself to his side, his arm wrapped rather possessively around you and you wondered what they’d talked about while you’d been on stage. The tense look on Sean’s face said it hasn’t been pleasant.

At his urging you bade Klaus goodnight and followed Sean out to his car outside. “[y/n],’ he began in a quiet voice as he got behind the wheel and you flinched, preparing to get dumped. Because who were you fooling? You knew this moment had been coming sooner or later the moment you’d let Klaus back in.

“Why are you letting him do this to you?”

Wait, what? Sean’s words took you aback and you blinked at him for a moment.

“Do… what?” you asked, though he knew you knew what he meant.

“Klaus,” he answered, filling the name with scorn. “Why are you letting him manipulate you?” he asked sadly, his eyes swinging to you, his lilting voice cracking. “I care about you [y/n], hell, I think I might even love you, and it’s killing me to watch this. Can’t you see he’s taking advantage of your feelings for him? And what then?” he asked, taking a shuddering breath, “... leave you again when it gets too hard? You deserve more than that.”

Love? Had Sean just said he loved you?

A strange combination of elation and fear filled you. As much as you hated it, you knew he was right. How many times would Klaus enter your bed, your heart, your life, only to leave again without warning? How many times would you let him? You couldn’t keep doing this.

You didn’t want to keep wondering if the man you loved would still be there the next morning. You wanted more and Sean was offering you that.

“Sean, I -- you’re right,” you said, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “I deserve more,” you murmured, “and you’ve been nothing but sweet, and supportive, and everything I’ve ever wanted, and I want to be with you,” you admitted, your eyes finding his.

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” you asked in a tiny voice and a small smile crossed his face, hesitant, but full of affection.

“I did,” he answered, reaching across the center console to take your hand in his, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. “You have to promise me, though,” he murmured, his smile faltering, “that I’m not just… a replacement. Because I can’t… I won’t be that. I don’t just want to be the next best thing.”

Wishing there was nothing between you at that moment, you reached across to him, caressing the side of his face, your heart giving a thrill as he leaned into your touch.

“I promise,” you insisted, your heart swelling and breaking all at once, “I love you for you.”

Sean’s dazzling smile widened and you found yourself smiling as well, despite the tears running down your cheeks.

——

It was late the next afternoon when you woke, crawling out of Sean’s bed, despite his protests, telling him there was something you needed to take care of first.

With a shaky breath you dialed Klaus’s number, hoping he still had minutes on his phone. It would’ve been easier to simply ghost him, in fact, that’s probably what he would’ve done to you, you thought bitterly, but before you could chicken out he’d answered the phone.

“[y/n]!” he answered brightly, as if he’d been expecting your call and your stomach knotted further.

“Hey, Klaus…” you replied, trying to keep your voice even. “Uhm, can we meet somewhere?” you asked, scrubbing the heel of you palm against your eye to keep the tears from falling, unable to stop your sniffle.

“What--what’s wrong?” Klaus asked quickly.

Fuck.

“Uhm, I… I just need to talk to you. Meet me at the square in a half hour?” you asked and he agreed before you quickly hung up, heaving a shaky breath and getting up to get dressed.

——

Waiting in the square for him, you took a drag off your cigarette, wishing you had a drink to take the edge off further.

It wasn’t like Klaus was a bad guy, in fact, he was rather sweet, funny, smart -- he just had some flaws, and as much as you wanted him to be there for you, he couldn’t be and you couldn’t keep hurting yourself waiting for him to be.

At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

When you saw him approach, an uneasy expression on his face, you dropped the cigarette and crushed it out underfoot, scooting over so he could take the spot on the bench next to you.

“[y/n], what’s wrong?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours.

Rip it off like a bandaid. Just get it over with.

“Klaus, I--”

“Did that bastard break up with you?” he asked before you could finish, getting fired up. “That asshole, I knew he was no good for you!”

“No, Klaus, he didn’t break up with me,” you exclaimed and he blinked at you in surprise, kohl darkened eyes going wide.

“So… what are you saying?” he asked, his voice going quiet.

“I--I’m saying that I’m staying with him. I really…” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I think I love him, Klaus.”

“Oh,” was all he could say and the pain in his eyes was almost too much to look at.

“I know what you’ve been trying to do,” you said, pressing on, needing to get it out. “And you will always be my closest and most trusted friend, Klaus. Nothing could ever change that, but I want more than you can give. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment neither of you spoke and you were afraid to look over at him, afraid it would break you. But when Klaus slipped his hand in yours your head snapped up to find him smiling softly -- a sad bittersweet smile, but the way he squeezed your hand was reassuring.

“No, I--I get that,” he murmured, “and hey, I might not like the guy, but if he makes you happy…” Klaus trailed off, his grin slipping as his voice cracked, but he quickly bounced back, though you knew it was for your benefit.

“Yeah, yeah, and you know me, I’ll be fine,” he replied, though you were doubtful. “Besides, we… we’ll always be thick as thieves, you and I. Like you said, nothing’ll ever change that, we’ll just be having less sex.”

“Klaus…” you murmured and he shook his head slightly, standing, your hand slipping from his.

“Don’t wanna keep him waiting,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see ya around, [y/n].”

As you watched him walk away, though your heart was hurting, a sense of relief filled you and you pulled out your phone, texting Sean that you’d be home soon.

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

Tag List: @imagine-you-are @magic-multicolored-miracle @etherealsxnder @thehrgreeves @iamsexytrash @unlistedpond

#tua #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagines #prompt request #anonymous #my writing #don't hate meeee #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy

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amazingdriverfics · 4 years

Text

Crowned by the devil - ch. 12

Summary: you knew that you had to talk to Kylo, but you also knew that it wouldn’t be pretty.

Warnings: Kylo is a dick, child abuse mention, slavery, trauma

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since the last time I update this and it makes me feel bad, I really like this story and to hera your feedback, but College has been really intense and working things out has been hard.

Despite that, I really do hope that you all like this, just beware of the warnings as usual and be safe. Love you all.

My masterlist

Previous Chapter

You woke up in the warm bed, but this time it almost seemed cold when compared to the boiling guilt pumping in your veins and making your stomach hurt. You opened your eyes to discover that Kylo wasn’t laying by your side anymore and the fact made you feel relieved, the last thing you were looking for was the knight prying on your confused mind once more before trying to convince you that everything was fine.

Everything was most certainly not fine, he wanted to own you and you had given into his wishes the previous night, you who promised that the only owner of yourself would be you for the rest of your life. No matter how much Ren could please you, it shouldn’t be enough for you to betray everything you had become in your life and everything you had fought for.

The problem with the realization was how you would make him understand, you knew that Kylo always had his way, after all, he ruled most of the Galaxy, and you were also aware that it wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation since both you and him had a temper. And so you decided that for the time being you would enjoy your time without Kylo.

After you sort of figured things out, getting ready for your day was surprisingly easy, you were actually excited to work with Mitaka in the project, excited to show your side of the story to the powerful old man sitting in chairs while deciding who deserved to live and who deserved to die. Even if you and Kylo didn’t work out, you would leave your mark in the Order, you would represent the millions ignored by their politics.

Determined, you walked through the halls, passing troopers and other workers as you headed to the meeting room where Mitaka would wait for you before heading to the library, it was research day.

When you finally got to the room, you saw the lieutenant, seeming as excited as usual, sat at the table, his face holding a gentle smile as his eyes turned to you.

“Miss y/n” his voice echoed through the empty meeting space and it caused you to smirk, his usual formality towards you seemed funny.

“Good morning, Mitaka. Quit the miss as I said please, we are friends now” as he assimilated the words you could see redness spreading and staining his light coloured face.

“Thank you, y/n” he said your name with a certain caution as if he was testing it in his tongue, almost like it was a foreign word, something entirely new. “Are you ready to head to the library? We have a full day ahead of us”.

You nodded still amused with his reaction, it wasn’t very often that anyone would treat you with such respect and kindness and you admired his capacity to do so.

Once again, you followed him through the endless amount of halls in the Steadfast, walking past empty bucket faces and hoping that you wouldn’t be found by or find Kylo, knowing that the encounter would ruin your day.

With a bit of anxiety, you kept on following the man watching as he paid his respect to some of the other officers and as they ignored you just as much as you ignored them.

Your anxiety, however, dissipated as Mitaka stopped, the library coming to view and the thousands of books, archives and documents taking your breath away. It was the first time you had ever seen something like that and in your wildest dreams you would have never imagined that so many books even existed.

In your astonished state, you failed to realize that Mitaka was already inside the library and waiting for you with a look that seemed sad and you knew it meant that you were staring too hard at the books. Ignoring his pity, you followed his lead trying to act as if nothing had happened.

——————————————————————————

He watched his Empress drowned in the paper with the lieutenant he didn’t bother to get the name.

Seeing her in such a different context and yet with the same amount of hunger to achieve and conquer what she wanted made his buried heart beat faster.

It scared Kylo how much he liked her, how each day the number of hours he spent thinking of her increased, how the sheer thought of seeing her made him nervous and yet excited. The worst part was that the knight knew that she still wasn’t ready to be his, she had shown sometimes that she could give into her feelings like in the tub the previous night and in his room when he cooked breakfast, but it didn’t take her too long to doubt his intentions and her feelings.

It wasn’t like Ren imagined that it would be easy, when he decided to get her, he already knew that she was a fighter and she would fight him at all costs, but then things took a turn in the hospital after he decided to show her a little bit of how much he cared about y/n and when she finally surrendered to what she wanted, to what her body begged and to what she consciousness hated to even imagine. These turning points gave him a sense of hope.

Another turning point happened in the tub, when Kylo won the unannounced battle over control, when he proved to her that her body responded to him and wished to belong to his, when he made it clear that no one would ever please her like he would and when he showed her that her mind could not avoid her body showing her true wishes.

But he knew that things wouldn’t be as smooth as he longed to be.

For the time being, he could be satisfied with watching as his Empress discovered new sides of herself.

——————————————————————————

Through the thousands of pages that you and Mitaka could find about slavery, you saw yourself and your life, you read about your own abuse through the pain and writting of others and it was trully overwelming.

Mitaka kept looking at you, trying to figure out if you were okay through his own pile of paper as he also tried to get some useful information in whatever he was reading.

What truly hurted you wasn’t even the amount of abuse and pain you had been reading through, it was the fact that this information, that watching millions being abused and having their lives torn apart wasn’t enough reason for the men in power to abolish slavery. You knew that they had to have economic and politic reasons to spare their lives, to imagine them as beings deserving to be their own owners and to be free.

——————————————————————————

“Where did I come from, master?” you asked Kreat, fear already in your veins.

The question filled your mind constantly, but the courage to ask him never accompanied the need to know. You weren’t that clueless, after master taught you how to read you found some books here and there and you heard people talking, so you knew that Kreat couldn’t be your father.

The first evidence was that he never treated you like one of his blood, the second was that you didn’t look like him at all and lastly there wasn’t a woman that he had a relationship with.

Kreat never told you how he found or bought you, you weren’t sure which one was the case, all he ever said to you was that you owned him loyalty and love because he took care of you when no one in this Galaxy wanted to do so, that he gave you a warm home and food when you were supposed to perish in the hot Tatooine’s sand and he didn't even ask too much of you.

“Oh Angel, I was starting to wonder when you would ask me that, you are twelve after all” the man said with the sweet voice he used with you whenever he wanted something or when you had pleased him enough. “But I regret to inform you, that you are here because your parents could never love you and so they gave you to someone that could do that” he took his hand to your face, gently caressing your skin.

——————————————————————————

You entered your quarters tired, more emotionally than physically, but it all added up in a gigantic ball of stress spreading through your body at a speed never seen before. You knew that the research had to be done in order to achieve - or try to - a greater good, this motive and Mitaka were the only things keeping you motivated.

All the excitement you had felt in the morning as you walked towards the meeting room vanished as your traumas, one by one, were brought to the surface, feeding your internalized fears as a hush of adrenaline kept on pumping in your veins. This self feeding system with no apparent end happened all day and as you lied in your bed, not bothering to take your clothes off, you still felt the results on your mind and body.

And when you believed that the cycle couldn’t get worse, the door opened, revealing the same tall figure that had paid you a visit the previous night, his dominant energy filling up the room.

You immediately sight, the frustration you had been dealing with quickly increasing followed by anxiety. All the guilt you had been able to pull away also mixing with the rest of your overwhelming emotions.

“Kylo, I really want to be alone” you informed politely, doing your best to disguise your feelings, but your request didn’t seem to be enough reason for the knight to leave, since you could still hear his footsteps getting closer.

“And why is that?” his deep voice resonated and unlike the last time you heard it, all it did was increase your discomfort.

“Not in the mood to talk, leave” you stated your request one last time, taking your head off the bed and staring at his emotionless brown eyes.

“I can feel your unease about me” he said, still ignoring your request and doing whatever he wanted, as usual.

The action caused you to close your hands in fists, feeling your nails touch your skin, the small gesture helping you to keep it together, the last thing you needed was to fight with Kylo.

“Not now” you tried once again, but he ignored your needs once again and in that moment you knew it was a lost battle.

“You are still holding on, let go” you heard him as he towered your figure on the bed, his eyes still not leaving yours as he studied you.

His request did nothing but anger you further, it wasn’t like you expected him to be any different, but his level of selfishness and his complete difficulty to understand that you just couldn’t give away everything that made you who you were kept on surprising you. He was truly an infuriating man.

“Why should I do it? Give me one good reason to betray everything that I am Kylo when you can’t even respect one simple request” you spitted the words and you could already see his body tensing up as he assimilated what you had said.

Despite his tense posture, his voice didn’t come up harshly, it almost seemed broken as he tried to make you understand, trying to convince you once again to give into his needs, to give into his needs.

“There are plenty -” he started.

The way he spoke wasn’t enough to stop your outburst, however, as you walked towards the other end of the room, getting away from the bed you had been seeking comfort on and away from Kylo, you allowed your doubts to finally be said out loud.

“Are they? I don’t even know you Kylo while you know everything about me. You know things that I wouldn’t want anyone to know, you are in my fucking head all the time, but you never show me a piece of yours”.

Closing the space between you and him, his face allowed you to see his feelings perfectly, his twitching chin, his frown and lips in a furious pout were enough proof of his anger.

“You know everything you need to know about me” he said, abandoning the soft tone in which he had spoken to you just moments ago.

His statement made you laugh dryly, in fact his audacity to even suggest that you already knew enough as a whole did.

“You must be insane. You want me to marry you, but you can’t even bring yourself to tell me about your family, about your story. Where did you grow up, Kylo? Are your parents alive? Are they nice people? What did you want to be as a child? Because there’s no fucking way for you to have been the Supreme Dick of this place since you were born” you didn’t exactly think before speaking, you never did when you were angry. However, as soon as his face changed to a much darker expression, you knew you had crossed a line and, for the first time since you got kidnapped by him, you were genuinely afraid of what he could do to you.

“I will not stand this kind of insolent behavior, I will tell you what I wish to tell you. You have no right to do any requests, you are just a no one I saved. All you really need to know is that no one gave a fuck about you a few months ago, if you died, no one would even grief over you. All you need to know is that at least now you have someone who cares about you, and that someone is me and I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

His words echoed through your head mixing with the fresh memory of what Kreat had said to you many years ago. All the anger you had been feeling vanished as disgust took over, disgust of his behavior and, most of all, disgust of yourself for getting in this situation with a monster.

Closing your fists as tears streamed down your face, you punched his chest still so close to you with as much strength as you had, hoping and begging any greater power that it would be enough for him to leave you alone as you screamed the word ‘leave’ as loud as you possibly could. You never wanted to see him again.

#crowned by the devil #kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #supreme leader kylo ren #first order #mitaka #star wars #adam driver

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nancywheelxr · 4 years

Note

Some brotherly fluff with Hela, Thor and Loki, pls?

Hi, hello, yes, Thor: Ragnarok was one of the best movies from the MCU and Loki is one of my favorite characters, so thank you for asking! Also, I’m sorry, I meant to keep this short, but somehow, this became a Ragnarok rewrite, so.

It begins to rain halfway into the play, a fine dripping of water that stubbornly refuses to pass, stays as a grey cloud above the palace and forces him to move the play inside the halls as soon as the first act is done.

Perhaps, that should have been his first sign that his day would only decline from them on, but Loki had only frowned at the sky then– like he would tell Thor later on, he’s not a witch, he can’t see the future.

If he hadn’t grown complacent in his deception, if he hadn’t settled on the boredom of his role, if he hadn’t believed himself safe in the stupidity of the court, then maybe he would have remembered what always follows the rain.

Thor is in a mood when he finds him in the throne room.

Surtur’s crown hangs from his hand, heavy and dusted with soot, and Loki knows at once that he’s been found out. And he wouldn’t even see his play past the first draft stages, oh well.

Privately, Loki feels traitorously relieved to see his brother– never let it be said things are boring whenever Thor is around, if only because of his sheer inclination of seeking trouble whenever it fails to find him on its own, and for the past couple years, the taste of ruling has soured on his tongue, grown stale with the apathy of court life and the dullness of its interminable meetings over inane matters discussed by asinine people.

Still, for appearance’s sake and god forbid, to keep Thor from getting any ideas on his head, Loki calls for the guards, makes a show of calling his brother mad and crying treason.

It works about as well as expected and Loki admits he could have thought this a little more through. “Come on, brother,” Thor says, arm outstretched waiting for Mjolnir. If he pays attention, Loki can hear the sizzling of the hammer.

“Fine, fine,” Loki easily wrenches himself away, less because he believes Thor would truly allow for Mjolnir to hit him and more to keep some sense of dignity and control over this quickly escalating situation, “I yield!”

A second later, Mjolnir is in his hand and thunder bounces off the walls.

It’s a testament of Thor’s temper and Loki should not push him further, not when he could be thrown into the dungeons for a lot more than treason now, but Loki has never been very good at making good life choices, now has he?

He grins, opening his arms, “surprise, brother, I am alive!”

Hurt and irritation flicker through Thor’s eyes and if he had been anyone else, perhaps Loki would feel guilt under his betrayed gaze. He’s not, though, he’s not anyone else and he’s not one for sentimentality, not since he learned how to survive, and besides, Thor has evolved to looking annoyed now. “Loki–”

His sentence is never finished.

The palace has stood true and tall for millennia, for thousands of years even before any of them were born, one could imagine it’s been there before Odin himself had been born, and it’s been subject of renovations many a time since then.

In none of those did anyone think of making sure it would withstand, well, Thor.

The murals, old and brittle as they were, had not been made to survive indoor lightning or even the aftershocks. Before Thor can even start his undoubtedly riveting speech, they crack and crumble, falling to the floor like cherry blossoms in the spring.

“Did you know,” he starts and falls silent, unable to look away to the bloody horrors revealed underneath the idyllic portraits from before. While he has never considered himself squirmish, the sight fills him with cold dread, a nauseating sense of doom that permeates the air like dust particles.

“I think,” Thor says, his anger gone from his voice, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty as he, too, takes in the painting of a woman not much older than the both of them, leading an Asgardian army and placed at Odin’s right.

“We need to talk with the All-Father,” Loki concludes for him, too unease with this new-found revelations to wonder about the repercussions of his own actions.

In the face of what must be yet another dirty little secret of the All-Father, what is a little lie and mischief, anyway?

“I can’t believe you,” Thor says as they make their way to the room given to them by the girl at the front desk, sounding very much resigned in a way that makes it look like that yes, he could very well believe it. “Of all the places, this is where you imprisoned our father in?”

“Your father,” he counters reflexively, mind still preoccupied with frankly bigger things, “and it is not a prison, the humans leave their elders here as well. This house had glowing reviews, in fact.”

“You are impossible,” Thor continues as if not hearing his perfectly sound explanation, “yet again you survive the impossible and what is the first thing you do? Overthrow father and build yourself some ridiculous statues.”

“Now, you’re just being rude,” Loki begins to take offense, but then they are in front of the door and they will have to come in, face the Odin and all the complicated feelings he brings, and ask questions he doubts Thor knows how to word.

The urge to flee is strong; Loki exhales, smoothes his hands pointedly not curled into fists.

“Well, go on, then,” he gestures for Thor to enter first, mockingly raising his eyebrows, and slips into careful indifference as he follows his brother into the room.

Odin is sitting by the window, watching the traffic outside with sunlight illuminating his face, warming the quilt he has thrown over his legs. It strikes Loki how very old he looks this way, how different from his memories. Maybe Midgard has this effect on their family, changing them fundamentally in places burrowed deep in their bones, impossible to shake off.

“My sons,” Odin says, and his voice, too, is frail, weary and worn thin, beckoning them closer with a wrinkled hand. It’s so jarring, Loki doesn’t have the presence of mind to correct him. “I am glad to see you while I still have some time left.”

Well, that’s just depressingly ominous.

Thor makes a distressed sound, crouching in front of his father to look at him closer, and even Loki is not heartless enough not to look away from the grief on his eyes. “Father,” he says, “do not speak like that, it is not your time yet, it cannot be.”

His speech is closer to its original cadence, Loki notices, less infected with Midgardian terms and wordings, and wonders idly if he notices the difference at all. Unsure where to place himself in this reunion, Loki clears his throat, “we have questions, All-Father.”

Odin’s gaze settles on him, intense and unfairly melancholic, and Loki wishes he could muster his old anger as fiercely as before. “Loki,” Odin smiles, age and sadness pulling at the corners of his lips, he’d never been one inclined to have laughter lines, “I have failed you in many ways, but in this, I have failed you both. You come to ask of Hela, do you not?”

“Is that her name?” Thor asks, worry and curiosity briefly overthrowing his hesitation, “we have seen the murals underneath the paintings. Who is she, father? What is the meaning of those images?”

It seems, to Loki, pretty clear what the old murals seem to represent, or did Thor think Asgard came to rule the Nine Realms by asking politely? Still, he keeps quiet in the interest of knowing the heart of the matter all the sooner, not bothering to wonder how Odin knew why they were there– he supposes, after all, not many things could persuade them to work together, not anymore, not after everything.

And yet, as Odin speaks of their blood-soaked past, Loki finds himself hypocritically disgusted by the carnage and cruelty of their wars, and perhaps even more so, by this charade of peace and charity they had been playing in after Odin decided, in his oh-so-infinite wisdom, to abruptly change his ways.

“She has been secluded away since then,” Odin finishes with a miserable shake of his head, “and she will be released once I am gone.”

How very like him to discard his child like a broken toy, Loki thinks, bitter over a sister that isn’t even his, not by blood and certainly not by being raised together. If anything, the only thing they have in common is their failure to meet Odin’s standards. Did he even speak to her before making up his mind? Did he try to reason, to reach her before tossing her away into a barren realm, alone to stew on her anger?

Did mother know?

Distantly, Loki registers Odin speaking of preparing for war, meeting Hela with all the power they have on hand, even stooping so low as to ask for Thor’s little human friends for help. Something about it doesn’t settle right with him.

Wasn’t this what started this mess in the first place?

Isn’t war the thing that has sent her spiraling?

Besides, if the Valkyrior couldn’t stop her, what hope have them of faring any better?

Faintly, in a voice that sounds so much like mother’s his chest aches with a familiar pain, he wonders what would have changed if Thor had not insisted on being stupidly stubborn on caring about him in Svartalfheim, even after New York, even after New Mexico.

Irritatingly, he has been thinking of Thor as his brother for quite some time now, long enough for him to wonder if he had ever really stopped. His anger has dwindled, what once was a wildfire, has been muted into resigned fossilized coal. The ambers are still there, but it doesn’t burn him anymore, doesn’t feel like it’s going to overflow out of his body and spread to the world around him, doesn’t make him want the world to burn with him.

Even more so, he wonders how much of New York had been solely him and how much had been brought on by the Void, by– by Thanos. Falling from the Bifrost had been relieving, then terrifying, then lonely. It had not done any favors for his mind and it certainly had not left him yet.

What has this confinement been doing to their sister?

“We must talk to her first,” he finds himself saying, interrupting whatever battle plans Odin and Thor had been drawing, “if she has been cut off from all the realms for so long, how can we know anything at all?”

Thor looks at him as if he lost his head. In all fairness, there have been several opportunities where he could very well have. “Are you mad?”

“There is no talking with Hela,” Odin laments, in his most pious voice, most regretful, “she cannot be reasoned with, we must prepare for war and pray to the Norns.”

“Yes, because you have always been so successful at speaking with your children,” Loki tries not to sound bitter, not to sound like he’s counting himself into that lot, “forgive me if I don’t take you for your word entirely.”

“Loki,” Thor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he thinks Loki is being unfairly difficult. Strangely, when he speaks again, it is not to tell him off. “Father, he has a point. You have tried and you have failed, but you have also failed in that regard with both of us in the past and yet here we are. I have not tried to start any wars recently and surprisingly, neither has Loki. How can we be sure Hela can’t be brought around as well?”

Odin remains silent for a long time, lips pursed in his distaste, and Loki carefully does not show his surprise at Thor’s support. Begrudgingly, it warms him further than any of the All-Father platitudes. Then, finally, “I am old and weak in my age, I do not have the strength to argue much longer with you both. If your mind is set in this recklessness, I cannot stop you, but I will not aid you either. If you wish to pursue this course of action, seek Heimdall, he shall open a door to her realm with my aid if he so decides.”

Rising, Thor gives his father a solemn last look, gone is the blind worship that used to dwell there. “We shall. I don’t pretend to understand a time long past, but I have to say, father, I can’t see how sealing our sister away and writing her out of history has helped any.”

Once it’s clear no answer will be forthcoming, Thorn turns away to him, determination on his expression. “Brother, you know more of Asgard’s current situation than me– where can we find Heimdall?”

“Erm,” Loki hopes his smile is sheepish enough not to incur Thor’s wrath as he says, “about that, I might have exiled him for some time now. I never did try to give chase, so I cannot guess at his whereabouts now.”

Thor pinches the bridge of his nose again, sighs.

“My princes,” says Heimdall, placidly as ever, where he stands at his usual place with his sword as if he had never left at all, as if Loki had not stripped him of his job, as if he hadn’t needed to leave his homeland behind for the past two years.

“Heimdall,” Thor smiles, and claps him on the back, his grin falling into a grimace not too long after, “do you know why we seek you?”

Just in case, Loki decides to silently take his place out of reach of Heimdall’s sword, just in case there are some hard feelings over his exile.

“You wish to visit Hela in her prison,” he nods, stoic and grim, and his hands twitch on the hilt of his sword– surely a sign of overwhelming anxiety, coming from Heimdall. “I can take you there and I can bring you back, but I cannot promise what else might come with you, that is not the way gates work.”

“You think she might try to return with us,” Loki guesses. Unfortunately, it’s a very good point and a very real possibility, one they must never let come to pass, not if she is as mad as Odin paints her to be. “You will be watching us, will you not?”

Heimdall looks at him with his golden eyes and Loki has the uncomfortable feeling he’s being bared to his soul. “Aye, my prince, I will.”

“Then you’ll know if we succeed or not,” Thor catches on to his plan, nodding along, “if there’s even a chance she’ll come to lay waste to Asgard, do not bring us back.”

This could quite possibly become a suicide mission, he realizes, now that he has time away from Odin to go over his logic, separate it from the bitterness that unfailingly rises whenever the All-Father is around. What if Hela does not want to be reasoned with, not anymore?

They could very well be too late.

One might wonder why he is still insisting on being a part of this at all, he is no Aesir and he is no Odinson, he has no obligation to fix Odin’s messes.

Thor’s pained voice murmurs over Heimdall’s as he explains their reasoning, their plan in not enough details and too much sentiment.

Loki curses himself in his head and loudly cuts in to point out exactly how wrong Thor is.

The realm is a wasteland in shades of grey.

Nothing on sight but dark sand for miles, dunes and dunes of it, black against the clouded sky, and the air smells faintly of smoke even though there’s no fire burning nearby.

It is a dead place made for dead people and it makes him wonder what it says about their sister that Odin thought fitting to send her here.

In but seconds, they no longer have to wonder: Hela stands before them, tall and regal, her dark hair and dark clothes and dark smile not unlike her prison. “Brothers,” she says, and her eyes sparkle with something– rage? Jealousy? Hate? Hurt? He cannot identify, it’s gone too quickly, replaced with an indifference too perfected not to be entirely false. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I’d ask if father dearest is gone, but if that were the case, we would not be having this conversation here. Actually, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

The hatred in her voice is unmistakable, but so is the pain, the betrayal, and Loki trades a look with Thor– perhaps, if it still hurts, then she still cares, then there’s still hope. “We come not in the All-Father’s order,” he dares speak, keeping his own tone carefully neutral, “or his blessing, for that matter.”

“We have only learned of you today, sister,” Thor joins him, earnest as he is bound to ever be in the face of a sibling he can save, “that’s why we’re so late. If we had known, we would have come sooner.”

Despite Thor’s pitch having more information, it is on him that Hela focuses on, eyes calculating. “You call him All-Father. I thought you my brother as well since you were here with him, was I mistaken?”

Well, shove him under the bus, why don’t you.

“In a manner of speaking,” Loki decides on, settling for a more diplomatic answer, one that wouldn’t start Thor in one of his tirades and would perhaps gain him some favor in Hela’s eyes. “Odin stole me from my planet after his battle had ended and raised me alongside Thor. I can’t say I’m overly fond of him or inclined to call him father.”

“And why is that? Did he discard you after you were done being useful, that does seem to be his way.”

Loki smiles. It is not a nice smile and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Thor send him nervous glances. “No, I cast myself away before he could.”

“Sister, we have come not to talk about the past–”

“Not now, brat,” she waves Thor off with one disinterested motion of her hand and it’s such a jarring sight, it does manage to shut him up. “I remember your insufferable wailing, few things change, I see. Now tell me, if you are not my brother, who are you?”

“I am Loki,” he says, pretends it does not sting to stop his introduction there, “and my brother and I have come to hear your side of the story.”

That throws her off, Loki can see in the way she cannot quite mask her surprise. Her eyebrows rise and her lips turn into a cruel smile, “is that so? And who says I want to tell it? Perhaps I would like it better to kill you both, watch your blood paint a little color in the sand. This place drains on my power, that is true, but I am still stronger than any of you.”

There’s a warning there, but there’s information, too. They hadn’t known how Odin kept her locked up, exactly. If she is weakened, then they are already safer than previously thought– not that there’s much comfort in that, they had not been safe at all before.

Except, if she wanted them dead, she could have done it already. She didn’t have to show herself to them or even deign to listen to what they had to say. She didn’t have to ask questions or tell Thor to shut up.

If Hela is anything like them, like him, she must be bored out of her mind here.

They must be the most interesting to happen in thousands of years.

“You could,” Loki begins cautiously, “but then you would be back to the same state you have been for the past millennia. You are right, Odin is weakened,” at his side, Thor makes a noise. Loki ignores him, “but who is to say he won’t recover? He could be slipping into the Odinsleep as we speak and you of all people know from how much closer to death he has returned. Would you rather stay in your greying world– which, I can tell, is just bursting with entertainment– or take the opportunity to air your grievances with the All-Father?”

“You’re the worst,” Thor pinches the bridge of his nose once again, and Loki sees Hela cocking her head, eyeing them with amused curiosity, “why are you baiting her to kill us? We have just had a conversation about recklessness. Mainly, you complained about mine. I feel entitled to complain about yours now, considering you lump my life with yours on the line.”

“I was not baiting her,” he explains impatiently, they do not have this kind of time to be idling, “I was merely pointing out it is to her advantage to keep us alive. Forgive me for assuming she uses her brain, unlike you.”

“Are you ever going to come up with a better argument than calling me an idiot? It’s been centuries, brother, surely you must have a better comeback by now–”

“I will stab you–”

A sound, harsh and sharp, interrupts their bickering, and Loki is shocked to find it’s Hela laughing. It is not anywhere nice or reassuring, but he wouldn’t call it unpleasant. “I must admit, this is entertaining. Are you always this petty?”

“No,” says Loki while Thor says, “yes.”

“Delightful,” Hela grins, lips pulling back to reveal a row of white teeth that looks too sharp in this half-light, “I will refrain from killing you today, but know this, brothers, once I am out of this wretched place, I will destroy Asgard and everything in its wake.”

Loki looks at Thor.

Thor looks back.

This is a good compromise for a first meeting, wouldn’t you say?

“Eh,” Thor shrugs, “we shall work out the details later. Now, tell us, sister, your tale and spare no detail.”

Taking in her seeming flair for the dramatics, Loki does not think it wise to ask her not to spare any details, but he only sighs, resigning himself to spend the rest of his day on this nightmarish desert.

Hela does not kill them on the first day and she does not try to follow them back when Heimdall opens the Bifrost, although Loki isn’t sure how much of that is because she cannot do so with her powers lessened.

Still, she gives them her side and it’s just as much of a frightening tale as Odin’s was, full of glorified victories and ruthless battles. Her words drip enough blood that he almost understands why Odin thought necessary to lock her and throw away the key.

Almost.

“Tell me, brother,” she says on the second visit, her voice sounding less like the clinking of swords in a battlefield, “how is my hammer?”

Thor pales. “Right, about that–”

They leave pretty quickly after that.

Days go by with the wind and Loki finds he is not as resentful to having Thor crowned king as he thought he would be, as he had been once upon a time. He wishes he could say it has all to do with his time as king himself, the boredom and the monotony, but he knows better. Unfortunately, he knows better.

It’s extremely annoying.

As for their sister, and it irritates him to no end that he is, in fact, thinking of Thor’s megalomaniac sister and his sister as well, she hasn’t tried to kill them yet, most likely because Odin’s magic has sealed her power for now. Of course, Thor likes to think they have been– building a rapport.

“She hasn’t threatened us this time,” Thor points out, “that’s progress.”

“Or maybe she thinks it is implied,” he sighs. This might have started as his idea, but he certainly did not think it would go this far. Or that he would have avoided the dungeons this far.

Or that he would still be there.

Maybe they are all surprising each other these days.

“So you have given up on killing him?” Hela asks, watching with bewildered eyes. Today, Loki has come alone, left Thor in one of his interminable meetings and endured Heimdall’s all-knowing gaze on his back, steady and unnerving. For some reason, Hela has taken this as an invitation to grill him about his story. “Why?”

She has a way of finding the heart of the matter and tearing it out into the open.

“It is complicated,” he says, sitting down in the newly conjured chair, “but blaming anyone else for Odin’s faults did not bring as much satisfaction. And this Thor is not the one who slighted me in our childhood, there is no fun there either.”

Hela hums. “Perhaps. But I think that is not why. You are a sentimental fool, brother.”

The tea he had brought with him warms his hands, but Loki still feels unsettled all the way back to the Observatory.

“I cannot believe you gave her a plant,” Loki says, shaking his head and feeling stupid just thinking of the stupid cactus in the stupid yellow vase, “what did you think that would accomplish?”

Thor shrugs. “Taking up hobbies is a good first step.”

Knitting, Thor decides, is a good second step. Predictably, he is wrong about that just like Loki imagined he would be.

When Hela stabs his brother in the shoulder with the knitting needle, Loki laughs and notices she could have gone for much more fatal spots.

Perhaps this might truly be progress.

Odin is not getting any better.

They can only hope progress is enough when the seal is broken.

Of course, there are not only good days. If anything, most days end up with Hela raging over something or other and swearing vengeance on Asgard, and Loki tries not to think about it, but they are running out of time.

They have to make a decision soon– will they wait for Hela as a lost sister returning home or an enemy that could bring about the end of everything? Both choices are too dissonant from each other, two ends of a scale so far apart, they probably should not be part of the same scale at all.

A few days after Thor found him in Asgard, he had cornered him in his room, his speech vastly different from before. Maybe you’ll always be the god of mischief, he had said, for once not sounding like anything at all, but you could be more.

Then, he had not exiled him from Asgard but had made very clear that should Loki wish to leave, Thor would not stop him. He had seemed surprised to find Loki still there in the morning.

Decisions, decisions– it seems everything is about choosing lately.

“There is a Midgardian saying,” he says now as they make the slow walk back to the palace, covered in the black sand of Hela’s prison, “that says the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Thor’s eyebrows rise. “Never thought I’d hear you quoting humans, brother.”

“In this case,” Loki shrugs, dusting himself off to keep himself casual, careful to betray as little as possible of how much thought he’s been giving this entire situation, “it has its merits.”

Thor hums agreeably, wholly unbothered by the sand. “True. Do you think we are making a mistake by trying to speak with Hela?”

What Loki really thinks is that he wishes people would stop asking him so many damn questions with complicated answers. “As a king, maybe. As her brother? I think you would not have forgiven yourself if you had not tried this first.”

For a long time, Thor doesn’t speak again. Then, “I really hope there are no more murals underneath those.”

As Odin weakens, Hela strengthens.

Or so they find out when they are greeted by inhuman growling as soon as the Bifrost fades. No more than a few steps away, a wolf larger than any horse snarls, hungry eyes trained on their throats.

“Hm,” Thor clears his throat, “sister?”

Hela, who had been petting its head serenely until now, glances up lazily. “Yes?”

“There did not use to be a wolf in here yesterday,” Loki points out, “I am fairly sure I would have noticed if there were a wolf in here yesterday or any other day for that matter.”

“Oh,” she says, and for the first time since they learned of her, Hela smiles a smile that is not full of sharp teeth and hunger. She smiles and it’s just a smile, it’s nice, it’s almost happy. “I was able to call for Fenrir this morning.”

Thrown off by the jarring sight, Loki nods mutely, while Thor returns her grin with one of his won, bright and excited, “he is a mighty companion indeed! May I pet him?”

“Did you just ask to pet the giant wolf–”

“You may try,” Hela ignores him, waving Thor closer. With her track record, it really is a gamble whether she means for her pet wolf to eat him or not. “He will probably not bite.”

Approaching slowly, Thor reaches a hand, telegraphing his intentions loudly not to startle the animal, and to Loki’s utter disbelief, the wolf actually does cease its infernal snarling, ears dropping, and butts its head against his hand.

Absolutely ridiculous.

“Did you know, sister,” Thor says, and his voice takes a dangerous turn, teasing, which means Loki is probably not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next, “that on Midgard, the humans think Loki is Fenrir’s mother?”

“And here we go again,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, huffs.

“It’s true,” Thor continues, and Hela laughs, and it sounds less and less like broken glass and more and more like laughter. “They also blame him for Sleipnir and Jormungandr.”

“Yes, go on, laugh it up,” Loki glares but he has no hope it is not half-hearted at best. Oddly enough, it is now, dropping to one knee to card his fingers through grey fur softer than it should possibly be, that he first believes this might not end in flames yet. “But let us not forget what they did remember correctly– like the time you lost Mjolnir and had to pretend to be a giant’s bride.”

“You lost my hammer?”

Hela sounds mildly upset but her eyes are amused, no longer clouded over by the thousands of years of loneliness, by a madness not unlike his. Loki fell into the Void, but Hela had been trapped in a void of her own. Now, it will not be too long before she gets to be free once more, for better or for worse.

In any case, the future does not look entirely bleak if one looks from this moment. They are all together and there have been little to no violent threats. If he were anyone else, Loki might even call it nice.

And besides, in a thousand years from now, who knows gods of what they will be known as.

#loki laufeyson #thor #mcu #mcu hela #loki #thor ragnarok #loki odinson #look an ask #marvel tag #loki and thor brotp #loki and hela brotp #thor and hela brotp #asgardians tag #loki fanfic

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lucky-bucky-boy · 5 years

Text

Homecoming

Pairing: Eventual College!Bucky x Reader (issa slow burn)

Word Count: 2107

Warnings: Fluff, insinuation of reader having anxiety and insecurities, sLoW bUrN

A/N: ooooof this is almost 2 weeks late so y’all might get a second chapter this weekend, if not it’ll be next week. But I dropped a class so I have more time to focus on writing and other projects of mine.

Tagged: @frenchzodiacgirl @johnnynunzio @all-art-is-quite-useless @necromaniackat @sunflwerstark

A haze of excitement casted over the students. Roaring cheers of the crowd as another touchdown was received. A soft breeze blowing, cooling down the heated atmosphere. Moon and stars bright in the sky but drowned out by the white lights blaring down in the field.

Surrounded by friends, laughter, and crappy game food as everyone watched the homecoming game of the Stark University Avengers. A team of massive men with surprisingly just as big of hearts, nothing like one would have expected, nothing like the stereotypical assholes on television. For the most part.

Their was Steve, easily the most kind person you ever met. Whenever the group hung out he was always sure to ask you how your day was, compliment you on new clothing and hair styles, make you were included.

Then there was Thor, a foreign exchange student who just wanted to have a good time. He had hung out with the group once, always joking and constantly talking about his girl Jane who was a nurse.

Clint was a quiet, almost always brooding, but quick witted and ultimately a huge softy. He seemed to always look like something was wrong but would throw out a "leave my resting bitch face alone" and other snide remarks always causing the group to snicker.

Peter was the one that didn't seem to have all of his innocence taken. Sure, all the guys were sweet, but they all had something about them, some secret or fuck boy tendency that could sometimes make you question if their smile was friendly or flirtatious. He was awkward but easily excited and happy to just be apart.

And Bucky. Bucky was the one who could knock the wind out of someone, both literally and metaphorically. He was so… Bucky. A smile that never failed to reach his bright blue eyes, that crinkled ever so slightly when he did. A laugh that was absolutely contagious. A voice that could soothe and rile all in one sentence. A heart of pure gold and steel melted together. Quick to come to someone's defense, quicker to steal their heart. But he had a reputation that preceded him. One that involved dating a girl until he got what he wanted and leaving her for the next. Ladies man, player, fuck boy.

Lost in thoughts as the game came to an end, the crowd screaming the winning touchdown was, Wanda elbowed you and everyone stood, cheering the team on. Joining them in the celebration of roars you grounded yourself to the moment, happy and proud for your friends.

Seats cleared out soon after, bodies still buzzing with excitement. Girlfriends going over to congratulate their boyfriends, friends whooping as they approached each other. “The guys are going to shower then meet at your dorm,” Nat announced, looking down at her phone as you and Wanda followed.

A squeal fell from Wanda’s lips, her need for social interactions fluttering out like a butterfly finally leaving the cocoon. “I’ll text Sam to see if he can grab some more beers.”

You kept quiet, a forced smile on your face as you tried to fake being as excited as she was for yet another night of excessive stimulation. You loved your friends, truly were thankful for each and everyone of them. But you were more introverted than they were. A need for a quiet moment, a breath of fresh air, a still scene to recharge. Another night of intensity would drain every last will out of you.

Once back at the dorm, Nat narrowed her eyes at you as you jumped on your bed. “What’s up with you? You’ve been quiet.”

“Nothing,” you shrugged, “Our team just won and our friends are coming over, what would be wrong?”

Wanda pouted, “You’re lying, you won’t look at us when you talk.”

A sigh fell from your lips, “I’m just a little overstimulated. I promise nothing is wrong. I’ll probably just go for a walk then come back.” You sent them both a reassuring smile, “Here, I’ll head out now so I’ll be back around the time the boys get here, okay?”

The two glanced at each other before looking back at you and nodding. “Keep your phone on you. If we don’t hear anything in an hour we’re sending a search party.” Nat’s threat was rooted with worry but you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Alright, mom. I’ll be safe, I promise.” You teased. Changing an oversized sweatshirt of one of the guys and a pair of jeans, you slipped your converse on and headed out, sighing contentedly the second the door was shut.

With no destination, you set out, wondering the parts of the campus that seemed the darkest, hoping to get the best view of the stars and crickets and owls sang a melody in the distance. A sense of peace washed over you, happy to see the bright lights of the field being flicked off one by one.

Turning the corner around a building you ran straight into some, more like somebody. A soft “oof” as an arm wrapped around you, keeping you steady. “You okay, doll?”

An all too familiar voice has your head jerking up. “Oh Bucky! Sorry,” you squeaked out, pulling back from his arms. “Wasn’t expecting you to be out here, wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here really.” You mumbled, crossing an arm over the front of yourself.

“I like going for walks after games, helps me clear my head. Was actually about to start heading to your dor- wait, is that my sweatshirt?”

Looking down you could feel your skin heat up in embarrassment, remembering now that he had left it on your bed last week when the guys came over for game night. “Y-yeah, it was on my bed and I just grabbed the first thing I saw and threw it -” “Looks good on you, keep it.” The smoothness of his voice caused you to finally look at him straight on, seeing a soft smirk on his lips. “So whats a little girl like you doing out here all alone?” There was a tease dripping off of his tone.

“Well…” you shrugged sofly, “I just kinda get overwhelmed and overstimulated if I’m doing a lot all the time. And since we’ve had a mini party every week since the start of school and then the game and just constantly out doing things I just wanted a chance to enjoy the quiet.”

There was a softness in Bucky’s features at your admittance, a gentle, warming smile and a welcoming sparkle in his ocean eyes. “Mind if I join you?” Even his voice was softer than a moment prior. “You can tell me no, but I get what you mean. I get the same way.” “No, I mean, yeah, you can join. Would definitely put the girls as ease knowing you were with me.” You almost missed the content smile as he stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his jeans when you pulled your phone out, texting Nat and Wanda to not worry cause Bucky had joined you on your walk.

Shoving the phone into your back pocket you looked up at him, smiling sweetly, “Well, come on then Mr.Barnes. The stars won’t hold still for us all night.”

It was odd how content you felt walking in silence with Bucky, head tilted up to look at the sprinkles of light against the deep black background. His gaze would flicker between the path in front of you two, the sky, and you when he was sure you weren’t looking.

After about ten minutes of walking, Bucky’s voice finally broke through the comfortable silence. “Why do you like the stars so much?”

A soft giggle left your lips as you pulled your gaze from the sky to look at him. “There’s a lot of reasons.”

“Well, Ms. (Y/L/N),” his tone a playful tease of yours earlier, “We have all night for you to explain.”

“Well, then okay,” you feigned annoyed, earning a light chuckle from him, “I guess I can tell you. To start, there’s the childish reason. They’re sparkly and pretty. Especially pictures or through a telescope. Then there’s the morbid reason, that even though most of these stars could be dead at this point, we still see them shining so brightly. Then… there’s the nerdy reason. Space in general really, it’s just captivating. It’s serene, innocent almost. Undisturbed and just unapologetically there. Plus, there’s that saying we all hear growing up, “I love you to the moon and back”. And aliens. The concept of aliens is cool.”

The last addition caused a spurt of laughter to part from his lips. “Yeah, aliens are cool. I actually went through an alien phase.” His smile was more genuine than you had ever seen him with before. “My mom actually really likes space and everything as well. She used to sit me on her lap in the backyard and tell me all the myths and legends that went with it. She went on a vacation one year to the middle of a desert in Chile I think just to see the whole Milky way. Anyway, when I was like 11 maybe my mind started running and I was briefly obsessed with aliens.” It was your turn to laugh now. “All I can imagine is you, scrawny and barely 4 foot 5, with a bowl cut, and running around screaming about aliens.”

“... you are oddly spot on and that’s not okay.” He joined you in laughing, shaking his head at the ridiculous image in his head.

Your laughter diminished softly, “I don’t get to see the stars like this at home, too close to the city for that luxury.”

“Oh,” there was an unease in him, causing you to look over at him in confusion, “I uh, I don’t like to talk about it but my family is pretty well off, so this stuff is just kind of the norm for me,” he said gesturing to the sky, “My mom didn’t come from money though so she had a special appreciation for the smaller things that money could bring.” He huffed out a small chuckle, “You actually kinda remind me of her. You’re just… calming.”

“That’s a first,” you teased, trying your best to keep the mood light, not sure if you were unknowingly running into uncharted territories.

“Oh come on, quit with that. Don’t act like you don’t know that all the guys in the group have tried coming onto you at least once.”

That caused you to freeze in your steps, jaw slacking some, “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh. Everyone except Thor. I’m just not as subtle about it.” The shit eating smirk was back on his face.

“Cause you’re a player,” a quip that fell from your lips faster than you could comprehend.

Thankfully he just kept the back and forth going, “I never played anyone though. I just like girls and sex.”

You shook your head at that, not being able to help the smile on your lips. “Why don’t you date though?”

He shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know where I’m going after here, so why have a commitment to tie me down?” It made sense, it really did, but you couldn’t ignore the small tinge of pain in your chest at the insinuation that a relationship was burden. “Okay, well, what do you want to do after here?”

“You know just about as much as I do.” He mumbled. “My dad mentioned me taking over his law firm but… I didn’t even really want to do law. Just knew it’d be easy cause I’ve been around it my whole life. When I was younger, all I wanted to do was just have a happy family, I never thought about the logistics behind it. Steve and I talked about the army briefly but our mamas would’ve quickly kicked out asses into next century.” He suddenly stopped and looked over at you, your gaze back on the stars again. Noticing he’d gone quiet you looked over at him, face heating up when you realized he had been staring at you. “What?” An uncontrollable smile spread across your lips. “Nothing I just - we should probably head back soon. But… We should do this again, hang out just the two of his.”

It was hard to not fully make a fool of yourself, hurry out a quick tease, “What? Am I giving Steve a run for his money as your best friend?” There was that laugh again that made you stomach shoot up into butterflies, “Keep it up and you just might.”

#boys like you #bucky #bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes fluff #college au bucky #college!bucky #college!bucky x reader #college!bucky fluff #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fic

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neokollection · 5 years

Text

Reaction To Their S/O Feeling Ugly While Pregnant

Pt. I - Pt. II

Doyoung:

Midnight cravings were the best and the worst. The best because you couldn’t think of a time food had tasted so wonderfully delightful, but also the worst in that the guilt would set in after and you’d feel disgusted by yourself.

Peanut butter on celery- You looked in the pantry, stomach begging for chocolate. There was a container of Nutella and box of chips that caught your attention.

You were having a feast. The time on the nearby microwave read 2:26 AM, but you didn’t pay it any mind, you were used to getting up throughout the night. Though you did it a lot, whenever Doyoung would wake up from you leaving or after, he’d always have a slight panic as to wear his pregnant wife went. Padding down the stairs, he caught sight of the kitchen, knowing exactly what you were up to.

He let out a little groan to signal his entry, wearing a sleepy smile. Embarrassed he’d caught you, you quickly downed the rest of the hot chocolate you’d been sipping on. He grabbed a chip off the counter, popping it into his mouth before draping himself over you.

“Come back to bed-”

His voice was laced with sleep and mumbled, his hands naturally finding purchase on your swollen tummy.

“Damn- Gummy bears too?”

His words made you feel sick... You were a pig. Perhaps it was due to the lack of sleep and the hormones, but you found yourself breaking into a fit of tears before being quickly turned around and pulled into his chest. He held you tight, worried you’d try to push away and be mad at him- All traces of earlier drowsiness gone.

“Shh, shh...”

He tried to comfort you, apologizing in the process and repeatedly calling your name.

“I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I’m a pig-”

“No- No! I want you to eat a lot- You have to eat a lot! There’s two of you!”

He drew back, eyes wide as he held your shoulders.

“I’m not telling you to stop, honey- You guys need it~”

He brushed a hand over your hair, his thumb gently rubbing over your forehead before he reached behind you for a paper towel to dry your cheeks.

Jaehyun:

A loose t-shirt and a pair of cute boxers you’d picked out for him on his birthday- You watched with adoration before narrowing your eyes as he opened a dresser drawer, reaching behind his head to pull his shirt over his head. His body was statue-esque, but no matter how many times you’d seen it you’d never miss ogling him.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he informed before turning around, tossing a clean shirt onto the end of the bed.

“Okay-” your voice was quiet beneath the covers, a small smile etched into your features at the sight.

He wore a smug smile, one he often wore- You’d never be able to discern what he was thinking... He knelt on the end of bed, pulling the covers from you.

“No-” you protested, comfy and warm.

“You don’t want to get me a little dirty before I shower?”

You rolled your eyes after hearing his teasing laugh. Of course you did- But not in this... state.

“It’s been a while,” he commented, crawling toward you, the golden hue of the sun casting a heavenly glow upon him.

“I just... don’t feel like me-”

He stopped his advances at your downturned eyes, changing from a seductive crawl to a stoic kneel. He reached out, grasping your calves before pulling you from the pillows toward him-

“Jaehy-! You can’t do that kind of stuff anymore,” you protested, holding your bump protectively as you shot him a glare.

“You’re still you,” he assured, “And this,” he began, placing a large hand over your own on your stomach, “Will be over soon- And you’ll be the pretty little vixen again- Not that you’re not pretty now-” he backtracked, “You’re gorgeous.”

Thinking for a moment, he wandered if his words were somewhat harmful.

“It’s amazing that you’re doing this,” he breathed, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose.

Jungwoo:

He was always eating... You’d become sensitive to smells, especially pungent smells- Getting sick easily. Yet he was blissfully oblivious and a creature of habit.

He hummed in delight as he munched happily at the red light.

“Pull over,” you winced.

“Hmm?”

“Pull over-”

You felt like you were going to be sick. Sensing your unease he quickly shifted lanes once the light turned green, pulling over. It was an empty grassy field at your side, easing you a bit as no one would see you. Opening the door, you unbuckled your seat belt before Stepping out, bending over out of sight, before getting sick. Alarmed, Jungwoo put the gear in park before unbuckling himself, letting the metal slap against the door as the car dinged as he opened his door in a hurry. You put a hand out behind you, telling him not to come.

“Baby,” he whined in distraught.

Finished, you spit before taking a deep breath. Once you turned, he was quickly at your side, aiding you in sitting in the car once more, buckling you in.

“My baby,” he whined once more, brushing your hair from your face as you wiped at your lips with a tissue.

Once you cast your gaze to his bag of snacks, he got the hint, quickly reaching over to shove them into the glove box. You felt gross- Sweaty and sickly- Part of you loved his touches, wanting him to caress and fret over you more, but another part of you wanted him to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he gushed, “I forgot!”

For the rest of your term he’d serve you hand and foot, being mindful of everything he did around you- Praising you and spoiling you.

“You’re a goddess, you know- I don’t deserve you-”

“Don’t say that! You’re an angel! I love you-”

“Right- Angels are lower on the hierarchy than Gods-”

“Jungwoo!”

Mark:

Imagining Mark getting a girl pregnant is so wack-

“She’s kind of big for such a scrawny boyfriend-”

It was those words that had you staring hard at a cereal box, eavesdropping.

“Shh! Maybe she’s pregnant- She looks like it-”

It was beyond you how people could talk so brazenly in public as if you weren’t a few meters away.

“Ah, they didn’t have 1% so I hope 2% is fine,” Mark caught up, rounding the corner with a carton of milk in hand.

You could feel eyes on the two of you, gnawing on your bottom lip before pushing the shopping cart to the end of the aisle.

“Slow down,” Mark chuckled, hurrying to your side to put the milk in the cart.

You were in a funk the rest of the evening, pouty and detached- Only able to hear the insults from earlier.

You were getting bigger, weren’t you? Well, you were in an awkward phase, showing, but people could mistake it for just a tubby tummy.

“Want some?” Mark offered, being careful not to plop down on the sofa beside you like he usually did, knowing you were sensitive now.

You cast your gaze to the bag of Skittles he had, shaking your head before retraining your gaze on the Family Guy episode mindlessly playing on the television. It was silent for a few minutes as Mark ate by himself.

“Is something wrong?” he suddenly piped up, round eyes turning your way with worry.

“No,” you sighed, you really didn’t want to get into it.

“Do you feel sick or-”

“I just feel fat,” you cut in.

Silence lingered in the air for a moment more before he was scooting closer, sliding a hand over your own.

“You’re not fat babe- You’re pregnant-”

“I know it’s natural or whatever, but I hate it-” you admitted, lips stretching back unflatteringly before you let your head fall forward, the tears building up.

His hand was on your upper back, massaging comforting circles.

“Baby, you’re not fat,” he insisted, his tone almost as if he himself was the one offended.

#nct #nct reaction #nct 127 #nct au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct pregnant #doyoung reaction #jaehyun reaction #jaehyun #doyoung #jaehyun fluff #doyoung fluff #mark fluff #jungwoo fluff

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yehet-me-up · 5 years

Text

Freestyle

Pairing: Jongin/Kai x reader (female)

Word Count: 22,168

Rating/Warnings: (M) for swearing + modest sexy times + brief mentions of violence and abusive relationships.

Summary: The front desk job at the KOKO Exercise Studio was supposed to be your fresh start, somewhere new to escape the past. If only your ex-fiancé could take the hint. When he starts invading your life once again, stopping by constantly, the last person you would have expected comes to your defense. The edgy, brooding dance teacher Jongin is definitely not how you imagined your Prince Charming, but he might prove to be just the man you need.

Part six of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

Monday January 13th, 1997

The phone rings on the far side of the desk, buried beneath a stack of papers. The hum of conversation in the room from people waiting to go into exercise classes and heading into the gym is so loud that you don’t even hear it at first.

Paige looks up from where she’s explaining the aerobics schedule to someone. ‘Liz, could you grab that? Thanks.’

The use of your old nickname takes a second for you to register and you’re glad it’s so busy that your new boss doesn’t notice.

‘Got it!’ You nod to the person in front of you, an older man, and take his signed liability waiver from him with a smile.

‘Thank you Mr. Albertson, Jazzercise is just down the hall. Second door on your left, starting in fifteen minutes. Have fun!’ Adding the paper to the disorganized stack on the counter, you dash to the end of the desk and pick up the phone.

‘KOKO Exercise Studio. Liz speaking, how can I help you?’ your voice is hurried to your ears and you take a deep breath to slow your heart rate.

The person asks when the next Intermediate Hip Hop class is and you dig through the pile of papers on the desk the schedule. You spot it at the far end of the dark wood desk and reach for it.

Just as your hand closes on the paper you stretch an inch too far and the phone cord exceeds its limit, tugging the receiver off the counter with a loud crash that makes you wince. Blessedly, the customer is still on the phone and you sit on the floor and read off the schedule, trying to hide your chuckle at the sheer insanity of how busy things are.

A man comes behind the desk, one of the dancer instructors, you think. As you speak to the customer you become acutely aware of him and the neutral expression on his handsome face as he takes in you on the floor, the mess around you.

The loose grey sweatpants and a white tank top he wears show off his bronzed skin and toned muscles to an absurd degree. The way he moves, gracefully, power contained in his limbs, somehow makes him look like both fire and water as he prowls next to you.

He looks at the paper in your hands, reading the CLASS SCHEDULE title and motions for it. The crease in his forehead deepens, making you feel foolish and causing you to stutter into the phone.

After looking at it for a beat he hands the paper back to you. He gives you a raise of his brow, the deep brown of his eyes betraying no emotion other than boredom. The way he watches you reminds you faintly of the person who caused you to move to Seattle and you feel your defenses rise in response.

With a glance at the line out the door, he leaves. The air still feels charged from his presence. Electric, the way it does during a rainstorm when lightning is imminent.

Gee, thanks for the help you think, shaking your head before being drawn back into the conversation with the person on the phone.

As soon as you hang up you fix the phone and get started organizing the papers on the counter while you help the next customer with a friendly smile.

Over the course of the day you and Paige alternate handling the endless calls and tackling the steady stream of customers walking in for classes and gym passes. It’s only your fourth day of work, but thankfully you can tell that the New Year’s rush of people attempting to set new fitness resolutions is slowing down.

Someone else might be stressed out by the non-stop work - the tide of paperwork, the scheduling to catch up on after the previous front desk admin quit without notice just after Christmas - but not you. All of it helps with the aching emptiness that has taken up residence in your heart.

Over the course of the last two weeks you’ve moved to Seattle with your older sister, both found places at the Exodus Mall that were hiring, interviewed, and started work. Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

On Friday Paige told you she didn’t want to see any other candidates. With your experience with reception at a dance studio in Tacoma you were a perfect fit. She begged you to start that day and it’s been non-stop since.

All of it provides a steady hum of things to do; a hum that distracts your mind and your body from what, and who, you left behind in Tacoma.

No. Left behind is too subtle a phrase to describe it. It implies that you and your sister, at twenty-one and twenty-six, decided to move onto better things in the ‘big city’ of Seattle. Two young women ready to take on the world.

As if. Your life is as far from Friends as it’s possible to be.

Escaped might be better to describe how everything went down. Fled would also work.

In a lull after the seven o’clock classes start you look up from the desk to the busy parking lot, drawn by something in your peripheral vision. You watch as a man walks by, his face buried in the collar of his jacket against the cold.

He turns quickly and carries on, getting lost among the cars. But something about his walk, the cut of his hair, sends a jolt of fear through you.

No, it can’t be you reassure yourself. There’s hundreds of men in Washington who look like Michael. Brown hair and leather jackets over red plaid shirts in the nineties are a dime a dozen.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus on filing away membership forms, as if you can keep your ex from finding you through sheer force of will.

The sense of unease stays with you throughout the rest of your shift; a chill on the back of your neck that you just can’t shake. Finally, ten o’clock rolls around and you head into the mall to meet your sister. You wave good night to Paige and share an amused sigh at how busy the day was.

Your steps echo in the wide open space, reaching up to the expansive glass dome that forms the ceiling of the mall. A few shops are still closing down for the day. Distant laughter reaches you from the pizza parlor to the right and the opening chorus of ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ is playing from the bookstore near the other end.

These sounds should reassure you; help you feel less alone, less… exposed, out here in the open. But they don’t. All you can feel is the looming threat of your ex surrounding you.

Angry tears prick at your eyes as you stand still in the middle of the marble floor. You wipe at them with the edge of your sleeve and take a steadying breath before carrying on.

While you walk towards the mall daycare you start trying to calm yourself down, pulling out affirmations like they are life rafts that can keep you afloat.

I am safe. He can’t hurt me. I am safe. He won’t find me. I am safe…

Unbidden, images cloud your memory, wiping out the brief sense of calm the words had started to lend you.

Cleaning up a gash in Michael’s forehead after a fight, in the front seat of his Camaro. Still cursing, so fired up he hardly seems to even notice the blood dripping into his eyes. The rank smell of his sweat mixed with the alcohol on his breath as angry words fall from his lips.

The way he doesn’t meet your eyes whenever he gets back in the car after ‘just ducking in to say hi’ at his friend Leroy’s house. The way his hand never leaves his pocket while he drives, as if he’s protecting something worth more than gold.

His unfocused eyes and slurred voice; his weight and the stale smell of cigarettes when he presses you against the door of his room. The panic and uncertainty whenever he wants to sleep together that slowly turn into acquiescence for fear of upsetting him.

The gnawing doubt that eats at your stomach as he grows less like the man you fell in love with in high school each day.

His behavior had turned increasingly erratic as Fall turned into Winter and finally, two weeks ago - the party that was the end of it all.

Red and blue lights, flashing on the grass in front of you. The wail of sirens and sharp male voices. The sight of Michael on the lawn, gun in his hand, pointed at a man you don’t know; an all too familiar sight.

His friend Lucas’ harsh command, telling you to run. The desperation in his eyes as a cop pins him to the grass.

The tight line of betrayal that forms on Michael’s lips as a cop puts handcuffs on him, when he realizes you’re leaving him behind.

The way blood rushes in your ears, sounding like the distant Pacific Ocean, as you flee home on foot through backyards and tree lined roads.

‘Hey, ready to go?’ Your sister’s bright, happy voice draws you from your memories, so close and real they feel suffocating.

The warm, comforting mall feels a million miles away from where you stand, struggling under the weight of what had happened.

You blink and focus on her. A smile still tugs at the corner of her lips, lingering amusement from working with kids all day; remnants of joy you hate to rob her of with the ever-present ghost of your past.

When you meet her eyes she immediately knows something is wrong. She steps closer, reaching out to gently rest her hand on your shoulder.

Her brow furrows in concern, looking around and stepping closer, protecting you on instinct. ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’

You swallow and will strength into your limbs. ‘Nothing. I’m fine, just… remembering.’ With a shake of your head you come back to yourself. ‘I thought I saw Michael outside today.’

Without a word she draws you into her arms, sheltering you from the world as she always has. You drop your head to her shoulder and let yourself be comforted.

For so long you tried to handle it on your own, ashamed to tell her about all the things Michael had been getting into. It started slowly.

Just after you turned eighteen a friend needed him to bring ‘a package’ to someone.

Then, the year after, the fights had started; the mysterious scratches and bruises. The suspicion at everything and everyone that never left his eyes.

The gun you found in his glove compartment while looking for a napkin after getting ice cream on your twentieth birthday. The fight that followed. The days he spent ‘winning you back’ after you left him in the Baskin Robbins parking lot to walk home afterwards.

The way he’d duck down in the driver’s seat when he took certain side streets, some of the only times his eyes had been clear and focused.

The increasing aggression he showed you with his words, his rules; his hands grasping you tightly as if he was afraid you’d leave. ‘You’re the only thing keeping me sane.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ your sister asks gently, rubbing your back the same way your mother did when you had the flu in fifth grade.

‘How did this get to be my life?’ you mumble sadly against her shoulder. ‘No. I don’t want to let him ruin my day.’

‘How about we go and get some shakes?’ she asks in a cheerful voice, pulling back. ‘They always help.’

The emotion in her eyes lets you know she’s just as affected as you are by thoughts of your old life. Her determination to stay positive is the life raft you cling to for normalcy.

‘That would be great,’ you answer and stand straighter, forcing yourself to be in a good mood.

She nods and grabs your hand in hers, guiding you along through the mall. As you make your way to the car she tells you all about the sweet and funny little kids she watched today at her new job at the mall daycare to distract you.

You listen as best you can, rubbing a hand to your stomach, feeling the pit there grow as it always does when you think about him.

Sure, in the beginning Michael was everything you wanted. Tall, handsome, older. He’d hung out with the cool kids at a rival high school. He made you feel special, beautiful, desirable. From the moment his eyes locked on yours in an adjacent line at the Dick’s Drive-In on Broadway, you were a goner.

After he got arrested on New Year’s Eve you’d burst in the back door, still breathing heavily after your desperate run and shaking from the winter cold. You scared the crap out of your sister who was reading on the couch.

For three hours you sat at the dining room table and told her everything you’d kept hidden from her the past few years. Like a poison that had buried itself in your veins, telling her the whole truth felt like the only thing to do, the only way you could feel clean and whole again.

Her words from two weeks ago echo in your head as she orders two shakes at the burger joint down the street from the Exodus Mall.

‘We’re leaving,’ she says, mouth pulled tight into a line.

‘Leaving?’ you ask in confusion, wiping at the tears drying on your cheeks.

Of all the reactions you’d expected - yelling, crying, hurt that you’d lied to her for so long - this calm and decisive reply throws you.

‘Right now. Pack whatever you need. I’m not letting him drag you down anymore. I’ve known something wasn’t right for a while,’ she says, holding one of your hands in both of hers, brows drawn together in dismay. ‘I’ve been so busy with work and school I didn’t push as much as I should have. I’m so sorry.’

The sad look on her face breaks a dam within you and you pull her into a tight hug. ‘It’s my fault. I didn’t say anything, I wasn’t sure what I’d do without him,’ you say, voice cracking, and press your face against her long hair. ‘I’m so scared.’

She clears her throat and there’s determination in her voice when she speaks. ‘We’re getting out of here, okay?’

Your eyes go wide, your heart wants to object. For months, years really, you’ve known Michael was headed nowhere good, but still you love him. In the naive, blindly optimistic way can’t help with him.

‘He’ll come here looking for you, once he’s out on bail, won’t he?’ she asks, pulling back and giving the most intense stare you’ve seen since the time you stole one of her Barbies.

He’s obsessed. You know this, even though you badly wish you didn’t. He says you’re his only tie to the world. If you don’t leave now he’s going to drag you all the way down with him. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to be here? Or do you want out?’

Fresh tears pool in your eyes and you blink through them, rubbing your palm with your thumb, desperately wishing you could somehow take Michael with you and start over.

But by now you know he’s never going to change, and the only choice left is whether you want to go down with him.

‘I just want us to be happy again. I want to feel safe.’ Your voice is so small you’re surprised she can even hear you, but like always, she does.

She nods, kneels down next to your chair and gives you another hug hug. ‘Leave it to me.’

After losing your parents you’d thought nothing could make you feel so lost and small again, but that familiar feeling rose up in you as you watched your sister. The only thing that gave you hope was the way you two worked like a team that night.

As 1996 gave way to 1997 she’d squeezed your hand and given you a reassuring smile and then you two got to work.

Despite the late hour she’d called a friend from college and arranged for the two of you to move into her spare bedroom in Seattle that morning. You packed up your things - clothes, books, photos - everything you could squeeze into your sister’s Camry.

The two of you knocked on Mrs. Jenkins’ door in the early hours of the morning and explained you were leaving and why. Blessedly, she’d understood and said she’d handle the furniture you were leaving behind and close out your lease early with no charge. She’d kindly forced you both to eat some pancakes before you took off.

By the time the sun came up on the first day of the new year you were driving off to Seattle.

Nothing about your life feels familiar any more, but you’re here. You have a job you like. The friend of your sister’s you’re living with is incredibly warm and kind, and her apartment is cute and welcoming.

Sharing a bed with your sister is delightfully reminiscent of your childhood. So is going by Liz, from your favorite Jane Austen book growing up.

Besides, your sister’s right - the shakes do help. You smile at the comforting taste of chocolate and attempt to put Michael, Tacoma, and the past behind you.

Tuesday January 14th, 1997

You wake to the sound of your bedroom door closing softly. Blinking, you look at the clock and see it’s the ass crack of dawn, the sun isn’t even up yet.

Must be your sister heading off to UW Seattle to talk about transferring and finishing her Master’s over there instead.

She’s always been devoted to her studies, finishing her degree and working on her Master’s of Library Science around the jobs she’s taken to provide for the two of you. No matter how many times you’ve offered to contribute part of your earnings at the dance studio to rent and food she insisted that you keep it for your dance lessons and coaches.

Going to college never crossed your mind, honestly. Nothing makes you as happy as dancing does, and the studio let you work full time around your practice schedule. It was perfect. You could do it forever, you’d thought. The owner was already talking about letting you train as a teacher in the summer.

A nervous trickle of excitement runs through your veins when you think about having to start over at KOKO. New classes, new scene, new everything.

But you’re not someone afraid of a challenge. While other kids would stand on the dock, looking at the deep water in Lake Fenwick with trepidation, you’d run off the end, screaming in delight, without a second thought.

Just like then you figure it’s better to dive in rather than fussing about it. You force yourself to get up and stretch, warming up your muscles. It’s been two long weeks since you had the time or energy to dance and your body craves it.

You remember that there’s an Advanced Contemporary class at nine thirty and drag yourself into the kitchen.

The apartment is small and cozy, with bright yellow walls. And you love the thick row of Evergreen trees that run along the narrow road behind the building.

The door to your roommate’s room is also open and you shake your head, imagining the two of them already in the library at this early hour. She’s a godsend, you think, to invite you and your sister to stay with her like this.

No, she’s an actual angel - she even left you some coffee in the pot. You fill a mug, savoring the smell.

By the time you’re dressed and walking to the bus stop the winter sun is finally clearing the horizon. A group of people walk past you, clearly on their way home after a long night, arms around each other’s waists and shoulders. Their eyes are drooping and they yawn in between laughing, loudly recounting an amazing concert at somewhere called Mo’s.

How long has it been since you had a night out, with actual friends? you wonder. There’s plenty of people at the mall who seem nice. Even just being around your sister and roommate is more fun than you’ve had in ages.

Maybe this can be a fresh start in more ways than one, you think, cheered by the idea and feeling younger than you have in ages.

Paige greets you warmly when you get to the studio and head inside, pulling off your thick wool scarf.

‘How’s it going today?’ you ask.

She smiles and brushes her hair behind her ear. ‘Already slowing down, thank goodness. You’ve been a lifesaver.’

You glow at the compliment. ‘No, truly. You’re the lifesaver, this job is wonderful. And I can’t believe you’re letting me take free classes here. I had to pay for them at my old studio, so this is fantastic.’

‘It’s all part of my master plan to keep you here forever,’ she says with a wink.

You laugh and run your hand along the counter. Already the place is starting to feel like home.

‘Stephanie said she was hoping to get you into the teaching program at your old studio, would you be interested in doing that here?’

Your mouth drops open in surprise. ‘Really? I mean - you haven’t even seen me dance. I could be awful.’

She laughs out loud. ‘I looked you up online before the interview. I know some of your teachers and trust their opinions. It’s one of the things I try to cultivate here - to have my teachers help out on the desk or as trainers in between classes so they can make enough to be stable. I knew you were a fit right when I met you.’

‘That’s amazing, Paige. Really, thank you. I’d love to -’

You’re cut off by a group of older ladies who need some help figuring out the lockers. She pats your shoulder as she walks by. ‘The application is saved to the desktop. Just fill it out and pop it in my box when you’re done and I’ll work on scheduling you some shadow shifts, okay?’

All you can do is nod after her in surprise. You turn to head down the hall towards the dance studios and smack into something hard and imposing. You assume you’ve run into a wall in your excitement, but instead of an inanimate object you’re staring into deep brown eyes that belong to the intimidating man from yesterday.

You swallow and step back instinctively. He’s waved at Paige and the other front desk assistants enough that you know he’s not completely terrible. Not that he’s ever spoken to me before, or shown any interest in being nice, you think with a frown.

He raises an arrogant brow, a ghost of a smirk lingering in the corner of his lips as he watches you blatantly stare at him.

He smells too damn good for this early in the morning. The thought makes you cross your arms protectively in front of your chest and take a step back.

You’ve had enough of self-centered asses for one life, thank you very much. With a shake of your head you break the awkward staring contest between you two and stride down the hall, leaving him behind.

It’s still early, so you’re the only one in the expansive wood-floored studio aside from a slim woman with a silver braid halfway down her back. The door thumps closed behind you and she turns to greet you with eyes so clear and blue you’d swear she’s an elf, not a human.

‘Hi hi hi, welcome. Come on in,’ she says with a voice like a running river. The sense of calm and peace she exudes washes over you. ‘I’m Michelle and you’re… Liz right? From the front desk?’

You nod, unable to resist smiling at her. ‘Yes that’s me,’ you say with an awkward wave.

‘Come right over here love, put your stuff in one of the cubbies. I’ve heard many great things from Paige. I’m so excited to meet you,’ she says, emphasizing the last word warmly. The sun coming in through the large glass windows makes her hair appear to glow.

She takes you under her wing, asking about your dance background while she sets up the music and greets other dancers coming in for class.

She claps in delight when you tell her Contemporary was always your favorite. ‘Excellent, I’m so delighted you’re here. You might give my star student a run for his money if Paige is right about you.’ She grins and deep wrinkles form in the corners of her eyes.

With a nod of her head she points to one of the few men in the class, stretching in the corner in black sweatpants and a simple white shirt.

You jolt. Shit. Anyone but him. For the second time that morning the arrogant man catches you off guard.

Without his hat his hair is messier than it usually is when you’ve seen him moving in and out of the studio. Even the early morning sun can’t dim the intensity in his eyes and frown on his lips.

You regard her with a raised brow. ‘Him?’

She laughs out loud, a bright sound of amusement. ‘Yes, dear. Have you met Jongin? My taciturn boy has a much softer heart than you’d imagine. Contemporary shows you someone’s soul, I think, and his bark is worse than his bite. You’ll see,’ she says mischievously while the last of the class gets settled.

At your curious expression she clarifies. ‘He’s not my flesh and blood son, but he’s been taking classes with me for so long I feel like he’s one of mine.’

With a shrug you walk over to a spot against the windows and finish stretching, positioning yourself as far from him as possible. Michelle takes her place at the front of the class, clapping her hands in delight.

‘Welcome, welcome. If you’re a veteran of this class then you’ll know I always start with a word to inspire you for the day,’ she says, emphasizing her magical vibe with dramatic hand movements. ‘Today’s word is free, darlings. Let yourself feel into the music. Let your heart run free.’

No stranger to eccentric teachers, you smile at her. She’s so kind that any fear of taking classes at this new studio has almost vanished. The last remaining piece of unease is due to the almost six foot tall man who has somehow worked his way to stand next to you.

Jongin’s attention is on Michelle, but he sneaks a look at you as she begins teaching the choreography for the class. Electric, challenging eyes. Smirk, raised brow. His attention makes you feel like you’ve been engulfed in flames.

Stubbornly you drag your attention away from him and focus on following along with Michelle’s steps. Unfortunately you can see him crystal clear in the mirrored walls in front of you both.

With a sigh you accept that it’s pointless to try to avoid him when he dances. Clearly, he was born to do this, you think, watching him in the mirror, envious of the way light seems to play off his features.

But as you ease into the flow of the class, bending and moving effortlessly along with Michelle, you remember that you were made for this too.

Every time you spin he’s watching you like a hawk, an unreadable expression on his infuriatingly handsome face. He studies the lines of your body like he’s preparing to paint you. You’re just as bad, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him.

Begrudgingly you admit that Michelle is right - his every movement shows his heart, whether he knows it or not; emotion is conveyed by his hands, his neck, his back as he dances.

There’s an intensity, a sensation of passion barely contained beneath his skin that makes your heart race. And a softness you can see, a tenderness he keeps behind his mask that feels like glimpsing a priceless gem buried amongst the rubble.

When you first saw him you thought he was mean and full of himself. Just like Michael. But now you realize they could not be more different. The same power flows through both men, to wildly different routes.

After what feels like seconds, Michelle is already wrapping up class. Her pleasant voice carries on in the background as you and Jongin face each other. The openness in his expression is bright and hopeful and feels too big for you to contain. Sweat glistens on his chest and you ache to lick it off.

You blink to yourself. Where did that come from?

You step back, shaken. He watches your face and something he sees there makes his guard slam shut. The warmth in his eyes turns distant again, his expression drops.

He turns away from you, a hard edge to his shoulders. He grabs his bag and jacket and pushes out the door without a backward glance, leaving you feeling like the sun has suddenly been extinguished.

Tuesday January 21st, 1997

Jongin groans to himself in the light seeping through the gaps in his blinds. For long moments he contemplates skipping Michelle’s class today. He’s managed to avoid you for a week, checking schedules when he knows you’re at lunch, exiting in a rush through the mall and taking the long way to his car.

You’ll be there again today, he can feel it in his bones. This is a problem for two reasons.

First - all he can do in class is watch you dance. Too many things slip through the careful barrier he’s formed to face the world when he’s around you. He feels too raw, too open, too much, and he hates feeling that vulnerable.

When you dance around him he can’t think straight. When he’s near you he has absolutely insane fantasies. Of pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless. Of spilling all the desires inside of him. Of trailing his fingers down the curve of your neck when you fall asleep beside him.

He groans. As if you’d ever want someone like him. As if he’d ever be able to stand being around someone like you. You wear your heart on your sleeve and he imagines cartoon animals helping you get dressed in the morning.

The two of you are as opposite as can be.

Except when you dance, a traitorous part of his brain thinks. He leaps out of bed and heads to make some coffee before the thought can embed itself in his mind. Too late.

Secondly - Something about you makes him want to be a better man. He knows he’s a good man. Knows he’s responsible, honorable, helpful. Even if he can be a dick sometimes, he knows in his heart he’s good.

No, make him want to be a different kind of man, he corrects, pouring creamer into his coffee. Someone sweeter and kinder, more hopeful.

He can’t explain it, the feeling that rises in him when he passes by you.

Yes, it’s attraction. Of course it is. He wonders how anyone could look at your unruly hair, the curve of your waist, your shy smile when greeting new customers, the surprisingly loud way you laugh when someone makes a joke at the counter, and not fall in love with you.

Yes, it’s also a desire to protect you. Not in a condescending way, as if you’re weak and need to be sheltered from the world; but he wants to be the one to hold you late at night when you’re scared. The one to be by your side to make sure that life doesn’t make you hard and bitter, or rob you of the delight the seems to inhabit your being.

He barks out a laugh at himself and it turns into a groan as he rubs his eyes. He doesn’t even know you, but he wants to.

Given how rude he’s been there’s zero chance you want to know him. And you shouldn’t want to. You’re soft and sweet; he’s been made hard by his upbringing.

Navigating the foster system in Seattle had taken the ease and joy he’d felt as a child, smoothed off his expressive edges until he had molded himself into someone who could get by.

If it wasn’t for Michelle, he’d probably be a lost cause. When he became friends with her son she’d seen the way his eyes had lit up when she talked about dancing. She invited him to come and take some youth classes for free, the rest was history.

He gets by just fine these days. But for you he wants to be more, and he’s man enough to admit that you scare the shit out of him for just that reason.

He drags himself through his morning routine and braces himself to watch you again today. He will allow himself this weakness, watching you, savoring the way you watch him as well.

Even if he maintains his icy front and you never have to endure a conversation with him, he still gives himself the permission to imagine that there’s more between you. Dangerous as that might be.

Monday February 3rd, 1997

The drive to the mall with your sister gives you an unfortunate amount of time to worry about Michael. It’s been over a month. If he was anyone else he would take the hint and not look for you, but his obsessive tendencies and possessive nature make you convinced he’ll come looking for you.

Luckily, he’s not the most tech-savvy person around and the chance he’ll be able to track you down that way is slim. No one from your old life knows where you’re working or living, so there’s time. Aside from Paige who did your hiring, no one knows your real name.

You imagine his anger at finding your apartment cleared out and hope that he didn’t do anything to Mrs. Jenkins. The thought of him breaking a door sends a shudder through you. Maybe he punched a wall, which you’d seen him do many times.

The feeling of dread threatens to pull you down with it, but as you drive south on the freeway the Space Needle appears from around a curve. The bright blue waters of Lake Washington glow on this unseasonably sunny day and you turn up the radio, letting the sound of Nirvana wash away your fear.

Paige has finally entrusted you with running the desk by yourself and as you go through the opening paperwork you can't help but feel proud.

The day passes by as it normally does. Waves of moms and seniors in the morning hours. Business folks coming in on their lunch hour. Everyone leaving sweatier and happier than when they came in.

When the afternoon exercise classes start, the day picks up. You almost don't see him amongst the steady stream of people. But like always, his energy draws you.

Michael leans against the back wall, with the same quirked eyebrow and leather jacket he always wore. Funny how it's only been a month and already it feels like the two of you are strangers. His presence is a punch to your gut and you look around in dismay before you realize Paige is on her lunch.

Classes have started for the hour and the gym is separated from reception by a solid wall. No one is nearby to help.

Michael waits for a moment to pounce, his sharp eyes scanning the folks checking in and leaving. Your heart races, breath catching in your throat. All at once you feel like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

In a break in the crowd he stalks towards the desk. He leans against the counter, encroaching on your space as always. 'Miss me?'

The sneer on his lips is revolting and you wonder all over again how you ever were attracted to him, and how you tolerated his attention for so long.

'What are you doing here?' you finally manage to get out, your earlier calm and confidence vanished the moment your eyes met his.

His smile turns harsh, angry. 'Didn't think the pigs could hold me for long, did you?'

With another look around he leans closer over the desk and runs a finger down your cheek. You grimace and pull away, anxious energy clouding around you, pressing in as you wait to see what he wants.

'You left me.' His voice turns ice cold. 'It took me ages to find you.'

Fear roils in your stomach, dissolving any sense of security you've built up in the last month. With an attempt at a steadying breath you remind yourself that you’re not completely alone, you’re surrounded by people and there’s no way he can hurt you here.

Long seconds pass as he stares at you across the desk. Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Paige asks from behind you and you’re so relieved you could have kissed her.

You swallow harshly, finally breaking Michael’s intent stare. When you look up she’s standing there with a stack of files in her arm, raising an eyebrow at Michael, who’s clearly not here to work out.

‘Can I help you?’ she says. Her tone takes on a hard edge as she watches the way he oozes possessiveness into the space.

He straightens, his eyes not leaving yours. With a wink he turns to leave. ‘Thank you for your assistance, miss. I’m excited to become a regular customer here.’

He pushes through the door and disappears into the busy sidewalk. The thump of the door as it closes breaks the spell on you and with a deep inhale you observe the slight shaking of your hands.

Paige moves to your side and takes you in. Her keen eyes miss nothing and she squats down next to you. ‘What’s wrong?’

You debate telling her, wondering if it’s best to just brush it off. But the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you hoped you’d left behind in Tacoma is burning once more. Your sister is right, he won’t stop. Ever.

Ashamed that you’d ever been involved with someone like him and wishing for all the world that he could have just forgotten you, you decide to tell her. Meeting her kind brown eyes you summarize as best as you can.

‘That was my ex, Michael,’ you start, coughing to clear the lump in your throat. ‘I left Tacoma to get away from him, to start fresh. It’s why I asked you all to call me by my nickname. But he found me.’

Her eyes go wide in shock for a moment, brows pulling together in concern. ‘Did he hurt you?’

You shrug, unsure how to convey how he made you feel. ‘He was manipulative. Aggressive, demanding. He didn’t … not like that. He didn’t hit me, but he hurt me in other ways. I thought - it was silly, but I thought getting away from him I’d be safe. I don’t know what to do.’

Determination colors her features and she stands to pick up the phone. ‘You’re part of my staff now, and I don’t tolerate assholes. Especially not the possessive ex variety. I’m calling Leeteuk, he’s the head of mall security. Do you want to go home for the day?’

Instantly you want to hide, embarrassed. ‘No, no, no. Please don’t,’ you plead quietly. ‘I don’t want to make a scene. And I… it’s nice being here, surrounded by people right now.’

She pauses with her hand on the receiver. ‘I promise, no scene. I just want it to be on his radar in case that jerk comes back, okay? If you’re here and he comes in again, let me know or call LT or Dale. You’re safe here.’

‘Okay.’ Relief floods through you while she calls, telling the man on the phone that she’ll find a picture from the security footage and send it over.

You breathe deeply and let it out, turning to greet the kind older man approaching the desk, glad for the distraction. Paige hangs up the phone a moment later and gives you a nod as if to say it’s all going to be alright. ‘Let me know how I can help, I’m here for you.’

You nod. ‘Thank you, Paige. I mean it.’

She gives you a small smile and heads back to her office.

The day carries on as the afternoon rush picks up and slowly the sense of dread in your gut eases a fraction. He’s still out there, but now you feel like you’ve got an entire mall on your side.

Thursday February 6th, 1997

For two days you watch the sidewalk and the mall entrance nervously, waiting for him to show up again. It’s just like him, to keep you on pins and needles. Always at his beck and call.

When you told your sister what happened at lunch she looked like she could have breathed fire. She came over personally on her break that night to talk to Paige, and then LT and Dale.

She’s already called once today to check in, from the library at UW. Even if it’s kind and well intentioned, everyone’s protectiveness is starting to make you feel like a child, rather than a twenty-one year old woman.

By Thursday morning you’ve had enough, and resolve to put him out of your mind. Sitting up straighter, you go about the opening duties with your eyes firmly focused on the computer and the stacks of paper in front of you.

As the day goes on your smile feels more genuine, the vice grip of fear on your heart loosening enough for you to feel human again. By the time Paige swaps you so you can take your lunch break you’re feeling almost back to your normal, cheerful self.

Maybe it was a one time thing, you think, as you work your way around the tables in the food court carrying your pizza slices. Maybe he just wanted to stop by and assert his dominance before moving on with his life.

It feels too good to be true, you think, pulling your lip between your teeth.

At a table in the food court, right in front of you, is Jongin, sitting by himself. An empty plate on the counter, a paperback propped open on his extended leg. From here you can see the faint shadow on his jaw and can’t resist thinking about how his skin might taste.

It really is unfair that someone so hostile should be so damn attractive.

As if he’s heard your thoughts he looks up, his devastatingly seductive eyes visible this close. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. But abruptly, the hair stands up on the back of your neck.

Scanning the mall, you see him. Michael, standing in the middle of the entryway, thankfully looking towards the jewelry store at the other end. He’d look like just another shopper if you didn’t know him.

The drive from Tacoma is not short, especially at lunch time. He’s here for a purpose.

He’d definitely notice you through the crowd, even though it’s thick with people at this hour. The distance to KOKO is just too far. You stand there frozen for a beat, heart racing in your chest. Without thinking, you pull out the chair across from Jongin and sit down, lifting your hand to cover your face.

‘What’s wrong?’ comes a deep voice, softer than you’d have thought Jongin would have.

You look up and he’s closed his book, clearly on alert after what he finds in your expression. His hand reaches out to your knee but he looks at it with a frown and checks the motion.

‘I just - that man by the door, in the leather jacket. He’s my ex and he’s… I don’t know. Stalking me.’ You sigh. ‘I thought he’d leave me alone, but he keeps coming by.’

‘Does security know about it?’ he asks, looking to the right. The narrow hall where the security office is housed is visible next to the movie theater.

You nod. The fear that normally races through your veins when Michael’s around is simmering down. For all his hardness Jongin’s presence feels like a safety blanket.

‘I just need to get out of here. I’m so tired of seeing him.’ You peek through your fingers and see Michael has slipped his hands in his pockets, and he’s coming this way. ‘Crap.’

Jongin follows your eyes and his expression hardens when he locates who you’re watching. ‘Come with me,’ he says, standing and putting himself between you two.

He ghosts his hand down your back and motions you ahead, straight into Starlight Apparel. Behind his height you’re practically invisible.

A tall man with dark hair and model-like features sees you and Jongin. His eyes go wide with concern at your obvious distress and the intensity radiating off Jongin.

‘Hey, man. What’s up?’ he asks, coming around the counter.

‘Do you have somewhere she can hide?’ Jongin asks this man, who’s clearly a friend.

He nods, looking out into the mall and ushers you both through the store to the back, asking another employee to cover the register on the way.

He leads you down a short hallway behind the dressing rooms and opens a door that leads to a back room that looks like it doubles as a breakroom. ‘You’ll be safe back here, it’s just for employees. Would sitting help?’

With an attempt at a deep breath you collapse into one of the chairs, adrenaline fizzing out and leaving you feeling a million years old. Jongin stands by cautiously, looking ready to act if you say the word.

Jongin turns and gives the man a complicated handshake. ‘I’ve got it from here, thanks Sehun.’

‘No problem.’

Once the other man leaves Jongin crouches in front of you, giving you your space. A silent, protective presence.

After a moment your breathing evens out to the point where you can speak. ‘Sorry about that. I-’

‘It’s on him for being an asshole. Not you.’ His tone is insistent, like he needs you to understand that it’s not your fault and you nod, feeling tears well up. ‘I’m going to get security, are you okay here?’

You nod. ‘I’m fine. Thank you, Jongin.’

He jolts at the sound of his name, an unreadable expression on his face. After a beat he stands. ‘I’ll be back when the coast is clear, okay?’

He’s gone in a flash and you stare at the space he occupied. With a disbelieving laugh you realize it’s the first time you’ve spoken to him after weeks of working together.

By the time you’ve finished your pizza Jongin is back with a red-haired man named Leeteuk who tells you that unfortunately, Michael managed to vanish once again.

The rest of the day you notice Jongin keeping an eye on you. You do your best to think that he’s just being kind, but against logic you allow yourself to enjoy his protectiveness.

Monday February 10th, 1997

Your sister is running late after closing. You could head through the mall to see what’s keeping her, but it’s an unseasonably warm night and you decide to go and wait by the car.

The mall sits across from a large, dimly lit park. It’s absence of light and noise is a rarity for downtown. The other buildings on the streets on either side of the mall are filled with crowded restaurants and concert venues, bookstores open late, and a tall, vibrant building advertising the best karaoke in Seattle.

Hands in your pockets, you lean back against the car and stare up at the stars. Despite its technology boom, Seattle seems to be resisting modernization in subtle ways, clinging to its grunge and anti-establishment vibes by its’ teeth.

The juxtaposition of new and old, hip and classical, makes you feel like you too can be anything you choose.

You think about the application to be a teacher trainee that sits in your bag with Paige’s stamp of approval. You think about the Sunday morning breakfasts you’ve gotten into a routine of sharing with your sister and roommate. You think about how excited you are for Michelle’s class tomorrow.

And you think about the way you feel like the center of the Universe when Jongin’s focus is on you. Despite the threat of Michael, you can’t find it in you to be unhappy.

This time of night on a Monday the parking lot is mostly deserted, a bubble of quiet despite the activity and noise that surround it.

Of course Michael would choose now to find you. He always was smarter than you’d given him credit for.

A weight settles abruptly next to you against the car and you turn, startled by the sudden appearance of a person next to you.

In quick succession you notice the uncharacteristic stubble on his face, the red rims to his eyes. Michael’s hand drops to the back of the car, his fingers reaching to possessively play with the hair at the nape of your neck, making you recoil.

‘Finally, we’re alone,’ he growls against your ear, pulling you flush against his side.

‘Michael -’ his name leave you in a high-pitch, fear coloring your veins as you look around in desperation.

You swallow harshly, focusing on keeping your breathing steady. His bike waits in a spot a few spaces down. You were so caught up in daydreaming you didn’t recognize the sound.

‘Why are you here?’ you ask, shoving against his side with both hands. His stomach feels like steel and all you succeed in doing is pissing him off.

‘What, you think you can manage without me, baby?’ he taunts, stepping into your space. ‘You’re coming with me.’

When you were younger the smell of his cologne used to thrill you. The patches on his leather jacket, the motorcycle, the dismissive sneer; it all used to make you weak in the knees. The fact that someone so handsome and larger than life wanted you made you feel special, desirable.

But now, as an adult woman, you see these things for what they are. You see him for who he is - a power-hungry, manipulative asshole.

Being away from his overwhelming presence was like Dorothy stepping into Oz, the world ceased to be black and white and expanded into full color once again.

Warm and steadying anger seems into you. You’re done with letting him affect you. ‘Stop it, Michael. You shouldn’t be here. Get out.’

You raise your hands to his chest, pushing yourself steadily away from him and fixing him with your most determined stare. He laughs, an ugly sound of dismissal. Like he can’t imagine that you’d want anything in life more than you want him.

‘It’s over.’ Despite the conviction in your voice, you hope he can’t see the way your hands shake as they drop to your sides.

His mouth twists to the side in a cruel smile. When he moves to corner you again someone steps between you two, blocking him from your sight.

‘She told you to leave,’ comes a deep, steady voice.

‘Jongin?’ you ask, stepping around to see that his expression has turned sharp. He radiates power, seeming taller and broader than you remembered.

Michael sneers, standing taller. ‘Did you find someone else to fuck you already, baby?’

‘Get out of here. Now.’ Jongin commands. ‘Security is on their way.’

His recent brush with the law seems to be fresh in his mind as Michael sizes up Jongin, undoubtedly weighing his desire to claim you against wanting to avoid getting in trouble with the law again.

‘Fine. I’m going,’ he says harshly.

Surrender chafes against him and his hand hovers over his jacket pocket in a way that makes you step forward to hold onto Jongin’s arm. You want to protect him, or have him protect you. Probably both.

Jongin looks down at you with those intense eyes of his and reaches to hold your hand.

‘Just know you’re still mine. That will never change,’ Michael says, looking at your clasped hands like he wants to punch something. He jams his helmet on his head and drives off.

Jongin gives your hand a squeeze, his face softening. ‘Are you okay?’

You know you shouldn’t, but for a moment you let yourself sag in relief against his shoulder. ‘I- thank you, for being here.’

‘I didn’t like the look of him, the way he made you tense up. Can I admit I’ve been keeping a watch out for you since last time?’

You pull back and smile up at him, holding his focus. ‘I know.’

He looks down, an embarrassed smile on his lips. So often he looks away, disappears around corners. Tonight you refuse to let him back away without letting him know how much it means to you that he’s been there for you.

‘Jongin, I -’ Movement behind him draws your attention and you see your sister hurrying across the parking lot. She stops next to you, instinctively moving to your other side and sizing up Jongin.

‘Hi, I’m here. Sorry I’m late, this dad forgot to pick up his son and I had to drop him off,’ she says slightly out of breath, looking between you and Jongin.

‘Something happened. What did I miss?’ She looks at him suspiciously and he lets go of your hand.

Jongin sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Her ex showed up.’

‘I could kill that man. This is ridiculous.’ She makes a noise like an angry lioness and you almost want to laugh, imagining her tearing into Michael.

Jongin nods. ‘I agree. I don’t think the police would be able to do much, and security is already on alert. I’d… like to walk you to your car until he’s dealt with, if that’s alright.’

Your sister raises a brow. ‘And who are you? I’m sure you’re a good guy, but as you can see, I’m a little protective of her.’

Jongin laughs out loud at her feisty tone. The warm, rich sound is a balm, chasing away the lingering unease Michael’s hands had stirred up.

He reaches out his hand formally and shakes your sister’s hand. ‘My name is Jongin Kim. I’m a hip hop instructor and personal trainer at KOKO. No ulterior motives, I just want to keep your sister safe from that creep.’

She sizes him up, nodding when she doesn’t find anything alarming in her perusal. ‘We drive together Saturday, Sunday, and Monday when I work. Thursday and Friday she buses by herself. And I know she’s been here on her days off taking classes.’

He looks like he’s mentally mapping out a schedule. ‘Sounds good, I’ll meet you guys at the entrance the days you drive and walk you.’ He turns to you. ‘I’ll drive you home the rest of the week.’

Your jaw drops. ‘I can’t ask that of you, it’s too much. I don’t want to inconvenience you.’

He pulls his keys from his pocket thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t ask. I offered. I practice a lot when I’m not working, so I’m here all the time, anyways.’

‘That would be very kind of you, I appreciate it.’ Your sister says, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

‘For how long?’ you ask softly.

He sighs. ‘I grew up with a lot of people like that. Unfortunately I think he’s going to do something that puts him away for a long time. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t involve you.’

You nod and he lingers for a moment before turning to head for his car with a wave.

‘Well, that was unexpected,’ your sister says. She’s folded her arms across her chest and bumps you good-naturedly with her shoulder. ‘You didn’t tell me you had… a bear to protect you.’

You laugh, tension easing from your muscles. ‘That’s a good way to describe him.’

She walks around to get in the driver’s seat. ‘Want to tell me what’s up with you two?’ she asks over the roof of the car.

‘I’ll tell you when I figure it out myself, deal?’ He makes you feel every emotion under the sun it seems like. You’re a spinning wheel when it comes to him, and you have no idea where the arrow will land.

‘Deal.’ She laughs and slides into the seat.

Wednesday February 12th, 1997

Jongin pushes into the studio with his shoulder. One of the yoga instructors is manning the desk this morning, filling in on your off day. With a nod of his head to her he keeps walking down the hallway. As always, he focuses on the choreography for the class he’s going to teach today, going over it in his head.

The door to the manager’s office opens and he nods to Paige as he passes by.

‘Jongin, just who I was hoping to see. Do you have a minute?’

‘For you? Always,’ he teases. He’s known Paige just as long as Michelle and he’d happily take a bullet for either of them.

She snorts and rolls her eyes. ‘Liz from reception is going to start shadowing for her teacher training. I told her she could start with your class today, I hope that’s alright.’

He sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. Of course the Universe keeps finding more ways to throw the two of you together. He braces himself. ‘Yep. Fine with me, I’d be happy to show her how we do things here.’

‘Excellent. I knew I could count on you,’ she says with a smile.

He shakes himself and turns, heading for the locker room. Amusement makes him smile and he sighs, thinking he’ll always be out of his depths when it comes to you.

A familiar voice calls to him while he puts away his stuff in his locker.

‘What’s up man?’ Yixing says, slinging an enthusiastic arm around Jongin’s shoulder.

He grins and draws his friend into a handshake and a hug.

'Long time no see, are you finally taking classes again?' Jongin asks, pulling his chosen CD from the stack .

'Yeah, I'm trying to get back into it. Work was insane over the holidays and all this Valentine’s prep has me wound up like crazy. I'm ready to sweat, so make sure it's a good class,' he laughs and pretends to punch his friend in the shoulder.

He and Yixing catch up as they enter the studio and he starts setting things up for class. The CD in the player and he queues up for repeat the track he’s chosen for today's beginning/intermediate Hip Hop class - ‘My Way’ by Usher.

A few regulars nod and wave while he and Yixing stretch, warming up. But when you walk in, looking like you stepped out of his dreams, he swallows hard.

Yixing notices his lingering stare as he watches you put your stuff in a cubby and begin walking over. 'Who's that?'

Jongin ignores the obvious insinuation in his tone. 'Our new receptionist.'

'Aaaah, you sweet on her?' Yixing laughs at the death glare he receives. 'Dude, I'm your friend, you can tell me anything. You know that.'

You give him a tentative wave as you approach. Yixing gets up and mouths ‘go for it’ behind your back to Jongin.

He wants to laugh at how different things are, in just the short few weeks since you started here. So much has happened that he isn’t able to keep his distance. He decides to greet this change with a reckless sort of enthusiasm.

‘So I hear you’re in teacher training?’ he says, wincing at how overly excited he sounds.

‘Yes and I’m so nervous about it,’ you laugh, twisting your hands together at your waist.

‘Why? You’re an amazing dancer,’ he says. It’s obvious to him that you know what you’re doing.

You blush at the compliment and instantly he wants to give you a thousand more. It usually doesn't phase him anymore, being watched. He knows the feeling of all eyes on him when he teaches classes or performs. Ever since he realized he could dance in middle school, people have been watching him.

First it was other dancers, people on the street; at clubs and competitions and classes. And now, thanks to a lucky break from Paige, he has a steady flow of teaching opportunities at KOKO.

People have been watching him for years, but nothing prepares him for how exposed and vulnerable your attention makes him feel.

‘You’ll do amazing. I know it. The first class you just shadow, so there’s no pressure. Just get into the flow of how I run the class. Follow me and do what I do.’

You nod and salute him. ‘Okay, I can do that. I’m sure you’re an amazing teacher. People call asking when your classes are all the time.’

He suddenly wants to show off for you. To pull out his most amazing choreography. He wants to impress you, he realizes. He hasn’t wanted to do that in ages.

He fights a grin. You’re so open and sweet he doesn’t think you have any idea of the effect you have on him. You check him out, not the least bit discreet, and give him a mysterious smile before taking your place. Okay, maybe you have some idea, he thinks.

He greets the class in his usually succinct way, making a conscious attempt to smile more than he normally does. Yixing looks between the two of you and gives Jongin a shit-eating grin.

He rolls his eyes and avoids his friend, walking over to press play on the CD.

'All right everyone, we're going to start off with a simple combination. Follow along with me and don't worry if you don't pick it up right away, we'll do it a few times.'

He turns, facing the wide wall of mirrors. As if drawn by your energy he meets your gaze in the glass where you hover to his right.

He's learned you wear your emotions on your sleeve. When the desk is busy you wear a broad, warm, welcoming smile that almost covers the overwhelm of many people asking questions.

This time, watching you as the opening beats of the track begin, he gets to see you be your full self again. You breathe, relaxing into the rhythm, a slight smile playing on your lips. He knows that look well, as he's sure he wears it whenever he dances.

Like in Michelle’s class, you both look more relaxed. The world makes more sense in the studio to him, and to you as well apparently. The light streaming in through the windows, the crisp even lines of the wood floors, the endless mirrors. Even the cubbies at the back that will always smell a bit like old socks make him feel at home.

He narrates along with his movements. Beginning/Intermediate classes always draw a mixed crowd. He likes to make things as clear and easy to follow as possible for all levels while paying attention to people who need extra help.

There are people like Yixing who have experience dancing taking the class for fun. Older folks trying to stay active in retirement. Ladies groups looking for fun new workouts. Younger kids just getting started.

Once he's finished with the first block of steps he pauses, chastising himself for the way he can't seem to look away from you.

'That was great everyone, let's try it a few more times before the song restarts,' he says as the music continues.

He weaves his way through the people in attendance with you on his heels, correcting movements gently, offering encouragement. You repeat the steps for a kind-looking older man and woman. The smile you give them when they get it right is so warm and luminous he doesn’t even see Yixing until his friend snaps his fingers in Jongin’s face.

‘To quote the great philosopher Usher, my friend: You got it bad.’

Jongin glares at him and he motions for you to join him at the front again. Yixing’s soft laughter follows and he knows he’s never going to hear the end of this.

Once the class ends he takes time saying goodbye to all the students. Even if he is a bit more reserved of a person he still wants the studio to look good. He wants people to enjoy his classes and always makes the effort.

As the last person leaves he watches you putting your coat on. For long seconds he wonders if he should speak the desire battling in his chest into existence or if it’s too soon or too awkward or too… something.

He buys time by grabbing the CD. Finally, you slip your bag over your shoulder and he comes to lean against the edge of the cubbies in what he hopes is a casual way.

‘Are you hungry?’ he mumbles.

‘What was that?’ You turn and look at him, a warmth in your expression as you regard him.

He clears his throat, trying again. ‘Sorry. Are you hungry? I’m starving and was thinking about getting something to eat at Flanagan’s, the pub in the mall.’

Pink tints your cheeks and you nod, suddenly finding an excuse to look anywhere but at him. ‘That would be perfect, I’d love to.’

He can’t help but fist pump in celebration in his mind. He coughs, composing himself. ‘Awesome, we can talk about the teacher training,’ he says with an attempt at nonchalance.

You follow him through the mall towards the Irish pub and he thanks the heavens that you work together and have plenty to talk about. Going over the class, reviewing what you learned, covering your dance background and his. It all fills the space that would exist on a normal first date.

Date? Where did that come from? he wonders over the last of his dinner. He shakes his head to clear it and has to ask you to repeat your question.

‘What are you working for?’ you say again, taking a small sip of your cider.

He tilts his head in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Aside from paying bills, what’s the goal?’ you ask with a curious look, as if you’re trying to figure him out. ‘What’s your dream?’

He takes a deep breath, holding it before letting it out. It’s something he’s kept locked away, hidden down deep. ‘I’d love to teach in schools. Open my own studio or something. Maybe.’

You grin at that, a dimple appearing in one of your cheeks that makes him want to kiss you. He shakes himself, continuing on at your encouragement.

‘Dance saved me. Gave me a home, a family, a purpose. I’m doing alright for myself now and I’d love to be able to do that for someone else in return. Give some other kids a safe space.’

He blushes and quickly takes a drink of his beer. ‘What about you?’

You frown, looking adorably puzzled. ‘Oh. I haven't really thought about it. Can I have a minute to think?’

He nods and motions with his hand. ‘We’ve got plenty of time, no pressure.’

You love that about him, that he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push.

You’ve never seen him so open and animated before. You can’t believe you used to think he was unfriendly. Around you he’s practically a teddy bear. A brooding, intense teddy bear, but a teddy bear nonetheless.

While he eats you contemplate his question.

Perhaps it came with being the baby of the family, the younger sister, that you were given the rose-colored glasses to wear. That you were shielded from a lot of harsh realities growing up.

Maybe there was tension and stress at home when you were young, but you never felt it. All you remember from the early days are laughing and dancing and family dinners.

Nights spent reading every book you could get your hands on with your sister, your cold feet touching hers under the covers of your shared bed, making her scream until you both dissolved into giggles.

Going on long walks through the trails near your apartment, watching the boats go by on the water. Your parents’ proud faces in the audience at your dance recitals.

It was all wonderful, until it wasn’t. Until the day in 1989 when your parents were caught in the crossfire of a shootout in Hilltop; the wrong place at the wrong time. The day your family went from four to two.

Where once there was family game nights and pancakes on Sunday mornings with your father between his graveyard shift at one job and his afternoon shift at another, there was your sister, younger than you are now, sitting at the dining room table trying to pinch pennies to make things work.

She’d never caved, never given into despair, at least not where you could see. And you were determined to hold yourself together for her, even if you couldn’t do so for yourself.

The two of you mourned together, scraped by with your father’s meager pension from work. She started working nights in addition to her college classes and never let you miss school or stop dancing.

At sixteen you started working the front desk at the studio you took dance classes from. Your first job, and the place where you met Michael.

Coincidentally, it was the beginning of a five year period where you started to hide everything from your sister. Out of shame, embarrassment, or some intuitive understanding that she would forbid you from seeing him if she found out what he was really like.

Now that you’re out on your own, free of the dark cloud of Michael, everything feels new. Tentative. Raw.

What do I want? The answer is so apparent to you it feels almost silly.

‘I guess… just a home. Not literally a house,’ you laugh. ‘But that would be nice. All I want is a safe place for the people I love. That’s what my parents gave my sister and I growing up and I’d like that again. I know I’m young, lots of my friends said I should want to travel or go to school or make it big dancing or something. But that’s never been the most important thing to me.’

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with an intense, unreadable look that he seems to save just for you.

You feel heat come to your cheeks and take a big drink of your cider to hide your embarrassment. ‘That’s silly though. Forget I said anything,’ you mutter.

A soft pressure rests on the hand you have laying on the table and you’re shocked to see that he’s placed his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s not silly at all,’ he says softly. ‘It sounds beautiful.’

For long seconds the two of you stay like that, the attraction you feel towards him rises, surprising but not entirely unwelcome. It’s a sensation of being thrown overboard into a sea and getting lost in the waves.

‘You guys all set? It’s just about closing time,’ the waiter asks, holding the check, oblivious to the moment he’s interrupting.

You and Jongin talk over each other, fumbling for your wallets. Neither of you can look the other properly in the eye as you pay and walk to the car. What happened feels too meaningful to acknowledge in the quiet of the night.

He turns on the radio while he drives you home to fill the space as you both get lost in your thoughts. After all you’ve shared with each other tonight, it seems silly that he doesn’t know your real name.

‘Can I tell you something?’ you ask quietly when he pulls up to the apartment.

He nods, giving you a small smile. ‘You can tell me anything.’

‘Liz isn’t my real name. It’s… a nickname I’ve been going by to hide from Michael, but I guess it’s pointless now.’

When you tell him your real name he nods and pleasure colors his cheeks, as if he’s honored you trust him with it. He reaches out to briefly rest his hand on top of yours before bringing it back to rest on his thigh, always being respectful. For all his toughness and intensity, the more you get to know him the more you’re surprised by how his sweetness and kindness draw you in and make you feel safe.

‘Goodnight Jongin,’ you say quietly.

‘Goodnight.’ He repeats your name, softly, trying it out on his tongue while he holds your focus.

Finally, he blinks and settles back against the seat and you step out of the car. You can feel his eyes on you the entire walk up the steps to the front door of the complex, protecting you even if he can’t be next to you.

Tuesday February 25th, 1997

Yixing and Sehun drag Jongin from his sleeping with an early morning phone call, demanding he come work out with them.

Without any regard for his sleep-deprived state, Yixing goes right to the heart of the situation while spotting for Jongin on the bench press.

‘You like her.’ He doesn’t say it like a question, because it’s not. The look on Jongin’s face confirms it and Yixing barks out a laugh. ‘I knew it!’

Jongin sighs, resting the weight on the handles and looking up at the triumphant face of his friend. ‘I can’t like her.’

Sehun pauses in the middle of bicep curls, his brow furrowing in confusion. ‘Dude, why not?’

‘Well, we work together for one thing,’ Jongin says with a groan.

Yixing laughs. ‘I know all about that, my friend. Doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings for her.’

Jongin sits up, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. ‘She also has this asshole ex who keeps showing up and harassing her, Sehun you were there. I can’t ask her out now. A, she deserves someone who just wants to take care of her without an ulterior motive. B, I have no desire to be a rebound. I like her way too much for that.’

Sehun meets Yixing’s look of victory and shakes his head with amusement.

‘Look, man. All I’m saying is you’ve been single forever. You are absolutely not a creep taking advantage of her. And if she does put you in the rebound zone, that’s her loss,’ Sehun says.

Jongin opens his mouth to object but Yixing cuts him off, raising his hands in surrender. ‘You two seem to get along, that’s all we’re saying. It’s worth a shot right? When are you seeing her again?’

‘I see her pretty much everyday. I either walk her and her sister to her car or I drive her home when her sister has school stuff to do.’

Sehun makes a noise of frustration. ‘Bro, just invite her to Shari’s next time we all go. She’ll realize you have excellent taste in friends. You can charm her with your dancing. She’ll want to jump your bones. Foolproof plan.’

Yixing shoves Sehun playfully in the shoulder. ‘Arrogance aside, he’s right. Shari’s is perfect. Casual, fun, cool.’

‘Right. Casual. Sure,’ Jongin sighs and resumes his workout.

Thursday March 6th, 1997

While he waits for you to finish your closing tasks he walks around the parking lot. He slides his hands into his pockets, staring up at the night sky. It’s finally starting to become warm enough to function without a thick jacket.

His friend’s words run through his mind, urging him to ask you out. But he laughs to himself, thinking how that’s not his way. With dancing and success, sure, he can work his ass off, push himself to be the best.

But even though his friends always tell him girls are falling over themselves to be with him, he’s never felt confident in that way. Or even really interested. Before you.

He loves his body, loves what it does and what it lets him express through movement. He’ll even admit that he finds it aesthetically pleasing, toned in the right places and well-proportioned.

But he’s always felt that beauty has nothing to do with appearance. Want, attraction, and desire for him live in motion. In what someone does, how they treat others, how they move through life. Who they are beneath the skin.

He sighs. If only he could dance to show you how he feels. Maybe he’ll get a chance to, tomorrow night.

The sound of the bell tinkling and the door closing makes him turn around.

‘Hey, you ready?’ you ask, smiling at him.

‘Yeah, absolutely,’ he says, hitting the light switch in the office and following you out the door.

He watches you while you walk to his car, when he thinks you won’t see. Tonight he lets himself wonder what it would be like if you were his, fully. Officially. What it would be like if he was the one who got to wake up beside you. Go to sleep next to you. And everything in between.

He’s noticed that your eyes dart around the parking lot less frequently now that it’s been a few weeks since Michael showed up. He takes it as reassurance that the field is clear, so to speak.

He struggles to find words, never his strong suit, and the warmth in your eyes when you look at him makes the limited ones he has scatter from his mind.

‘The stars are nice tonight,’ you supply, glancing up and grinning.

‘It always surprises me how you can still see them in Seattle, even in the city.’

You slide into the car and he follows, managing to find his bravery. ‘Do you want to go to Shari’s with me tomorrow?’

‘Sharis?’

He lets out his nerves as a quiet laugh. ‘Sorry, it’s a dance club nearby. Me and Sehun and some of our other friends go sometimes. Baekhyun over at the movie theater decided that the weather is finally decent enough for us all to come out of our shells. I’d love it if you joined us. It should be fun.’

The smile you give him makes his palms sweat. ‘Absolutely, that sounds fantastic!’

Friday, March 7th, 1997

You’re unable to convince your sister to come with you to the club, she pleads out saying she’d love to but she’s swamped by course work. She somehow managed to get the school to let her finish up her last two quarters from a distance at the Seattle location.

Your roommate is coming from a mixer for her internship, but she’s meeting you in a while at the club. Once, you might have been nervous to go in alone, but you know that Jongin will be inside somewhere, waiting for you.

How lovely it is, to be wanted by someone you want, you think. Someone good and honest and real. You remember the way Jongin checked you out yesterday, asked you here tonight, somehow both confident and unsure. It feels like you’re glowing from within.

‘You think he wants you for anything other than sex, dumb bitch. That dress is short enough, you’re clearly asking for it.’

Michael’s voice is so loud and harsh in your mind that you spin on the street in search of him. But there’s no sign of him. You frown, upset that his presence still clouds your thoughts.

Once and for all you wish you could be free of him. As with anything in life, you tell yourself it will get easier with time. With a deep fortifying breath you shake it off and stride right up to the gleaming black wood doors.

The bass of the club isn’t just something you can hear, standing outside the front doors nervously fixing your dress, it’s something you can feel. The club seems to pulse with energy in the chilly night.

Finally, you can’t procrastinate any longer and push through the doors of the club. The bouncer is a man at least three times your size with two full sleeves of tattoos, showcased by the tank top he wears. With a nod he hands your ID back to you and waves you through.

Salt-N-Pepa thumps from the speakers on the dance floor and you immediately notice it’s packed to the brim with people dancing. You look around and don’t see anyone familiar, but then a tall head catches your attention.

Sehun turns and waves to you, his normally stern face breaking into a warm smile. He nudges someone next to him and Jongin appears from the mass of bodies.

His normal casual street style is swapped tonight for a pair of close-fitting black pants, a fitted white shirt, and a long gold cross earring you’ve never seen before. His messy hair is brushed back out of his face.

He walks over to you with heat in his eyes, taking in your curves, showed off by the purple dress you’re wearing tonight.

Once he reaches you the sheen of sweat on his neck becomes visible and the spicy smell of his cologne warms you. He leans to you and his breath cascades along your shoulder, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

‘Hey, you made it!’ he calls over the chorus of ‘Whatta Man.’

‘I did!’ you say, resisting the urge to touch him or lick his neck or something equally insane.

The way he discreetly checks out your legs and cleavage lets you know that his thoughts are along the same line. ‘Come on, you can put your stuff at the table.’

You nod and he ghosts a hand along your low back to guide you towards a table in the corner where you recognize some other people from the mall. Jongin takes your purse and adds it to the cluster of them at the back of the booth.

He introduces you to Baekhyun, Hitchcock, Yixing, and two other men, one tall and one shorter, whose names you don’t catch as they’re deep in a discussion about ‘a pop/punk revival of epic proportions.’

You grab drinks at the bar, laughing as you talk about the wild pair of high school boys who came to class this week. Once you’re finished, you and Jongin both look at the dance floor eagerly.

‘Do you want to dance?’ Jongin asks, clearly alive in this atmosphere.

You’d say yes to anything right now, even if he asked you to jump into the sun. When you nod he wraps his hand tentatively around yours, waiting for you to squeeze back before he grins and guides you to the floor.

He moves around you as the song ends, an intensity and focus in his eyes you’re finally starting to understand he saves just for you. It ignites something deep in your chest that makes you see visions of his teeth on your neck, his hands on your thighs, sliding up underneath your dress. You whine and blessedly the sound is lost in the noise of the club.

Abruptly you laugh, shaking your head. Has it been so long that you forgot what clubs do to you? Or is it just the effect that Jongin has? Either way, when the next song begins you don’t know whether to curse the Universe or blow it kisses in thanks.

When ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine starts people around you cheer and move closer together. The DJ at the booth looks out on the crowd, a firm line to his brows and a faint smile on his lips. He seems to ride the enthusiasm of the crowd. It certainly feels like it’s suddenly hotter in the room when Jongin steps into your space tentatively.

He watches you hungrily, waiting for your lead; looking both ready to consume you and ready to step back if you gave the slightest sign you didn’t want him to touch you. Something tight and afraid in your chest melts and you nod at him, moving closer in return and answering his silent question.

Neither of you need words, it’s far too loud in here to understand each other anyways. The magnetic pull between you two finally draws tighter and his hands gently settle on your hips at the same moment yours grasp his shoulders.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been in the same classes for weeks, keenly aware of each other’s bodies. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you are clearly attracted to each other. Or maybe it’s the song itself. Whatever the reason, you and Jongin find your rhythm fast and easy, moving together to the beat.

You want to sink into him, to slide your hands under the collar of his shirt and touch the muscles of his back. He makes you feel both safe and wild does things to you that you never felt with Michael. His thumbs press into the sensitive flesh of your hips and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

For the entirety of your relationship with Michael he felt like a predator, stalking you, laying claim to you. You never felt a desire to claim him in return, to choose him. Only in hindsight are you realizing how messed up that was, to only be an object to someone, a prize to be won like Jasmine in Aladdin.

You pull back to look at Jongin and can’t help the broad smile you give him. With him, you’re definitely not just prey to be captured, though he seems more than willing to lay chase.

You’re not just the mouse. Tonight, with him, you’re also the cat, and you’re ready to pursue him as well.

Turning in his arms you move and press your back to his solid chest. He picks up right where you left off, his strong hands grasping your hips and finding the rhythm again.

As the song goes on you relax into the bass of the beat, reveling in the sensation of being in his embrace. Feeling bold, you reach an arm up to hold onto his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He doesn’t entirely manage to stifle the groan he makes and you bite your lip around your smile.

Sometime in between dancing to ‘No Diggity’ by Blackstreet and ‘Ready or Not’ by the Fugees the two of you grab another drink.

Standing at the bar, listening to Baekhyun tell some dramatic story, the only thing you can focus on is the way Jongin’s fingers toy with the skin of your hip. All you can feel through the thin fabric is heat and that desire low in your body feels like it reaches a fever pitch.

By the time your roommate arrives, looking like an Empress in a gold dress that is both classy and sexy, you’re absolutely feeling yourself. You wave to her and mouth to Jongin that you’re going to go talk to her.

He nods and brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead, motioning towards the groups table with a nod. You can’t help but admire him as he walks away.

‘So it’s going well?’ your roommate asks in your ear, startling you.

She laughs, knowing full well that she just caught you checking him out. ‘Let’s get a drink!’ She links her arm through yours and pulls you to the bar.

The two of you find stools on the far end where it’s quieter and she fills you in on her internship mixer - boring - and you tell her about your night - decidedly not boring. She looks to the table the mall folks are occupying and stifles a laugh.

‘Girl, the way he’s watching you…’ she raises her eyebrows knowingly.

‘I know. I’m - I don’t know, I really, really like him. And I almost licked his neck while we were dancing so umm I’m clearly not opposed,’ you say. When you look at the table Jongin is laughing against Sehun’s shoulder and your heart does that melty thing again.

‘But…’ she prods. She’s heard the full saga of you and Michael and in the last few weeks she’s become one of your closest friends. ‘What’s holding you back?’

You run your hands through your hair and sigh. ‘I just ended things with my ex a few weeks ago. This whole thing with Jongin is… amazing. Wonderful. Electric. But it feels too real to rush into it when I’m still so fresh off of... you know. We were together for years, and I was so young.’

‘If you’re not ready, just tell him. He sounds like the kind of guy who would understand,’ she says.

The alcohol makes you both bold and cautious. Your mind and body want different things. One wants space to think, the other wants to rip off Jongin’s clothes and press yourself against him until there’s no space between you two.

‘I’ll figure it out,’ you sigh and finish your drink.

She pats your shoulder in amusement and downs the last of her drink as well. You walk her over to the table to introduce her to the rest of the group and it turns out that she and Hitchcock took a class together a few years ago at UW.

While they catch up Jongin reaches for your hand, rubbing your palm. He motions to the dance floor and raises a brow. You nod and smile at him, squeezing back.

When you resume your positions - his hands holding your thighs, your arms around his neck - he moves in closer, resting his forehead against yours. He draws his lip between his teeth to chew on, as if deciding something. You watch the motion and want to whine at the intensity of your attraction to him.

He watches you closely. You can feel his warm breath across your lips. When he reaches a hand to cup your cheek he bends closer. Something inside you commands you to stop him. A sense that this wouldn’t be right yet.

Gently, you lift your hands to his shoulders and ease him back. ‘Jongin, you have no idea how much I want to be with you.’ You call over the music, holding his gaze so he can see how much you mean it. ‘How much I want to kiss you right now.’

His brows pull together, his thumb stroking your cheek seemingly against his intention. ‘I’m sensing a but here.’

You take his hand in yours and pull him towards the hallway that leads to the bathroom. He puts himself between you and the club, protecting you like always. Now it’s your turn to protect him.

‘I can’t ask you to wait for me, but I need some time,’ you start. ‘I just want to stand on my own two feet for a while. You met Michael, you saw what he was like. He took over my entire life.’ His expression turns sharp at the mention of Michael.

‘I need to separate out what parts of me belonged to him and what’s truly me. I spent so long defining myself by what he wanted I just - I want to know who I am first. Can you understand that?’

He nods, his expression softening. This time when he gently cups your face he presses a kiss to your forehead, so softly you can barely feel it. But oh, do you feel it.

You hold onto his arms and pull back to look him dead in the eyes, needing to make sure he understands what you’re saying. ‘I want to make sure I’m completely myself, I want to be able to give you all of me. It feels really important.’

The corner of his mouth lifts and his eyes are warm when he meets yours. Gently, he takes your hands in his. For long seconds he simply watches you, smile blooming into a grin as he rubs his thumbs over your palms.

As surely as Michael did, you feel him claiming you. Not with aggression and words and possessiveness, but with a tenderness that warms you from your toes to the tip of your head.

He lifts them to his lips, not breaking eye contact as he presses a kiss to each palm. Warmth of a different kind blooms between your legs as the heat in his eyes turns mischievous for a beat before turning sincere.

‘I’m a patient man. I’m here if you need, however you need. I care about you, this doesn’t have to be romantic unless you want it to be.’

‘Thank you, Jongin. I’m so happy to have you in my life,’ you say.

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, heart melting as his cheeks turn pink. He leads you back to the group and you sigh with relief. Now I just have to figure out who I am. Fantastic, you think.

Wednesday April 2nd, 1997

It happens as you and Jongin are leaving his class one night. Spring has finally arrived in the Northwest and you’re happy, laughing at some joke Jongin told you.

Neither of you are prepared for Michael appearing from behind the large dumpsters next to the employee parking. One moment you’re enjoying the satisfying post-exercise glow and admiring the way Jongin’s hair looks when it’s sweaty and pushed off his forehead, and the next you’re screaming in alarm as the two of them fall to the ground.

Jongin grunts as he slams to the concrete, rolling to the side in an attempt to get Michael off of him. If he wasn’t wearing his signature patched leather jacket you’d hardly have recognized him - hair unkempt, beard scraggly, a wild look in his eyes that frightens you.

The first punch Michael swings hits Jongin’s shoulder. It forces you out of your shock and into action. You yell for help. Luckily it’s a busy night and two women you recognize from the bookstore are walking by.

‘We’ll get security!’ one of them calls out as they rush off towards the mall. A few other people linger nearby, unsure if or how to intervene.

Jongin’s quick reflexes help him dodge Michael’s wild blows and they land on the concrete. It must bruise and scrape his hands, but in the state he’s in he hardly seems to notice.

You get closer, horribly afraid Michael will hurt Jongin seriously. He’s so unpredictable, especially on drugs, that he could have a knife or even a gun on him. Finally, he leans to the side to pull back for another punch and you dart forward.

Grabbing the back of his jacket you pull to the side with all your might, attempting to throw him off. ‘Michael, stop it! Get off him!’

He bends back further, twisting so his arm swings toward you and catches you in the stomach. You grunt and stagger backwards.

‘Stay the fuck out of this. He needs to know you’re mine.’ He says last word on a growl.

You pull out the thick teacher training binder from your bag, prepared to smack him upside the head, when you hear someone call ‘Hey!’ from behind you.

Two of the men who work at the pizza parlor are running over. The taller man, Chanyeol, you think, lunges for Michael with no hesitation. His height and strength allow him to do what you couldn’t and he pulls Michael to the side and onto the concrete. A shorter man with a strong brow follows behind Chanyeol, reaching to hold Michael’s arm back while Chanyeol holds his legs.

You hear them arguing and grunting and turn your attention to Jongin.

You bend down next to him, wincing at the pain in your side. ‘Oh my God, are you okay?’

Jongin nods, sitting up with a grimace. ‘I’ll be fine, he’s so hyped out on whatever he took that his aim was awful. Did he get you?’ He reaches a hand to cup your jaw, concern in his eyes.

You reach for a napkin from your bag to press to the cut in Jongin’s forehead. ‘He did, but it’s fine. It’s not too -’

‘Dale, get the cuffs,’ an assertive voice calls from behind you.

You and Jongin watch as Dale, Leeteuk, and another security officer help the two men from Barada. They manage to get Michael into handcuffs and drag him off towards the mall.

‘When you’re up for it tonight come to the office and we’ll take your statements,’ Leeteuk says when he passes you and Jongin.

You both nod. The ache in your abdomen is sharp and you focus on breathing deeply. Even after he disappears inside you can still hear Michael’s frantic, wild voice yelling.

Chanyeol sighs, dusting off his hands and shaking his head. He comes over and helps Jongin stand. ‘You alright man? What the hell was that? Soo and I were coming back from a meeting and Mel passed us yelling her head off about Jongin being attacked in the parking lot.’

You stand and wrap your arms around yourself, hating the entire situation, feeling miserable. Jongin takes a few steps, wincing and reaching a hand for his probably bruised hip. He brings his other arm around you and pulls you against him gently.

‘Her ex boyfriend. Real piece of work. Thanks for being there Chan, that guy was out of control.’

‘No problem, I know you’d do the same for me in a heartbeat.’

The shorter man looks at you and Jongin. ‘You guys okay? Anything we can do to help?’

Jongin looks at you and you shake your head. ‘No, but thanks Soo,’ he says, patting his shoulder.

The crowd that had gathered breaks us as everyone heads back towards the mall or their cars. You and Jongin support each other and walk back into KOKO.

Paige looks up when you enter and gasps. ‘What happened?’ She moves around the desk and supports Jongin on his other side. The two of you get him into a chair in her office.

‘Michael happened.’ Jongin lets out a small groan as he sinks into the seat.

She purses her lips. ‘Did security come?’

‘Yeah, Leeteuk and Dale were there. After we get ourselves sorted we’re going to make a statement.’

You duck your head, running an anxious hand across your forehead. Sadness, frustration, dread all fill your mind but guilt takes center stage as you sneak a look at the blood on Jongin’s forehead.

‘I’ll leave you two to rest, but I’m just out here if you need me,’ Paige says with concern. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the top right drawer of the cabinet behind you.’

When the door shuts you push down your emotions and stand to get the kit. Jongin waits for you to pull the chair around, waits while you open the white box and take out a medicated wipe to clean off the blood. He patiently waits until you finish putting a bandage on the cut and finally look him in the eye before he speaks.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks quietly.

You nod, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. ‘I’m fine, I just feel awful. Jongin, I’m so sorry. He had no right and I couldn’t get him off you and -’

He cuts you off by leaning forward and wrapping his arms around you. You rest your forehead on his shoulder and cry, letting the stress and emotion work its way out of you. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘You’ll probably want nothing to do with me now,’ you mumble against the fabric of his shirt.

He pulls back and brushes your hair behind your ears. ‘No, don’t do that. Don’t you take on what he did. That’s on him. Not you. You’re not responsible for him.’

When you don’t speak he carries on. ‘Do you really think anything could scare me away from you? Even if we’re not dating, we’re still friends, right?’

You nod. ‘Okay, fine. But I’m still going to feel awful about this for the next hmm, twenty years or so.’

He laughs and wipes off your tears with his thumbs. ‘And I’ll be right there to tell you that just because your ex is a psycho, it’s not your fault.’ When you open your mouth to object he stands. ‘No buts. Now let’s get this over with at security, I’m sure we could both use dinner.’

You laugh. ‘Okay, you’re right, I’m starving. And I definitely need a long, hot shower tonight.’

He leads the way out of the office, favoring one of his legs with a good-natured wince. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Tuesday June 21st, 1997

Against all odds, life resumes its normal flow. Days are filled with classes, working at the desk, continuing teacher training, and settling into the group of friends you’ve made at the mall.

Even though Leeteuk said that Michael would serve a minimum of six months for his assault charge, there is always the threat that he’ll be out earlier for good behavior. But you’re determined to move on, throwing yourself into building a life free of him.

Your roommate and Hitchcock introduce you to the many incredible vintage stores downtown. Shari’s becomes a regular hangout during the Spring and on into the Summer. You and your sister discover a quiet cafe inside an indie bookstore with a view of the water and try to spend a morning a week there, reading together.

Work is steady and enjoyable. You love the balance between working with customers and organizing the paperwork. Between working with Michelle and Jongin and Jennifer, the ballet teacher, Paige thinks you’ll be ready to start teaching on your own in the fall.

And then there’s Jongin, the dominant figure in your life the past few months. There’s hardly a day you aren’t together between work and dinners and nights out dancing and movie nights with the group. You know he’s waiting patiently to see how you’re feeling, but like always he doesn’t push you, content to just be with you.

Your sister joins you for lunch on a break between her classes after stopping in to say hi to the kids at the daycare. When you’re sitting down eating your slices of pizza, she strikes.

‘So, when are you going to tell Jongin you’re in love with him?’ she asks, making you choke on your sip of Diet Coke.

‘Excuse me?’ you say between coughs.

She thumps your back twice to help. ‘I didn’t mean to kill you, sorry. I just -’ she waves her hands in the air. ‘I know you’re on Self-Discovery Quest 97 and all, which of course I fully support. I’m your sister, I love you. You know I’d support you through anything. But literally you look at him like you want to jump into his arms and kiss him for the next century every time you’re together.’

You wince and take another enormous bite of pizza. ‘Is it that obvious?’ you ask around a full mouth.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It’s clear you both want to be together. Any you’re well on your way to figuring out what you want. I’m just wondering why you’re forcing yourself to hold back? I’m your sister, you know you can tell me anything.’

You let out a sigh. ‘Do you know what Michelle’s theme was for today’s class?’

She shakes her head and you carry on. ‘It was desire. And the way Jongin looked at me… the way I was absolutely, probably, looking at him? It scares me.’

‘Why?’

‘What if it’s like Michael? What if I give everything to him and it turns bad? What if I lose myself again?’ you ask frantically. ‘This would hurt even worse. Sure, I liked Tacoma and the studio, but here feels like home. Seattle, the mall, KOKO. What if being together ruins what we have now?’

‘First off - he’s not Michael. There was always something off about that boy, I just had no idea it was as bad as it was,’ she says, guilt on her features. ‘But Jongin is sincere. He loves you too, I’m certain of it.’

‘How do you know?’

She smiles, looking nostalgic. ‘Because he shows it with his actions, not just his words. Has he ever hurt you? Betrayed you? Done anything other than proved to you he wants you?’

You think back to everything that’s passed between the two of you. He gave you support, space, protection, encouragement. She’s right. He’s done nothing but prove himself to be a good man.

‘No. He’s perfect. I want him so badly, in every way.’

‘He clearly chooses you, sis. All you have to do if you want him is be brave enough to trust him and choose him back,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s the easiest and the hardest thing in the world to do.’

‘When did you get so wise? Does it have anything to do with that dad you keep hanging out with?’ you tease, enjoying the blush on her cheeks when she looks towards the antiques shop.

She makes an X with her arms. ‘Oh no, we are not talking about me right now. This is about you,’ she says, standing. ‘And the fact that you need to tell Jongin you’re in love with him.’

She throws her napkin at you and you laugh, tossing yours at her in return and standing to chase her around the table.

Wednesday July 2nd, 1997

At Baekhyun’s pre-Fourth of July party Jongin waits for you in the kitchen. He pours drinks and listens to Baekhyun’s stories, saving the girl from the jewelry store from his friend’s overly enthusiastic yelling.

He thinks to himself that she’s very nice, but clearly in love with Chanyeol. When the man in question comes into the kitchen they share a look so full of passion and longing he wants to snort into his beer and say ‘been there, friends.’

Instead he turns around to get another drink and almost runs into your sister. ‘Hey, how’s it going? Are you looking for Jun? I think he’s around here somewhere,’ he says.

She waves him off and fixes him with her best stern look. ‘No, I’m here to give you the talk.’

‘The talk?’ he asks, raising a brow.

She blows a strand of hair off her face and smothers a laugh. ‘Look, I’m her sister, not her parent. I haven’t done this before, so bear with me.’

He frowns in confusion. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Did something happen? Is she okay?’

She reaches a hand to his shoulder to reassure him. ‘Oh, she’s fine. Trust me. I just - go with me on this sitcom moment here. I like you Jongin. I think you’re a good man and I trust you.’

‘Thank you,’ he nods, pleased. He waves her on.

‘I’m trusting you with the person most important to me in the world, okay? If you hurt her I’ll - well, I don’t know. I’m opposed to violence, but I’ll think of something,’ she laughs. ‘Just... please treat her well. I know you will, I just need you to say it.’

He runs a hand along his neck. ‘Trust me, all I want is to love her and keep her safe. She deserves the world and for all her dreams to come true. I want to give that to her. But.. we’re just friends right now, I think. Unless she’s said something to you?’

She looks satisfied and nods, holding out a hand officially for him to shake. ‘Thank you Jongin.’ A moment later she nods to something behind him. ‘As for the second part, you’ll find out very soon I imagine.’

He turns and sees you standing at the entrance, holding your hands nervously and looking around the party. He turns, saluting your sister with his cup, and walks over to you.

It never fails to set his heart and skin alight when you turn your attention to him. The way you brighten at his presence would be enough to last him his entire life. But he has a feeling that he might get even more of you tonight.

‘Hi,’ you say brightly.

‘Hey yourself, want a drink?’

You exhale deeply, biting your lip. ‘Not right now. Could we go talk? Outside maybe?’

‘Sure, lead the way your highness,’ he teases, earning him an amused look.

The two of you head into Baekhyun’s backyard, surrounded by trees. The warm red painted deck is strung up with twinkly lights that you both know is the work of Hitchcock, not the man himself. He follows you to the side of the house by the large Evergreen tree.

Before he can ask what’s up, you speak. ‘Do you want to go watch the fireworks at the mall with me?’

He blinks. ‘Umm, I thought we already were going? All of us, roof of the mall, eight o’clock? You and I are bringing the mixers.’

You look torn, a million emotions flying through your expression and something in him tells him to be patient. After a minute you step closer, resting your hands lightly on his arms. He takes a step back until he’s leaning against the house, watching you intently.

When you look up at him your expression is resolved, fixed on him in a way it never has before. ‘I don’t just mean as friends Jongin. As… more.’

He tentatively reaches for your hips, feeling like his hands belong there. ‘Are you sure?’

You smile up at him and time stops. He resists the urge to pick you up and capture your lips with his. Barely.

‘Yes, I’m sure. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the space you gave me,’ you say. ‘I finally feel like me. When Michelle asked us to think about what we wanted today, I thought about many things. But mostly I thought about you.’

He grins, feeling the urge to beat his chest and roar with triumph. ‘Okay, then. I’d love to go with you to the fireworks as… more.’

‘Excellent,’ you say, swaying towards him.

It feels like the universe gives you a push. In one breath you’re standing toe to toe with him against the house. In the next you’ve pressed yourself against him, stepped between his legs to form your body to his. Soft meeting hard, need against need.

His arms wrap around your waist with a sigh and your hands find their way into his hair. For long moments you lean into him, body relaxing even as your heart is hammering in your chest.

He breathes with you, warm air trailing along the skin of your shoulder. You smile against him, your cheek pressed to his. How can one man make you so excited that you feel like you’re flying, but also calm your heart and make you feel safer than you’ve ever felt before?

Eventually you pull back and marvel at him. The way the wind moves his hair across his forehead. You ruffle it up and he laughs, a warm sound.

Emboldened by your touch he lifts a hand to trace the line of your face, trailing his fingers your cheek and along your jaw. His thumb rubs lightly against your lower lip and your mouth opens, already hungry for him but in no rush to end this moment.

The two of you have been dancing around each other for months, literally and figuratively, and now that the time is finally here for you to know what it’s like to kiss him you’re suddenly worried it won’t live up to your imagination. What if you’re a terrible kisser? What if you have no chemistry together?

As you look into his warm brown eyes, lit up by the strands of lights around the backyard, any doubts fall away. A half-smile plays on his lips and suddenly you can’t help it anymore - you cup his face with both your hands and press your lips against his.

He groans against you, half in relief and half in what sounds like pleasure.

Easily he picks up after your first move. Like he was born to know your body he runs a hand down your side, leaving heat in his wake and finding a home on your hip, anchoring you to him. With his other he holds your jaw delicately, his broad hand dragging along the delicate skin of your neck.

When he moves, sliding his lips across yours, you can’t remember a single other thing. Just like his hands his mouth is hot, sensual, and just a little rough. The sheer intensity radiating off of him is a match striking the passion inside you.

Suddenly, you can’t get close enough. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling. His hand strokes along the barely covered skin of your lower back making you keenly aware of the need pooling low in your body. His tongue darts out to taste the seam of your lips.

With a groan, you open for him. Your mouth, your body, your heart belongs to him. And he knows it, given the possessive way he holds you, claims you with his tongue and his hands. Lost in sensation, giddy at the fact that you’re finally both here and ready, you think to yourself that the earth could cease to be and you’d hardly notice.

His leg slides between yours, grinding itself teasingly against your sensitive core, and you pull back on a gasp to look at him. His lips are red and his tongue swipes along his bottom lip.

‘I’ve wanted to kiss you so badly,’ he whispers. His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard, full of need.

‘Thank you for waiting for me.’ You lean your forehead against his, running your hands along his shoulders, his arms.

He nods, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. ‘I’d wait forever for you. But I’m delighted to finally get to be yours.’

His words crack your heart open with fierce pleasure. You know he’ll never lie to you, push you to do things you don’t want to or expect you to be anything but who you are. Tears form at the corners of your eyes and you press your mouth to his again. Softer this time; deeper, sweeter.

If the first kiss was his claiming of your heart, this one is a kiss of discovery of something you feel like you’ve always known.

As he cradles you against him, tucked against his body and held by his strong hands, you realize that you don’t need to claim him. He’s always been yours, since the first moment you saw each other perhaps.

You smile into the kiss. When you sigh into his open mouth, pressing gently against the firm muscle of his legs, the real world suddenly intrudes.

‘Sis, where are you? Helloooo?’ comes your sister’s voice from the backyard.

You laugh, giddy. Jongin’s an adorable mess, hair askew, lips red, shirt half-untucked. You’re sure you’re just as bad.

You cling to his shoulders, laughing against him. ‘Coming!’ you call out.

Friday July 4th, 1997

Twilight falls on Seattle, lighting up the city as darkness descends. The setting Summer sun illuminates the Cascades and you gasp, exuberant at the gorgeous sight from the rooftop. It also doesn’t hurt that the man you love stands behind you.

Jongin glows tonight, a lightness and a joy seem to spill from him. He steps away to help Baekhyun set up the keg, smiling so much his eyes disappear and crinkles form in the corners. He darts back to press a kiss to your head first and you grin.

You all pass the time until the fireworks start with games. Sehun loses at Never Have I Ever and has to do the Macarena for a solid minute. He’s saved by the sound of explosions and splashes of color across the sky.

The fireworks from the Space Needle make you swoon. They light up all the buildings downtown and reflect across Lake Washington. Jongin holds you against him, hands on your waist. You rest your hands over his and turn to look up at him.

The fireworks are reflected in his eyes and your heart feels like it explodes as well. ‘I love you Jongin,’ you say, unable to keep it in.

He grins at you, eyes wide with feeling, looking for all the world like a star brought down to earth. ‘I love you too.’

You spin in his arms and practically launch yourself at him. He catches you easily and holds you while you kiss him with vigor. The group of friends around you whoops and cheers.

‘Get a room!’ Baekhyun teases.

‘Want to go somewhere more… private?’ Jongin asks against your lips, laughing.

You nod, unable to stop the blissed-out smile you give him. He finds your coats and you grab your purse, waving goodbye to the group.

The moment the door to the rooftop closes Jongin pulls you into his arms again, pressing you against the wall and kissing down your neck. His hands trail heat along your arms, your side, settling on your hips.

‘Please don’t be gentle with me tonight,’ you plead against his shoulder, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘As you wish,’ he growls against your skin.

He bends and slides his hands to cup your ass. In one fluid motions he pulls you into his arms and holds you against the wall with his hips. He slides his teeth along the skin of your neck and lets out a groan.

You cling to him while he walks down the blessedly empty stairwell through the mall. While he walks you kiss along his jaw, teasing the flesh behind his ear. That makes his hands tighten on your ass, so you repeat the motion on the other side.

He reluctantly sets you down when you reach the door to the mall. The heat in his eyes lets you know this night is far from over and you thank the heavens. You hold his hand in yours and dash across the dark space.

The light from the fireworks is visible through the domed, glass ceiling and your footsteps echo in the wide open space.

You fumble for your key to the studio in your bag, Jongin’s heavy breathing against your ear makes it hard to think. He chuckles and presses his mouth to your shoulder, smiling against the skin there. You smile in response, feeling lighter than air as you finally locate the key and unlock the door. He guides you inside.

Both of you head for your favorite corner studio at the back. When you open the door much of the window is blocked by the greenery that lines the mall’s sidewalk, but plenty of light spills in from the streetlights.

You cup his face in your hands and pull him to you, slanting your lips against his. He reaches for you again, mouth hungry against yours, but you move and hold his hands. You take a step back and raise a brow at him.

‘Sit here for me, will you?’ you ask, voice low and thick with arousal.

He nods, taking a steadying breath and running his hands through his hair. He crosses his legs and spreads out on the floor with his back against the mirrored wall. His arousal is evident and straining against his jeans, even in the low light, as he stretches his legs out. But like always, he waits, watches, gives you the space you need.

Before you lose your nerve you kick off your heels and pull the clip holding up your hair. The weight of it settles on your shoulders, teasing the bare skin of your shoulders revealed by your dress.

You wish there was music to make you brave, to ground you. But you breathe and focus on Jongin to steady your nerves. His appraisal is all the aphrodisiac you need.

You approach him, coming to stand with your toes touching his stretched out heels. Emboldened by the heat and need running through your veins you reach down for the edge of your dress. Once it’s over your head you toss it to the side and look around.

It would have terrified you, intimidated you, to see yourself reflected on every wall of the room. Once, an eternity ago, you would have folded in upon yourself; tried to disappear at the sheer intensity and love coming from his eyes as he takes you in.

You lower your lashes for a beat, staring at the floor. For long breaths you savor the magic of being in love with this man, the way his consistent attention and never-fading sincerity make you feel safe and held.

Your mouth tugs slowly back into a smile when you meet his gaze once more. This time, as you lift your hands to tug off your bra your motions are sure, decided.

He takes in every inch of exposed flesh reverently, like he’s looking at the finest art he’s ever seen. Unable to hold himself back, he reaches for your bare calves, easing you closer to him. The first soft kiss he presses to your thigh makes you shiver. The second makes you moan and reach for his hair to steady yourself.

He looks up at your face for hints of hesitation. 'Do you want this? Do you want me?' his voice cracks on the last syllable, a vulnerability of his own that slips out with the force of his longing.

You know in your bones that he'd wait forever for you. He'd never pressure or coerce. He'll never take more from you than you're hoping to give. Emotion rises in you as you stand there, sliding your hands to cup his face while he resumes his path in learning your body. Giving you time.

Even though he's never been inside of you, you already know that he'll always leave you fuller than before. His lips ghost along the exposed skin of your knee. You know that every time with him will leave you raw and seen.

Every time with him will be a miracle, you think. But this first time your need is so strong it feels like a wildfire will overtake you. If there's one thing you want to hold onto from this it's the way his hands shake slightly as they slide up to your hips.

You smile and sit down, straddling his lap, clad in only your underwear. 'Yes. Jongin, please. I want all of you,’ you say and press a kiss to his temple.

He seems to feel it too, the way tonight will be a joining together. Not a taking, like with Michael. No, tonight will be a an etching of your name into his heart, his bones, his blood and his into yours.

He pulls back and you think you've never seen anyone shine brighter than the sun, even in this darkened room. His hands slide up your waist until his thumbs caress the undersides of your breasts and you let out a moan.

‘You and me? Officially?’ he says, unable to contain the bright, slightly smug grin that comes to his lips.

‘Yes.’ You hold his jaw in your hands, pressing a possessive kiss to his lips.

‘You.’ A kiss to his cheek that makes his eyes drift close.

‘Me.’ A slide of your lips against his neck that earns you a groan.

‘For real.’ When you find the pulse point behind his ear his hands dig into the flesh of your hips.

You squeal as he pulls you flush against him. ‘Thank you for waiting for me,’ you whisper against his lips. You pull back and he’s watching you with a softness on his expression.

‘I would have waited forever for you.’ He brushes the hair off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. ‘Thank God the wait is over though.’

He pulls you against him and stands, kissing along your neck and walking towards the stack of yoga mats. You squeal and hold onto him. ‘Agreed.’

Monday September 1st, 1997

You’re in the break room when the sound of gunfire comes from the direction of the mall. Other people might have mistaken it for a car backfiring or something similar, but instantly you know what it means.

Far enough away they sound muted by the distance. Close enough they make your hands shake. The hair on your arms stands on end and a sick feeling grows in your gut.

You set down your sandwich and dart cautiously down the hallway. Heads pop out of classrooms and studios and you motion for everyone to stay in their rooms.

‘It’s coming from the out there, stay inside and turn the lights off,’ you call to Michelle as you pass her by. She nods, her eyes alert.

Jongin meets you coming down the hallway, his bag still on his shoulder and his eyes wild with fear until they land on you. ‘Oh thank god.’

‘Is Paige-’ you start, clasping your hand in his and peeking around the corner into the front desk.

‘She called security as soon as we heard it. She’s safe, don’t worry,’ he answers, squeezing your hand.

‘I have an awful feeling about this,’ you start, voice barely above a whisper.

He holds you around the waist, solid and comforting. The two of you look through the glass doors that lead out into the mall. Dale, Leeteuk, and several other security officers dart past. The uproar seems to be centered on the jewelry store at the far end.

He pulls you fully into his arms, holding you close enough to him that you can feel his heart beating where your chests are pressed together. With an anxious sigh you bury your head in the warm skin of his neck, breathing, waiting.

After a minute the sound of gunfire comes again and you look up, the sound of shouting echoing through the mall. Three police officers work their way through the crowd of people that surround the store.

Dale emerges after a beat, pulling a man in handcuffs. Dark hair, dark sweatshirt, unmistakable expression on his angry face.

The horrible feeling in your gut spreads through your body, engulfing you. ‘Oh my god.’

Jongin follows your look and his mouth tightens into a line at seeing Michael. He rubs your shoulders comfortingly, his eyes warm and sympathetic. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe.’

Fear chokes you. ‘Jongin, what if he hurt someone. It’s all my faul-’

His hands at your shoulders tighten a fraction, his expression turning fierce. ‘No. It’s not. He made his choices. You’re not responsible for this, okay?’

Panic wars with guilt and you draw your eyes back to the mall, unable to look away. ‘Can we…? Please, I have to know if anyone was hurt.’

He nods, looking across to the jewelry store and deciding the threat has passed. He presses a kiss to your forehead before grasping your hand in his and pushing you into the atrium.

In the crowd you see many people you recognize. Friends, frequent patrons of the gym, co-workers. The mall feels like home, you realize as you walk, and these people feel like family.

Michael notices you, his eyes dangerous, but subdued and unfocused. Probably as a result of the enormous stains of blood blooming on his sweatshirt.

Anxiously you scan the crowd as it breaks up, people resuming their lives now that the danger has passed. Chanyeol pulls a girl into his arms and you recognize her as the cashier from the jewelry store. She seems shaken, but unhurt.

You spot Leeteuk and he walks over, running his hand through his hair. He nods at your approach. ‘Hey guys. What a fucking day.’

‘Was anyone hurt? What happened?’ you ask.

He shakes his head and gives you a grim smile. ‘No, thank God. He shot like a wild stallion but he didn’t hit anyone. Took aim at Dale and he dropped him with two to the shoulder.’

You gasp and cover your mouth with a hand. Jongin gives your waist a reassuring squeeze.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be going away for a long, long time,’ LT says.

‘Thanks, man,’ Jongin says, leaning over to press a kiss to your hair.

‘No problem.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says softly in your ear. ‘It’s over. Finally.’

Wednesday February 11th, 1998

The sunlight in the apartment is warm and yellow, stretching across the sea of boxes still to be unpacked, the mismatched end tables and chairs.

You turn in your brand new bed, still baffled and delighted to find yourself in Jongin’s arms, in the new apartment you’d just moved into together.

The weight of his arm around your waist, the smell of his skin, the morning light - all of it should be perfect.

But a nagging fear rises in your throat. Confusion, swiftly followed by the first hints of tears, push you to gently leave your boyfriend sleeping. He frowns at the absence of your warmth beside him in his sleep.

In the early morning light you tiptoe to the stairs of the loft, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and letting whatever emotion is prompting this work it’s way out of you one tear at a time.

After a few minutes you hear Jongin stir in bed, his sleepy voice calls your name softly. A beat later you feel him behind you, his legs sliding alongside yours, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest.

As always, he doesn’t push you, never forcing you to speak or act before you’re ready. In all the months you’ve known him, through the highs and lows of a new relationship, he’s never changed. Instead he’s only become more steady and grounded by your love. You both have.

He says you were the missing piece he never knew he needed. Something about you brings out the best in him, your relationship the touchstone that sees him through all else, and you know you feel the same.

He sits on the stair behind you, gently easing you into his arms against his chest. For long minutes he presses kisses to the top of your head, keeps the blanket wrapped around you, runs his fingers through your hair.

Eventually the knot in your chest loosens, the fear that burned in your throat passes, cleansed by tears.

You wipe your eyes with the edge of the blanket and sigh, turning and resting your cheek against the bare skin of his chest.

‘I’m sorry if I worried you,’ you start, clearing your throat around the thickness there.

‘You know I’ll never rush you.’ His voice is a low rumble against your cheek.

You nod against him, grinning and pressing a kiss against his bare chest. When you meet his eyes once again you’re in disbelief that this isn’t all a dream. That he’s really here and yours.

But the two of you built your relationship, brick by brick, together. You weren’t merely someone who was chosen. You chose him, chose this. Alongside him and your friends and your sister you built yourself back up into a stronger person.

The things you went through, all the past and history that you once thought would drag you down, only made you into someone who knows her worth and her strength.

You never let life rob you of your hope and love. ‘I thought good things couldn’t last,’ you start and his brow furrows in confusion.

You giggle and turn, kneeling in front of him and smoothing the creases with your thumb before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

‘I thought eventually things would go wrong, somehow’ you continue and his eyes soften in understanding, his hands coming to rub along your arms. ‘But here you are, proving me wrong. Day after day.’

He closes his eyes and smiles, pulling you into an awkward hug on the stairs. You wrap him in your arms as well, holding him closer than you ever thought it was possible to hold someone. His knee might be digging into your side, your hair messily strewn across his face; a bewildering puzzle of body parts and hands and hearts that makes you grin.

But when he breathes, settling against you, you can’t help but feel like you’ve never fit with anyone like this. And you’re never going to let him go.

#kpopwonderlandtag #exosnet #jongin x reader #kai x reader #exo x reader #exo au #jongin fanfic #jongin imagine #jongin smut #jongin scenario #kai fanfic #kai imagine #kai smut #kai scenario #IT LIVES #FINALLYYYYY

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thetrueenemyofhumanity · 5 years

Note

"There is only one bed" with Ashe and widowmaker? Thanks

Im very unsatisfied with these, it seems I have forgotten how to english. Here’s hoping some practice will help me get back into things???

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

ASHE

It took a few hits for the old door to finally give an encouraging budge. You sucked in a deep breath and thrust your full weight against it a final time. At last it flew open, sending you with it. A strong hand closed around your arm and stopped you from hitting the foul carpet face-first. Ashe pulled you upright but rather than release you, she instead looped her arm through yours to escort you inside.

“Well this certainly ain’t the Ritz,” She remarked with a sneer.

“Hey, it was you who wanted to escape the life of luxury. Don’t think we could possibly get any further-“

A loud thunk had you and Ashe turning to face the door. The termite-infested woodframe creaked and splintered as B.O.B. tried to join you. You bent to retrieve the hat which had rolled off to now lay at your feet. Brushing the dust off you realised it was actually much bigger than you thought. It was merely B.O.B.’s enormous stature which made it appear comically small.

“Dammit, B.O.B.!” Ashe snapped, shoving him back through the doorway, “State of the art processors and ya can’t even figure out the size of a damn door?”

She took the bags from him and marched back into the room. You stepped forward and gave B.O.B. an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, B.O.B., guess you’re powering down out here for the night.”

He lowered his head to allow you to place the hat back in place. You tilted it just how you knew he liked before stepping away. B.O.B. waved as you retreated until the door tucked him out of sight, but now you faced the problem of not being able to get the damn thing fully closed. You once again flung yourself at it until to no avail. Suddenly it was pulled back and clicked closed.

“Thanks B.O.B.!”

Ashe flung the bags onto the bed and that’s when you realised a whole different issue.

“Notice something?” she sighed.

“There’s only one bed…” you huffed, imagining you’ll have to spend the night in the hallway with B.O.B.

You expected her mood to only get darker. Instead you were surprised to hear a chuckle. A smirk slowly grew and she licked her lips, watching you from the corner of her eye.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this crap-shack.”

WIDOWMAKER

“Area clear. For now. Doubt that’s going to last long.”

“Copy that. We’ll keep an eye out. You’re relieved until things get exciting,” came the voice from the other end of the comm line.

“Heading back to base now. E.T.A. twenty minutes.”

You began throwing your equipment back into your bag. Admittedly you could have been a bit neater- not to mention safer- with your packing skills, but the unease that knotted your stomach told you to get out of there and get out of there fast. Something didn’t feel right. It felt like you were living on a bomb and the fuse was getting smaller and smaller. Sombra’s intelligence had been highly questionable of late and be it treachery or plain stupidity, you weren’t going to pay the price for someone else’s mistake.

“Negative. You’re to stay with the asset. Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

The knot in your stomach only grew at that and you fell silent.

“Agent, is that clear?”

You shook your head and drew in a deep breath. Throwing your bag over your shoulder you left in a lot less of a hurry.

“Clear.”

You made sure to make as much noise as possible upon entering the room. The last thing you wanted was to spook the world’s finest assassin. But when you entered that wasn’t the sight you were met with. Perched on the widows ledge was Amelie, who had swapped out the skintight catsuit for a plush jumper and loose-fitting trousers. The costume itself was neatly folded atop the case which held her rifle. Her long hair now fell freely around her face and there was a weariness to her you had never seen before. She didn’t even look at you when you entered. Instead her sharp eyes were fixed on nothing, lost in a daze.

“Widowmaker,” you greeted with a curt nod.

She didn’t reply. But you doubted awkward conversation would be any better than the awkward silence. Looking around you could only see one bed. Unsure of where to go you simply…hovered for a moment.

“There is only one bed,” Amelie finally spoke.

“Clearly times are tough, Talon can’t even stretch the budget to two beds in here?” you tried to joke.

“Why buy a steak for a vegetarian?”

Your poker face melted to one of pure confusion.

“E-excuse me?”

“There is no point Talon providing a bed for someone who doesn’t sleep. At least until they’re told to,” she explained, lifting her head to lock her piercing eyes with yours. And like a fly in a web you were paralyzed.

“They tell you when to sleep?”

You couldn’t hide the distaste in your voice. She nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving you. Well that certainly explained why she looked so tired. Shrugging off your jacket you sat on the edge of the bed. Only when the weight was taken off them did you realise how truly weary your legs were. Your back cracked as you rolled your aching shoulders and you struggled to stifle a yawn.

“Amelie, you look as tired as I feel. You need rest.”

She shook her head.

“What Talon doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” you pressed.

“It is not that. Whenever I close my eyes… Talon’s drugs are the only way I can sleep in peace.”

You sucked in a deep breath and tentatively placed a hand on top of hers. The cool touch sucked the warmth from your own skin.

“Nightmares are intimate friends of mine too,” you assured her.

“Nightmares I can deal with. You wake up to a better reality. It is the memories that haunt me. There is no waking up, no running. No freedom. Yet as much as these ghosts plague me, they are all I have to remind me I was once human.”

You were lost for words for a moment before finally rising to your feet. Reaching over her you pulled the blinds closed.

“You’re still human. You’re not what they made you. You’re so much more. C’mon, lets get some sleep,” you suggested, “Whatever demons come I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She took your hand and slowly stood. A tense moment passed before she suddenly threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around you. Your heart momentarily stopped and every possible ulterior motive she may have rushed through your mind. But once you realised there wasn’t a knife in your back you finally accepted that the Widowmaker just didn’t want to be so alone. As much as she didn’t want to open her heart- having lived the truly worst that can happen- the starvation crushed all her senses and she wanted nothing more than to melt in your warmth.

#ashe writing #widowmaker writing #ashe x reader #widowmaker x reader #widowmaker #ashe #drabble #these are terrible im so fucking sorry #overwatch #overwatch writing

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winterisakiller · 5 years

Text

Get Better - Chapter Eleven

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 11/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @theoneanna @just-the-hiddles @hiddlescastle @alexakeyloveloki @echantedbytwh

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cath blinked slowly, her attention flicking from Emma to Tom and then back again. Emma smiled expectantly back at her, clearly waiting for her to crumble under the pressure. Tom’s expression was decidedly less joyful. The glare he leveled at his sister would have frozen the blood of weaker men (or women, in this case). She turned, letting her gaze fall on Zawe and Lorna. They appeared far too amused by the events taken place before them. The smiles they shared, both with each other and then, surprisingly, with Emma, left Cath more than a little apprehensive.

Having Zawe and Lorna pestering her about whatever it was, or was not, happening between her and Tom was difficult enough. Not that there was anything save a cautious friendship at best. And even that felt as though it was on shaky ground more often than not. The idea of Emma somehow factoring into all that mess put Cath’s teeth on edge.

There was only one way this could end. Badly.

“Emma,” She started, finally finding her voice. She quite liked the woman, despite their short acquaintance (and the growing sense of unease regarding possible meddling), and certainly wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. But the obvious unease and annoyance radiating from Tom at the mention of her crashing what was clearly meant to be an intimate family gathering, made her hesitate. “I don’t want to intrude on your time with your brother…”

“Nonsense.” Emma quipped, waving her hand as if she could simply brush away Cath’s concern. “It’s just drinks and catching up. Besides, with how you’ve been all Allie’s gone on about since this afternoon, I feel like it’s my duty to get to know you better.” Her eyes flicked to Zawe and Lorna and she smiled warmly at them. “And I know you’ve all got stories that are too good to pass up.”

“Emma, they probably have plans,” Tom stepped in, looking at this sister with a hand held out before him. He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair.

“Actually, I’m good,” Lorna chimed in.

Zawe smiled, nodding. “Me as well.”

Both women turned their attention towards Cath and she felt her unease grow steadily under their knowing looks. At this point she trusted the two them about as far as she could throw them. As much as she liked Zawe and Lorna, their prodding and less than subtle hinting were trying to say the least. Frankly, she expected better from Zawe given her profession.

Going along with this hair-brained idea would undoubtingly end in more trouble than it was worth. Especially given Tom’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. And even if that wasn’t the case, Cath knew without a shadow of a doubt that Tom plus alcohol plus unease plus those three (something told her Emma, Zawe, Lorna together would be nothing but unfathomable trouble) equaled a very, very bad idea.

The last thing she wanted was for the fragile…friendship (thinking it as anything other than that was stupid and dangerous) growing between them to shatter. She liked Tom, in more ways than she wanted to look into, and had very much enjoyed working with him on this project. She enjoyed getting to know the man behind the mask of professionalism.

He was a charming, warm, intelligent man and he made her smile. Talking with him, sharing stories and ideas about nearly any and everything, had become something infinitely precious to her. Messing that up by overstepping the invisible boundaries they’d erected, by putting herself into a situation this man clearly was not interested in being in at this point in time, it wasn’t what she wanted in the slightest.

“Emma,” she started again, infusing her voice with as much reason as she could manage. She hoped it would be enough to sway Emma. “Tom obviously wants to spend time with just you and your husband. I can’t in all good consciousness intrude on that.” She steadfast avoided looking at Tom but could feel his eyes on her. This was rapidly going from bad to worse and Cath wanted nothing more in that moment then to be at home, curled up with a glass of wine, far away from meddling friends and coworkers.

“Cath, that’s not what I meant,” Tom started, taking a step towards her, his brow knitted. “You know I enjoy spending time with…”

“See,” Emma chimed in, cutting Tom off mid-sentence. “He’s fine with it. Just say you’ll come, please. I would honestly like to get to know you, Zawe, and Lorna better.”

It was obvious to Cath, and clearly the rest of their small group (if their expressions were anything to go by), that this was a battle that could not be won. Not without more bloodshed than she’d ever be comfortable with. Taking a deep breath, Cath turned to face Emma once again. “Just one drink. One.”

Emma’s face broke into a triumphant grin. “I can live with that.” Cath smiled quietly back, sincerely hoping she wouldn’t regret this. She couldn’t, however, shake the sinking feeling she definitely would.

“Fantastic,” Zawe answered with a grin, clapping her hands together. She turned towards Tom. “Can I get the address so I can book a cab?”

Appearing flummoxed by the rapid turn of events, Tom blinked uncomprehendingly at Zawe for several moments before rattling off the pub he’d chosen. One far enough away from the theatre to hopefully avoid running into any curious fans, Cath noted with a wry sense of amusement. It made sense, this was technically his ‘off’ time and, from everything she had observed, it was something Tom guarded fiercely. And that made their intrusion, and Tom’s reluctant agreement to it, all the more puzzling to her.

Cath shook the thought away, not wanting to head too far down that road at this particular moment in time. She was vaguely aware of Zawe thanking him before pulling out her mobile and ducking from the room. And then of Emma ducking out quickly after.

“That can’t be good,” she murmured to herself. Tom’s amused chuckle startled her and Cath quickly shot her eyes up towards him. Apparently she’d been louder than she thought.

He just smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve learned sometimes it’s best just not to ask.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “And how well has that worked for you?”

Tom grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “It’s a varied process, studies are inconclusive.”

“Alright,” Zawe announced. Cath’s eyes shot up towards the door, watching as Zawe walked back into the room, Emma following closely behind. “Taxi should be here in ten.”

“Fantastic, I’ll grab our bags and coats shall I?” Lorna called, already half out the door. Her steps echoed up the metal staircase and Cath shook her head. Someone’s over-eager.

She turned her attention back to the room at large, catching Tom shoot his sister a level look. Emma simply smiled innocently in return before heading towards the tall sandy haired man Cath took as her husband. He had been hanging back from the main group, watching the groups’ interaction with what appeared to be wry amusement. He was clearly used to Emma and her meddling. Emma kissed him briefly before grabbing her handbag from him and walking back towards Zawe.

“So I will be riding with the girls,” Emma called out to her brother, “so you and Jack can head off whenever you’d like and we’ll meet you there.”

Tom stared at her unease painting across his features. It was abundantly clear Tom was not thrilled by this announcement, though whether it was not wanting to be alone with his brother-in-law (doubtful) or not wanting his sister alone with them (most likely but leading to far more questions than Cath wanted to entertain). “Em, seriously, we’re all going to the same place. Why don’t you just ride with Jack and me?”

“Don’t Em me, Tom. We are all going to the same place. So what difference does that make to anything? Besides, if our lovely Cath has to duck out early, then I want the chance to talk with her for a bit. The ride over gives us a chance to do so, all of us girls mind, without you jumping in. Makes it easier for me to get all those embarrassing stories out.” She grinned cheekily at Tom.

Tom opened his mouth to respond but stopped when Jack came up behind him and placed a hand on his arm. Cath watched the interplay between them with a curious fascination. It was obvious both men adored Emma and both were very aware of who she was and all which that entailed. “Not worth it, mate,” Jack sighed, shaking his head. “Trust me, I know.”

“Oi,” Emma laughed. “Mind who you’re speaking about. I am right here.”

“Not so fun now is it?” Tom smirked. Emma playfully narrowed her eyes at her elder brother.

“Alright, enough with the sass brigade,” Cath called out, holding up her hands. If they were going to do this (and she was not one known for backing out of challenge no matter how she might have wanted to…And challenge this would most certainly be), the sooner the better. Lest she lose her nerve. “Now are we leaving or not?”

Beside her, Zawe and Lorna (who must have darted back into the room while she wasn’t looking) snorted. She shot them a quick ‘behave’ glare before turning her attention back to the Hiddleston clan who all nodded silently, varying degrees of amusement and embarrassment on their faces.

Cath laughed and shook her head, grabbing her coat and bag from her friend’s arms. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

—

They piled into the back of the black cab, Cath sliding beside the far window, letting her eyes wander over the street. Most of the crowd had dissipated, though there were a good handful still waiting by stage door. Probably in hopes of a glance of Tom as he left. The tell-tale yells a few moments later told her he must have appeared from the stage door.

Emma settled beside her, chuckling. “I will never get used to that.”

Cath raised an eyebrow, though she was fairly sure she knew Emma’s meaning.

“The screaming. It’s just so…weird. He is my giant, dork of a brother. The whole ‘famous actor’ thing is just so…Not him.”

“He seriously is one of the most down to earth ‘celebrities’, and I use that word loosely because he just doesn’t fit that mold, that I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Cath answered. And he truly was. For as much pressure as she was sure he placed himself under (he was that type, she could see it clearly. Someone who expected a great deal of themselves no matter what anyone else had to say in the matter), she had never heard him utter a word in anger to anyone on the crew or cast. And while she knew he got frustrated (he was human after all), he did his best to keep his annoyance in check. That didn’t mean he hadn’t had a sharp word with those who tested him, but it never seemed to be out of a place of anger or to harm.

By this time Zawe and Lorna had settled across from them. “He really is a gem,” Lorna piped up. “You all are,” she added, nodding at Zawe.

“Aw, bless,” Zawe chuckled, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

“That answers so many questions,” Lorna joked. The back of the cab exploded in laughter.

“I’m an actress darling, I live for flattery.” Zawe struggled to keep a straight face as she continued. “Mack, my partner, always jokes that one day he’ll have to widen the doorway just to fit my head in.” They all laughed. “Man is lucky I love him.”

“Here, here,” Emma echoed. “Lord knows Jack can be the same way. Sometimes I swear men talk without bothering to engage their brains. And god knows, we still love them anyway.”

“My Laurie’s the same.” Lorna added, laughing. “But he can be so damned charming when he wants to.”

Emma turned her attention towards Cath. “So, I’m sure you have the same issue with your partner…” It was a leading question and if she hadn’t recognized it as such, the curiosity in Emma’s eyes would have put to rest any doubt. The only thing was Cath wasn’t completely sure where she was going with this. Part of her wondered if this might be on behalf of Tom…But that was ridiculous. If Tom had been interested at all, he would have asked himself, not sent his baby sister on a ferreting mission. And he hadn’t.

They talked about music, movies, theatre, productions they’d been on (the good, the bad, and the frankly bizarre), family, friends…Just about everything. But never once had the topic of relationships, past or present, come up. It was understandable. Though she did not follow celebrity gossip as a general rule of thumb, it was impossible to avoid what had happened that summer almost two years prior. From what she had seen, the press had been brutal and she couldn’t blame him for playing those cards close to his chest.

“Gavin certainly has his moments,” Lorna chimed in, smiling knowingly at Cath.

Lorna never had much liked her most recent ex, and if Cath was being completely honest she couldn’t blame her. Gavin wasn’t a bad person, per se, he was just…a fair bit opinionated. He was a bright man, worked hard as a barrister, and though he appreciated the arts (they’d met at a charity function for one of the theatres she’d worked at three years back) he had the unfortunate habit of being a bit of a…snob. And it had rankled her friends, most of her family (though her mother had always had a soft spot for him) as well. But Cath had cared for him and had done her best to accept his faults. Though after nearly a year together, those faults far outweighed the good she tried to find in him. So she had ended it…Or well, they both had. They’d parted on remarkably decent terms.

“He did,” Cath agreed. “We broke it off about six months back.”

“Good for you, he always was a bit of a prat.” Cath shot her friend a knowing glare. “What? He was. You’re better off being shot of him.”

“He had his moments,” Cath conceded. “But it really just came down to different personalities. We were an ill match and couldn’t quite keep up the effort of trying to fit two pieces together that clearly weren’t meant to be.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Emma agreed. “It isn’t fun when it happens, but I’ve seen far too many relationships drag on with both parties hurting because neither is willing to admit defeat.”

The conversation quickly shifted towards the night’s production and then theatre in general. They laughed over pranks they’d either seen or experienced, different actors less than stellar attitudes, mishaps on and offstage, and just the ridiculousness of the field they’d found themselves in. Emma had several hysterical stories about Tom she readily shared and by the time the taxi pulled to a stop outside of the pub, all four women were wheezing with laughter.

Still fizzing with amusement and mirth, they paid for the ride (Zawe as she’d done the expedient thing and handed the driver a twenty while the other three wasted time arguing how to splint the fare) and quickly made their way inside the pub, finding Tom and Jack waiting at a back table. Both had drinks placed before them; Tom’s, Cath noted with surprise, was half empty. How long ago had the arrived? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes.

“Do I dare ask what’s so amusing?” Jack queried, leaning over to kiss Emma’s cheek as she settled beside him. She grinned as he passed her a glass of red wine.

“My hero.” She paused to take a sip from her glass before answering. “Just old stories…”

Cath couldn’t tell if it was the lighting or if she really did see Tom’s eyes narrow at his sister. Regardless, she brushed it off. Siblings squabbled all the time; lord knows she got into tiffs with her siblings all the time (though time and distance made the world of difference). Tom and Emma were no different.

“You are a menace, Emma Grace. I swear,” Tom stated.

“It’s my job as younger sister. Who else is going to take you down a peg or two…And who says it was stories about you, anyway?”

“I was born at night, sister dear, but not last night.” Tom countered and with a snort Emma rolled her eyes.

“Are they always like this?” Cath asked, settling into her own seat, next to Tom’s she noted with a sigh. This was the second time such a thing had happened, and given the present company somehow she didn’t think it was a coincidence. Once maybe. Twice…No way.

Jack let out a rueful chuckle, “Quite a bit. Stubborn the lot of them.”

“I’m beginning to see the pattern emerging,” Cath agreed.

“Like you don’t know a thing or two about annoying younger siblings…” Tom shot at her, smiling boldly.

Cath grinned. “Oh I have years of experience. It’s just amusing to see you like this is all, Mr. I’ve-Got-Everything-Together.”

Emma cackled. “Oh Tom, I like her.”

Tom shot a quick look at Emma before turning towards Cath, with a crestfallen expression (that man just couldn’t seem to turn it off could he?). “And here I thought you would be on my side.”

“I am on my own side,” Cath countered, smiling. “And that side is definitely in need of a drink. Back in a mo.”

She pushed herself to her feet and made her way towards the bar.

The pub wasn’t terribly crowded; she’d been able to grab her glass of Riesling and make it back to the table in less than ten minutes. She shot a smile at Zawe, who had apparently had the same idea, as the taller woman carried two drinks of her own (one Cath assumed was for Lorna judging by the content of the glass) back to the table.

Cath settled back into her chair, glass in hand. “Now where were we?”

—

“…So there I am, soaked to the skin, in the middle of Trafalgar Square wondering who the fuck I’d pissed off in a previous life,” Cath expounded, shaking her head at her own shit luck. “It had to be someone massive because, my hand to god, I have never ever been on such a horrid date.”

“Jesus…” Tom started, “What a fucking cunt.”

Cath took another swallow of her wine. “God, he really was. No idea what the fuck I thought I saw in him.”

“To be fair,” Lorna cut in, with a quirk of her eyebrow, “He was quite fit. And he seemed like a decent bloke.”

“We were both drunk as hell when we meant him, Lorn. Somehow, I think judgement was a bit skewed.”

Lorna shrugged, taking a sip of her cider. “Fair point.”

“At least you never ruined your date’s outfit about ten minutes into the evening,” Tom found himself adding, taking quick sip of his whiskey. The words came out quite without his consent; hell even thinking about that evening still made him shudder.

He watched in horror as Zawe, Lorna, and Cath’s eyes all widened. Emma smirked into her own wine, having heard the story more than once (and telling it far more than he’d have liked) “This is great,” she laughed, nodding at her brother. “Do go on, Tom.”

Tom felt his face flush. But it was far too late to back out now. Well, he thought, in for a penny…

“I was…God, just about seventeen and about as gangly as you can imagine,” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’d just gotten out of a growth spurt and was just about as awkward as I’d ever been…”

“He was a mess, could barely walk without bumping into things…Imagine if you will a newborn giraffe and you’ve got a clear idea of just how bad it was.” Emma cut in, laughing hysterically.

“Yes, thanks Em,” Tom hissed. “As I was saying…I’d gotten Alyssa Michaelson to agree to have dinner with me, I still don’t know how, and I wanted everything to be perfect. She was the prettiest girl in our neighborhood and fuck I was smitten. So I’d practically begged Mum to help me book a table at this really lovely restaurant in the town center. I’d picked her up at half eight and things were going well. Then we got to the table…and it was as if fate decided it hadn’t been paying me enough attention.” He paused and took another restorative gulp of whiskey, feeling the all too familiar humiliation creep over him. “I tripped heading towards the table and nearly took the hostess down with me. Which was bad enough and would have been sufficient to wound me for life had the next few minutes not happened.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, watching the mixture of amusement and horror on Cath, Lorna, and Zawe’s faces. “I thought I’d be a gentleman and pull her chair out for her and ended up elbowing her in the stomach. She stumbled back and fell right into the next table…who had just gotten their order of spaghetti.”

“Oh Tom, you didn’t?” Cath exclaimed.

Tom covered his face with his hand and nodded. “I did. She went right into the platter, red sauce all over her lovely white dress…”

“And I’m guessing that’s where the date ended?” Zawe chimed in, not bothering to hide her laughter at his expense.

“Yes, it was. She refused to let me help her up and all but bolted once she righted herself. It was one of the worst dates I have ever been on.” He could feel the heat that must have been radiated from his face. “Just about put me off dating for good…Or least for a long while.”

A chorus of laughter erupted around him and he thanked god he’d drunk as much whiskey as he had. Going through that evening again remotely sober would have been absolute hell. Then again, had he not been slightly less than steady on his feet he might not have regaled them with the tale at all. Bringing the tumbler to his lips, he drained his remaining whiskey in one go, wincing slightly at the burn.

He felt Jack shift on his left hand side and turned to face his brother in law. “Another?”

Tom nodded. “Please”

Jack grinned, standing and making his way towards the bar. Tom sighed. He’d had more to drink than he’d planned, more than was probably wise. Not that he was fall out drunk by any stretch, but he was far looser than he tended to allow himself to be in a public space. And far looser than he knew Luke or Michael would approve of him being.

“You alright?”

He shuddered as Cath’s warm breath tickled his ear. She’d had to lean over to ask her question and the feel of her so close was both heaven and hell. He slowly turned to face her, taking in the way her blue eyes sparkled with the combination of drink and concern. It touched him in a way he hadn’t felt in far too long; the way she seemed to care for him. He fought against the idea, knowing he was reading far too much into it. Cath was a warm and caring person. He’d seen her with the crew and with Charlie and Zawe, knew it was deeply ingrained in who she was. But for that moment, and if he were being honest for much, much longer, he wished it went beyond a simple kindness.

“I’m fine,” he managed to get out, offering her a small smile. “I can’t believe I told that story.” He covered his embarrassment by burying his face in his hands. “God.”

Tom felt her arm wrap around him, tightening briefly before pulling back. “So you aren’t always the knight in shining armor, Hiddleston. It’s okay to be human. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone.”

He dropped his hands and sighed. “I am far from a gallant knight, Cath. So far from it.”

“What…” she started, brows wrinkling in confusion.

“Nothing….I’m not perfect is all I’m saying.”

Cath rolled her eyes. “Tom, I know that. And I, for one, don’t expect you to be perfect. If you were I’d have to hate you. And, frankly, that takes far too much effort.”

“Whatca two birdies whispering about?” Lorna’s voice cut through the quiet intimacy which had fallen between them.

“The price of tea in China,” Cath answered without a moment’s hesitation. “I adore you, Lorn, but fuck you’re nosey.”

Lorna chuckled. “Aren’t we the feisty one?”

Cath grinned and flipped her friend off. “Piss right on off.”

Dropping her head back, Lorna broke into a boisterous laugh. “Aw, babe. Love you too.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ve heard that one before.” Cath sighed and shook her head. “You are a terrible influence on me.”

Lorna batted her eyes. “Who? Me? Why I never…” And both women dissolved into a fit of helpless giggles.

Jack returned, setting Tom’s whiskey before him on the table. Tom lifted it up and tipped the glass in Jack’s direction.

“Cheers mate.” He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a slow, deep sip. He savored the way it burned sliding down his throat and knowing he’d most likely regret it come morning.

Tom could sense movement beside him and turned to find Cath sliding her arms back into her coat. He couldn’t help that frown that spread across his face at the slow realization that she was leaving.

A chorus of protests erupted from the table as she stood, fastening the green wool closed and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Oh hush you lot. It’s getting late and I’m knackered.” She turned towards Emma. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Emma. And you, Jack,” she added nodding in his direction.

“We’ll need to do this again sometime. Feel free to pester my brother for my number.”

Cath laughed and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tom pushed himself to his feet without thought. “Let me walk you out.”

Cath blinked at him for several moments before answering. “I…Okay.”

“Brilliant.” He shrugged into his own coat, ignoring the look of utter glee on his sister’s face. He was simply being a decent person. It was late and she’d been drinking. And you don’t want the evening to end just yet now do you?

He shook the errant thought away, following Cath as she twisted her way through the room towards the main door. He winced as the cold wind slapped against his face as they stepped out into the fairly empty street. A few cars sped past as they approached the main road.

“You really didn’t have to…” Cath started, wrapping her arms around her torso.

“I know, but I wanted to all the same.” He spotted a black cab heading their way and stepped out, arm raised. The cab slowed and finally came to a stop before them. Tom reached out and opened the door. “Your carriage, m’lady.”

Cath smiled at him, “Thank you, good sir.”

He didn’t know how it happened; he’d leaned into give her a quick hug and peck on the cheek and she’d leaned in as well. Suddenly his lips were on hers, his arm wrapped around her small frame, pulling her tightly against him. The kiss was madness; warmth and light and magic. And just as abruptly it was over. She was climbing into the cab, the door slamming shut behind her. He watched in dawning confusion and disbelief as the taxi turned the corner and sped out of sight.

“Fuck.”

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #get better fic #Tom and Cath

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Till We Meet Again

TITLE: Till We Meet Again

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 19/?

AUTHOR: marvelgirlonamarlvelworld (side blog)

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being mesmerized by a girl whose eyes remind him of the Bifrost

Imagine that Loki would visit you when you were a child, persuading you into mischief and cheering you up with his magic tricks, you assumed he was imaginary.

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Graphic depiction of violence, death, angst, a little bit of humor.

A/N 2: yay! Another chapter! There are still a bizillion errors, really sorry about that as well as the eternal wait for me to update. Feedback is always appreciated as well as likes, comments and reblogs <3

Click.

The door closed as the chime of keys against glass disrupted the still house.

Ah, home sweet home.

Luna closed her eyes and rested her back against the varnished surface of the door; its coolness cast shivers down her spine. She only needed a moment, a brief stance to lay down her guard, to let all that guilt diminish to ash.

Sweet silence placed its arms around her and embraced her sweetly, pleasantly although the familiar pressure of Loki’s aura meshed with it. He was somewhere in the house. Close. The bright hue of his aura spoke tenfold of his restlessness, unease. Loki was idling for her, if not expectant for her to go to him.

He was mutely calling.

Luna opened her eyes and was greeted by the dim-lit ceiling where shadows stretched from the living room lights. It took her a moment, another stance, enough will power to raise her head and face the void which had become the end of the hall. The only source of light not being enough to shape the darkness out.

And unlike the child she once was, frighted of the dark, Luna now embraced it with open arms and walked forward to it. One step after the other, completely ignoring Loki, drowning him out and focusing instead on her empty stomach.

How she still managed to have an appetite after the days she just had? Luna could not tell. Though she couldn’t help to sense she’d forgotten something… Sweet silence continued to accompany Luna as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands on her sides, drumming against her outer thighs, with her eyes wandering about. She knew the trail to the fridge, had memorized where everything stood, so to walk in the dark was as easy as pie.

Soon the yellow fridge light showered her form as she held the door and rummaged through it. The cool breeze from inside placated her momentarily. But it was then when that inexplicable sensation of misplacement cleared to a single word: groceries.

“Ugh,” Luna groaned and hung her head low. The fridge was near empty.

Resigned, the brunette of rainbow eyes closed the fridge as the kitchen lights blinked to life and mantled it all in white light.

Luna did not dart, did not even flinch as she stood with her feet nailed to the ground. Not even the death grip to the handle of the fridge was eased as she sighed and closed her eyes. For she had hoped to avoid Loki for the night. But now it appeared confrontation was imminent. Even if she didn’t want it to, the fast beating of her heart told her so.

“You’re home,” said an all-too-familiar voice, even-toned yet somehow morbid and cold. Cautious.

However, Luna did not turn around. She didn’t know how to confront the unsolved problems she’d left behind.

What to say, how to act, Luna was too exhausted to maintain the appearance of being mad! And to not speak at all seemed too harsh somehow…but Loki deserved that, right?

“Luna.”

His voice brought her back. And it was then when she finally grew enough strength to turn around and face the one whose eyes turned her legs to led.

Wearing denim jeans and a simple white shirt, Loki stood there, as handsome as ever with those Midgardian garments complemented with a pair of gray-toned flat boots. His skin, pale like a ghost, an ephemeral entity, refined marble. A blackout mane swiftly combed back while droplets still cascaded down from time to time. And those eyes, a pair of emeralds, so cryptic yet so, so telling. Heavens he was a sight for sore eyes.

Not to mention the fit of the shirt, the pronunciation of his well-kept figure…

Luna opened her mouth, yet her voice did not come out. And quickly she pursed her lips and cleared her throat.

Damn him! She screeched deep within. Damn him! Damn him for being so fucking flawless when she was trying so hard to grasp her wits so she could continue to be angry!

“Luna, can we talk?” Loki begged with eyes drowning, twinkling in hope. “I wish to apologi…”

Luna raised her brows as she rapidly opened her mouth, “I…I’m going out for…for some groceries,” she stammered while she fidgeted with her fingers. A habit she’d gotten from Loki. “I’ll be I’ll be…um wanna…uh, want to com…want anything?” Her eyes never darted from his form. Luna bit her tongue after the stupidity that was close to coming out of her mouth.

Way to go, Luna! Way to go! Acting nervous when you should be furious!

Surprise and hesitance were plainly reflected in Loki; his widened eyes and parted lips spoke truth of such. He too was not expecting such an offer after the events that’d unfolded int he past.

“I appreciate your offer,” Loki half-smiled, weary, embarrassed.

“So?” Luna ceased to fidget her fingers. “You want something?”

“I…I want nothing,” he declined. After all, all he ever wished was standing right in front of him, to embrace Luna and plead for forgiveness.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Loki responded calmly, nervously. “Though I…”

“Alright,” Luna interrupted Loki again as she neared the main hall, and payed deaf ears to his second attempt at an apology. “Be back in an hour.”

An hour. His throat went dry. For if he spent another hour in his own company guilt-tripping himself he’d go mad! Loki needed to speak to Luna now! “Wait!” He followed Luna, “I’ll accompany you.”

“WhAt?” Luna stopped on her tracks, already groaning internally, already boiling down a fitting excuse, “I…”

“I think…darling, now more than ever should you not go about on your own,” Loki excused himself.

Luna closed her eyes and brushed her hair back though got caught in a few knots and breathed in. “I can take care of myself.”

“I insist,” he gestured.

“Then stop insisting!”

“I will not stop insisting!” Loki deadpanned. “I understand you are angry with me, I respect that. But I will not stay here and wait when you’re out there in danger! Please!”

“Alright!” Luna ceded in the end, not wishing to fight again, and glared at Loki who stood victorious before her. “Let’s go.”

At least he’d won this time, and perhaps this would weave another opportunity for him to speak. “Very well, but Luna,” His brows creased upon a surfacing ponder, “your vehicle…”

Right away the brunette of rainbow eyes slowed down, almost stopping on her tracks before turning her head. Her nervous eyes quickly met his emerald gaze, not wishing to speak on the vehicle she had…borrowed.

There was a Deja vú sense to the situation. Every single aspect appeared a repetition, a bizarre mirage of a re-lived time.

The store was the same one, Luna had come many times in the past, but there was more to that. Even the mere hush that accompanied both as they strolled through the aisle had the same lightness from weeks back. Yet there was an emptiness this time, something missing, a lost piece. Perhaps it was the emptiness of Luna’s hands. To feel the coolness of Loki’s hands…deep down she missed that. But it wasn’t that.

Luna cleared her throat and stopped on her tracks before she turned around; though not before she faced Loki who stood by her side. “Wait here,” her cold eyes met with the trickster’s searching eyes, “I forgot to get a basket.”

Loki only nodded, pursed his lips as if he wished to object but didn’t, and watched Luna walk off to the front of the store.

As she did so, she continued to dwell, to search her head about this hole that’d formed, about this piece that was lost, about this Deja vú of some sort. For the only difference she could find, was the Asgardian was not the same Asgardian accompanying her from those times. Not the blond mane and sapphire eyes, not the same warm smile.

To think of such an individual made a lump form in Luna’s throat. But it was better to forget about him for now. His memory only brought her anguish. It was better if she martyred herself later with it.

Now her hands did not feel as empty as she walked back to Loki. She could live with this artificial coolness for a moment; however, that moment came to an end as she approached the trickster who quietly, gently took from her hand the basket. And his eyes spoke, pleaded for her to cede, to accept his gesture.

“I…I got it,” Luna tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Luna, please,” Loki pleaded quietly.

Luna shifted her weight and pursed her lips. She was gonna stand her ground when a thought crossed her mind; payback. Thus her fingers eased as the cool thin metal of the handle disappeared from under her fingertips. “Fine.”

The Asgardian accompanying her was no true Asgardian at all. A gentleman in his right, remarkably like the other one, if not more than the other.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” her tone was dry, cold as she strode and began to sort her mind to select what to buy.

Loki was only left to nod in silence and follow behind, to watch amusedly, very much as his brother had done on the past. And to glare vainly at other shoppers whenever they stared for too long, being completely the opposite of what Thor had done.

This time tomatoes were not in Luna’s mind as they reached the back of the store. A carton of eggs, milk, some cups of yogurt, Luna recalled they were at the far left side. Bread was in aisle five, spices in aisle one. Perhaps some ham, and fresh vegetables to make a salad, yes, she recalled the latter was at the far right on the other side.

Just as she’d done before, she studied carefully the content of the carton and handed it to Loki to place gently in the basket. Though she couldn’t help but chuckle at his perplexed expression as other shoppers passed him by.

Luna smiled maliciously as she moved onto the big fridges. A whoosh of cool air slapped her face as she reached for a carton of milk. She could feel Loki’s gaze as she opened the next door where the yogurts were stored. “You know, I just remembered something.”

Loki said nay but eyed Luna eagerly, attentive to her.

The two walked to aisle five.

“I used to do this with Thor, you know,” Luna said after some time as she placed a loaf of bread in the basket. She couldn’t help but notice as Loki gulped and tensed his jaw. She half-smiled. “He would tag along,” the two moved on to aisle one, “helped me with groceries. He always came after missions and we would spend time, cook something, dine together…”

Loki fisted his hands. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and own. No longer where his eyes emerald green but musky pine.

Luna hummed while she chose three small bottles from the variety of herbs and spices; thyme, basil, and some garlic powder.

“He even used to hold the basket for me,” Luna murmured. Though she knew Loki had heard. She knew so by the way his aura flared and pressed against hers. Loki was furious if not…jealous.

But he had it coming. Make him suffer just a little. Perhaps make him feel betrayed…in a way.

Was it petty? Yes.

Was it tied directly to what had made her mad, to the actual problem subject?…not at all.

But at least Luna was amusing herself after so much stress, even if it was at the cost of making things worse. After all, how much did she have to lose if Loki already knew every single thing from her past? How much did the opal-eyed have to gain if the trickster had already robbed her of the opportunity of going to him in time, to speak to him of her past?

Loki already knew she was adopted, that she use to be a sick child, one bound to die once, but could no longer do so because of that serum. Lest to mention her parents…yeah, Loki knew everything. Her whole life laid on that dusty desk inside the library.

“I miss him.” Luna heard Loki suck in a breath. “Thor was…” she chuckled, “well, Thor. Always so understanding…”

Loki continued to walk beside Luna. Ever so slightly he lowered his head and harden his glare. Her words were prickling him. “Was he?”

“Yes,” Luna smiled a smile which disguised her true melancholy and enjoyment. Her hands picked a Dole pack of Romain lettuce and placed it in the basket. “He never pressed me about things…” Luna handed a bag of spinach to Loki, “like the past.”

“I get it! Alright!” Loki spat.

Luna froze on her place as several heads turned toward them. Her eyes glared daggers at Loki whose scowl was equally shaded by fury and hurt. Deep down Luna was grinning.

She’d achieved her objective.

“Luna…” his eyes softened and his voice lowered, “ I am sorry.”

She wished to believe his apology; however, she couldn’t forget what he’d said before; how he was not sorry about what he’d done.

And her lips curved into a half-smile. “I wish I could believe that.”

Loki’s face dropped, became a poem of woe upon her words.

Luna drifted her head to her surroundings only to find peering eyes glued one them; an old couple and two parents with their children. But it was a pair of white-collared men which captured her attention; a blond-haired man and another with short brown hair. They too were peeking.

Right away the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end as a chill prickled down her spine.

“People are watching. Come on, trickster, we have to go.”

There was something about those two men that did not seem right.

Without thinking twice, Luna took Loki’s hand and dragged him to the front of the store where, to her luck, the cashiers were empty. This action, however, caught the prince off guard.

As the two placed their items in the band, Luna grasped enough courage to turn her head back. To her surprise and chilling suspicions, she found not two but three men in suits not so far behind. Thankfully Loki had not noticed their presence.

The young cashier finished scanning her groceries as he mentioned the total amount. Luna discreetly conjured a hundred dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” she said as she took the receipt and proceeded to bag her items with aid of Loki. “Thank you.”

At a fast pace, both lovers strolled out, each with a bag in hand.

It was surprisingly chilly out on the streets (given the time of year and how Autumn lay distantly near). The moon was gone. Yet the same bustle and free-spirited energy remained unchanged. It was as if the city remained deaf, oblivious of what unfolded within itself.

Luna and Loki walked side by side. No words said. Their eyes repelled from each other.

To Luna’s melancholy, they passed by the same farmers market stands she had passed along with Thor a while back. She couldn’t help but smile.

She really missed her good friend. And it was cynical, in a way, to hope Thor was okay. But Luna hoped he was.

Though the three men still haunted her head as they crossed another block. To her dismay, she had parked the car farther from the store this time; traffic was a nightmare as always; and parking, much worse.

Luna was still caught up in her mind, was still trapped in a fog of thoughts that she didn’t notice the pedestrian light had turned red and almost walked into traffic. But abruptly a hand grasped her arm and tugged her back to the sidewalk.

Her eyes raised to meet Loki’s whose alarmed glare contrasted greatly.

“Are you alright?” He asked, gently easing his grip.

“Yeah,” Luna blinked and stared off to the traffic. It was better if Loki not knew what haunted her. “Just want to get home that’s all. Sorry.”

She turned her head back and noticed the same three men standing back a few feet, their hands raised from time to time to their mouths as they communicated through their completely inconspicuous coms. Coincidence became a sibling of the past.

Loki glanced down to Luna with stern eyes and pursed lips. He had seen the lie in her eyes, in the nervous continuous blink and aversion of her gaze. Yet the pedestrian light switched green and could not say a thing but only walk beside her to the other side.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice reached their ears.

Loki and Luna ceased walking as an overbearing sinking feeling nestled in their chests yet they hid it behind a serious unbothered facade. “Luna? Miss Foyete?”

Both turned and were greeted by the same blond of short hair Luna had seen before. He couldn’t be more than thirty judging by his semblance. The friendly smile displayed on his face did not meet his eyes, however. They were blue like the arctic waters, bitter in danger.

“Yes?” They both spoke in unison. Both voices tight, tense, filled with disguised nerves.

Already could Luna feel Loki’s cool fingers snake around her wrist, adding pressure slightly, resembling a second pulse. That was his way of speaking without using his voice, of telling his assurance and high alertness to her.

“Sorry to barge into your evening,” the blond excused himself and smiled before flashing a badge at her face of his credentials. Unfortunately, his motion was too quick, Luna did not view completely the imprinted data. “I’m agent Larson, these here are my colleagues,” he motioned to the other two men accompanying him; the one on his left a broody black-haired with brown eyes and the one on his right also blond with long hair and blue eyes. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Is something wrong…uh, agent?” Loki stepped in with a smirk as he discreetly squeezed Luna’s wrist.

“Well, yes,” the blond tilted his head but never broke eye contact with Luna. “If you…both please follow us,” he then gestured and narrowed his eyes, “I promise it’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

Utter distrust reflected in Loki’s eyes as he smiled wide and his eyes crinkled in the process as he nodded. “Ah, I see.”

Slowly, Loki’s touch disappeared from Luna’s wrist. She didn’t need to think twice what was to come for it all unfolded right then in less than a minute.

Loki grabbed the man’s collar and headbutted him before he shoved the blond against one of his companions and swung the grocery bag he was holding against the third man to his left.

Well, there goes four dollars spent on eggs…

Already curious eyes crowded and froze as they witnessed mayhem unfold.

“RUN!”

“She’s on the move…” was all Luna heard one of the men say before bustle became a fading whoosh.

The trickster hissed as he clasped his hand to Luna’s and sprinted. Locks of hair swayed violently against the strong current of air.

“Who…!”

“I don’t know!” Luna responded between heavy sucks of breath. “Could be SHIELD, or them.”

Either way, it was bad. They knew her name.

Pushing and dodging, Loki and Luna continued to flee. Heaving and gasping, their hands still held each other yet the bags were long gone. To have each other close was all that mattered and what all came down to.

“The car!” Loki raised his voice.

“We already…passed it!” Yes. The street where she had parked it had been long passed. Yet going back meant stumbling upon unwanted presence. It wasn’t worth it.

Feeling their stomachs sink as curiosity and adrenaline continued to pump through their blood, Luna turned her head back only to find five men in black! All suits chasing after them. With guns in hand but failing to point and shoot at them thanks to passersby.

“This way!” Luna signaled the moment they reached a corner street and pulled Loki to her right.

Empty streets and yellow lights greeted the two as their footsteps ricocheted against the building walls. Not a single soul roamed by to pry, not one became a witness of their escape except the barely visible stars meekly twinkling in the blackout night.

“Please tell me you placed an illusion or a spell on us before,” Loki rasped out of breath, unable to hear himself through the mad hammer of his heart and the loudness of his footsteps.

Luna almost stopped on her tracks, almost fell face first as her stomach sunk violently. Now she realized her mistake, the reason why they’d recognized her.

“Shit!”

Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled sardonically, out of breath, as he pulled Luna to an alley where darkness laid. Nothing but a few trashcans stood by the damp walls. However, they remained by the mouth of the alley for they knew to go further meant facing a dead end.

“We’ll wait here,” Loki rested his back against the cold wall and gazed out to the yellow-lit street. Still, his chest raised and lowered rapidly.

Luna breathed in as she miscalculated her distance and hit her back on the wall in an attempt to lean against it. “Okay,” she winced, “we have five people trying to kill us right now, what are we supposed to do? Just wait?!” She hissed as thoughts came and went.

Who were those men? They certainly knew her, a least recognized her but not Loki. At this point, she didn’t know if the latter was good or not…they would’ve recognized Loki if it were SHIELD though. Luna squeezed the bridge of her nose before folding her arms. Ugh, whoever they were and whatever they wanted was unknown to Luna, or at least she couldn’t think of a reason through the burning of her lungs.

“Um, darling?” Loki interjected her train of thought as shadows danced in the backdrop of footsteps as they took form. “It’s actually eight.”

“Oh, sorry I wasn’t specific enough!” Luna barked back distractedly as she turned to glare at Loki just for that ire of fury diminished to fear.

Loki and Luna stood upright, side by side, as they faced their unwanted followers who began to prowl by. She recognized the blond from before who now paraded with a gash on his forehead along with a twisted grimace.

One, two, three steps forward.

One, two, three steps backward.

It was an undesired waltz as the unknown enemy neared. And more and more did both winded up corralled in a ratio two to eight with no possibilities of getaway.

“What do you want,” Luna asked the blond.

“US?” Their hands were locked and loaded, ready to fire through hooded eyes and a simple pull to the minuscule latch. “Nothing. We’re just here to take care of unfinished business.”

Luna cocked her brow, her breath almost threatening to falter. Almost giving in to the poison of her nerves. “Who? Me or him?” She pointed to Loki, “who the hell sent you?”

“Someone you know,” the blond’s featured hardened, contracted through shadows and raised his gun. His finger lay against the trigger. Awaiting. “They worry you’re no longer on their side.”

At least her questions were placed to rest. It was them. HYDRA.

“I would never give them away,” Luna smirked feeling her hands growing cold and sweaty. “I know where my loyalty is.”

His shoulders broadened. Tensed in wanton to his hands soon acting.

In a blink, Loki stepped forth in front of Luna. Her stomach dropped as her soul was showered in waves of cold bitter panic. Yet she did not flinch and instead held her breath with eyes wide. For one wrong move and all hell would break loose.

“Let us leave and no harm will fall upon you,” Loki’s posture equally matched the man behind the trigger, however, his hands lay at his sides.

“Coming in to save the day, eh?” the blond mocked. A smirk adorned his face as he swung his gun at Loki. Yet the trickster dodged it swiftly and came to grip the man’s wrist and added pressure gradually until soft cracking and screams reached Luna’s ears.

The gun lay on the damp ground. And soon he too laid on his knees though Luna could not see. She didn’t dare to anyway.

Luna could already imagine his face twisted in pain, drowned in anguish. With his frightened eyes, glassy paled. And his aura flaring erratically against everyone else’s.

But it was several clicking noises which drew her attention away from his desperation. From imagining his pain. She knew what they were.

Thinking quickly Luna stepped aside and lifted her hand as a cloud of green formed ethereally around it. And soon that same glitter of green enveloped all pointed guns before they flew off of their hands. Their stunned faces against the limited source of light brought some comfort and egotistical satisfaction to Luna as they gawked at her before striving to near the two and attack.

Loki only stood imposingly over the blond whose face was a painful poem as he let go of his wrist and focused on the other seven.

Another swung at Loki who dodged his strike and responded back with a punch and a kick that sent him flying just as a cloud of green overtook his body and crashed him on the wall. His unconscious body fell to the ground while Loki and the others glared at Luna with wide eyes.

The ratio two to eight may have had a huge difference then but the advantage certainly lad in the smaller number.

“Alright, who’s next?” Her eyes had the same glow of green as she declared. “Oh, I know! Why not everybody?! Well,” she added, “just seven. I’ll leave the eighth for later.”

Luna raised her hands and allowed her newly discovered (to Loki) telekinetic abilities to toy with gravity’s pull. Soon all seven men, except Loki and the blond, were rigid and suspended in the air. Their frightened whimpers only fueled both Loki and Luna’s seldom.

Loki momentarily peered at Luna before his glare lowered to the blond who cradled his wrist with a trembling hand. “You pointed a meager gun at her,” the trickster snarled as his shoe brutally met against his side.

Whimpers and dry cough and desperate heaves for air reached Luna’s ears as her eyes darted from her attackers to Loki who leaned down to pick up the man’s gun.

“Loki,” his name was tainted in warning, disguised an unspoken plea as his name left Luna’s mouth. Her hand still remained in the air, glowing in the black alley, creating shadows and forms. To lower one and impede Loki’s actions meant to lose momentum, power, and all her attackers would fall like rocks brushed by violent winds. “Loki!”

Their eyes met monetarily. There was a grimace on his face. But his eyes wandered back to the helpless fool that’d unleashed his wrath, his psychotic side. “Now I need not mention what your fate will be.”

Pop!

Luna flinched and looked away. Gulped the lump of nerves as her strengths almost deflected, as her magic almost withered.

Seeing death so closely had never been a thing she’d ever gotten used to.

Loki turned back and walked towards her. It took her all her strength not to flinch away as he stood next to her.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Loose ends always come back around to strike back,” Loki recited unemotionally. “The price is greater next time around. Luck will not be on our sides then.”

Luna huffed and pursed her lips. She hated to admit Loki was correct. For it was better if HYDRA still thought she was on her own, that she acted on her own.

Loki raised his hand, gun loaded, ready.

“Wait!” Luna blurted out as her eyes noticed his finger rest gently against the trigger. “I got it.”

Loki lowered back the gun and nodded.

Luna breathed in through her nose and slowly closed her hands into fists, the soft glow of green mellowly turning blue glowed against her skin, shone in her yes which memorized every single face of the seven as air failed to reach their lungs minute after minute. Second after second. Their heartbeats slowly diminished. Their limbs flinched and twitched like fish stranded out of water. Soon all light from their eyes became a cloud.

Luna lowered a hand and breathed in. Her right fist still remained in the air, tightly gripping nothing but her disappointment as it trembled. The soft glow of green meshing to blue faded away into the dark and their lifeless bodies fell to the ground.

Again darkness placated them. Silence too, made itself present. Luna abhorred it.

Most times she was the one to infiltrate while others played distraction; other times it was the opposite. For she’d never been trained to directly annihilate. No deaths. That was her condition. Not one died regardless of who he/she was until the couple of times she was faced to injure her attacker; however, it had never escalated until the picnic incident and this instance.

She’d broken her rule. And regardless it was the enemy, despite the fact her life and Loki’s were in danger, to kill always made a sickening feeling nestle in her chest.

Loki took her hand and gently squeezed it as he led her out of the alley. The streets still remained empty, mute to the scenes that’d unfolded.

“I spoke to Thor today,” Luna confessed with her eyes lost in the void of space.

“What?” Loki turned to her. His gentle touch did not go away.

“Matt ‘advised’ me to,” Luna added and chuckled unemotionally, “now that I think of it it was a test, one that I didn’t pass apparently. They know they can’t truly trust me. This proves it,” she referred to what jus had happened, “this was just a warning.”

Loki nodded in understanding, wishing to press in the matter yet he held himself back.

“Come on,” Luna raised her head and pulled Loki to follow her in the opposite way.

“Where to?”

“We have to get your scepter before they find a way to where I’ve hidden it. HYDRA always finds everything.”

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #marvelgirlonamarvelworld #chapter 19 #till we meet again

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