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mrworldwideshoulders · 10 months

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all the wrong places || reader x myg

After getting separated from your friends during a night out, you get stuck with a hefty bill – one that you can’t pay. So when a handsome, emotionless stranger covers your tab in a random act of kindness, you’re determined to track him down and pay him back. inspired by 24K Magic by Bruno Mars.

‣ Pairing: reader x yoongi (dual pov; feat. JK and Jimin) ‣ WC: 6.1k ‣ Genre: slight angst, fluff, strangers to lovers ‣ Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader and jimin joke about her being an alcoholic 🤪 (psa fr tho, please drink responsibly), credit card debt, yoongi (gently) manhandles the reader, bouncer!jungkook and his tattoos, jeon jungkook being freaking annoying, unrealistic scenarios that could only happen in a fic (is it fate, or is it just fanfiction?), reader in her dumb bitch era (said lovingly) ‣ a/n: same yoongi from my fics bang bang and give me novacaine; different y/n tho. i’d def recommend checking those two out first (though for this one i don’t think you really have to unless you’d like more backstory). i like this fic a lot and i think it’s cute so i hope you enjoy it too! as always, bannered and beta’d by the amazing april aka @onmypillow-onmytable, plus credit for the general idea of this story! 😘 thx! ly – robyn ‣ P.S. I do not own BTS, their likenesses, or the music of Bruno Mars, they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

This might actually be the worst night of your life. Or at the very least, one of the most embarrassing ones.

Your friends, who were supposed to be splitting the bar tab with you, have all but evaporated into thin air, and you’re so far gone you can’t even remember when you saw them last. And it’s starting to dawn on you, as your credit card declines for the third time, that you may have overdone it – in more ways than one. Declining once, that’s normal. Two times, that’s just bad luck. Three times declined, however, that’s just embarrassing. If there were ever a time you wished you were more proactive about budgeting and keeping your credit card paid off, it would be now. It’s not the end of the world, of course. You just won’t get your credit card back tonight, and you’ll have to come all the way back over here to retrieve it at some point – after you go home and recover enough of your senses to pay off some of the balance on your card. But going without your credit card for any length of time makes you anxious for some reason, and having to come back over here just for that doesn’t particularly fit into your already busy schedule.

“Are you sure you don’t have another card?” The bartender that’s trying to close out your tab looks at you pointedly as you’re rummaging through your bag. You can feel the weight of his judgmental gaze all over you.

“No, but, listen,” you ramble, face hot with a mixture of shame and too much alcohol. “I wasn’t supposed to be the one paying for everything. My friends, they stuck me with the bill, and I really need—”

“Sounds like you don’t have very good friends.” He stares you down unsympathetically. “Either cough up or get out.”

“Can’t you just…give me my card back?” you manage helplessly. You feel tears of frustration starting to form behind your eyes. “I’ll come back and pay you tomorrow. I’m good for it. Really. I just have to—” Rearrange my entire bank account, pay off my credit card, reevaluate my whole life, and promise to stick to a budget from here on out, no matter how much Jimin and Nayeon want to go out drinking. Yeah. That’ll last about a week.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” grumbles a low, irritated voice from behind you. You turn to find a man dressed completely in black, with dark eyes and an expressionless face shrouded under a heavy curtain of black hair. He hands the bartender a sleek black card. “Here. Will you leave her alone now? Go back to pretending to do your job or something.” Your eyes widen. Who is this guy? And what is he doing?

The bartender eyes you sullenly and hands you back your card. You turn to the man to thank him, but he’s already walking away, being swallowed up by the crowd. “Hey!” you call. “Wait up!” You push clumsily after him, jostling people left and right as you try to catch up with him. He’s at the front door before you’re finally able to tap him on the shoulder.

“Now what?” he snaps.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you say breathlessly, taken aback by his brusque reply. “For what you did back there. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it. I was about to cry because of that guy, and then you just appeared out of nowhere to save the day. You must be my guardian angel or something.”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Trust me, I’m no angel.”

Your cheeks seem to flush all over again and you almost forget the other reason you chased after him in the first place. “Oh! Money! I can repay you.”

His face doesn’t change. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“But…it’s money.” Your face falls in disbelief. “Of course it’s a big deal. And I don’t like owing people anything. Especially money.”

“Well, I’m not big on people feeling like they owe me anything either.” He shrugs. “So consider it forgotten. And stop following me.” He pushes through the front doors and out onto the street.

You start after him again, but you stumble on your way out the door, falling almost directly into the bouncer’s well-muscled arms, one of which is adorned in a full sleeve of tattoos that recedes under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. “Careful,” he says, steadying you on your feet.

“Um – thank you,” you manage. “That guy I was following. Did you see where he went?”

“Down there.” He points you toward the taxi stand. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No, it’s just – I need to talk to him, but he keeps running away from me.” You march wobbily toward the man from before. “Hey! You!”

He sighs resignedly and turns around. “Do you make a habit of following random men out of nightclubs?”

“Only when they do me favors and won’t let me pay them back.” You plant yourself in front of him, arms crossed.

“Look, I told you not to worry about it.” He scowls. “Do you really want to do something for me? Go home, pay your credit card bill, and forget you ever met me. You’ll only hurt yourself if you don’t.”

“Suppose I don’t want to.” You gaze defiantly into his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a warning. I’d listen if I were you.” A taxi pulls up, and he grabs you by the arm, firmly, but loose enough that you could break away if you needed to, and pushes you inside. “Go home.” The door slams, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk.

“Well?” says the driver impatiently. “Where to?”

You stammer out your address, still too stunned to think about anything else. Who was that guy? And what was that about a warning? He doesn’t seem like a bad person – why else would he have paid a stranger’s bar tab?

Forget you ever met me. You’ll get hurt if you don’t.

Why did he say that? You don’t know why, and you’re still far too drunk to figure it out tonight, but one thing is for certain.

You’re going to track him down. And you’re going to pay him back.

Jungkook whistles as Yoongi heads back toward him. “That was a close one.”

“Too close,” mutters Yoongi. “She could have blown the whole thing.”

“What did you do, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be blending in?”

Yoongi shrugs. “The bartender was harassing her about her tab and her card wouldn’t go through, so I paid it for her. She wanted to repay me.” He thinks back to the look on your face, like you were about to burst into tears at any moment. A strange, unfamiliar surge of protectiveness in his chest, one that he hadn’t felt since he’d recruited Jungkook all those years ago. ”I told her she didn’t have to, but.”

“Aww.” Jungkook slaps Yoongi good-naturedly on the shoulder. “See, hyung? You’re a good guy after all.”

“Hah,” he scoffs under his breath. “No. I’ve just gotten soft, that’s all. I’ll probably regret it in a day or two. No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“You say ‘soft’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Maybe not, maybe so.” Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We should get back to work. We’ll stick around here until closing, then debrief in the morning.”

“All right.” Jungkook nods, resuming his post near the front doors, despite the sidewalk in front of the club now empty at one o’clock, an hour before closing. “I’ll be here.”

Yoongi heads back inside, his head still filled with thoughts of you, that defiant expression on your face when you’d asked him what would happen if you refused to forget him. Anyone else would have just accepted this good deed and carried on as if nothing had even happened, or worse, they would have screamed at him, told him he was overstepping and a creep, to fuck off and leave them alone. Why hadn’t you screamed at him? He’d even grabbed you, a stranger – and a woman – by the arm to push you into the cab. Yoongi knew for sure he’d overstepped there. You just didn’t do that when you were a man, not in this day and age – especially not when you were a man with a past like his. Even someone as supposedly stupid as he was knew that much. Why, he wondered, were you so intent on repaying him? Had no one ever done anything nice for you before? Purely for the hell of it, never expecting anything in return? The two of you must have something in common, then. No one had ever done anything like this for him – with the exception of Hoseok – but that was different. Hoseok was his friend, for one thing, and didn't understand the concept of taking no for an answer. At least Yoongi knew to just say thank you and get on with his life, instead of trying to push it. A chuckle rises in the back of his throat before he can stop it, and he swallows it down almost as quickly as it came, shoving aside the thoughts of you along with it.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he forges back into the depths of the club. There was something about you, something that made you want to insist upon repaying a random man that had just done you a favor, something innocent, idealistic, even, that made him want to protect you. Something that made him want to know you, even if it was only as friends, to explore your thoughts, to live inside your head for just a day, to find out just what, exactly, was going on in there. But he would never allow himself to get close enough to discover what that was – or risk you doing the same. Someone like him and someone like you – that could be dangerous.

Especially someone like you.

As it’s beginning to turn out, tracking down your angel in black – that’s what you’ve been calling him – is far easier said than done. Somehow you’d stumbled up to your apartment after the cab dropped you off, and from there you’d somehow managed to let yourself inside and fall face-first into your bed, where you’d slept soundly until late the next morning, awakening with a pounding head and a foggy recollection of the man from last night, convinced the whole thing had to have been a dream and that your credit card, at this very moment, was probably stashed behind the counter of that bar. Or so you thought, because it’s definitely there when you go to check your wallet. That man, the angel in black – he was definitely real – and that means his warning was real too. The only problem is…you don’t have his name, and the only thing you can remember was that he was dark-haired and wearing all black – which could be literally any man in Seoul. Now it’s Wednesday, a week later, and you’re staring at your screen, open to a browser window that’s now littered with the failed remnants of your search, and rest your chin on your hand with a sigh. Ugh, what was I even thinking? How am I going to find some guy on the internet when I don’t even know his name and I can barely remember what he looks like? Talk about a needle in a haystack. You’re supposed to be working, as in, doing your actual job, but you haven’t been able to focus all week, and you've been off your game since that night.

“What are you so laser-focused on over here?” comes Jimin’s lightly chiding voice from over your shoulder. His sudden appearance makes you jump and knock your hand into your half empty mug, causing a small wave of tepid coffee to slosh onto your desk.

“Damn it, Jimin, you scared me!” You hurriedly reach for the wad of napkins you keep in the top drawer of your desk. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You know I startle easily.”

“Sorry.” Jimin grins mischievously and leans in to take a closer look at your screen. “Y/n, are you seriously still looking for your mystery man? It’s been a week. You know, if he wanted you to find him he would have at least told you his name. Or slipped you his number. He was probably just being nice. People do that sometimes. Like on those hidden camera shows where little kids will ask you to help them cross the street or tie their shoes. Just accept it and move on already. He’s clearly not that worried about it. You said he had a black card, right? That kind of money is probably nothing to him.”

You finish mopping up the coffee and heave another sigh, sitting back in your chair. “I know It’s stupid. And I’m definitely wasting my time. But he saved my ass in a really big way. I can’t just move on like nothing happened. There has to be some way for me to pay him back. And besides…” You debate whether you should tell Jimin what he told you before he shoved you into a taxi. “He told me to just forget I ever met him, that I’d get hurt if I didn’t. I know it’s a bad idea to keep looking at this point, but you can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget about it. It only makes me want to find him even more.”

"That’s a weird thing for anyone to say," says Jimin, leaning against your desk, "but I suppose that's your choice, even if I do think you’re only setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Thank you for the vote of support." You run your hands backwards through your hair and hum thoughtfully. "I guess I could always not pay my credit card bill and hope that it summons him out of the abyss to save my ass again."

"Then he'll think you're trying to scam him instead of repaying him.” Jimin pats your shoulder. "Cheer up, y/n. Maybe you'll find him. Maybe you won't. But we've got a meeting about the new skincare line in about…" He checks his watch. "...two minutes? And they'll kill us if we're both late so maybe put a pin in that for now?"

Of course, your actual job, the main reason you're able to have a credit card in the first place. "Shit, you're right. I completely forgot about that." You stand and gather your meeting materials into your arms. "What would I do without you, Park Jimin?"

"Mm, probably lose your job?" He straightens up and smirks.

"Mean." You slap him lightly on the arm. "I wouldn't even be looking for this guy if you and Nayeon hadn't ditched and left me with your billion dollar bar tab."

Jimin chuckles. "Okay, true, but need I remind you that you were responsible for most of it anyway?" He makes a tutting noise as you're walking down the hall. "Honestly, it's unnatural how much alcohol you can put away.”

"Please," you scoff, pushing open the door to the conference room. "I just have a high tolerance. It takes practice. You’ll get there one day."

“God, I hope not.” Jimin looks horrified at the prospect. “No offense.”

The meeting drags on, well into the afternoon, and your mind continues to wander in the direction of your angel in black, no matter how hard you try to pay attention to the subject at hand. Normally you’d be rapt with attention – skincare is your area of expertise, after all, and it’s been your dream to work at a cosmetics company ever since high school – but for the life of you, you just can’t seem to shake him from your memory and focus on your work.

Wait. The bouncer. He was standing there the whole time you were arguing with the guy. That sleeve of tattoos was pretty distinctive-looking; you’d definitely remember it if you saw it again. It would be way easier to find him than the guy in black. And he works there. He’s more likely to be there than the other guy. Maybe he remembers something you don’t.

As soon as the meeting ends, you hurry back to your desk, intent on getting all of today’s work finished by the time it hits six o’clock so you won’t have to work late, and spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of hyperfocus, only noticing that time has passed when you see that most of your coworkers are getting ready to leave. “Jimin.” You sidle up to him as he’s shrugging into his coat. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Probably just going to head home and—” He stops and narrows his eyes. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Is this still about that guy?”

“I was thinking we could go back to that club,” you say earnestly. “There was this bouncer outside, and – well, I don’t really remember what he looked like either, but I’d know him if I saw him. I’m sure of it. I want to ask him if he remembers anything from last week. Maybe he knows something about this guy.”

“Y/n, it's Wednesday." Jimin says. “That place is going to be dead. I doubt anyone will be there, let alone your mystery man.”

You make your best pouting expression. “You’ll come with me, right? For moral support?”

“Fine.” Jimin sighs. “If it'll get you to stop fixating on this guy, I'm all for it. But you're buying me dinner.”

You throw your arms around him. "Jimin-ssi, have I ever told you you're my favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"On multiple occasions.” He smirks. “This is the first time you've ever been sober, though."

“Wow. See if I ever buy you dinner again.”

The club, as Jimin predicted, was nearly empty, with only a few clumps of people dancing here and there, a handful of people at the bar, and a completely different, tattoo-less bouncer working the front door, who seemed to think the man with the tattoos was a temp.

“There’s nobody like that working here!” he bellowed back to you, over the thumping music. “Your guy’s probably a temp!”

“No, I’m positive!” you shouted. “It was here. I tripped going out the door and he caught me. I’d know him if I saw him. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” he said. “Would you mind stepping away from the door? People are trying to come inside.” You didn’t hang around much longer after that, figuring that if neither the bouncer nor your mystery man were there now they probably wouldn’t be there later either.

“Well, that was a bust,” comments Jimin, once you’re back in a cab on the way home.

You blow out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. Sorry to drag you all the way over here for nothing.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “That’s what friends are for, right? At least I got dinner out of it.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” You roll your eyes. “I knew I should have just waited ‘til the weekend. I was just so excited to test my theory that I jumped the gun a little.”

Jimin frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on making another special trip back over here to look for this guy.”

“Well…I was.” You turn to look at him, taken aback. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Y/n…” Jimin sighs. “I'm your best friend and I love you, but…don’t you think you’re going too far with this? You don’t think maybe it’s time to move on? I mean, what if this guy really is dangerous, like he said? What if you get hurt?”

You scoff a little. “Would a dangerous person really come right out and say they’re dangerous?”

“Yes. That’s absolutely what a dangerous person would say. Please let this go, y/n. I’m begging you. For your own good. The universe will forgive you this one time for not paying that guy back.”

"I know, but…" I won't. You sigh. "One more time, Jimin. I have to try one more time before I can tell myself I did everything I could."

"Okay. One more time." Jimin's face softens. "But I'm going to hold you to that. No more midweek club nights, internet searches, whatever. You have to let this go because it’s weird that you’re still hung up on this."

"I promise. One more time, and then no more. If I don't find him this time, I'm done."

"Good. Be careful, okay?"

"When am I not careful?" Your best friend raises an eyebrow and squints at you with the most skeptical of sideways glances, probably armed and ready with at least a dozen examples of how you’ve most decidedly not been careful in the past few years you’ve known each other. "That was rhetorical, Jimin. Drop the judgy look, please."

“What judgy look?” he demands. “This is just my face.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

If Wednesday night’s visit was bad, then Saturday’s is even worse. It’s crowded, almost as crowded as it was the very first night the man in black saved your ass, with barely any good vantage points to park yourself and people-watch in hopes of catching a glance of your mystery man. You should have taken the other bouncer’s inability – or reluctance – to tell you anything about his tattooed coworker the other night as a warning – because it’s obvious that no one else is going to tell you anything about him either, for one reason or another. You’ve asked bartenders, waitresses, anyone who looks like they work there, and all that’s gotten you is in trouble with management.

“We’re not allowed to give out that kind of information about our employees.” The manager’s eyes narrow. “Stop nosing around before you get yourself banned. Permanently.” With one final scowl he stalks off.

I guess that’s it, then, you think. You let out a sigh as you sit back down at the bar. God, what was I thinking? I never had any chance of finding this guy, not in a million years. Jimin was right. Why did I drag this out so long? It's time for me to move on. As soon as I finish this drink, I’ll walk out of this club and I’ll never think about him again. I’ll go home, and I’ll catch up on all that work I’m behind on because of him. No, I’ll get ahead. Yeah. That’ll show them. Part of you wants to feel relieved, but the realization only makes you feel dejected. Damn. I really wanted to meet him. You get to your feet, and collect your things, taking one last glance around the room.

That’s when you see him.

Your angel in black, drinking whiskey in the corner. Same black suit, same heavy bangs, same blank expression. Right as you’re about to leave and never look back, you just happen to see him? It’s too coincidental to be anything other than fate.

You draw a deep breath, steel your nerves, and march up to his table. “And to think I was just going to walk right past you and out of this place forever. It's almost like the universe wanted us to meet again." You pull out the chair across from him and sit down. “You know, I never did catch your name.”

“That’s because I never dropped it,” he says dryly. “What are you doing here again? Didn’t I tell you to mind your own business?”

“What, can’t a girl drink where she likes anymore?” You lean in. “Who says I’m here to mind your business? I’m busy minding my own. Which, as it turns out, happens to involve you – and making sure you get something in return for covering my ass that night. Thank you, by the way. You barely let me get it out last time.”

He scoffs, sitting back. “I told you to forget about it. I didn’t spot you because I expected you to pay me back.”

“Why did you do it, then?” You cock your head to one side. “There must have been some reason you felt like rescuing a damsel in distress. Nobody does anything without a reason.”

The question seems to catch him off-guard for a moment, before he quickly regains his composure. “Why does it matter?” He stares down into his glass. “You don’t know anything about me. I could be dangerous for all you know. Like I've been trying to tell you this whole time.” Dangerous. There’s that word again.

“Well, you can’t be all that bad, or you wouldn’t have helped me out. And besides,” you muse, “if you were going to do anything to me you probably would have done it already.”

“Suppose that’s true.” One side of his mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly.

“Then again, maybe it is like you said. Maybe you aren’t a good person. But I don’t think that necessarily makes you a bad person. And I don’t think you would have done anything to me, even if you did have the chance. Which you did, the other night.”

A hard laugh escapes from his lips. "Clearly you haven't been listening to anything I've been saying. Because you definitely wouldn't be saying that if you really knew me.”

You purse your lips thoughtfully. “Well, you know, I have this theory. Everyone has a color, right? Some people you can just tell whether they’re one way or another, black, white, whatever. But you…well, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Hah. I’ve heard that one before.” The man avoids looking at you and stares down at the table, features set in an unreadable expression. “So, what color am I, then?”

“Mm.” You grin. “First impression? Silver.”

“Silver, huh?” He smirks. “Why silver?”

“On the surface you’re a very gray person. Kind of an enigma. You’re not black and you’re not white, you’re somewhere in between, which makes you gray. But on closer inspection, anyone can see there’s something different about you that sparkles a little bit. Something that shines.” His face doesn’t move. “It’s just a theory, anyway,” you say hastily. “I’d have to get to know you a little better before I could really say for sure.”

“What makes you think that’s going to happen?” An eyebrow quirks just slightly.

“Hm. You seem like the type who would have gotten up and left already if you weren’t at least a little bit interested in me, even if you came off as rude. And you’re still here, so you must be somewhat intrigued, right?”

“That’s a compelling theory – but you're wrong. I might be an asshole but I'm not that kind of asshole.” He leans back, an arm draped over the back of the booth. “Anyways, before I answer your question, let me ask you one of my own: why are you so hellbent on paying me back to the point where you thought you had to track me down?”

“You know, I’m not sure myself.” You rest your chin in your palm. “It just feels like the thing to do, that’s all. Most of the time strangers tend to either ignore me or glare at me when this kind of thing happens. You probably think I’m a mess. I know I do. I also know from experience that I can only ever count on my friends to have my back, so imagine my surprise when you, a random stranger, had my back the other night. You did something only my friends ever do for me.” You shrug nonchalantly. “And I always repay my friends.”

“All right,” he says after a moment. “I won’t say I’m not at least a little impressed that you even found me. And now that you have…I’m guessing you’re not going to leave me alone until I give you what you want.” The whiskey swirls in his glass, resting in one long, slender hand. “Which is?”

“Dinner,” you say, boldly, without hesitating. “Or drinks, at least. I know I probably can’t afford what you’re used to. Obviously, considering the other night…but let me treat you sometime. Just to say thank you. Honestly, I’m a great date. Really. Or I should be." You sigh. "I've been on a lot, so I've had plenty of practice. But I promise I’ll make it worth your while. I even paid off my credit card. Just for you.”

He releases a resigned sigh and sets his glass down. “Okay. Say I agree, even though you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and I definitely shouldn’t indulge you any further than I already have. Will you stop following me around if I do?”

“That depends. Are you going to ghost me as soon as it’s over?”

“Now that,” he says, “depends on whether or not you’re as good of a date as you say you are.”

“Oh, I’m positively delightful. Excellent conversationalist. Top-notch table manners. I won’t even stick you with the check this time. Best night of your life, guaranteed. Or top-ten, at least.”

He pauses, looking like he might regret what he’s about to say. “Fine. We can have dinner. On one condition.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You really have to stop following me around.” His expression turns dark. “It’s not a good idea for you to get involved with me. You could get hurt.”

“This again?” You sigh. “Let’s just see how dinner goes, and then I’ll decide if you’re worth any more of my time.”

“You’ll decide, huh?” He eyes you. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t know your name yet,” you correct him, “and that’s only because you haven’t told me what it is.”

“Yoongi,” he says finally, after a moment of hesitation. A tinge of amusement plays across his features. “Min Yoongi.”

“Yoongi,” you repeat. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yoongi. I’m Y/n. Y/n L/n.” You extend a hand across the table.

“Y/n,” he says, giving your hand a firm shake. It’s cool and dry, and you spot the barest remains of a scar on his palm as he pulls his hand away. “Only time will tell whether I’m going to be able to say the same for you.”

“Mm.” You shrug. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Like I said.” Yoongi gets to his feet, taking his glass with him. “Anyway. I have some business to take care of. Can you get out of here on your own, or are you going to be needing my help again?”

“I’ll be fine, but – wait, I didn’t give you my number. How are we going to get in touch?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He looks down at you and smirks, the unmistakable hint of a sparkle somewhere in those soft, dark eyes. “You seem to think we’re fated, so I’m sure we’ll run into each other again if we’re really meant to. We’ve exchanged names now.” Yoongi raises his glass slightly. “You can find out a lot about a person from just a name.”

“Hey, wait a—” Yoongi is gone before you can finish your sentence, swallowed up by the dense crowds of the club. “He still didn’t answer my question,” you mutter.

But despite all that – you have a hopeful feeling about the whole situation.

"Yoongi," you repeat. "Who are you, Min Yoongi?"

The silence in Yoongi’s office the next morning is nearly palpable, the air between him and Jungkook filled with the sounds of clicking keys as they’re finishing up their paperwork on the case at the club. Even without looking he can sense the younger man eyeing him over the top of his laptop screen. Yoongi heaves a resigned sigh. “Spit it out, Jungkook. I can practically hear the gears grinding inside that giant head of yours.”

Jungkook stops typing and leans forward, grinning in a suspiciously sunny manner. “I was just noticing how good of a mood you’re in today, boss,” he says. “Better than you’ve been in months.”

"Bullshit I am." Yoongi’s eyes don’t move. “You're imagining things."

“You are too!” Jungkook insists. “I told you good morning on my way in and you didn’t even tell me to stop bothering you and get to work.” He squints at Yoongi. “You said it back to me. And you weren’t even being sarcastic about it.”

“So I said good morning to you. Once. Big deal. I’ve been known to be cordial every once in a while, haven’t I?”

“But you’re never cordial with me,” insists Jungkook. “You're cordial with clients. And people who are gonna give you money. Normally it’s all grunts and scowling when you talk to me. Something good happened last night, didn’t it? I saw you chatting with that girl, the one you paid the bar tab for last week. She managed to track you down, huh?” He’s not going to let this go easily. He’s like a dog with a chew toy whenever he finds an interesting enough tidbit to hang onto.

Yoongi suppresses a sigh and presses his fingers to the sides of his temples. “Yeah, and? What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing.” He plasters an innocent-looking expression on his face. “She went through all of that trouble to track you down when most people would have just let it go. She must like you. Seems like you like her too.”

Yoongi snorts. “Y/n? Flighty, irresponsible, doesn’t even know her own limits, so impulsive that the first thing she thinks of when a man does something nice for her is to follow him out into the street y/n? No way in hell.”

“And you, a guy who’s so cautious, practical, and down to earth that he never does anything without thinking about it for weeks?” notes Jungkook. “All I’m hearing is that you’d be perfect for each other. Opposites attract, you know?”

“The worst thing she could do would be to get involved with me,” Yoongi scoffs. “Trust me. It’s not happening.” He rolls a pen back and forth in his hand. “It’s not like that, anyway. She said she’d leave me alone if I let her do this. She doesn’t like me, she just feels like she owes me. That’s all. I’m just humoring her so she’ll leave me alone.”

“Uh-huh.” Jungkook smirks. “You do like her, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that,” grumbles Yoongi. “Why don’t you mind your own business for once?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, hyung,” says Jungkook, still grinning, “you left me in charge of minding your business for the past six months. You know, while you were off the grid camping in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yeah, and I’m starting to regret it,” he mutters. “Humor me and let it go. It’s too early for this shit.”

“All right, fine.” Jungkook turns his eyes back to his screen, but it doesn’t last for long. “So when are you going to see her again?”

“We didn’t set a firm—” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, pinning Jungkook with a searing glare. “Hey. I’ll fire you if you don’t watch yourself.”

“Ah, go ahead and fire me, then,” Jungkook says cheerfully. “I’d like to see how well you manage without me covering your ass.”

Yoongi flings the pen in his hand across the table, aiming for Jungkook’s head, who easily dodges it. “Aish, you’ve gotten cocky since I left. I managed just fine on my own before you got here, thank you. You were the one who came bitching to me about how much you needed me to come back, weren’t you? This case that you just couldn't handle by yourself, even though you've probably handled about a dozen of the exact same type of cases all by yourself?”

“Come on!” snorts Jungkook. “We both know you were ready to come back. I just needed to make you feel good about yourself so you’d actually get off your ass and do it. You should be thanking me, hyung.”

“Thanking you?” demands Yoongi. “What the hell should I be thanking you for?”

“I think you know.” Jungkook’s eyebrows dance suggestively, eyes twinkling. “Y/n – she’s pretty, isn't she?”

“That’s it. You’re getting demoted.”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook falls silent suddenly before he speaks again. “I missed you, boss. Good to have you back.”

“Ah, shut up,” Yoongi snaps. “And get back to work. These reports aren’t going to write themselves, you know.”

Jungkook turns his attention back to his computer screen again, eyeing Yoongi’s scowl with a knowing smirk. Yeah. He totally likes her.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #bts au #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #reader x myg #mrworldwideshoulders #i hate tags lol

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mischiefmanaged71 · 1 year

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Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - (2/10)

Summary: Being the eldest daughter of a Duke and Duchess means that Lady Y/N has been prepared for society; to fulfil her duties as the next heir to her family name and estate. However, she dreams of so much more than that, particularly, finding someone she truly loves rather than a political match. Intrigue sparks an idea with the introduction of Tom Bennett, a soldier she meets on a Press tour - forming a new relationship that could either make or break her apart should things turn against her favour.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! reader

All of her attention fell onto the book in her lap as Y/N poured over the pages. The overcast sky shrouded the enormous front lawn in a dull light, suiting for the crisp weather. She found herself drifting from the pages, lost within a daze. Her thoughts wandered to him.

The young sailor she had met those days prior. Tom Bennett. His behaviour would have been presumed as controversial and arrogant, to ask such questions. And yet, she found his conversation quite refreshing. He was respectful in the way he treated her, not gawking at her as many men did. There was much to appreciate in both his conversation and his appearance. She wouldn’t deny there were many parts to his appearance that drew her in. His blonde hair neatly brushed atop his head. Those soft blue eyes which grew mellow with the contrast of the sky and sea. His strong bone structure, the curve of his lips-

Her train of thought was cut off with the approach of footsteps, followed by her door swinging open. She groaned as her youngest brother, Matthew, leaped into her arms. A laugh escapes her mouth as she excitedly embraced him back. "Someone's very excited today." She smiled, "What are you up to?"

Her smile dropped, meeting her mother's concerned gaze from the doorway.

"Something distracting you?" Her mother asked.

Y/N raised her eyebrows, releasing her arms from her brother's shoulders as he wandered off, probably to find some entertainment.

"You seem distracted, as of late."

"It’s nothing. I find myself absorbed in my books." She replied, eyes distant.

Her mother smiled, accepting the answer "How was the tour?"

Y/N didn’t meet her gaze, "It was perfectly fine. Although I wouldn't say I'm comfortable with the attention."

"I'm sure they were stunned for many reasons. It's not every day they grace a Lady."

"Yes, but they are also deprived of female attention." Y/N pointed out. "You should see the way they stare."

"I know how they do." Her mother replied.

"It's disconcerting. And dehumanising." she stated.

Her mother agreed, but what else was there to do within their world?

"I understand your father spoke to you already, but I’ve thought over it. Are you sure there isn't any possibility out there you haven't considered? Is there anyone-"

"My answer is the same, mother." Her expression hardened, "I do not desire the same things as you and father. I don't care for any of the men you’ve proposed."

"And that is okay. There are plenty of opportunities to meet someone."

Y/N sighed, "I do not believe I will find a suitable partner in the current circle you have me entangled in."

"Why not? Why have you dismissed them all?”

She raised her eyebrows, "Mother-if you'd only speak to them, you would understand. Many of them are ludicrous, pompous and entitled. The appeal ceases to be seen."

"But, not all of them will be like that."

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. Her mother was relentless in her questions. She loved her parents, but their persistence on certain matters threatened to drive her to insanity sometimes.

"One of the things I adore about you, my daughter, is your passion and imagination. I've always hoped you would hold onto that keen sense of the world. But I'm afraid the kind of dreams you pursue aren’t a reality, especially for people like us."

"Ah, yes.” she smiled sardonically, “We are most proud of living with zero ounces of happiness in our lives in favour of supplicating the opinions of others." Y/N strained a smile, standing from her seat to cross her room. "Of course, one cannot be happy in our realm of the world, right, mother? Not with all our privileges, wealth and status."

"What has caused this pessimistic behaviour of recent?" She breathed in a low whisper.

The smile fell from her face as she stood tall before the woman, “I'm just being realistic, mother. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The Duchess' strained jaw and unwavering stare told her otherwise.

Her daughter sighed, grabbing her coat from the rack, "I'm going out. Don't wait up for me."

"Y/N-"

"-I'll be back later.", her tone of voice was curt.

"Take care of yourself." Her mother left her with that.

***

Usually Y/N would take the chauffeur and car, but that day she felt up for travelling without the extra pair of eyes. She headed to the garage, collecting the keys to her Jaguar for a trip.

It was freeing, pulling away from the winding roads of the manor to the main road and off to somewhere further. An enticed feeling rushed through her as the wind flowed through her hair. The time gets away from her while the towns pass by. Many hours have left her before she stopped in the nearest town. It was by the sea too, which was a grand idea to her in the moment. Another upside was, she'd never stepped foot in the town, increasing the appeal without, hopefully, too many wandering eyes.

Y/N wandered the street, scanning her surroundings with interest. Many identical buildings lined the street - evidently flats and store fronts on the opposite end. There was an essence of freedom laced in her veins as she wandered the streets aimlessly, studying her new scenery with interest.

A giddy feeling stirred in her chest at the sight of the beach in the distance. It was still daylight, although later in the afternoon, which was the perfect timing for a stroll. While the Manor was certainly lovely with its picturesque setting, horse paddocks, and gardens - it could not compare to the serenity of the ocean.

She slipped off her heels, digging her toes into the sand as she walked along the shore. A deep sigh left her chest, the calming crash of the ocean and the quiet swallowing her overactive thoughts.

Tom Bennett strolled down the street from his house after departing once again for some fresh air. In his running streak of behaviour, there always seemed to be something for his dad or Lois to pick out. Not that he wasn't perpetuating these behaviours. He was an instigator of many fights and arguments, inside and outside of his home. That's what made him a bit of a troublemaker and arrogant sod. At least that is what he'd heard.

He exhaled, a puff of smoke releasing from his mouth. The man halted in his steps, closer to the turn off toward the beach. Perhaps a walk would clear his head. Not that he didn't already spend enough time in the ocean.

Tom considered whether it was luck, fate or some other being at work. It was probably pure coincidence as he recognised the woman walking along the shore.

"What brings you back here so soon?" He called out, seeing as she was less than twenty paces away. He didn't want to frighten her by standing so close and addressing her straight away.

Her head whipped around in confusion, not expecting attention. Y/N gasped and faltered in her steps, recognising the man upon meeting his gaze.

"I'll be honest. I don't really know." She confessed, "I just kept driving."

"It's a bit far, isn't it?"

She nodded, "I needed a getaway."

"Troubles at home?"

She glanced at him, hesitant to answer. Tom continued, stepping closer.

"Nah, I know all about that." Breathing another puff from his cigarette. "What are you doing here then?" He gestured.

She shrugged, "I needed space, and this is the most quiet I'll get. It's so peaceful."

"I best be going then." He said, turning to leave her to her quiet/

"No-um. You can stay." She waved a hand, taking a seat on the sand. He smirked, enticed with her flustered face as she recovered. Tom watched her push the hair from her face. "I promise, it's fine."

"Alright." He agreed, taking a seat next to her, "I'll stay."

A silence passed for a minute or so as they watched the waves crash on the shore. It was a comfortable silence that stilled over the moment. And yet, Y/N felt something stir in her stomach as she anxiously thought over something to say. Tom broke the silence.

"So, what's got you down here? By yourself.”

She glanced from him back to the waves while the tightness in her chest returned, "My parents can be...overbearing sometimes."

Tom raised his eyebrows, allowing her to continue.

"They keep persisting about this one thing no matter how many times I've told them of my place." She continued, shaking her head in exasperation. "Do you know how infuriating it is? It's like they don't even want listen to what I have to say at all."

"I can understand that." he tilted his head, leaning his arms across his knees, “Have you tried another approach or...”

She huffed, shaking her head. What options did she have besides badgering her position over and over to a brick wall. “I couldn't possibly know what's good for myself, or what I want. As a woman, it doesn't matter. In the end, everyone judges me no matter what decision I make."

He glanced at her, his lips tucked in a tight line “What is it that’s bothering you, exactly? That is, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Y/N opened and closed her mouth, "They expect me to meet people. To be married one day to some pompous Lord, or even a Prince, despite my heavy dispute of the matter."

"Why? You don't like those posh types?" A smirk lining his lips.

She sent him a ludicrous look, "I do not want to spend the rest of my life under someone else's thumb. If you met any one of the possible options my parents put forth, you'd agree."

"Don't think I'd have to meet them." he murmured, humour in his tone.

Y/N continued, unloading the weight on her mind. "They are arrogant, overconfident pricks - expecting of a wife to do everything but share her thoughts."

He nodded, "They sound lovely. It's a wonder the bastards get so far without a personality."

“Yes, they all seem to share the same patronising stare and snobbish look.”

They laughed together, the conversation flowing back and forth for long until they realised it was hours later.

"It's been nice. Talking with you." She ducked her head, "I do hope to see you again. If that's possible." glancing at him briefly.

"Sooner rather than later." He smiled, leaning closer.

"Your crew leaves in two months." she stated.

Tom nodded, "Ready to ship me off to the next battle. Be lucky if we manage to sink their ships before they do ours."

"Be careful." She mustered a small smile, "It would unfortunate to lose you so soon after we just met."

"Worried about me, love?" He teased, "Don’t be. I've been told I’m stubborn, so they'll have to try very hard."

A beat passed before she whispered, “Are you ever afraid?"

Tom swallowed, tilting his head "All the time. All it takes one mistake, one hit and we could all go down. What I’ve learnt is -you have to look out for yourself." He stated, "The world is fucked up. We're paying the price for someone else's war."

The breeze drew through her hair as she looked down at her hands, listening to him.

"I can't say I know the same struggle as you, but I can hope to understand your fear. I have two younger brothers...I fear what would happen to them if they were forced to fight. It is not fair that others should have to fight, while we reside comfortably in our homes."

"I assume your family don't share that view."

She sighed, a breathy laugh escaping her mouth "No. Many of them do not. Many of my relatives regard me as rebellious for my opinions. Because a Lady should not speak her opinions, no less controversial one's regarding them."

Tom laughed, and she chased the lovely sound, looking at him with wonder. "You'd get along with my sister."

"What is she like?"

"Lois is smart, and caring. We get along right. She takes care of me and Dad." He smiled, something sad there, "My mother died when I was young, so Lois took on a lot of her roles. Keeping us boys in check."

"I'm sorry." Tom looked down at her hand covering his. He hummed, clasping her hand as he nodded.

"It was a long time ago. Lots happened since."

"And where do you see yourself later?" She asked, bringing his gaze up. "You know, when you get back?"

"Why you asking?”

She shrugged, leaning back on her hands. "Just wondering. A lot can change in two months.”

"No plans." He replied, moving closer to her. There was only a small space left between them now.

"Have you travelled much?" Y/N asked, meeting his gaze. His eyes were this particular shade between blue and grey that she could find herself lost in. The subtle scent of something citrus and spiced filled her senses.

"Round England. That's about it. I haven’t really had a reason to travel.”

She mustered a smile, looking down "Maybe you could show me Manchester sometime? I could show you around where I grew up."

"Just say when and I'm yours." Her cheeks flushed and she turned, gasping at the gap between them. Tom's smirk fell into a stare as his eyes darkened, glancing between her eyes and lips. She felt her heart pound in her chest at his stare and the his warm breath mixing with her own.

Neither of them said anything, Y/N's own eyes falling to his full lips that seemed to instinctively twist into a playful smile that drove her mind into overdrive. Her eyes fluttered shut against her better judgement as she felt him lean closer and all logic left her with the thought of a kiss sending a rush of vertigo through her veins. That's what the feeling was with him, the brush of his hand and that stare sent shivers along her skin.

Something twisted in her gut as she suddenly realised what she was doing. She had only just met Tom. It wasn't suitable, and she wasn't going to rush into things. Y/N's felt her face flush as she exhaled. Her breath brushing Tom's face cheek as she pulled back.

"I should go. It's late." She smiled apologetically.

"Right." Tom nodded, his eyes glancing around before he helped her off the ground. She was hesitant to let go of his hand, allowing him to walk her to the car.

She finally broke the silence, deciding to just go for it "What would you say if I came back on Monday? Around noon?”

"I'd call it a date." a grin grew on his face as he shut the door for her, "Drive safe, love."

TAGS

@pearlstiare @dothrckis @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx @filipinamultifandom @padfooteyes @aemondsvhagar @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @cl-0-vr @viviartsy @h3k3t @arcana-greenleaf @yummycastiel @amysnowflake92 @lauraneedstochill @ladybug0095 @rntrsna @schniiipsel

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #ewan mitchell

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buggyzwrld · 2 years

Text

the man next door (henry creel/reader) oneshot

*a/n: here's an idea i had after watching vol. 2. i needed something to write while thinking about wtf im gonna do with my highschool AU story of henry. we are gonna pretend this takes place in 1983, and el is 11 years old, and the massacre happened just months earlier. also we are gonna pretend steve and robin are friends too in 1983 lol, ignoring canon like usual. also i know henry's name is not peter, but im just letting him assume that name because him & el are essentially lying low and assuming new names after escaping the lab. also no beta we die like men, i didn’t proofread this

*warnings: traumatic flashbacks, kidnapping, strong language, blood, manipulating behaviors, stalking, choking

comments are always welcome! i hope you enjoy !

Hawkins was a strange, strange town. Some say it’s almost cursed. You’d have to agree, the odd disappearances, the claims of sights of weird alien-like creatures, the odd governmental facility that hid itself amongst the shroud of woods, almost like something out of some cheesy sci-fi horror film. However, the strangest thing you could find about all of Hawkins, was its people.

One of those people happened to be your new neighbor.

Mr. Peter Ballard, you’ve only spoken in passing, introducing himself when you went to your mailbox and just happened to catch him pulling up in his driveway. He was quite a friendly man, from what you could tell, quite attractive too, if you could admit. He’d only been living in the small house for maybe about 2 months, and you didn’t even know anyone new was moving in. There were no moving trucks, no clothes, no furniture, no belongings… nothing. Just him, and a small girl with very short hair, who you’d assume was his daughter, coming in and out of the house.

Even now, as you sit on your porch, watching him pull in his driveway with his odd black car that looked like a government vehicle, you were still quite intrigued. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he caught you staring, he simply smiled and waved at you, and you only offered a small hand, much to your embarrassment.

“Shit..” Muttering under your breath, “He caught me staring.” You got up quickly out of your rocking chair and ran into your house quickly, slamming the door, putting one hand on your temples.

“Way to be a creep, huh, (Name)?” You looked back to the window leading out to the front yard, where his car was in view, “He probably thinks I’m some nosy ass weirdo..”

Walking back to the window you peered through the blinds again, seeing the back of his blonde hair as he was pulling bags out of the back seat of the car.

“Groceries..” You whispered to yourself, then seeing the young girl leaning over in the trunk, getting out a jug of milk, walking back as her frilled dress bounced with her movements, “I guess they are pretty normal people, after all, huh?”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued. You barely had neighbors, you lived in a more isolated part of town, preferring to be away from much of the strange activities much of the townsfolk talked about. Much of your backyard stretched into woods carrying, hopefully, nothingness, and you stayed in your small shack-like home. New to the small town life, moving to Hawkins only a year ago, nothing bothered you, the quietness of it all never made you uneasy. The only time you would go out is to work your part time job at Family Video, grocery shop, and maybe, when you're feeling a little spicy, go out to eat, by yourself of course. You led a simple life, no one knew who you were, of course, being slightly new to the town. However, there was a small stretch that bothered you.

You had started receiving strange notes in the mail. Not just any kind of note, but love letters. At first, it was funny, childish, even. The first note you ever received was in a yellow card, with a cute bunny rabbit holding a heart, on the inside saying some cute cheesy romantic line, and there was your name under it, surrounded by red hearts. You laughed it off, maybe they had the wrong (Name), there had to be another in Hawkins, right? The letters began to escalate slightly, the most recent you received a week ago, talking of how they wanted to, “take you out to dinner, I know your favorite place.” You simply threw it in the trash, thinking nothing of it, somebody silly was just playing a game, maybe it was even one of your coworkers. It was becoming quite a nuisance, really.

You up at the tiny clock over your stove, “2:15 already..” grumbling, getting up lazily to go get ready for your mundane part-time job. Throwing on your green vest, “Family Video,” proudly etched on the right side of the chest, and your bright orange name tag, blaring, “(Name).” Throwing your keys around your index finger, sighing as you exited the house, locking the door, and getting in your, starting in it, praying today would go decent.

Thursdays were terribly boring, unfortunately. It was the quiet before the storm of the weekend, and you lazily lounged behind the counter, doodling on the notepad used to write down names for customers.

“God, I’m bored, Robin.” You grumbled, rolling your head back in the chair and staring at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

“Well, you COULD be helping me organize these returned movies,” She sarcastically retorted back, organizing her pile in alphabetical order on the small cart used to maneuver movies around.

“I could also be doing so much more with my life right now,” You leaned your head back at her and smiled, “But I’m working at Family Video in Hawkins,Indiana, right?”

“It’s not bad…” She trailed off looking to the side, “for a highschooler, like me, I guess.” Nervous laughter followed.

“Right,” You then swiveled the chair you were sitting in around, “By the way, Robbie, I’ve got a question for you.”

Robin opened her eyes in curiosity, and you put your hands on your chin as if you were in deep, meaningful thought.

“Riddle me this,” You began, “What would you do if you had a secret admirer?”

“Well, really, that’s not a question for me, that’s more for Steve-” She babbled, but you interrupted her.

“Who sent you letters in the mail.”

She looked a little shocked, “(Name), that sounds like a stalker! Do you even know who this is? I mean, seriously, I swear, if something happens to you-” The door chimed, interrupting her, signaling someone walked in.

You turned around quickly, seeing who in God’s name was renting a movie on a Thursday night, when your mouth almost fell agape.

Peter Ballard. Peter Ballard and his daughter to be exact.

His eyes recognized yours immediately, his blonde hair haloed by the fluorescent light, he offered his slightly friendly smile as usual. Bending down slightly to whisper something in the young girl’s ear, he let her hand go as she went to roam freely about in the store. He strided up to the desk, feeling like a million ages to you, his hands clasped around the front of his body.

“Hey, (Name),” Peter made direct eye contact with you, your name rolling off his tongue smooth as honey, “I was wondering if you had a certain movie to rent for us.”

“Yeah.. yeah, uh, what movie?” God, you were stuttering, and you’re sure he could sense the nervousness from you, as he laughed slightly after you said that.

“It might sound a bit weird, if you would excuse me,” He looked slightly over in the direction of his daughter, as if grasping at straws in his head to remember the movie’s name, “I believe it’s called, Cujo?”

“Ah! Cujo.” You were a little shocked, “The movie about the killer dog, right? You want to watch that, Mr. Peter?” You were trying to tease him a little, wanting to see how he would react.

He took the bait, laughing a little nervously, “It’s really for her,” pointing to where his daughter was, her standing a little tense as Robin was now fawning over how cute she was.

“Ah…” You said sarcastically, “And how old is she?”

“She’s eleven,” You shot him a look, he just shrugged his shoulders slightly, “Maybe a little eccentric, different.”

“Maybe so,” You smiled, “We have it available to rent, I’ll go get it for you.” You headed to the back, turning around, putting your hands on your face and screaming silently into your hands, you were so embarrassed.

You huffed loudly as you got to the back, trying to ease the butterflies now alive and well in your stomach, looking for the sacred Cujo movie.

“Pull it together, (Name)!” Giving yourself a pep talk as you found the movie, preparing to walk back out into the shop, “Yes, he’s your neighbor, he’s hot! But you can’t let him undermine your social skills!”

Feeling satisfied with yourself, you patted your stomach, as if telling the wiggly feelings to go away, and marched back into the shop.

“Okay… Mr. Peter,” You sat the movie tape on the counter, “Here’s Cujo, hopefully little… um, what is her name, I’m sorry..” You trailed off awkwardly, trying to make a cute personal comment to him, only to realize you didn’t even know his daughter’s name.

“Oh, her name is El.” Peter said almost in a plain fashion, you almost wanted to ask if it was short for something, but he seemed to be serious, his daughter’s name was two letters.

“El! Hopefully little El is happy with her movie,” You continued the check out process, registering his name in the catalog, “It’s a little gruesome, I heard.”

“Ah..” He leered, “She’s seen worse, believe me.”

You tried to let the comment off your shoulder, as you shot him a quick look, and noticing his smile, you took the comment as a joke, just smiling back.

“Come on, El,” He called to her, “Thank you so much, (Name), you’ve appeased us both for the night, really.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” You exclaimed, a bit too excitedly, “Have a good night!”

Peter nodded back, taking his daughter’s hand again and walking out of the shop, bell chiming as they walked out, you still thought about the comment he made.

Hawkins has some strange people, you thought.

“That…” Robin began after a small moment of silence, “That was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Coming from me, (Name), you know it’s serious.” You just laughed, knowing you were thinking the same as her when you finally got to see him up close. He was beautiful, alright, he had the look of an angel almost. His hair was all fluffy, not neat like it usually was, as if something had tossed it out of its usual look. His blue eyes, which pierced into your soul if you were to talk to him, and his beautiful cheekbones, like they were sculpted by the divine gods themselves. Everything was just perfect, you couldn’t lie, you had a little crush, maybe that’s why you were so nosy about him whenever he moved in.

“That beautiful man is my neighbor.” You bragged proudly, hands on your hips as you stared at the door where he walked out of.

The next morning you were awoken by the sounds of loud birds singing in a chorus. Sitting up you held your head in your hands, the huge headaches you usually had every morning coming on. You reached and grabbed for the bottle of tylenol on the nightstand next to your bed, when you noticed something falling on your palm.

Blood.

“What…?” You murmured, rushing out of bed to the bathroom to see just what was the source of the bleeding. Looking into the mirror, your nose was gushing slowly with blood, worrying setting over you. You’ve had the headaches, but nosebleeds now, too? You went to the doctor about headaches, as they’d been going on for about a month now. Wiping the blood out of your nostrils, praying you wouldn’t have to go back to the doctor risking the medical bills you could barely afford to pay.

Ah, it’s alright, (Name). You’ll be fine. You thought, going back and taking the Tylenol you originally had plans for. Going into the kitchen, you slipped your house slippers on, and threw on a baggy black jacket to go check the mail for today.

As you opened the door bracing for the cool November breeze to hit you, you heard a small crumble under your feet. Looking down, you saw a bouquet of flowers. They were beautiful, roses, yellow lilies, a few sunflowers, and one odd white jasmine flower standing out to you. Picking up the bouquet, you noticed a small white index card tucked in between the wrapping and the flower, you picked it up, reading to yourself:

“I’m sorry that it’s hurting so bad, it will all be over soon, my (Name). Just relax, wait for me.”

Behind the note, you took notice of a Polaroid picture, of your house. It was taken from an angle, almost as if it was behind the woods.

Your stomach dropped to your knees, and you started to shake slightly, the note still in hand.

Looking around your mostly empty neighborhood, for the sign of an odd car, a person, anything out of place. Who could know this? You barely spoke to anyone else other than Robin, your literal coworker, she doesn’t even know your address! Peter, you only knew in passing, you two barely spoke. Last night was the most interaction you had!

Then, it felt like the world fell on your head, Robin was right,

You did have a stalker.

Quickly, you retreated back into the house, slamming the door shut and locking it, going over to all the windows in your house and making sure they were locked, too. Throwing the bouquet in the garbage, you paced around your small kitchen, wondering what you could possibly do. The police of course, but who’d know if they took you seriously? It was “just” a little bouquet, a little note to them, no physical harm done to you… yet. You then thought back to the note, digging in the garbage to find it, pulling it out. Studying its handwriting, you notice how neat and perfect it was. Almost like the person who wrote it… studied the art of the alphabet, there was not a single erase mark, no misspelling, nothing. All T’s crossed, I’s dotted. It was perfect. Sighing deeply, you retreated to your couch, covering up with a blanket, and turning on the television to hopefully distract you from your everbuilding anxiety.

Hours passed, and your mind was still racing, zooming with thoughts, eyes and mind wide open.

“Dammit..” You cursed to yourself, “I can’t do this, I can’t..” Stomping back to your room, you went under your bed and pulled out a small tin lunch box, opening it, the smell hitting you immediately. You held the joint in your hands, remembering how you promised your mom before you moved off you would stop your bad habits, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There was still daylight outside, you just needed some fresh air to clear your mind and think.

Walking out to your car, and cranking it up, you noticed Peter’s car was still in his driveway, almost as if he never left his house. Brushing it off, you pulled out of the driveway, and drove over to the playground of one of the neighborhoods a street over from yours.

Sitting on the swing and lighting the joint, you inhaled deeply, then exhaled. You felt slight relief waver over you, though keeping aware of your surroundings, holding onto your keys tightly just in case of an emergency. However, this neighborhood was nearly empty, or abandoned, atleast. It was beautiful, however, many old houses donned the street, abandoned, some still lived in. It made you wonder what life used to live in the houses, the families that inhabited them.

One in particular stood out to you, the old Creel house. The people of Hawkins talked of the “creepy Creels,” as if they were a cursed family. They had told you, stay away from that house, it’s cursed, the father, they said, was cursed by a demon, some say he was just batshit crazy.

You agreed with the second opinion. He murdered his entire family, a “demon” doesn’t do that.

Drawing another hit, you watched the trees blow with the breeze of life, as the big blue house stood frozen in time almost. Although the windows were mostly boarded up, the stained glass window still stood in the door, beautiful in its vintage fashion.

Then, you noticed it moving back, a tall figure stepping out of the doorway into view onto the porch. Your breath stopped in your throat, holding the joint inches away from your lips, you squint your eyes to get a better view of the figure. It began to walk closer to your field of vision, and you murmured to yourself,

….Peter?

Surely you aren't already high enough to be hallucinating, and hopefully you weren’t so infatuated with Peter that you started hallucinating him. Thankfully, you weren’t, it was him, in the flesh. You just wondered what the hell he was doing in the Creel house.

He began walking towards you, and you prepared yourself to talk, stuffing the joint in your coat pocket, trying to act as normal as possible, like you didn’t see him come out of an abandoned house, and like he almost didn’t catch you smoking a joint.

“(Name)?” He called over to you, as he walked closer, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same, Mr. Peter,” You let it slip, “Why were you in that creepy old house?”

Peter just looked off slightly, then he smiled, “I was revisiting some old family memories, that’s all.”

“You’re related to the ‘creepy’ Creels?!” You exclaimed, then realized how childish and insensitive you probably sounded.

Peter gave you a small smile at your exclamation, walked over to the swing beside yours, and sat down, “Not exactly directly. Henry was my second cousin.” He didn’t seem to be bothered by your reaction, turning his head to look you in the eye, as if he was waiting to see your reaction.

“Ah…” You looked back to the house, avoiding his eye contact, “The boy that died in the coma? I wonder what the father did to him, to make him succumb to such an… unfortunate circumstance…” You tried not to sound too insensitive, again.

“Yeah,” Peter began, looking at the house, too, “It really is unfortunate isn’t it?”

His tone sounded a bit off, much like the comment he made at the video shop last night, but you brushed it off, allowing silence to overtake the conversation as you got lost in your thoughts.

“(Name),” Peter cut through, “Are you alright?” You shot your head up to look at him, meeting eyes that pierced you deeply, as if he could see every thought or feeling that circulated in your brain.

“Um, yeah,” You started, “Yeah, Peter, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” He played with his hands a little, “You just seemed like you were worrying about something.”

You thought back to the note and bouquet this morning, your headaches, newly found nosebleeds, everything that has happened in the past month or so, noticing his body language, paying attention to your tension. Oh, what the hell could you lose telling him?

So you did, partially.

“Well..” You stammered slightly, “I’ve been getting these weird notes in the mail. Like, I have a stalker, kind of.. I guess.” Staring at the ground, you waited for his response, but he just wanted you to talk more.

“And… I’m scared. I’m scared, Peter. One of the notes today, described something only I should know.” You fidgeted with the fabric of your pants, when he turned his body towards you.

“Do you want me to watch your house?” Peter questioned suddenly, “I can stay up through the night, to see if someone peeks through windows, leaves notes, anything like that, you know.” You looked up at him, the thought of even suggesting someone other than you near your home, startled you, now you were scared to even go back. You’d been gone, what if somebody snuck in?

Almost as if he had read your mind, he answered back, “How about you stay with me and El for the night? You seem a little too shaken up to go back home alone. We’re right next door, so if you needed anything from your home you could walk over there. I’d watch you, of course.”

God this man is too nice, you thought, it's killing me.

You thought about his offer, knowing for sure if you went back home, you wouldn’t be able to sleep, you’d be too worried about if someone was being a peeping Tom outside your house.

Peter then added, “Of course, I’d provide food. Also, El and I haven’t watched Cujo yet, so, you’re invited, if you would like.”

You furrowed your brows a little, thinking of the possibilities. You didn’t want to be alone, but also the thought of staying in a stranger’s house made you feel uneasy.However… Peter seemed to be a caring, thoughtful man, though, and from what you could see, he took care of El okay.

“Um, sure, I would like that. Thank you.” You met his eyes, now crinkled up from his sweet smile, happy at your response.

Hopefully he didn’t notice the reluctance in your voice.

The house was cute, small, and comfortable for a single father and his daughter. You noticed upon walking in the lack of furniture, or any home decorations. There were no family pictures, no plants, just a small couch in the living room, sitting across from the small television box that was set inside a small entertainment center. The kitchen was connected to the living room, much like your house, with a wall, nestled in between, a sliding window sitting separating contact between the people in front and behind it. You were sitting on the couch with El, watching her play with the red Etch-a-Sketch, her turning the knob in focus, as if what she was drawing had lots and lots of meaning.

“Let me guess,” You started, seeing a few legs being drawn out of the creature, “This is.. A butterfly?”

El smiled a little, “Kind of close. It is a spider.”

You looked back down, an odd spider indeed, it was big, black, and it’s legs were really, really long, with an oblong head, and you noticed it towered over a few houses.

“Right..” You chuckled nervously, not wanting to say it looked like something out of a horror movie, fearing it would hurt the girl’s feelings.

“They are H… Peter’s favorites,” El stuttered cautiously, almost as if she made a grave slip up.

What did she almost call him? Thinking to yourself, she didn’t even call him “dad,” however the thought slipped when El quickly changed the conversation before you could question her.

“What is this?” She pointed to one of your many, many ear piercings, this one being the long piece of jewelry going through the top part of your ear.

“Ah!” You got excited, ready to tell the story of your brave and daring industrial piercing, the one that your mom found so disapproving she almost kicked you out of the house for the sixth time, when Peter opened the sliding window separating the kitchen and the living room.

“Dinner is ready.” He stated, you almost forgot he was cooking, until you smelled the savory flavors coming from the kitchen.

You and El situated yourselves at the small kitchen table, nestled with three seats, perfectly fit for your trio.

Peter went around carrying the pot, with a huge spoon, dumping servings on your plates, “It’s spaghetti, (Name), a little basic, but it’s the only thing I could think that everyone would like.”

You stared down at your plate, you were hungry nonetheless, the stress of the day making you forget to eat, “Are you crazy, Peter? This looks amazing, I’m starving, anyways.” He chuckled, watching you as if you almost forgot your manners picking up the utensils.

You dug into the spaghetti, trying not to eat like a wolf devouring prey, but upon tasting the first bite, you were amazed. It was really, really, really, REALLY good. You almost saw stars.

He can cook too, what a man… your thoughts making you smile through your fork in your mouth.

“How is it, (Name)?” He inquired, seeing that you were smiling.

“It’s amazing!” You exclaimed, rather childishly, earning a smile from El as she ate quietly.

After finishing your meals, the three of you nestled on the small couch to watch Cujo, it was getting quite late, and you felt your eyes getting heavy. You looked to El, who was sitting between the both of you, fast asleep, her head lay on Peter’s shoulder.

“Wow,” You joked, “She didn’t even make it through the first 40 minutes.”

Peter turned his head down to look at her, El now drooling on his white sweatshirt, “Such a sleepyhead, she is.” He mocked, joking with you.

“You look a little sleepy too, (Name).” He turned his attention to you, noticing your half-lidded eyes. It was true, you got your stomach full, and now you wanted nothing else than to rest, the stress of the day had worn you out.

“Maybe…” You gave him a sleepy smile, then he interjected,

“You can sleep in my bed,” Your face grew hot, did he mean, in his bed, with him? Is that why he brought you over here, to make a move on you while little El was asleep? Surely, you didn’t think Peter was the type of man to move so fast.

“I’ll take El to her room, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” He continued, your unspoken thoughts leaving your head after.

“Oh, are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the couch? It’d be more comfortable for you-”

“I’m keeping a watch out, remember?” Peter interrupted you as he got up to pick up El, cradling her small body in his arms, then disappearing to the back of the home to take her to her room.

It made sense, and you would feel more protected if Peter stayed in the living room, in case a threat made its way inside the house.

Coming back, Peter walked to the door nestled beside the television, beckoning you to follow him with his finger.

Getting up, you came over to the door, opening it, he stated, “Here. If you need any extra pillows or blankets, I can get some for you out of the closet.”

The room, like everything else in the house, was barren, the only thing that lay in the room was the bed, and a small wooden vanity with a mirror, nothing donned the desk of the vanity, no pictures, nothing.

You walked over to the bed, sitting down, jumping slightly to test the comfortableness. It was soft enough, after all, you were staying in a stranger’s house who had cooked you food, and allowed you to sleep in his bed, gratefulness should be your first thought.

“Thank you, Peter,” You looked at him directly now, his smile looking back at you, “Seriously, thank you, you don’t know what this means to me.”

“I do,” He replied back, turning to leave out of the door, “Now, if you need me, I will be right out here on this couch, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

You nodded, surprised at his sudden praises of protection, he turned the light off as he watched you nestled into bed, and shut the door, leaving you to yourself.

Nodding off to sleep rather quickly, you felt happy with the sudden security and peace that overtook you, nothing would hurt you, just as he stated.

Peter sat back down on the couch, the movie’s credits rolling as he stared down at the floor, relaxing his hands in his lap. He smirked, thinking of his plan rolling into action.

The outside world wouldn’t taint you anymore, not as long as he had you.

Waking up out of your slumber, you turned your head to the curtains, noticing sunlight beaming through the window. Morning, already? You thought to yourself, I must have slept a lot better than I thought.

You heard a knock beckon at your door, getting up to go unlock and letting whoever wanted in, until you heard a voice.

A feminine voice. One you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“(Name)? (Name)?” It was your mother, surely you had to be dreaming, you were at Peter’s house, right? “(Name), open the door honey, I need to talk to you.”

“Mom.. hold on..” You stammered, petrified a little, why did this feel so real?

“I can’t wait any longer honey, please, open the door, it’s imperative.” Getting up, you slowly walked over to the door, when the knocking turned into aggressive banging, her beginning to shake the lock furiously.

“Open the fucking door, (Name)!” She roared, “I know what you were doing last night! You came home, through the window, out being a whore, huh? You think you can hide that from me?!”

Tears began to pierce your eyes, putting your hands over your ear, pleading for her to stop. You moved to Hawkins exactly for this reason, to escape restraint, to leave that past of yours behind.

But it followed you, like it traced your footsteps, it was stalking you.

“Open the door!” Your mother screamed again, now beating the door handle with a bat, coming off with a small “clunk,” your stomach dropping as you heard the noise.

The door slowly opened, you were now cornered beside the bed, your knees pressed to your chest, hands over your ears, shutting your eyes, hoping you would wake up soon.

Your mother stomped in suddenly, her tall figure looming over you, her face eerily distorted, her skin looked wet, burned, as if she had been in some type of accident.

“I have a failure as a child! Do you know what they will say about me now?! Think about that, (Name), think about it! I should’ve given you away a long time ago!” She started to point your finger at you, and you began screaming, crying, pleading for help, rocking your fetal position back and forth.

She came closer, “No!” You screamed pushing her away, however instead of your mother’s figure, your hands were met with the white sweatshirt of the man who offered to let you stay in his house.

You had pushed him away, as he was trying to help.

“(Name)! Please, are you okay?” Peter crawled back over to you, putting his hand around your outstretched arm, preventing you from hitting him back again.

“I… I… Peter..” Eyes stained with tears, you looked over to El, who was behind Peter, her face an expression filled with horror. However, she wasn’t looking at you, she was looking at him.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry, I had a nightmare, I-” You were interrupted by him cradling you suddenly, whispering in your ear, “It’s all okay now, it’s over right?”

You looked up at him, around the room, you’d only hope this was real.

You noticed El stomping off suddenly, as if she was upset, Peter looking at her with a leering expression.

The next few days, you did not go outside. Not even for work, calling and stating you had caught the flu, hoping it wouldn’t steer Steve and Robin into worry. Your headaches became increasingly worse, and the nosebleeds persisted, but you didn’t go to the doctor, fearing it would provoke an anxiety attack, just thinking about talking to others petrified you. The nightmares persisted, however, they weren’t as traumatizing as the first one, and you barely slept. Huge purple bags formed quickly under your eyes. A note of your waning sanity.

You were officially losing your mind.

After the incident at Peter’s house, you stopped interacting with him, fearing he would think of you as “mental,” after you had pushed him in his own home after the nightmare. That, and you were also embarrassed of what happened. You had noticed one time while peering out of your blinds, El sitting outside with her head resting on her knees, as if she was crying. You wanted to check on her, but you feared crossing paths with Peter.

The beds of your nails were bloody, after you began a habit of biting them out of anxious tendencies. Today, you were practicing that particular habit, when a feeling of courage to go check your mail finally came over you. Putting on your familiar baggy jacket, you let the hood over your head, preventing others from seeing you, and you seeing others.

Stepping onto the porch, you noticed, sitting on the highest step, was a pink teddy bear, holding a heart. Your stomach dropped, the taunting started again, just as you had begun building courage to take your life back in your hands. Cautiously, you walked over to the porch steps, picking up the bear, as if a bomb was hidden inside it, you wouldn’t be suprised if there was, at this point.

Noticing a folded card in between its arm and the heart, you took it out and opened it.

“I know you’re scared, love. Please don’t fear me, I only want to help you. I can fix you, you just have to trust me. If you resist, it doesn’t matter. I will have you. I will have you. I will have you. I will have you.

I will have you. I will have you.

I will have you. I will have you. ..”

Behind the note fell, once again, another Polaroid picture, this time through your bedroom window, you were sleeping, a rare moment for you at this point.

Your throat dried in horror, the note went on just like that, as if it was taunting you, chanting at you. You then noticed a black spider crawling onto your arm, as if it had come from the note, you tried to smack it, but it went away. Then other spiders came crawling out of the bear’s arm where you had gotten the card, you screamed, dropping the bear and the card, shaking your arm as you felt they were there. Looking down, they were gone. You looked around to see if anyone saw you have your little moment, however no one was there, except Peter pulling up in his car.

You watched as El and him got out of the car, him holding a cake and balloons, she held a jug of red fruit punch juice.

“Hey, (Name).” He called to you, you repositioned yourself to act normal, walking off the porch haphazardly.

He smiled as he saw you, it excited him. To see you so ruined, so vulnerable, you looked like you hadn’t slept in days, you barely were taking care of yourself, he loved to see this side of you. You were coming to him, knowing you would crawl and succumb to him eventually.

He loved to see how you needed him.

“Peter…” You looked over to the small girl who wore concern on her face, “El… Hey, what are you guys doing?”

“Today is El’s birthday,” He watched the shock form on your face, “We are having a little celebration, did you want to join us?”

You looked down, he offered quickly, but you hadn’t had social interaction in over a week. You were afraid you would act out again, but then again, it was the poor girl’s birthday, as far as you had seen, she didn’t play with other kids, she wasn’t even in school for as far as you could recall.

Why not?

“Sure…” You replied, looking back up at him, “Let me go clean myself up first, though.”

You, El, and Peter sat around the table as you ate the meal he cooked up for her birthday. It was apparently one of her favorites: waffles, Peter added bacon and eggs as a side, noting that waffles were not too filling for him. It was oddly quiet, with you and Peter joking here and there, you noticed he would look down at your drink you never touched, the fruit juice, but you opted for water instead, juice you had outgrown years ago. El, however, looked solemn for her birthday, as if she’d rather be doing anything else, you would have to talk with her later. Suddenly you got up from your seat, “Hey, Peter, where’s the toilet? I’ve got to use it.”

He pointed down the hallway to the back of the kitchen, “Down there, and to the left.”

“Thank you,” Walking down the hallway, you looked for the door to the left, however something more peculiar took your eye.

You noticed a door slightly ajar, with red lighting coming from it, peering over your shoulder, you noticed Peter and El still eating, not paying attention to whatever you were doing. Promising yourself it would be quick, curiosity got the best of you, and you quietly slipped in the door.

However, what you found threatened you to become nauseous.

Pictures, so many pictures, hanging up on the wall. There were pictures of your house, mostly at night, and some during the day when you weren’t at home. There were pictures of you through the side window of the house. Even pictures of you working at Family Video. You noticed little notes under the picture, noting what you were doing, or the date of which the picture was taken.

The handwriting looked eerily familiar. The same as the notes that had been harassing your consciousness for almost 2 months now.

You stumbled back, mouth agape, when you bumped into something hard.

Turning around quickly, you noticed it was Peter, however his expression wore something more ragged, almost feral.

“I thought you were going to the bathroom..” He hissed deeply, his voice changing from the usual sweet tone to something more sinister.

“Peter, what the fuck is this?!” You cried, the man who'd you allowed to protect you that night was the culprit behind these harassments. Anger began to seethe through you, he was the reason why you were mentally breaking down, why you couldn’t leave the house, why you were literally going insane.

“You weren’t supposed to see this, (Name),” He sighed, then grabbed your arm rather aggressively, “I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later..”

“Let go of me, you fucking psycho!” You wrestled against his rough embrace, fighting back, feeling your throat suddenly become constricted.

You began to choke, noticing he kept his free outstretched arm, tightening his grip with his finger in an almost close fist, a pressure building, threatening to crush your throat, the telekinetic pressure becoming tighter and tighter.

“Let’s not do this the hard way, (Name), okay?” You struggled against the constriction, face turning red as you began to lose air, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just listen to me, hm?”

An idea popped into your head, noticing a crowbar leaning on the wall beside where you stood. You nodded, hoping he would take note of your “subordination” to him.

He slowly started to ease up, “Good..” murmuring to himself as he released his grip slowly, bringing his arm down to the side. Seeing as he was off guard, you took it as your chance, grabbing the long crowbar and quickly hitting him upside the head, he growled, falling to the floor and holding his head.

You ran out of the room, headed to the front door, when you noticed El, passed out on the floor with the red solo cup filled with fruit juice beside her, spilled on the floor. Stopping in horror at the girl’s form, you quickly regained your senses running to the opened front door when it closed suddenly.

“No! Fuck…” You screamed, trying to turn the knob to open aggressively, but it wouldn’t budge, “Somebody! Help me, please.. Somebody.” Voice trailing off, you knew it was hopeless, nobody was around to even take notice of you.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned around slowly, tears forming in your eyes, seeing Peter’s blurry form.

He walked closer towards you, stepping over El’s unconscious body, his expression like a wild animal closing in on their prey. His hair was deranged, partly from where you had smacked him with the crowbar, noticing blood running down his temple.

“Oh, (Name),” He started, voice low, he was now inches away from your face, bending down slightly to accustom himself to your height, “You’re scared, aren’t you? Don’t be afraid of me, I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you.”

“Help me? How the fuck is this helping me?” You whimpered, feeling defeated at how weak you sounded, he took the crook of index finger and wiped the tears coming down your cheek.

“Yes, help you, I did this all for a reason. You needed someone. All alone, in that small house, weak, pathetic, running from your issues, your past. You’re different, like me.” He smiled slightly down at you, “I was once weak like you, pathetic, not knowing my own power, but now… I know. I know who I am. I know what I’ve become. I’m going to use that to fix you. I just had to break you first.” He trailed his thumb over your chin, you were speechless, at a loss for words, anger and defeat taking over you at the same time. It felt like ridiculing the way he looked down at you, as if he was the savior and you were a sinner in need of saving. To him, you were.

“Fuck you. I don’t need your help.” You spat at him in the face, him taking his arm tucked behind his back and putting the chloroform rag over your nose, you began resisting again as he put his other arm around your neck, holding you in a chokehold while he intertwined his legs with yours amidst the struggle. Your vision began to falter, arms falling as you became lightheaded, slowly slipping out of his grip, him catching you by the back of your head and your back, easing your fall.

. He stroked your cheek lightly as he bent down with his knees tucked into his chest. This was okay, he thought, you’ll accept him eventually, and then, he would reshape you how he saw fit for himself.

You awoke to your head smashing around in complete darkness, jolting out of your sleep, wondering where you were. It was completely dark, however, you were being jolted around, as if…. You were in a trunk. You began thrashing your bound legs against the roof of the trunk, screaming at the top of your lungs, causing ruckus, maybe hopefully bringing some attention to the drivers in other cars. You felt the vehicle slow to a stop, possibly pulling over. You heard a door open, and shoes clacking against the ground, then you saw the light. The trunk opened to Peter, him looking down on you, grimacing slightly, “Why are you making all this noise?”

“You have me in a dark trunk you asshole,” You sneered at him, spitting at his feet. Again, with the spitting, he became angry and pulled you out of the trunk by your arms, dropping you, allowing your face to slam into the pavement, you groaned in pain.

He then crouched down to your level, pulling your hair up to look at him, “How many times do I have to tell you this, (Name)? We don’t have to do this the hard way.”

You felt pressure constricting your throat again, you began to cough, choking as you gasped for air. Looking up, you saw his hand constricting to a fist again, as he tightened his grip, the pressure would become harder.

“Peter..” You gasped, barely being able to speak syllables, “Please..Sorry..” you pleaded with the energy you had left.

Peter’s face bore a neutral expression, as if he was studying your reaction, but not that it was enough to satisfy him. He kept going.

You pleaded again, cut off by hearing the sound of a car coming up. Peter snatched you up by your arms, closed the trunk and quickly shuffled you to the passenger side of the car, shoving you into the passenger seat. Gasping for your air back, your eyes bugged out of your mind, you turned your attention to the back seat, where El was silently crying while her hand lay over her mouth to keep her sobs from squeaking out.

She took her hand away from her mouth, mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and turned her head away from the window where Peter couldn’t see her crying as he got into the driver’s seat.

He buckled you in your seatbelt, as your hands were bound, and buckled himself too, silently starting the car and pulling off into the road again.

You stared out the window as you took notice of nothing but rows of trees, your short Hawkins life far behind you.

#henry creel #peter ballard #henry creel x reader #peter ballard x you #001 x you #jamie campbell x reader #jamie bower #henry creel x you #001 stranger things #peter ballard x reader #vecna stranger things #vecna x you #bugs fics

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blue--ingenue · 12 days

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One Fell First, And One Fell Harder [Ch.2]

Author's Note: i think this is the fastest i've ever cranked out a chapter. forewarning: Albus is an incredibly unreliable narrator! boy is so plagued by doubt and so afraid of giving himself hope that he completely misses that the pining is mutual. anyway, happy reading, and as always, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! :)

“Rose Granger-Weasley!” Scorpius crowed. “I just asked Rose Granger-Weasley to be my friend!”

Albus couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest. “And she said no!” he laughed, gripping the banister for support. Scorpius furrowed his brows. “I asked her. I planted the acorn! An acorn that will grow into our eventual allegiance.”

Albus sobered instantly. The conversation was amusing when they were talking about Rose rejecting his advances. He didn’t much care for the part where Scorpius daydreamed of a future with the object of his affections. Someone who wasn’t Albus. A tendril of jealousy pushed an exasperated huff from his chest and he rolled his eyes. He closed the remaining steps between them. Not for the first time he was reminded of the six inches of height Scorpius had on him. He hoped Scorpius wouldn’t notice how flushed he had become.

“But Rose…hates you,” he tried to reason. He didn’t want to hurt Scorpius’ feelings, but neither could he endure another moment of this conversation. And what kind of friend would he be if he allowed Scorpius to get his hopes up? He pulled at the hem of his robes, a nervous habit he’d carried since first year.

“Correction!” Scorpius reprimanded. He was standing just a step beneath Albus, and as he playfully stooped the subsequent breeze ruffled his hair. “She used to hate me.”

They were nearly nose-to-nose. Scorpius’ pupils were dilated, eyes dark despite the gentle upturn of his lips. A circlet of gold surrounded them and briefly Albus was gazing into the eclipse they witnessed together a year ago. A lifetime ago. The sun had been shrouded by the moon’s silhouette, a gilded darkness. Then and now Albus was bewitched.

Albus met his tender gaze and felt the tendril dissipate from the warmth of his smile. They were but a breath apart now. A stubborn lock of platinum hair brushed Scorpius’ cheek and in a split-second Albus wondered how soft it would feel if he reached out. If he gently tucked the strand back into place and confessed even half the things he kept hidden away. Albus could spend hours listing all the beautiful, wonderful things he loved about Scorpius.

And then that second passed, and Albus remembered his place. He was Scorpius’ best friend, and they were talking about his feelings for his cousin. Albus ducked his head to hide his blush and nervously wrung his hands in his lap.

“Did you see the look in her eyes?” the oblivious boy continued. “That wasn’t contempt…” he pressed closer. “That was pity!”

Scorpius was close. Too close, and yet somehow out of reach. A bitter taste filled Albus’ mouth, “And pity’s a good thing?” he bit out.

He didn’t want to talk about Rose anymore. Most of the time he could pretend that the idea of a relationship didn’t cross his mind. He could make-believe that Scorpius didn’t want a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, and that they could remain content with just each other. Scorpius was practically waxing poetic. “Pity is a start! A foundation upon which to build a palace. A palace of harmony.”

The jealous tendril lashed out, gripped his heart and twisted. Albus surged forward and placed his hands on Scorpius’ shoulders. He held him there, held his gaze. The words burned his tongue as he forced them out. “And that’s who you’d want? In your palace?” Say ‘no.’ Say my name. He willed the thought. It felt like casting a non-verbal and he willed all his hope into the inches between them. He’d never been good at those.

“Yes.” Scorpius’ expression remained unchanged. The Black Lake undisturbed by ripples, reflecting the truth of his unrequited feelings right back into his face. “Isn’t it?”

He felt himself at the bottom of the ocean, an anchor of despair hitting the murky floor and burying itself in deadened silt. Immovable. Final. He couldn’t-

“Hi!” Rose chimed. He bolted up, picking up all the messy, gnarled feelings and shoving them into a closet for later. A primal part of him thought, mine, and he held Scorpius’ shoulders as he stood. He glared at her over tufts of platinum blond. She smiled at them. Scorpius was undoubtedly smiling back. She glanced pointedly between the two boys expectantly. Albus didn’t know what on earth she was expecting, but he wished she’d just find it and shove off.

The tension thickened by the second. He let his hands slip from Scorpius’ warm shoulders and wiped his sweaty palms on his cloak. It felt like they were standing in a burning house, casually inhaling the blackened smoke. Rose was the first to break the silence. “You know, this is only going to be weird if you two let it be weird.”

She explained slowly, as if she were talking to children, and Albus’ temper flared. Scorpius craned his neck to look up at Albus, as if he were waiting for him to answer for the both of them. What the shit was happening? Albus felt so confused he momentarily forgot about the anger boiling just beneath his skin. The two seemed to be having their own silent conversation, some sort of unspoken agreement that Albus wasn’t privy to, and yet was expected to answer for. How long had Rose been standing there? Did she suspect? Would she figure it out and tell Scorpius? Two sets of eyes blinked up at him and he panicked, pretending to wave to someone at the Gryffindor portrait entrance. Despite the fact that the rest of the corridor was empty, and the portrait door was shut. Good god.

He pretended not to notice and committed to looking the other way until a hole opened up in the ground and swallowed him. The universe might’ve been merciless, but Scorpius was not. “Received, and entirely understood,” he chirped. He heard Rose’s heels tapping against the tile and thought she had left until- “You good, Albus?”

She was concerned about him? He turned slightly, suddenly remembering how close he was to Scorpius. His cloak whipped about at the motion and a wave of Scorpius’ shampoo crested his senses. Honeysuckle.

“Mmmhmm,” he croaked. Smooth, he cringed internally. She seemed to take pity on him, or had seemed his squeak sufficient, and turned on her heel. She disappeared down the Gryffindor Tower stairwell and they once again left in silence. Albus felt worn out, deflated. “Maybe you’re right. Pity is a start.”

Scorpius seemed to bounce back immediately, impervious to the awkwardness. “Are you headed to quidditch later? Slytherin are playing Hufflebpuff! And it’s gonna be a big one, and-”

“I thought we hated quidditch?” He interrupted. Was this just another change he’d been too self-absorbed to notice? Or maybe he was just going to watch Rose play. Of course he would. Scorpius’ voice cut clean through his thoughts. “People can change,” he countered.

Albus stilled. He looked, really looked, at the boy before him. There was a determined set to his shoulders and an intensity in his gaze that only appeared when his courage was being tested. The air between them was charged. With what, he didn’t know. A golden thread of something - hope - dangled between them, tangled among words unsaid. “Besides, I’ve been practicing,” Scorpius continued. “I think I might make the team, eventually. Come on,” he grinned and spun on his heel. Albus rushed forward. “I can’t.” It pained him to say, “My dad’s arranged to come up.”

Scorpius was perplexed. “He’s taking time away from the ministry?” Albus hung onto the banister, for once towering a head above Scorpius. “He has something to show me. Or, share with me. We’re going for a walk,” he elaborated. “I think it’s a bonding thing.” They looked at each other for a beat. Then they cracked at the same time.

They mimed vomiting and groaning, the notion so foreign it felt like the time James had tricked him into eating a whole box of his Uncle Ron’s Puking Pastilles. The exaggerations faded into laughter, and Albus felt lighter than he had in days. He gasped, “Still, though, I think I’ll go-” his breath left in a huff as he collided with something warm. It took a moment for his brain to register that he wasn’t daydreaming. Honeysuckle. Scorpius was hugging him. Clinging to him like a koala, his head turned and tucked against his chest. Albus went rigid. He hesitated. Could he let himself have this? In the end it didn’t matter what he thought. His arms wrapped around Scorpius of their own accord, and he held him just as fiercely. It felt so right. He loved Scorpius. It was a golden, honeyed happiness that spread from his chest all the way outward, one that reverberated and echoed back like church bells. He closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he let himself slip into his favorite delusion. That Scorpius loved him just the same, in all the same ways. He ripped himself away before it could settle too deeply.

He sputtered. “What’s this I thought we didn’t hug?” Scorpius shifted nervously, but when he looked up that same determined look was back. “I wasn’t sure whether we should. In this new version of us.” Albus heard the words, but it was that hopeful, pleading look in his eyes that gave him pause. It was the same look he caught in the mirror, after he’d finished crying in the lavatory. When he felt so frustrated and lovesick he could feel the pain like a lead weight lodged in his chest. That hopeful golden thread was back, dangling at the periphery of their conversation. Just between Scorpius’ words and the truth Albus so desperately wished was waiting. Hope. A chance. That’s all he needed. He grinned.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

Taglist: @hoomandoescosplay

#scorbus#fluff#angst#albus x scorpius#scorpius malfoy#albus potter#albus severus potter#scorpius hyperion malfoy#the cursed child#harry potter and the cursed child#hpcc

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beansthough · 2 years

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I have brain rot over your snake charmer au 🙃

Okie okie questions!!!!

1. So really wanna know, what kind of snake is Tommy and what kind of mouse is Wilbur???? I needs too know!!!

2. Me after ch 2. Dropped :0000 MORE CHARACTERS!!!! Could we get a bit of an idea of what the others look like and if they’re also mouse hybrids?

3. Did Tommy pick up Wilbur’s lute when he took off or is it just back at the berry bush vibing?

4. Can we get a lil bit of world building for what the village looks like? Tis shrouded in mystery atm just curious if it’s like all kinda enclosed with walls or like part of trees etc.

As you can tell, can’t get enough of your au! Have a lollipop as token of my appreciation 🍭

A/n: thank you very much for the lollipop it was wonderful<3

CW: snakes, insects, and rodents pictured below.

1. Tommy is based off of a Blood red corn snake! They have beautiful red scales and are constrictors. They’re diet consists of small animals like rodents, birds, or insects :)

Wilbur is based off of a curly brown mouse. He loves to upkeep his hair and it’s extremely soft. This is also the reason he’s not the most athletic.

2. Techno is a hog-nosed rat. He’s definitely a lot more strong and has some bulk to him. He also had his to protruding teeth that he is quite proud of and even decorates them with jewelry he makes.

Philza is a common starling. He was one of the only survivors of the past village, but he was only a small child when it happened. He has worked and always cared for the new village and eventually became the leader. He adopted Wilbur and Technoblade when they were small. Phil takes great care of his wings and even taught his boys how to help him preen them. They always loved touching their dad’s wings.

Ranboo is a panda bat who loves to eat from flowers but has trouble seeing far away due to his poor eyesight.

Niki is based on a rosy maple moth. She sends most her time baking and hanging out with Jack.

Jack is based on a common shrew. He spends most his time with niki and he loves to go around and entertain people. He’s also apart of the guard but he’s not the greatest soldier, he just joined because he figured it get him more popular.

Also Tubbo wasn’t mentioned but he’s a Bumblebee hybrid! (of course) He can be found with Ranboo or in his workshop most of the time.

3. Tommy definitely went back for Wilbur’s lute and the forgotten basket of berries. Wilbur will reunite with them soon enough. :)

4. The village is hidden away in a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes and large trees. The village ranges from the forest floor to the very top of the trees. Shops and homes are carved into the trees themselves and there are plenty of more underneath the earth too, in burrows and carved into rock. In the center of the clearing is the largest tree that consists mostly of the guard and the main support and teams of the village. The village consents of a large amount of tiny hybrids who have all come here to be safe and be free from the dangers of the outside world. There are secret tunnels underground, paths through the trees and symbols on ground level to lead people in and out of the village.

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cilil · 1 year

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Author's Note: Super excited to finally write for this ship after it's been on my mind for months. I'll post the masterlist for it too (let's hope it ends up getting some more content soon).

Huge thanks to my friend from the Angbang server for requesting this and the whole gang for helping me with ideas!♡

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Strip Tease + Varda x Nienna ৎ୭

Even her lips taste like starlight.

ৎ୭ Synopsis: Varda shows Nienna the true beauty of her fána

ৎ୭ Featuring: Inexperienced Varda, Nienna being the sweetest sapphic queen ever, Varda's beautiful stars and space aesthetic

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~800 words)

Even her lips taste like starlight.

It's all Nienna can think about whenever Varda kisses her. It reminds her of the sweet, fresh dew that used to fill the wells of the queen and of cool, starry nights in which she longs for her touch. Varda's lips are warm and gentle, holding back the searing heat of her light and passion as she embraces the Valië, and her hands grasp the misty grey fabric of her veil, betraying her growing impatience.

When Nienna opens her eyes, all she can see are Varda's luminous hues, wide and almost burning in their intensity, her pupils filled with pure starlight. There is a certain fervency and ardour in her gaze, replacing her usual modesty and restraint with which she shrouds her true brilliance–

She has never been more beautiful, Nienna thinks, tears evaporating on her cheeks as she beholds her queen in awe. She can only imagine how needy she must look right now, responding to her passion in kind; she has imagined how it would feel many times over the ages, yet nothing could have prepared her for the intensity of their kiss, the moment it finally became reality.

The same sentiment is reflected in Varda's expression, cheeks glowing as constellations light up on her skin like freckles, breath falling from still-parted lips in tiny gasps.

"What should I do next?"

She has never done this before, Nienna realises. It's unusual for Varda to ask someone else what to do, and tears of joy glisten in her eyes as she sees how much her queen trusts her. She remains silent for a moment, fighting with herself; she has always tried to be modest and never ask too much, but this time, she listens to her little brother's advice and voices her desires.

"Show me more, please. I need to see you."

Varda takes a step back and reaches for her cloak of night, hesitant, yet not because she's unwilling–instead, her eyes keep searching for the Valië's approval.

"You do?" she asks, excitement causing the light within her being to brighten as she senses the warm, tender admiration and enthusiasm emanating from the Lady of Mercy.

"Please," Nienna breathes. Part of her wishes to reach out, to let her own trembling hands reveal the true beauty of her queen, but she tells herself to be patient; just like her stars, Varda is proud and only rarely lets another close, preferring to be admired from afar, and Nienna won't allow herself to take anything that isn't offered to her freely.

Varda removes her cloak to reveal long, dark hair cascading down her back, reminiscent of the night sky itself and glittering with little lights as if tiny stars were caught in its strands. Intricate patterns and constellations adorn her dark blue and purple tinted skin, and Nienna finds herself wishing to trace them with her fingers, to discover all the hidden details of her queen's fána.

Her eyes follow Varda's hands as she reaches for the straps of her dress, only looking up when she feels her gaze on her, yet to her relief the Valië seems delighted by the dreamy look on her face and the unabashed, sincere adoration making her fëa light up under heavy clouds of grief.

"Does this please you?" Varda asks, once again seeking reassurance, and Nienna nods with unusual eagerness.

She's rewarded with the view of delicate hands slowly working to remove her dress, exposing the elegant curve of her shoulders and the tender swell of her breasts. Nienna sighs softly, mesmerised by the sight that has haunted her dreams for ages, ever seeming out of reach–until now. Despite her best efforts not to stare, she can't tear her gaze away, and Varda notices.

Smiling with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she allows her dress to fall and reaches for her now exposed chest, shamelessly presenting herself to the other Valië as she massages her breasts. Nienna wishes to touch them as well, to kiss them and explore her queen's body with her lips, and she hopes she will be allowed to do so if she's patient; so she waits, her fána shuddering ever so slightly when she wills it to remain still for the moment.

Varda turns away from her before she frees herself completely, bending over to run her hands down her legs as she lifts her feet to step out the fabric pooling around her. It leaves her exposed to the Valië's longing gaze, her divine elegance not diminished by her nudity in the slightest, and Nienna kneels down in front of her queen, holding out her hands in a silent plea to be allowed to touch her. In her mind, she sees herself holding on to those wonderful thighs while she buries her face between them and worships her lover with her tongue–

She wonders if her essence tastes like starlight as well.

Varda steps closer until she stands in front of her and reaches for her veil.

"I know we have both wanted this for ages," she breathes, "so show me what it is that you desire. The night is young, and I am all yours."

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | Varda x Nienna masterlist | my masterlist | tag list form

#varda #varda elentari #nienna #varda x nienna #valar #ainur #my beautiful queens <3 #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm smut #cílil's spicy bingo #cílil writes #my writing

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starres-stuff · 8 months

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FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 29 | Contravention

Dimitri learns the story of why his Mentor, Xixa, stormed out of the Conjurers Guild.

“What was it like growing up here Xixa?” It was mid-afternoon and Dimitri had headed into Bentbrach to help his mentor move things around in her living room while her girls were out on errands. It was the kind of work he was used to really, being as tall and as strong as he was he was always getting pulled this way and that way by his adoptive Mother’s friends to move this or haul that for them.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up anywhere else really,” Miqo'te replied with a swish of her oversized tail, at times, Dimitri found himself believing that she was using it to dust the tables and the floors as she moved around the room but really it seemed to have a mind of its own. “Have to remember, when I was growing up it wasn’t like this, lots changed around here since the Calamity. I still remember watching the Conjurers maintain the hedge that once wrapped around the Twelveswood, part of the reason I presented myself to the Guild anyways.” There was a gentle snort at the word guild and off to the side she moved.

“I have wondered why you are no longer part of the Guild.” Dimitri had been dying to ask her since he first found out she had been dismissed. It wasn’t an easy thing to bring up, however, especially to a woman as stern as Xixa and he knew if he asked Laurent about it he was libel to get another snort since the Wailer was not one to gossip himself. One thing he made sure to do was stay busy while he asked if there were things that had to be moved out of the way to get to the larger bulk of the furniture. What this did not help with was the feeling of eyes staring into the back of his head as if they were trying to burn holes through to his skull.

“Told one of the Padjal to fuck off,” Xixa said, and Dimitri could hear the grin in her voice without even turning to see if she was in fact grinning. “I know Vi was there to teach about the War of the Magi.” Xixa continued on moving plants, then stopping to rub her right hip, the Shroud’s weather hadn’t been all that great and it felt like a storm was rolling in; even Dimitri could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up which usually indicated there was Levin in the air. At her admission, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder finding her still rubbing her hip.

“Why don’t you sit Xixa? I have this.” The Duskwight said kindly, he knew a look of pain when he saw one, he had seen similar on Laurent’s face after a long week of work and his heart always went out to him. He was still a bit off from thirty himself but he was starting to feel the ache in his bones that he had heard others speak about here and there. He even remembered the night that he saw Vi working out the shoulder that she had broken on a mission several cycles earlier when she was still doing mercenary work in the Shroud.

“I’m not that old Sonny!” Xixa griped back while walking towards her oversized couch and easing herself into a comfortable sitting position. This made Dimitri snicker rather loudly for the Miqote’s mouth and her body had two different ideas on what they should be doing and he made a motion with his hand to point out where she had ended up to which he was rewarded one proudly extended middle finger to tell him what Xixa thought of him at the moment.

“I am like a son to you and you know it.” He teased in return continuing with the chore of moving the plants around and collecting books the girls had left on various tables.

“More like a red-headed step-Elezen.” Xixa’s grin enveloped her face again, while she wiggled her rear and settled herself into the couch, her tail flopping over her legs and twitching about while she watched him do her housework. “To continue the story. I am certain by now you have heard of the crystals that store memories of those before us, or those who knew how to make them. These stones often contain what is considered forbidden knowledge now or at least knowledge that had been outlawed. Here in the Shroud, they will spank you for the use of White Magic or Black Magic. It is considered highly illegal and policed by both the Wailers and the Gods’ Quiver, even worse is letting one of those little horned things catch you with a Stone you might be secretly learning from.”

Now Dimitri was interested, he was in possession of his own crystal. One that had been willed to him by his birth Mother and one that he had no success in unlocking. From what he knew of the symbol on it, it was a Scholar Stone, the one that summoned the Fae tied to it from whom he could learn. The crystal hated him, he had sat with it before to see if he could collect anything from it but it always left him with a headache and chills. He also knew that Vi had two stones. One was given to her by the Blue Mages to store her spells in, and the other he believed to be from the time of Mhachi but she kept that locked up in the vault in Ishgard for reasons unknown to him.

“I am going to guess that you are in possession of one of these stones and it was found out?” He kept his voice neutral; he also didn’t reveal his own truth. This time collection Xixa’s knitting things to move them across the room in order to keep them safe from the large hutch with all the family's dishes that were on Xixa’s list of things to move. Now and then he would sneak a look at the Miqo’te who sat there with her tail snapping about in such a fashion that Dimitri began to believe that he had in fact riled his mentor up with his line of questioning.

“Why, yes I am.” She said proudly, her nose going right up into the air. “As the story goes my Great Grandpa was searching the Ruins of Amdapor and he heard something calling to him. He was a bit of a troublemaker who had his hands in all sorts of things that they didn’t belong in. Well over the cycles that damned stone called to the next in line to receive it. It has always been someone who was destined to be a Conjurer and in my generation of the family, it was my turn. Once it is in the hands of the right person it will fill your head with so much knowledge that you feel like you have been drinking. We never figured out why we are so sensitive to it but we are. Not sure if one of my girls will be next to get it or if it will be one of the nieces and nephews got a few dozen around here.”

Dimitri finally stopped moving to turn around and listen to his mentor, his hip balancing him against the hutch so that he could lean comfortably. “Well I know you are a smart one and I cannot see you being the type to out yourself about something you aren’t supposed to have, so I am going to deduce you were betrayed by someone that you trusted, and they, in turn, sold you out for praise from the padjal.”

Xixa broke into a laugh, and her head shook slowly. “Sometimes I forget you are an Investigator” Dimitri gave her a thankful smile, she was one of the few who had not started calling him a Witchunter, even his sister was at this point and while he tried to smile through it, it was quickly becoming disheartening to him. “Anyroads, you are right on the gil there. Was actually someone I cared for dearly, who did the deed too. She was a model student that one, Elezen, and she had her head wrapped around how to move air and conjure stone. It was damn impressive to watch her. She had earned the respect of the Padjal and rumor had it that someday she would make White Mage herself if she kept up the work she was doing under their guidance.”

Xixa got up at that point, and moved to grab a flask that she hid inside of her knitting basket, and on the way back to her place on the couch she popped the cork on the flask, the scent of strong whiskey pouring from it. “Well I got into my head to show her, I didn’t think anything of it. We had been friends from the time we were wee sprouts. In fact, I thought she would be as curious as me. Instead, she got angry with me and went as far as to yell at me for breaking the rules of the Shroud. I hadn’t even tried to use it yet. Just kept it in its pouch and hidden even though I could hear it babbling all night and all day trying to catch my attention. Went into the guild the next morning for my shift at the Clinic and that is when they pulled me aside. I was searched, interrogated, and demanded to turn over the stone. Accused of putting the people of the Shroud in jeopardy even though it had been floating around my family for over a hundred cycles by then.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened as he caught the passion in her voice, even behind the thick glasses he always wore they looked larger than they ever had, and he could feel the pain that wafted off of her from the betrayal by someone who had been that important to her. One thing he couldn’t find right now was the words that would make it better, but some things were just that way. There were no words. there was only time and space even if it took until the end of her days here and continued on into the Sea with her. It was something he felt he could not fix.

“And that’s when I told them to fuck off, dared them to come find me, and stormed out of the guild never to return. Yes, I broke the rules by having the stone. So did my papa before me and his papa before him. We are responsible people in my family. Learning is one thing, there just ain’t anything wrong with it, Sonny using something you know is dangerous in an area that is a danger itself? That is just plain irresponsible. That should have been thought of instead of oh no Xixa has a White Mage stone. We need to take it away. Had I been an El..” she paused herself for a moment looking at Dimitri in thought. “If I had been a Wildwood “ she decided to use instead “They would have let me keep it and likely taught me how to use it but nah I’m a Keeper of the Moon and you wouldn’t have any better luck than me.”

Dimitri blinked and then blinked again. He had heard some talk around the Shroud about the Keepers and the Duskwight understanding each other fairly well but he had never heard Xixa put down the Wildwood before, she even seemed to like Laurent from the way that she praised Dimitri’s relationship with him. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me saying anything,” Dimitri replied back with a smile and a hand over his heart in an oath to his mentor. “Not that I would go near the guild anyway, we do not have them in Sharlayan. The Forum rules everything.”

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv rp #my ocs #my writing #dimitri stories #only one more day to go

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sezja · 1 year

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Oc questions? For when you want them.

I’m asking because I care. Sorry too many questions maybe.

Is Sanaii around which height? Short or tall for her race?

What about Nerise and Marty?

Fenumin ever changes hairstyle?

Favorite fact about Erna?

Why did Sanaii Viera dad left his community?

Can Sanaii and Nerise swim?

If Sanaii and Nerise and Marty met how would they react and what would they think of the other?

Is Sanaii expressive with tail and ears?

Does Nerise makes peace with loosing everything she knew? What about dragon company with his different ways of perceiving time?

Marty and Tsihm have any other goals in life or plan on setting down where they are doing what they are doing?

Tsihm ever wishes she had formal teaching as botanist?

Marty ever regrets his crimes? Or thinks about them? Not in a way that would judge those he left behind, just his own actions and why they are considered wrong.

Tsihm ever talks to her family and friends again?

Any chance either would ever return to the Shroud?

Nerise opinions about Francel when she met him and later during Firmament? To make you struggle dragon company opinions?

Nerise explained the fact she had a dragon around for Haurchefant how?

Do you have any White Mage? Play healer?

Sanaii, Nerise and Marty deepest regrets?

I tried choosing the most recent ocs I remembered even if Sanaii is being ffxiv rebuilt.

Hopefully this is okay <3

<3 <3 <3

OC heights: Sanaii's sort of middling! Around the 55 marker on the height slider, I think. And while she's still young, I don't expect she'll get much taller, though she kind of hopes she will. Nerise and Marty are both max height. (Most of my OCs are max height, in fact.)

Fenumin's hairstyle: The only person who sees Fenumin with his hair down is his fuckbuddy, Mi'Enasalin. Other than that, he always wears it pulled into a bun, no exceptions.

Favorite Erna Fact: She's a surprisingly good cook! This really shouldn't be a surprise, with her father being a culinarian, but she's such a scatterbrain that most people are startled anyway. She's very good at making decent meals out of limited ingredients, and she keeps her party well-fed. (Silent Fox jokes that it's the only reason she keeps Erna around.)

Why Zephyr left: Lots of reasons, really, but it kind of boils down to just not wanting to be alone. Zephyr didn't like the isolation male viera were expected to endure - he did want a family, and didn't like the idea of rarely seeing them. He also wanted to see the world, to be a part of the world, rather than letting it slip past him. He's never regretted leaving.

Can the girls swim: Nerise actually had to learn to swim after her jump through time. She never had much cause to learn before, and only knew enough to keep herself afloat. She learns in La Noscea - she refuses to face Leviathan without knowing how to swim if she falls in the water! Swimming is one of the many skills Sanaii learns from her fathers; she's not sure if she knew how before her memory loss.

If they met: Marty would be great with both of them - much like his brother, Marty's very chill and laid-back. Nerise is a little less good with people, but as long as they're not rude to her right out of the gate, she's likely to be friendly enough, though I feel like she'd be absolutely baffled by Sanaii running around on her own - Nerise was getting into trouble at a young age, too, but she had a wyvern to watch her back! And Sanaii would... mostly be startled by the presence of Sohl Amh, honestly.

Is Sanaii expressive: Yes. She's more expressive with her ears and tail than she is with her face, most of the time.

Do Nerise and Sohl Amh make peace with their losses: Sort of. Nerise handles it by trying not to think about it, and trying not to blame herself for what happened to Ratatoskr - Ratatoskr died some hundred years or so after Nerise was pulled from her own time, after all; there's likely nothing she could have done, but the lingering "What If I could have changed things" stays with her. That and wishing she'd been brave enough to confess her feelings to Milla, and wondering what ever became of her in the end. Sohl Amh finds themself in the very strange position of being both older and younger than many dragons alive now. Even given that their own sense of time is far longer than Nerise's, the changes in the world are jarring. These are changes that should have only come to pass after a lengthy rest - but instead it feels as though they simply blinked and the world abruptly altered itself behind their eyelids.

Marty and Tsimh's plans: Neither of them had any particularly grand plans in mind before Marty's exile to La Noscea, and they haven't developed any since; they're content to settle down as farmers. They do get married once they're settled in, and start discussing the possibility of having or adopting kids.

Tsimh and botany: She does kind of wish she'd been properly trained as a botanist! It's not a deep regret, but it's there. She's happy enough to be taught by the other farmers in the area now, though. She feels like she's learning a lot.

Marty's regrets: Not really! He regrets not telling Tsimh, and on some level he regrets taking risks with the elementals and the like - but no, he doesn't really regret the life he lived, or the crimes he committed to live it. He understands why poaching is a crime, and he understands the dangers inherent in poaching in the Shroud, but it kept him alive and fed for most of his life.

Tsimh's friends and family: She writes letters to her family and friends... though her parents strongly disapprove of her relationship with Marty, and frequently beg her to come back home in their letters. When she tells them she's married him, they stop writing back to her for several moons.

Do they ever return to the Shroud: Not for a long time - Marty never does, content to meet his Redbelly friends in La Noscea, but Tsimh does eventually make short trips back home. She always comes back frustrated with her family. She's fairly sure they'd keep her in the Shroud by force if they could.

Nerise and Francel: Like most of the Ishgardians she meets, she's not impressed by Francel at first. She's in a very strange position, being what Ishgard considers a heretic herself, attempting to defend him against accusations of heresy - but defend him she does, to the best of her ability, with her limited understanding of how modern-day Ishgard works. On the advice of Alphinaud, Sohl Amh wisely stays well away from the proceedings in Coerthas, only turning up to aid Nerise in the fight against the false Inquisitor and his wyvern, departing before blades can be turned on them, instead.

She's far warmer toward Francel later, of course - and he remembers and thanks Sohl Amh for their contributions to saving his life, as well.

Nerise and Haurchefant: As mentioned above, Sohl Amh stays away during most of the Coerthas arc. Haurchefant learns about Sohl Amh after the trial, when Nerise explains to him exactly why a dragon swooped in to their rescue - but she claims they're not from Dravania, and thus not part of Nidhogg's horde. This is the same story used to later explain how Sohl Amh comes to be admitted into Ishgard, though they wisely stay out of sight there as much as possible; not everyone believes the tale, and no one is pleased to have a dragon sheltering within Ishgard's walls, companion to the Champion of Eorzea or no.

Healers: Yep! Silent Fox (SCH), Halan Soilanteaux (WHM), Stephan Fletcher (WHM), Dirthamen Renan (AST), and Faine Thievenaix (WHM) are all healer mains.

Regrets: Sanaii: Not sure yet. She regrets losing her memory, but that isn't really her fault. Nerise: Not telling Milla how she felt before Hydaelyn yanked her through time. Marty: Not telling Tsimh the truth about his poaching sooner; not trusting that she wouldn't leave him for it.

#lefox sanaii #nerise the dragonrider #martiallais redlance #fenumin inahwen #thank you <3 <3

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poisonfrog0 · 5 months

Text

on songs about graceland

graceland: a sprawling 1930s estate in memphis, tennessee; the resting place of elvis presley.

graceland: faded red velour, antique wood, wrought iron and dust.

graceland: a final destination. a tourist attraction covered in a feeling of absolution.

i had no idea what graceland was until about a year ago.

paul simon won the grammy record of the year in 1987 for his song “graceland”, the title track of his seventh album. i believe this award was well deserved. i have not knowingly listened to any other songs from 1987.

simon sings about a road trip to tennessee with his nine year old son sitting in the passenger seat. he reflects upon his failed marriage: “she comes back to tell me she’s gone / as if i didn’t know that / as if i didn’t know my own bed / as if i’d never noticed the way she’d brush her hair from her forehead.” loss of love is compared to being “blown apart”, metaphorically comparing heartbreak to windows during a storm. the repeating chorus line “i’ve reason to believe / we all will be received in graceland,” is sung as a prayer rather than a lyric.

when i listen to this song, as well as “graceland too” by phoebe bridgers, and “morning elvis” by florence and the machine, i am overcome by the feeling of optimism - a kind of self-sacrificing optimism that occurs during a last resort. the kind of bittersweet you feel when things get better, even though you know the end of the story is tragic (or, at best, sad). but it seems like the composers of these songs know how the story ends. despite this, they are going to graceland. they’ve always wanted to see graceland.

for every artist to depict the same yearning, melancholic (yet hopeful) feeling that shrouds graceland is fascinating. this phenomenon spans multiple decades and genres. in the way that disneyland represents the quintessential american nuclear family and commercialism, graceland has morphed into a sum greater than its parts.

it has turned into an almost mythical destination; a place worshipped and revered for more than it is at face value. but what’s interesting about this to me is: it doesn’t have much to do with honoring elvis or his accomplishments. at least, that’s what i’ve gathered from listening to these songs about graceland. it’s always about - making it - to graceland. i need to make it to graceland. i wish i made it to graceland. what is waiting in graceland?

i can name a few gracelands for myself. i think it is human nature to search for yourself, to search for healing and belonging in other people and places. when i get there i will be okay. when i make it to the next chapter in my life i will be okay. when i am with this person i will be okay. i have experienced mixed success with this mindset - one of the many mindsets i’ve tried on to cope with living - but i do not see anything inherently wrong with this concept. it’s tricky but not wrong. for a long time, my mother country was my graceland. it does make me feel complete and healed, but every time i leave i am inconsolable for weeks. i decided to reclassify it as home. it feels better to miss it that way. a small tourist town on the northwest coast was graceland for many years - while the town itself is lackluster and unimpressive to visit, that specific stretch of the pacific ocean is special to me.

someone from my hometown used to be my graceland. we were not meant to be but i tried long and hard to challenge fate. i have since learned not to make anyone i loved my graceland.

to go to graceland is to be saved. it is a beautiful idea. in some ways i have been saved by these people and places.

graceland - graceland - people sing about graceland as if it’s a castle in the sky. even better than a castle in the sky. it is solace; a place for pilgrims and weariness.

how has a 1930s mansion become such an emotionally significant destination? graceland has transcended its reality: a barely historic building south of memphis, tennessee, with the corpses of a long-dead singer and his family buried somewhere in the lawn. i hope i can visit someday.

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justmoreocs-writing · 11 months

Photo

Two Crows Joy: I’ll write my muse seeing yours after a long absence.

Robin glanced briefly up at the diner he’d parked outside of. Riverdale, it turned out, looked pretty normal. After months of phone calls with Harper, he’d half expected the place to be shrouded in a mist, an oddly eerie haze that fitted with the horrors that seemed to lurk around the corner. He was, it turned out, oddly disappointed that it seemed like any other town he’d ever been to.

He tapped a gentle beat out against his leg and turned away from the building, towards the road. This whole setup had been a lesson in clandestine preparations. He was a little proud of himself for not having said anything to Harper, not having spoilt their reunion; and yet, a small part of him was disappointed. They hadn’t had the thrill of knowing a reunion was around the corner. He’d had to bottle that excitement up lest his mom and Peter decide to kick him out of the flat.

A car pulled around the corner. He could hear the soft music of a musical playing and for a moment the world seemed to slow. It had been too long since he’d seen his best friend. So much had changed in her world - in his as well, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell her his little cousin was a superhero and he’d finally found a cute English guy to shamelessly flirt with. He almost felt a little sick, but he knew the excitement was the cause of that. The thrill of being reunited with his theatre partner in crime.

Somehow, Harper still hadn’t seen him. Her mom leant over to kiss her briefly on the cheek before Harper scrambled out of the car. He had no idea what ploy had been used to get her there, but it didn’t really matter.

Harper Harrison looked exactly the same as always. Blonde haired, filled with an excited kind of non-stop energy. It was the Harper he loved; the Harper he’d missed.

She practically bounced towards the diner and paused. Her eyes found him in an instant. The small smile on her face grew; seemed to light up her entire being.

‘Robin?’

He grinned back at her, opened his arms as she was already running across the carpark. It was like something out of a terribly cheesy movie, and he kind of loved it.

Harper crashed into him, sending him back a couple of paces and pulling her with him. Her arms wrapped tightly around him and he hugged her back with just as much enthusiasm.

After a moment she leant back, her arms still wrapped around him. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Oh,’ he said, feigning disappointment. ‘I can go back home if - Oof!’ She cut him off by hugging him even tighter. When he got his breath back he chuckled softly, glad to see that even after all their time apart, nothing appeared to have changed between them.

#Repost #Made By Me #Prompt Games #Crossover #Crossover With randomestfandoms-ocs #Spiderman OCs #A Hero's Hero #Robin Parker

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

I haven't seen much people requesting for snake bby so obanai x demon reader pls?Reader is like a succubus type of demon and when sent on a mission to kill her he falls into her clutches and it ends with smut 👀

‘in my dreams’ / Iguro O. x Reader

PLEASE STOP SLEEPING ON THIS MAN

warnings: NSFW, Obanai is a boob man, dream fucking?

words: 2,793

(a/n): I might’ve gotten carried away a bit

He’s always heard that sharks can smell blood on the water.

He isn’t a stranger to blood himself, used to the sightly images of gore and the rancid odor. It’s simply another part of his hellish life, bearing witness to mutilated remains of bodies and hunting down their killer.

It’s all in a day’s work.

It’s strange, though, when there aren’t any bodies to be found. Rumors of disappearances plague the night, travel from lips to ears, slowly spreading throughout the small town.

Takahashi’s daughter disappeared last night.

The doctor’s oldest son? Haven’t you heard? He’s gone.

For such a large number of people to be suddenly up and vanishing, it’s no wonder concerns have risen. It’s why Obanai’s here in the first place, determined to sniff out the culprit and promptly execute them. He’s dealt with similar cases before – finding the missing persons, only to find their remains or couple of bones – but this time… Well, it’s weird, to say the least. Not one person in this town knows where anybody could be, no strange sightings or feelings, nothing.

And, if Obanai is going to be completely honest, it’s infuriating as hell.

He’s not a patient person in the slightest. Perhaps that’s his curse and the sole reason why this case isn’t going anywhere; still, with the lingering danger hanging over these poor people’s heads, he needs to end this quickly. And so, cooped up in a small room at the town’s inn, he pours over his scribbling of notes, wondering just what kind of force he’s dealing with.

A demon’s nature can vary, depending on what kind you encounter. Obanai’s had his fair share of strange interactions – whether it be demons with multiple arms, pygmies, the facial features of a fly - he's nearly seen at all. But to take victims without leaving a single trace? That's where things get complicated.

"Dammit," Obanai grumbles, dragging a hand over his face. Kaburamaru flicks his tongue in concern, sensing his owner's unease.

This isn't going anywhere. The amount of time or effort spent trying to figure out where everyone has vanished isn't amounting to anything. How could this be? Obanai isn't some low level slayer, for gods' sakes - he's a Pillar. It shouldn't be this hard to put two and two together, yet here he is, staring blankly at his collected information. The idea of sending his crow to summon for help crosses his mind, but he hastily throws away the thought. No, that's not how this is done. He isn't willing to give up so easily.

As the hours drag further into the night, Obanai grows restless, twitchy. His striped haori sits to the side, folded neatly along with the shirt and overcoat of his uniform. Kaburamaru is already fast asleep, coiled into a tight circle at the edge of the futon. The wooden hatches of the window hang open, the night breeze drifting into the room with the sound of a singular solemn cricket.

A long, ornate kiseru dangles between his spindly fingers; it’s a rare occasion whenever Obanai smokes, so much to the point that the ones closest to him don’t even know he possesses such a fine pipe. He takes a slow drag as his he stares up at the moonlit clouds, the chilled breeze whipping the choppy strands of his hair against his bared cheeks. He wonders, truly, just how the hell he’s supposed to get to the bottom of this case if he can’t find anything to work with.

Perhaps the gods heard his woes - or he’s finally lost his mind - for an intoxicatingly sweet scent fills his senses.

Jasmine.

As far as Obanai knows, he hasn’t seen any jasmine plants when he came into town. This had to mean something - it had to. Opting his kiseru for his blade instead, he easily slips out the window, feet hitting the ground without a sound. Taking off into the night, he races through the town’s streets, eyes darting back and forth for anything out of the usual.

He comes to an abrupt stop when the scent of jasmine grows even stronger. He’s sure now that whatever he’s been looking for is here. A slight shuffling catches his attention; whipping his head to the side, a wooden hatch to a window bangs against the side of a house, but there’s no one to be seen on the other side.

“Found you,” Obanai breathes.

Rushing over to the house, he drops into a crouch as he creeps closer to the window. Jasmine floods his senses, the irresistible aroma gripping onto his consciousness and practically demanding for him to come closer. Swallowing thickly, he ignores the sudden wave of heat flushing over his body as he peeks into the darkened room. A family of five lays on the floor, their bodies moving gently with the deepened breathing of a heavy slumber. Even now, Obanai has to resist the urge to shut his eyes and succumb to the flowery scent.

Although the room is dark, he can make out a strange pillar of smoke; ah, so that’s where the origin of the smell is coming from. Is it some type of mist demon? Flower? He isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t have the time to care. He needs to get rid of it now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he unsheathes his blade, not wanting to attract attention to him yet. It’s a wish in vain, though; as soon as his blade is hanging in the air, the pillar of smoke rushes towards him, slamming into him and sending him flying. Obanai grunts as his back hits the ground, the sharp edge of rocks biting into the skin.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to sneak up on others?” a low, creamy voice drawls. Goosebumps break out across the surface of Obanai’s skin and a shiver races down his back. The smoke dissipates, then, revealing a feminine figure.

Obanai’s breath catches in his throat. This demon - you - are unlike any other he’s encountered. Immediately, his eyes latch onto the pair of horns protruding from your skull, pearly at the tip and then fading into ebony. You’re strikingly beautiful, facial features soft yet demanding. Embarrassment warms Obanai’s face as his eyes drift across the curves of your body; your breasts swell over the tight, strappy top while the entirety of your legs and hips frame the long loincloth-like garment between your legs. Both your arms and legs have the same pearly sheen towards the end, just like your horns.

By the gods, you’re ethereal, even if the claws on your fingers could easily tear Obanai’s throat out.

“So is breaking into other’s homes,” Obanai manages to croak. Bringing himself to a stand, he takes a defensive stance, his blade held out before him. He feels strangely heavy, almost like his body craves to stay flat on his back.

Much to his surprise, you pout at him, arms crossing beneath your chest and pushing your breasts further up. “But it gets so lonely at night, you know?” you say, that seductive lilt in your voice deepening. At that, you make a show of sweeping your eyes over Obanai’s bare torso, and a slight smile grows on your pretty lips.

Obanai clears his throat. He can’t let himself fall for your tricks, no matter how incredible you smell or alluring you look. If these are the methods you rely on, chances are you’re a weaker demon.

“What did you do with the missing persons?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Missing persons? Is that what they’re calling them?” you say, a giggle following your words.

Obanai growls at your nonchalant confession. If there’s one thing he can’t stand about demons, it’s their inability of basic human emotion, the inability of compassion. Yeah, he decides that your head is going to look even better once it’s separated from your body.

“You see, pretty boy,” you purr, pressing a hand to your throat and dragging it downwards, brushing over a luscious breast and tracing over your exposed tummy, “in return for making their dreams come true, I get to have a snack.”

“Enough,” Obanai grunts, switching to an offensive stance. “Maybe I’ll be gracious enough to meet you in hell someday.”

Before you even have a chance to react, Obanai springs into action, launching himself off the group in a great leap, lungs tightening as he releases a breath form.

It doesn’t hit.

It doesn’t fucking hit.

In fact, you’re nowhere in sight. Instead of the dusty, moonlit road, Obanai finds himself in an onsen; a great bamboo pavilion stands tall above the pool of water, blocking the golden rays of sunshine from hitting him. Thin trees are scattered about the area, riddled with stone lanterns and garden rocks covered in moss. With a chorus of birds singing overhead, it’s like he’s in an entire new world.

Muttering to himself, Obanai scans his surroundings, wracking his brain and trying to figure just what the hell happened. One moment, he’s about to slice your head clean off and put an end to your terror - the next, he’s in broad daylight in some overt paradise.

“Your dreams are beautiful,” that wonderful, wonderful voice of yours speaks.

Whirling around, Obanai sends splashes of water flying. “What did you do to me?” he spits.

You flash him a sly smile. “Why, I merely put you to sleep, pretty boy. Can’t be much of a threat if you’re not wide awake, no?”

Obanai curses under his breath. Of course you’re a dream demon - no wonder why there hasn’t been any bodies turning up. If only he had acted faster, got here sooner, more lives could’ve been saved. With a huff, he slithers further away from you, sinking below the water until only his face can be seen. “So what now? You’re going to try to kill me in my sleep? That’s a low blow and you know it.”

Sucking air through your teeth, you shake your head. Now that the two of you are no longer shrouded by darkness, Obanai really gets a good look of how utterly stunning you are. Again, he curses himself out, calling himself a fool for thinking such things when he should be killing you instead.

“Your blade isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him, a look of mischief crossing your features. “Silly boy - this a time meant for the two of us, not for you to end my forsaken life. Allow me to help you... relax.”

As you step to the edge of the onsen, Obanai finally notices the feeling of water caressing his thighs, his bare buttocks. You just had to make him naked in his dream, huh? What are you trying to accomplish, anyway? His eyes widen incredulously as your hands find their place on your torso, slinking over the swell of your breasts and around your neck; with a simple tug, your top comes loose. You merely let the garment fall to the rocks below, a small ‘oops’ slipping from our mouth.

Heat immediately floods to Obanai’s face and his groin; his insides squeeze in on themselves and he swallows thickly, thankful for the hidden protection the water provides. The look on your face is simply irresistible. Hell, even your breasts are as pretty as he imagined-

Shit, he inwardly curses, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.

But oh, you’re just so tempting, your hands squeezing your breasts, fingers rolling your hardening nipples as you stare directly at his flushed face. “Pretty boy,” you purr, “what’s your name?”

“Obanai.”

It’s out before he even knows it.

“Obanai...”

He really likes the way it rolls off your tongue, the dark glint in your eyes as you say it. Perhaps you can tell by his reaction alone - or maybe you like saying it - but you repeat his name, once, twice, thrice, and fuck does it drive Obanai insane. And then you’re reaching down, unfastening your lower garment and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Obanai’s cock twitches at the sight of your glorious body, the soft curves and glowing skin.

“Naughty boy, my eyes are up here,” you say. Again, you squeeze those beautiful fucking tits, a soft groan spilling from your lips. Obanai nearly goes feral from the sound; without further thought, he wades over to where you are. Jasmine clings in his nostrils, clouds his mind in a delicious haze, and he loves it.

You’re all too willing to meet his touch, body slipping into the heated water as he wraps his arms around you possessively. His body kicks into autopilot, mind going blank as he presses his lips to your throat. He should rip your throat out with his teeth, but there’s something magical about the way you arch into his touch, breasts pushing lewdly against his chest.

“Fucking-”

“Yes.”

A breathy moan spills from your lips as Obanai kneads your pretty tits, long fingers gripping possessively, wantingly. It’s almost ridiculous how hard he already is, his cock sandwiched between your bodies. He jolts as your hands land on his face, thumbs brushing against the ragged scars lining either sides of his mouth.

“Don’t,” he grits, but it goes ignored. The air is sucked from his lungs as you brush your lips over his scars, murmuring something about how pretty he is before stopping at his mouth. You kiss him fervently, clawed fingers scratching his shoulders as you tongue the inside of his mouth. You swallow the husky groan that spills from his mouth, hand dropping down from his shoulder and wrapping around his hardening cock.

“Ah, shit,” Obanai murmurs into your mouth.

“Tell me what you want, pretty boy,” you whisper, hand slowly jerking on his cock. His breathing picks up as you quicken your pace, the water rippling with the movements of your wrists. “Your wish is my command.”

“Gods, you’re such a fucking tease,” he pants, eyes practically glowing against the pink hue of his face. Ducking his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, the wet warmth enveloping your breast and eliciting a delicious moan from you. Obanai wastes no more time, opting to prop you in his lap and pressing your back against a smooth stone. “I shouldn’t... but fuck...”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re angry with me anymore,” you husk in that damned sexy voice. A moan bubbles from your throat as Obanai starts rocking against you, cock slipping against your folds. It’ll only take a little push for him to fill that pretty cunt of yours, to stuff you full of his cock and fuck you raw. It’s what he wants.

“Shut up,” he grunts, mouth latching onto your nipple, his hand beginning to play with the other. A low, drawn out curse gets muffled by your chest as he finally slips his cock into you; it shouldn’t be physically possible, but your velvety walls seemingly clench around him and suck him in, your arousal making the slide impossibly easy. He hiccups on a breath, his entire body twitching as he pants.

“The thing about succubi,” you drawl, sharp nails tracing down his spine, over the muscles in his back, “is that we’re the demons of sex and dreams. Oh, pretty baby, how much I’ve lucked out. Everyone else seemed like an appetizer - and you...” You pause, suck air between your teeth. “You’re like the damn main course.”

A helpless little grunt graces your ear as you fuck yourself on Obanai’s cock. His hips match your movements, your sopping cunt eagerly sucking him back in and squeezing around him. You’re so damn wet that it’s infuriating; Obanai wants more, more of your touch, your voice, that sweet scent clogging his senses. He can’t bring himself to stop touching your breasts, whether if it’s his hands or mouth. They bounce with the erratic rhythm of your hips, way too beautiful and hypnotizing.

A breathless whine breaks through your cute little pants whenever Obanai smacks a hand against the ample flesh of your ass. “Is that you meant when you said you make others’ wishes come true? Have them fuck that tight pussy of yours? Huh?”

“Obanai, don’t be mean,” you pout.

“Says a fucking demon that eats people.”

You hiss as his cockhead hits against your g-spot. “I can eat you too, so don’t get cocky, pretty boy.”

Obanai clicks his tongue, his brows furrowing. “You better keep that promise,” he grunts, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “I won’t take no for an answer.” He growls as your walls clench around him.

“If that’s your wish, Master,” you purr, a slight chuckle following your words, “then it is my command.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #obanai iguro x reader #iguro obanai x reader #obanai iguro #iguro obanai #request

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professorspork · 3 years

Note

superhell fic prompt: RB+J reunite with Yang

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Let no one ever doubt that Yang can be a champion whiner when she wants to be.

She was on her best behavior before, listening intently as Weiss caught her up on just how badly the fight with Cinder went, and brainstorming up next steps (get to the Tree; send up a flare with Ember Celica because if there were Grimm they needed to worry about, they would have run into some by now; wait). Only there wasn’t much to talk about after that that wasn’t wildly depressing, and they’d fallen into an uneasy silence-- Yang watching Weiss hunch tighter and tighter in on herself with every step.

So she’d filled the quiet: complaining about how they’d be there by now if only she still had Bumblebee; bitching about how unfair it is that they can’t seem to get their Semblances to work; grumbling over how she has no idea how long they’ve been walking because the light never seems to change here. And Weiss snaps back, of course, but Yang can tell the annoyance is feigned-- the more irritated Weiss’s answers are, the more relaxed her body language becomes. Normalcy’s thin on the ground, here; Yang will provide it anywhere she can.

Except--

-- except also something on the ground here, it seems--

-- is Gambol Shroud.

“Oh,” Yang breathes, in a tone of voice she’s not entirely sure she’s ever produced before. Weiss runs ahead and drops to her knees, but hesitates when she goes to scoop up the weapon-- her hand hovering over it, shaking.

“I-- sorry. It’s not my-- you should--”

“You should give it back to her,” Yang says, keeping her distance and a soft smile on her face.

Weiss looks up at her with wide eyes. “But you--”

“--didn’t have to see her fall. You did. And you-- you did really good, Weiss. You should give it back to her.” It seems a small concession to make, in the grand scheme of things. She’s going to have plenty of Blake, and soon. She knows it-- she’s sure of that down to her bones, now. So what is there to be possessive of? She waits until Weiss nods, and slips the katana through one of her scabbard loops. It’s not exactly meant to be carried that way, but whatever. It looks pretty badass. “C’mon,” she says, helping Weiss to her feet. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

Weiss roasts her mercilessly when it’s a good age and a half of walking before they even hit the tree’s roots (“Oh, are we close, Yang? Can you feel it?”), but they don’t come across any other surprises. When the roots start to twist and rise above them, Yang clambers up to a decent plateau and sets off two charges-- shooting them high into the air and watching them explode like fireworks. Yang smirks, tucking her arms behind her head as she prepares to settle in and wait--

-- and promptly slips and falls out of the tree when a trio of familiar voices happily cry “Yang?!” only seconds after the flare’s report.

(It’s not her fault, okay? She wasn’t expecting them to be this close, or together; wasn’t expecting Jaune to be down here at all; it’s whatever--)

By the time she’s picked herself up and dusted herself off, Ruby, Jaune and Blake have come into view, just across the clearing.

“Ruby!” Weiss cries, sprinting towards them, and that’s-- she’s Yang’s sister, she should get dibs on first hug, what gives, only then Weiss actually throws a thumbs up behind her as she runs and that’s just-- that’s just rude, honestly, as if--

“Yang,” Blake says, close enough to touch, and when did that happen?

“Blake, I--”

She has no idea how that sentence was supposed to end. Luckily, Blake relieves her of the burden, busying her mouth and bringing her thoughts to a grinding halt by pulling her into a swift, determined kiss. Yang’s struck so dumb by the shock of it that for a moment she forgets to kiss back-- hands hanging limply at her sides as she tries to process the intent pressure of Blake’s lips against hers; the swell of body heat where they’re pressed together, chest to chest; the tender way Blake cradles her jaw, all fingertips, the way you touch something precious and fragile. Every muscle in Yang’s body relaxes in an instant-- at last, finally, thank you-- and a needy, wanting noise tears itself from her throat, entirely without her volition.

It’s possible she goes a bit overboard when she finally gets control of her limbs again, wrapping her arms around Blake’s sides and dipping her into the kind of kiss she’s only seen on the covers of Blake’s novels, but it’s hard to care about how it looks-- not when Blake’s laughing into her mouth, and Ruby’s wolf-whistling (Yang releases her hold on Blake for that, briefly, only because she has to prioritize flipping Ruby the bird) and has she mentioned that she’s kissing Blake Belladonna?

She’s kissing Blake Belladonna.

She might never stop kissing Blake Belladonna.

Or, okay, maybe she will; her back kind of hurts holding this weird position so long. But when she pulls Blake back to standing, she suddenly registers wetness on her own cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised she’s crying only she’s-- she’s really pretty sure she’s not, so that means--

“Don’t cry,” she whispers, reaching up to brush the tears from Blake’s lashes. “If you cry I’m gonna cry, and--”

“I love you,” Blake breathes, and the words lay Yang out faster than any punch, knocking the wind right out of her lungs. The look on Blake’s face is beatific-- elated and adoring and thrilled. Like she’s proud of herself for being brave enough to say it; like she wasn’t sure she was going to know how. Only then the tears well up again; her voice hitches as she stutters: “I promised; I couldn’t get to you in time, you can’t-- I’ll follow you anywhere, I promised, I swear it, but you have to let me, I thought I lost you--”

This time it’s Yang’s turn to quiet Blake with a kiss, and she lets herself savor it. She clocks every sensation, every touch, every sigh, every brush of their lips. This isn’t about utility, or merely silencing Blake’s fears. It’s reassurance, and devotion, and a promise all its own: we’re okay. We can have this, now.

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, determined to find words that will mean as much as Blake’s just did, to make it clear just how much she feels--

-- only it’s a little hard to concentrate over how loudly Weiss is crying, a few yards away where Ruby and Jaune have her sandwiched between them.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-- I just-- you did promise, all of you, you said you’d never leave my side and I was-- I was alone, I was the only one left, and I--”

Yang takes Blake’s hand, gratified when she gets an understanding squeeze and a nod in return-- to be continued. Whatever confessions of love Yang’s got scratching at the walls of her insides, they can wait a little longer; right now, they need to be with their team.

Together, they join the group huddle, saying nothing as collectively they abandon any attempts at soothing words and instead finally let themselves fall apart. Ruby all but crawls into Yang’s lap, and a thread of tension deep within Yang finally, finally relaxes, knowing that her sister is safe. Jaune cries loudest and hardest of all, and Yang buries a hand in his hair, wishing she could make it better. She knows what it feels like, to stab down and feel the life leave someone’s body, but that was-- she’d hated Adam. To have to do it to an ally, a friend, to have that responsibility on you, for someone you love--

--kill me, and I can make sure the power goes to you--

-- she shakes off the stubborn image of Raven’s scarlet eyes filling her vision and focuses on the people in her arms.

“Not to be super morbid, but maybe...” She pauses and chews on her words, wanting to make sure she says what she means to. “We might be a little past promises, now. All of us. I don’t know where we go from here, and the choices are only going to get harder. But-- we’ve always found our way back to each other before. Even here, and-- and I don’t even really know where here is. So maybe we can just... trust that. See where it takes us.”

She doesn’t realize she’s closed her eyes in a wince, unsure of how she’ll be received, until she cautiously squints them open again and sees half her universe staring back at her with nothing but love.

“I think that sounds good,” Blake says,

but her eyes say so much more.

#rwby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #blake and yang #bumbleby #weiss schnee #fic what i wrote #Anonymous

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slashbitch2 · 3 years

Text

The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."

#agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #agatha harkness

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fullmoonwriting · 3 years

Text

saint of obsession

pairing: the darkling x reader

rating: teen (may become mature NSFW 18+ if continued)

warnings: NSFW themes/inferences, sexual themes, implied obsession

notes: I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I didn’t intend on continuing this story however if you guys like the atmosphere here I would be more than happy to continue ☺️ drop me a comment or message if you would like to see a part 2 to ‘saint of obsession.’

word count: 1.6K

Since arriving at the Little Palace a few days ago, it was the servants’ mission to bathe you. They consistently coaxed and nagged you, yet you were still reluctant. Having been mercilessly stripped away from your friends in the first army regiment, you were not about to succumb to the enemy. Most girls would be happy, proud even to find out they were Grisha; to live and dine in such a luxurious place as the Little Palace. Yet the frills and gold did not soften you. You did not welcome the large food portions, finely made gowns and soft bed. Instead, you found yourself longing to fall asleep in the clammy communal tent, more relaxed and with your friends by your side. Although your preference was clear, it was not taken into consideration.

With a large yawn and stretch of your arms you awoke to still closed curtains. The servants must have not been in yet. Waking up exceedingly early was a habit you picked up during your time in the first army. There was always something to do and somewhere to be, and you couldn’t be there or do anything if you were asleep. Your general always woke up his soldiers with the frantic clamour of pots and pans which Mal never grew accustomed to.

Mal.

Your mind always drifted to him in uncertain times such as this. He was your home, your true North. Best friends since first crossing paths in Karamzin as children. You’d do anything to be with him right now. Little to no time was given to you to talk to him and try and explain what was happening. You yourself didn’t fully understand what was happening so how could you possible explain it to someone in a little less than a minute? They told you you were a Sun Summoner; a saint or a fairy tale depending on ones beliefs. Born to destroy the fold and bring unity and peace to the nations. Or at least that’s what General Kirigan kept telling you.

He was the one who proved your status as a Grisha and Sun Summoner. You found yourself being roughly pulled between army tents and hastily pushed into an unusually large one. He stood amongst the shadows, almost completely devoured by them except for a soft beam of natural light that managed to perfectly illuminate his crow like irises. His stature and demeanour simultaneously imposed and intrigued as he spoke.

“Come closer.”

A wave of hushed voices could be heard from the perimeters of the tent. This man was so magnifying that you had not even noticed the other, now very obvious onlookers. After your initial shock of not being alone, you quickly obeyed, stepping one foot in front of the other. A seemingly small yet very courageous step towards uncertainty.

The shadow shrouded General swiftly inspected your body with his coal gaze, looking so deep into your eyes you were sure he was inspecting your soul too.

“Closer.” He spoke clearly and with purpose. Everything about him intimidated you but you could not give away your true feelings. You stepped forward once again, more confidently this time, with your head held high. A ghost of a smile adorned his lips. You were not sure if it was because he was impressed, or because he had already seen through your facade.

“What are you?” He asked clearly and calmly. His face back to his stoic and unchanging expression.

“I’m a medic, sir. A medic from the 36th company.” As if speaking more would make you seem more confident and help you out of this situation. Some onlookers sniggered, whilst others whispered about your confession.

His face did not show disappointment or anger instead, his body seemed to radiate his feelings.

Without another word he stepped forwards, now walking steadily towards you with his head held high to match yours. The tent seemed to become darker with his ever step. The small slither of natural light that somehow found its way onto his face had been completely obliterated by his shadow. The tense atmosphere and complete darkness made the following event even more spectacular. You could feel a small scratch upon your arm and the warm touch of a hand holding it up. A thin beam of pure white light cut through the darkness like a knife, powerfully illuminating the tent and eradicating its shadows.

Since that day you have been kept mostly in your room, warm and comfortable yet too luxurious and uptight for your taste. Forbidden to leave the walls of the Little Palace yet not quite ready to begin training. Solitude made your mind drift to Mal, saddening at the fact that he must be so angry at you for leaving him alone with little less than a few words. It also allowed your mind to repeat what General Kirigan had said to you on the way to the Little Palace. He said that you and him would change the world. Together. That you were special, one of a kind and vital to achieving peace. You found it hard to believe his words. You were the furthest away from special. A simple orphan girl from Kermanzin that only became a medic due to her lack of skills in other departments.

The more you let your mind wander the sadder you got. You were sensitive but you knew you had to hide it to protect yourself. Shaking your head you let your legs dangle off the side of the bed. A distraction is what you needed. Something to take your mind off your home.

No less than half an hour later you were fully submerged in a deep copper tub. The servants seemed genuinely happy (and relieved) that you had ‘finally come to your senses’ and decided to bathe. Despite your displeasure to actually bathe, your did enjoy having something to take your mind off other matters. You decided upon simply soaking in the bath rather than actively bathing. The grime and dirt was the only reminder of your former life you had, with the servants discarding of your army uniform upon your entrance to the Little Palace. You refused to wash yourself in fear of losing your last memory of home.

The steam from the tub floated on the water and continued to rise above you towards the ceiling. Despite the whole room filling with mist, you had no trouble noticing the intricate patterns on the ceiling. A myriad of curves and symphony of blue and gold. Although you were not one for luxury, you couldn’t not appreciate the craftsmanship and time that went into creating all these details. You failed to notice what details adorned your room due to your constant solitude and displeasure of your situation. Perhaps it was time to accept who or what you were.

A sharp knock disturbed your thoughts, jumping slightly and making the water level in the tub shift. Probably the servants checking in on whether you’re actually bathing.

“Come in.” You spoke loudly, leaning your head and neck against the cool copper, closing your eyes in the process. You revelled in the coolness of the metal against your flushed skin.

The click of boots against stone echoed throughout the room. Your ears perked up but your eyes remained shut, too relaxed to spring open. As the sound grew louder it became evident these boots did not belong to a servant. The click was too crisp, each step too calculated. Alarm suddenly arose in your body as your eyes snapped open. The thick mist that hung in the air didn’t help you recognise or pin point the intruder. Looking around hastily you attempted to cover your modesty with your hands as best as you could. You cursed yourself at the lack of soap or oils in the bath that would have helped to shield your body with bubbles.

Eyes still darting around the room a tall figure emerged from the mist. His tall, broad frame parted it with ease. General Kirigan. Saints, what was happening was highly inappropriate. His legs almost touched the edge of the tub as he peered down at you. Your throat became dry however you mustered up the courage to speak.

“Sir, I.. I think you have made a mistake... th-these are not your chambers.”

He continued to peer down at you as you spoke in no more than a whisper. Your words seem to have bounced right off him as his stoic expression did not falter. Instead of replying he kneeled down, positioning himself right on the edge of the tub. He extended an arm, dipping it in the water between the tub and your trembling body.

“You will find that I have not made a mistake my sun, far from it.” The contradiction of the calmness on his face and wrongness of his action made your breathing become rapid and unsteady. The General noticed your unease, removing his hand from under the water and moving it to your collar bone. He traced the water droplets rolling off your skin as if to try and calm you down. This only made you huff harder, widening your eyes as he looked at your chest.

“Where has that confident girl that I first met in my tent disappeared to huh? Oh, don’t work my sun. You’re safe with me. No need to be afraid.” His hand moved to stroke your damp hair as he lulled.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long. You have no idea what such loneliness can do to a man. But you are here now, beautiful and powerful.”

He placed a finger under your chin, contorting your face to make you look at him. Your wide and watery eyes met with his still dark and calm ones. They possessed a sparkle now, a new feature. A glimmer of hope or perhaps, obsession.

“You and I are going to change the world.”

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #the darkling x reader

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ackerfics · 3 years

Text

so this is love — annie leonhart

— annie leonhart x female reader

— request by anon: I kinda have a request. How about royal au? Where 2 kingdoms are at war with each other, and reader is the heir of the throne of one kingdom (but they’re not the spoiled type of heir, more like the solider one?) and then the kingdoms decided a truce. Reader will have to marry the heir of the other kingdom which is Annie. Idk maybe those arranged marriages that they never get along at first? Kinda like they were enemies bc they never get along until some development of feelings happen along the way. Maybe Annie will realize that she has feelings when reader got injured since they’re a soldier

— warnings: mentions of war, slight angst if you squint, just two idiots falling in love with each other :))

— summary: you were sent off to another kingdom as a sign of a truce, promising to yourself that the engagement is close to death at how you got off on the wrong foot with your betrothed. it was hell at first but who knows? maybe, unbeknownst to you, the two of you are a match made by the gods.

— word count: 7.5k

— author’s notes: i am so sorry this came out so long :((( we just finished our exams and we have a case study to write as our midterm for a subject. i hope this will still quench your annie fic cravings. and by the way, i fashioned the kingdom of idylle to mondstadt because genshin impact is my stress reliever right now and a kingdom built upon freedom sounds like a gem. plus, the glass castle of the reader is based off of the castle of cinderella, which is the reason for the title hhhhhh happy reading !!!

so this didn’t appear in the tags so i reposted it :”(((

Corsets were abominations that needed to be burned.

The girl with your features staring at you from the mirror was someone you couldn’t recognize from all the preparations your chambermaid did on your figure. The make-up was appalling and thick that you could see a smear on the back of your hand when you tried rubbing your itching nose. Your hair was done in a half up-do with too many decorative pins sticking out, creating a makeshift crown of silver roses, one of the symbols of your kingdom. The dress your mother expected you in was straight-up ridiculous, you couldn’t move from the tightness of the corset and the heaviness of your skirts was hindering you from moving freely. You couldn’t even deny that it was a lovely gown but its inconvenience was irking you at the slightest turn or stretch.

Dressing up this lavishly was rare for you, the Crown Princess of the kingdom boring flags of silver and lilac. You very much preferred the heaviness of your armor and your title as one of your kingdom’s Commendatore rather than the ladylike image your mother has been forcing you on the past few weeks.

You were livid when your parents renounced from the ten-year war that was purging the continent with just a sign on a piece of paper — one that included your name and your honor. Everything was brutal, carnage dotting every town and village of the two kingdoms throwing spears and fire cannons, and you witnessed it all firsthand when you started being one of your kingdom’s soldiers four years ago — a sixteen-year-old girl throwing orders that gave you an advantage from your enemies wearing the crest of the kingdom that painted your lands a heart-wrenching red. Of all solutions that your parents and the other kingdom could come up with, it involved you in the most unacceptable way possible. Officially entering your twenties this year, your parents thought it necessary to offer you as a bride that signified peace to the warring nation right beyond the border. The idea made your vision red, an outburst coming out of your mouth mere seconds after the proposal was announced in the council meeting.

A soldier, a knight, a commander — that’s what you are.

Not some forsaken young woman ready to be shipped off to your rival nation because it was the only way out of this bloody mess.

You had no choice.

The only way for you to grasp the final moments in your kingdom was relishing the touches of the chambermaid and taking in the décor of your room — the small trinkets scattered on your nightstands, the books you escaped to, the jewelry that boasted the colors of your family, and the stuffed animals your nanny sewed for you when you were a toddler. You closed your eyes and let the feathery fingers of the people around you lull you into a prayer for the gods in their celestial thrones, asking for their blessing in this far travel. In the middle of reciting an ode dedicated to the goddess of divine bravery, you felt a cool pendant carefully slide over your collarbones.

Your mother’s face appeared beside the watery princess of the mirror, a forced smile pulling on the corners of her lips. Your distinctly colored irises flickered down on the necklace your mother placed upon the exposed parts of your body. It was a flower-pressed necklace, the gold plate carefully protecting the flower representing your birth. The golden chain holding the necklace together was so thin that you worried for a moment that the fragile piece of jewelry might break in less than an hour while you meet your partner-to-be. You met your mother’s gaze in the mirror — from a chivalrous princess of armor to a dignified queen ruling within a land of eternal spring.

“You look so beautiful,” your mother breathed your name, holding your arms tightly against her ring-adorned hands. Tears blossomed her eyes, trickling down her cheeks akin to the lavender flowers’ petals of the large white tree in your backyard. “You look like the queen you were supposed to be.”

You tried smiling but your wobbly lips made you falter. You can only purse your lips in a tight, flat smile as you face your mother, face set in a kind expression. “Please don’t cry, Mother,” you murmured, placing your palm on top of hers, squeezing it for reassurance. “They wouldn’t do anything to me.”

They, meaning the kingdom you were at war with, the nation that claimed they needed a bride for their Crown Heir. In your world, there was freedom even in marriage — with the kingdoms pairing their sons with the sons of their enemies all for the sake of a truce, especially if the two of them were firstborns. This is very much your situation at the moment. The kingdom of Idylle was a beautiful haven of songs dedicated to the god of the winds, very contrasting to their military power that could take down a good number of your soldiers. You heard stories from some villages in your nation that Idylle was a hoax, that they were bloodthirsty warmongers hungry for the spilled blood of the people of Glaieul, your kingdom. You couldn’t help but believe their words. That was the only addition to your knowledge of Idylle except for their battle tactics and placement of soldiers on the battlefield.

“We’ll pray to the deities that they will do just that,” your mother laughed a little despite the tears. “Or else your father will wage war if they so much scratched you.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Mother,” you shook your head with a slight smile. “You two have worked so hard for this peace treaty. If I ever scratched myself in Idyllic lands, trust me that it would most likely be my fault. Not theirs.”

Your mother’s laugh twinkled in the room, painting everything in a light that erased the heaviness shrouding in every corner of your chambers. “I suppose so. You and your love for your sword are unrivaled. I can still remember the time when you first got the weapon, you were so thrilled for a six-year-old that one would think you were born in the barracks. I have to admit, you looked adorable swinging your sword until the greeting of the night and its stars.” She wistfully sighed, looking down at the necklace she gave you. “Your father was so proud when you came back for dinner that night.”

“My sword has always been a lifelong companion. I will even bring it to their castle.”

Your mother placed a hand on top of her chest, over her heart. “I hope you don’t unsheathe it in front of their royal family.”

You breathed a laugh. “No promises.”

The two of you talk about all the things that happened in your childhood, your laughs echoing through the hallways. The maids and the butlers bade you goodbye and safe travels as you passed by, never forgetting to nod in their direction in acknowledgment. You will miss their company for they saw you grow up before you decided to partake in the war. Almost all of them fussed over the mess you made while practicing your swordplay, cleaning up the broken vases and the mud on the carpeted floors. Even one of the apprentices of the Keeper of Books residing in the palace, Armin, enthusiastically waved at you, his friends flanking him for a visit in the kitchens. You didn’t miss how Eren directed an incredulous stare towards the blonde man, with Mikasa looking shocked at how easily the apprentice interacted with you in a public setting since your times with them only happened behind prying eyes.

You gave the three of them a huge smile that gave their faces a pretty rose shade.

Upon reaching the foyer, your father stood at the foot of the stairs along with the soldiers you acquainted in your time on the battlefield, sending a wave of warmth through your chest. His silver coat lined with gold details was a beacon and his white breeches were tucked in a pair of knee-length boots. His chest was decorated with his sash full of medallions, the kingdom insignia of lilac gladioluses and silver roses pinned on top of his heart. The king of Glaieul softened his eyes, crinkles appearing at the corners, at the sight of you and your mother descending on the stairs.

“My little flower,” was his greeting to you when you reached him.

“Father,” you breathed, picking up your skirts to settle in the embrace of waiting arms. You buried your figure against him, inhaling his scent of pine and rosewater, creating the last memory you will have of him. The two of you pulled away for a moment, your eyes watering at the sad visage your father sported. You felt the lightest brush of his kiss on your forehead.

“Now I’m becoming reluctant in sending you off,” he told you. “I felt guilty when I saw you fight against this during the council meeting. But it is what they offered and I have no say in the matter.”

“I know.”

“May the eternal spring never waver in your soul.”

You nodded before taking a step back, bowing with your knees on the marble floors. Your crown glinted against the light from the stained-glass windows, your hair forming a curtain around your face as you replied, “I will let it fester among the ballads and idylls they will offer. I will carry the name of Glaieul with faithfulness, honor, and grace.” You raised your head to meet your father’s eyes. “I promise to never deter the eternal spring.”

It would be that way until your last years in that kingdom. And as you rode the carriage with the soldiers you fought with guarding the vehicle with their lives on the line, you could only sigh and offer another round of prayers that this swerves in a more positive direction than what you were expecting. After a hefty journey across the bustling capital (people stopped by and waved your carriage goodbye, offering you flowers that one of the captains of the fleet, Levi, scowled at — you coaxed him that it was alright, though) to the hectares of meadows in the countryside, the sight of flowers mixed with emerald turned into a sea of teal as you entered the outskirts of Idylle, your betrothed’s home. Everything was bathed with the endemic species of grass solely blessed by the god of the winds on Idylle — legends say that it was because He wanted the kingdom that worshipped him to look different than the rest. No matter how much you deny it, it was beautiful.

“How are you faring, princess?”

Your daze was interrupted by a baritone voice, deep enough to alert some of the men around the carriage. His gray eyes provided you support during the war. You couldn’t help but smile at the onyx-haired man riding by your right window. “Hello, Captain Levi.”

“Tch. Drop the title, brat. You and I both know that the war made us friends somewhat.”

You let out a small laugh. “Well, Levi, to answer your question, I’m quite fine even though my parents just sold me to gain peace.”

Levi rose an eyebrow at the remark. “I am not one to have the capabilities to comfort someone but think of this as a way for you to help the kingdom without sacrificing your life for once. A nation without its heir is just like losing its king. I’ve seen you train when you’re starting as a squire and to the point when you got the position you deserve. This would be like a small walk in the gardens of your mother.” He fixated his stare on you, eyes dull yet determined to get his point across. “You have a role in every part of your life and this time, this is what the gods crafted for you. Do not fret, princess, you have more chances of being on the battlefield again.”

The words Levi spoke settled in you until you reached the capital of Idylle, a small island in the middle of a clear azure lake with walls resembling a huge castle. The bridge leading to the gates was lined with guards bearing the kingdom’s crest, all of them standing under the flapping flags bearing the symbol and colors of the royal family they serve — a harp surrounded by the colors of gold and blue. Their eyes warily followed the series of carriages, postures becoming stiff in the realization that the entourage holds the visitor their rivaling country sent. That was still the scenario when the series of carriages and horses passed by the marketplace, the vicinity on the lowest part of the walled capital, as if the wind even ceased to let the people gawk at the brightly-colored entourage making its way to the highest tier depicting mansions and the main plaza where their patron god stood tall and proud in front of the palace’s gates.

Everything looked magnificent.

It was a breath of fresh air from the glass castle you grew up in. Whereas your kingdom built a white, blinding home that withstood for hundreds of years, Idylle’s palace blended with the brick walls with its leveled mansard roofs and turrets. The gates were made of gold, welcoming you into a huge square of maze-like hedges, a fountain sitting in the middle of the labyrinth. Some gardeners stopped their daily chores to greet the carriages with a wave of their hat, seeing as you were going to be an addition to the royal family after the wedding in a few months. The steps leading to the main doors loomed in front of you with only a few servants waiting for you to step out of the carriage.

You took in a deep breath, nodding at Levi to open the door. When it swung open, you placed your hand on top of Levi’s as he guided you down the propped steps on the side of the carriage.

“Well,” Levi hummed from behind you, making you glance at him with a curious eye. “May the eternal spring never waver in your soul, Your Highness.” He bowed in front of you, only a dip of his head, a firm hand on his heart, and yet that was enough for you to reciprocate it with a kind smile.

“Safe travels back, Captain Levi. May the gods protect you.”

The servant boys standing on top of the stairs jumped an inch in the air, going down in fleeting steps to get your luggage when they realized they were staring too long at you. You smiled at them in gratitude before stepping inside the palace as the guards opened the huge, gilded double doors in front of you.

The inside was just elegant as the exterior appearance of the entire capital. Everything was bathed in gold that seemed to rival the Sun and it made you look away for a moment. The grand hall followed the kingdom’s colors, from the turquoise carpets leading towards two winding staircases to the golden ceilings decorated with paintings of cherubs and the story of how their god of the winds came to be. One of the servant boys slightly cleared his throat, snapping you out of your curiosity of the myths laid on the ceiling. You turned to him with raised eyebrows, spurring him to whisper a faint, “Follow us, Your Highness.” They led you through hallways hung with tapestries and paintings, drawing rooms where the queen hosted her tea parties (Levi would have loved it), and ballrooms that have the same aesthetic as the foyer. Finally, you stopped in front of one of the apartments in the palace, the servant boy who told you to follow them brightened at the guard stationed there.

“Reiner!”

You waited patiently and let your eyes roam across the hallway.

“Hello, Falco, Udo.” The man, Reiner, smiled at the young boys before turning to you. He placed a hand on his heart and bowed. “Welcome to Gale, the capital of Idylle, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for the welcome,” you replied, motioning for him that it was quite alright to straighten his posture. “The palace looks lovely.”

“Indeed, it is.” Reiner opened the doors of your room and once again bowed with an outstretched hand towards the room. “Here are your chambers and I will be your guard for the entirety of your stay here in the palace, Your Highness.” You muttered a faint ‘thank you’ as you entered a drawing room with a door to the private chambers on the left and the bathrooms to the right. There was a table fit for two people, armchairs, and drawers with vases on top. A huge floor-to-ceiling window illuminated the room, your feet carrying you there to open them, and letting the wind caress the curtains as they danced in the breeze. “If you ever need anything, you can call for my name and I will be here in an instant. Your chambermaid will be up here in a moment to help you prepare for the family dinner. For now, rest well, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Reiner, Falco, Udo,” you smiled, retreating towards the private chambers.

You let out a sigh and stared at nothing for a few moments. It came down to this. To think that you were in enemy lands and was treated so well without any degradation came as a shock to you. The people so far that radiated negativity at your arrival were the guards stationed at the bridge and some of the townsfolk and nobles parading in the streets. As you think about the servant boys and Reiner’s calmness in receiving you in the palace, you immediately thought that it would be better than you expected.

You took off your heels under your dress, mind racing that this wouldn’t be so bad, and plopped on top of your canopied bed, its baby blue curtains protecting you from unknown disturbances and drowning you in a rapid of dreams.

The dinner didn’t go so well as you expected.

You donned a more suitable dress for indoor use, something that doesn’t include forcing your figure in a tight corset and yet presentable enough to be shown in the family dinner. You even placed a circlet of silver flowers on your head to compensate for the dull dress you chose, the description fitting after one of the chambermaids expressed their perplexity at how simple regarding design your dress has. Your light blue skirts fanned out around you as you made your way to one of the grand dining rooms reserved for family use. The choice of the color of the dress should be enough to express that you are willing to be on good terms with the family of the person you will marry.

But your first meeting with Annie Leonhart was interestingly disappointing.

Before departing from your kingdom, you learned the royal family and even Idylle’s customs. You learned how they always valued freedom and expression above all else, compared to your home that valued their ties with the gods more than the idea of getting rid of the shackles placed by your deities. You learned how they have this festival dedicated to celebrating the love they share with their patron god and how it spanned for half a month.

Finally, you learned about the indifferent Crown Heir of Idylle, the young woman with the piercing blue oceanic eyes sitting in front of you at the dinner table. She was known for building up walls that discouraged some of her engagements with other royalties across the continent. She was so closed off that she didn’t even glance in your direction for one second. Her hair was done in an elaborate bun wrapping around her head in a braid, her small, thin diadem resting against her golden hair. Annie kept her gaze on her plate, even playing with her food mindlessly for a couple of minutes before sighing and taking a bite of the chicken the maids served. No conversation was exchanged and the dinner ultimately became one of the most awkward meals you had. The king even tried to engage his daughter for casual talk but Annie dismissed them with a hum.

The queen had to apologize to you several times after the dinner, with Annie huffing at the back and eager to get out of the room. Despite how much she was against this engagement, you still bowed at her before you retreated to your room.

Now dressed in your nightgown, you stared at the canopy of your bed, already missing your home the more you fixed your attention on the bundled-up curtains. You badly needed to hit a straw dummy with your sword to let out your frustrations. Of all the royalties present in your continent, why did it have to be you that was shipped to this measly forced marriage? There were still so many solutions that could lead to a peace treaty but why was this the only one the kings and queens could present to their courts? A sigh escaped your chest once again at the thought of actually getting to know Annie. You laid on your side, curling your legs towards your chest and prayed that the god of dreams will visit you sooner than expected.

A knock reverberated through your chambers, the sound making you sit up.

You went to the receiving room and opened the door. You kept the small hitch of your breath in your chest at the sight of Annie and her half-lidded eyes. There was no one in the hallways. You figured that she sent Reiner away for some privacy, meeting the blue irises you likened to brilliant sapphires.

“What brings you here, Your Highness?” you asked, opening the door wider.

“Annie.” She saw how your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Call me Annie, we’re betrothed after all.”

“Of course.” You smiled. “Annie,” you tested her name softly, missing the way she inhaled too sharply at your voice.

Annie reciprocated the gesture by saying your name. The two of you stared at each other and it felt like an eternity before she looked away to focus on the receiving room behind you. She noticed how your eyes held kindness underneath the star-like shine even though she showed hostility during your first dinner with her family. Your hair was disheveled and it didn’t take her a minute to realize she might have woken you up from a good night’s rest. The journey from Glaieul to Idylle was a long one. You deserve all the rest you can get, “I apologize if I woke you up but I feel like I should do this before dragging it out.” You once again raised an eyebrow so she took out a leather box, opening it to reveal a ring with a holographic gem showing teal and pink in the middle. The Leonhart family ring. “Here.”

“Oh.”

You were gawking at the beautiful piece of jewelry, with Annie taking the matter in her own hands. She took the ring out of the box and pocketed the container. Her hand reached out to hold your palm against hers, sliding the ring in your ring finger. Your hand still hovered in front of you after Annie retracted hers to find their place by her side. She continued to eye your mesmerized visage with a half-lidded gaze, clearing her throat to catch your attention. You turned to her with a small apology for spacing out.

“It’s fine,” Annie waved off. “It’s yours starting today.” She turned away from you and went down the hallways but not before saying a “Good night, [Name].”

The entire week of your stay in Idylle was uneventful, to say the least.

Annie kept her distance from you after that night she gave you their family ring. It left you thinking that you should also gift her the [Last Name] ring your family treasured for centuries. The ring was placed in a small cushioned jewelry box that you opened and propped on one of your night tables. Your conscience was telling you to give it to her but there wasn’t exactly any moment alone with her let alone just passing by her in the hallways. The blonde princess made it her mission to never let your fates meet the more time you spent in the capital. You then decided that she probably didn’t want this engagement to happen.

But she gave you the ring. Wasn’t that a strong signal that Annie accepted you as her betrothed, unlike the others before you?

You shook that thought as you focused on giving consecutive hits on the dummy in front of you. Two days before, you proposed to the king to let you have a moment alone in the training grounds for about two hours or so to keep you in shape. He reluctantly agreed, but not without a side stare at the queen. They heard of your glorious feats during the war, how you managed to become one of the Commanders of a battalion of soldiers tasked with being in the frontlines and how you won constant ambushes against Idylle’s numbers. Two hours of training became three until here you are, still not stopping as you finished every single dummy in the private training grounds. With your day spent outside, you thought it would be nice to have a nice dip in the bathtub before dinner.

In your walk towards your chambers, you spotted Annie in one of the drawing rooms, sitting in the window seats with a book of war tactics in hand. You recognized the author as one of the revolutionaries mentioned to you by your tutor.

“That’s a nice book,” you couldn’t help but mention. Annie turned to you unfazed by your interruption though there was a glint of interest in her eyes. “The book mostly describes battle formations but I think the author likened it to every situation on the battlefield. For instance, the phalanx was native to the empire of Great Findara and it was great for preventing casualties until it was overpowered by the infantry tactic of the city nation of Khisfire where every man has a role and a weapon depending on their group. The latter was more on the long-range yet melee way of taking back the territory.”

Annie hummed. “Do royal tutors of Glaieul teach this to their students?”

“Oh, no. I learned it while taking on the role of a squire.”

She once again hummed. “It completely slipped my mind that you are one of the Commanders in your military. You were ruthless as the folks in the noble plaza say, blood tainting your hands from doing raids in the border villages of Idylle.” Her tone was like a jab to your side, like an arrow tearing through your skin. “I know it was a time of war and desperate times call for desperate measures but our people didn’t deserve to experience the massacres.”

“They were far from being massacres,” you gritted your teeth.

Annie scoffed. “Then what were they? Because that’s what it looks like to me. I can still remember the story two years ago of a young girl wearing her lilac cape in the bloodbath, eyes so dull that you can see your reflection on it. What’s to say that this engagement is a hoax plotted by your parents to assassinate my family for you to win a territory you greatly needed because of the resources?” She closed her book with too much force, bitterly spitting out the next words, “The apple doesn’t fall from the tree as the saying goes.”

“If you question my being here then why did you give me your family ring, Annie?” you asked, your body now facing the tense young woman by the window. You cursed at how the light made her look angelic like the girl the god of the winds sacrificed his life to before he ascended to the heavens. “This peace treaty is everything my family wanted even though hundreds of our soldiers died in vain for not meeting the ends of what they fought for. If you’re saying that my parents placed me in an undercover predicament to add to the weight of deaths on my shoulders, I suggest you tell your father to put a stop to our betrothal. Because I don’t even want to be here, Your Highness, and it would do me such a huge honor. I would rather spend my time out with my fellow soldiers than pretending I’m some dainty princess my family sheltered when in fact, I was anything but that.

“Have a good day and I hope you enjoy the rest of the book. Chapter ten was a personal favorite of mine,” you dismissed, turning towards the direction of the apartments.

Once you reached your door, Reiner straightened his posture, faltering for a second when he noticed the cross look on your face. He chose not to say anything as he opened the door for you. You took off your boots right beside one of the armchairs of the receiving room and immediately went inside your private chambers. The glint of the ring on your night table mocked you. You stomped over the furniture and forcefully closed the small jewelry box, throwing the container inside one of the drawers.

Maybe sleep will be much kinder to you, the sheets enveloping you in an embrace you wish your mother can only give in this time of need.

You were radiant under the harsh heat of the Sun.

Annie was scheduled to have a free slot in her timetable after being included in one of the court meetings regarding the resiliency plan of some of the villages in the borders that managed to survive the Glaieulian raids. She suggested that the villages should be moved to one of the more remote villages nearer the capital, where the terrain is suitable for growing crops and starting small farms. There wouldn’t be an issue with overpopulation because the recommended village was home to the elderly and children. The newly situated families will also aid the old people as they go about their mundane activities. It was a sound suggestion and her father was also considering it. Annie hoped that would be the case as she scribbled a small note on a piece of paper. After the meeting, she stopped by one of the windows overlooking the training grounds, and there you are.

Your small argument that happened a few days before stirred some guilt in Annie’s stomach.

You weren’t even part of the raids she was talking about. They were led by a commander by the name of Erwin Smith. The stories about you that she heard were from Idyllic soldiers that suffered a lot during the war, not from the people of the villages Erwin raided. Annie couldn’t deny it but she did step out of the line by accusing you of being an assassin. That was too far-fetched. She was just stuck in her suspicions when she was supposed to be getting to know you.

All she knew about you was that you were adept with a sword and can name any tactic written in books about wars.

Annie saw a maid cleaning one of the vases in the hallway. “Miranda.”

The maid turned around, curtsying in a haste before patting her uniform. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

“Can you prepare a tray of iced apple juice and some cakes?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Annie nodded. “And can you place this note on the tray and deliver it to [Name]’s room?”

The maid was taken aback. “Well, it would be my pleasure, Princess.”

“Thank you.” With that, Annie walked away without a glance back.

Curious eyes followed the princess’ form, the maid finding herself looking at your figure sparring with Reiner and a smile instantly greeted her face. This could be a turning point in the betrothal because she could’ve sworn Annie had a small blush on her cheeks at the mention of the other princess.

After your training, a tray of sweets and a pitcher with glasses of apple juice awaited you in your receiving room. You wanted to ask Reiner if he asked some of the chambermaids to prepare the afternoon snack but a folded note caught your eye. With one hand gripping the towel around your shoulders, you read the note, your face warming up at the short yet endearing sentence.

Indulge in these, they taste better after a good training session.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, you thought as you munched on a sprinkled cookie.

Her eyes kept following a trail of gold tulle, silks, and laces, never looking away the moment her blue eyes laid themselves upon a beauty that rivaled the goddess of oneiric realms, the most ethereal goddess of the heavens. You were dressed in an off-shoulder gown with loose sleeves reaching your elbow, the bodice carefully wrapping around your torso in the most flattering way possible, and skirts adorned with silver gems. In a sea of aristocrats with fabulous dresses, you were a sight to behold in this ball dedicated to commemorate the truce between Glaieul and Idylle as well as announce the engagement between the two countries. You were starlight personified, shining in Annie’s eyes under the lights of tens of chandeliers in the ballroom.

You were on the other side of the ballroom, laughing with your friends from your home kingdom. There was a tall brunette that seemed to be star-struck because of you just like Annie, a black-haired young woman who was smiling slightly, and a blonde who was engaged in an animated conversation with you. Your smiles were refreshing, to say the least, Annie seeing it for the first time since you came to their palace. Your laughs are genuine and it came out of you so easily when in the company of your friends.

Annie visibly stiffened when you turned around and smiled at her, gesturing for her to come to join the small huddle. Your three friends tensed noticeably at her half-lidded stare, with you reassuring them that she’s not that indifferent all the time.

As if sensing Annie’s hesitance, Reiner chuckled behind her. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to introduce yourself to them, Your Highness.”

“I’m getting to that, Reiner.”

A laugh came from the blonde man. “She’s good for you. That much I can tell. The kindest soul I’ve ever met in my life.”

Again, guilt pooled in Annie’s chest. Those words are the opposite of what she spewed out to you the last time you talked. She called you a power-hungry monster who ravaged the war with no care on your shoulders. She didn’t even apologize yet. Annie sighed, “I know.” Then, she pulled up her skirts, navigated the ballroom, and stopped directly beside you. Her blue eyes scrutinized the three people you grew up with, with the brunette and black-haired woman stepping a small step forward to assert their dominance while the blonde pinched their backs to warn them not to step out of line in another kingdom. “Hello.” She transferred her eyes on you afterward, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back and rubbing it in a comforting motion. “I hope you enjoyed the ball so far.” Those words were directed to you.

You only nodded with a smile. “Annie, this is Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. They’re my friends when I was growing up in the glass castle.” Annie nodded. “Everyone, this is Annie, my fiancé.”

“We know,” Eren, the long-haired man in a low ponytail murmured with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Eren,” Armin reprimanded. He smiled at a stone-faced Annie. “Thank you for making [Name] happy! I can sense that she has a different air around her while we talked. It must be because of you.”

Annie stayed quiet, her hand coming into a still on the small of your back. It was a good thing her left hand was hidden away because they would immediately think that you didn’t accept the engagement. She glanced at the ring nestling in your finger, a perfect match against the golden train of your dress. Realizing that she created an awkward stretch of silence, Annie could only nod wordlessly before shifting her attention to you again. It seems like you’re the only one who can calm her nerves down inside the vast ballroom. She never took her gaze on you even as you continued the conversation between your friends.

Her mind was fogged with thoughts of only you throughout the ball.

The two of you excused yourself from the trio when Annie’s father called for everyone’s attention from the front of the huge chambers. “Everyone, kind souls and pure-hearted people of the continent, since tonight is all for enjoyment, the waltz of the ball will now commence.” His blue eyes went to his daughter, standing at the side of his throne. “The moment everyone is waiting for — the first waltz.”

She rehearsed this too many times for when a proper betrothal comes into play but why is her hand shaking when she outstretched it in front of you? You must have felt it because you flashed a comforting smile her way. The two of you went to the middle of the ballroom, the guests staring expectantly at the birth of a romance. They were wrong because you hate her and she hates you. Right? Her hatred for you will never waver for killing her people even though you look like a descended goddess with the lights of the chandeliers raining on you. Hatred must be fueling her heart to beat faster than ever, why she seemed to trip over her skirts and how her words stumbled in her tongue. That must be it.

The dance slowly made its way to the part where she struggled, dipping you as gracefully as she can. Before it happened, you whispered to her, “Please don’t make me fall.”

Annie’s voice was soft, for your ears only. “I promise, my princess.”

It truly was a birth of a romance, the two of you unaware of it all.

“Come on, Reiner!” You shouted at him from across the training field. “Come at me with all you’ve got.”

The blonde man hesitantly shifted into position as he eyed you. “Are you sure, princess? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He remembered the threatening look he received from Annie before this training session and he would like all of his limbs intact, thank you very much. “I just don’t want your chambermaid to nag me again after last time.” He managed a cut on your arm your previous session and you had to wear a long-sleeved dress in such stifling weather.

You scoffed lightheartedly. “I can handle it, Reiner. You don’t have to worry about it. Plus, I can dress my wounds perfectly.”

Reiner didn’t believe that. Your skills in covering up your wounds were lacking despite being a soldier. The most you could do was apply some salve on your bruises, that was it. He had no choice because the past month he spent his days with you, you were like a persistent little child that reminded him of his younger cousin. He hoped that you two wouldn’t meet. “Alright, here I go, Your Highness.”

Parry after parry could be heard in the private training field. You were doing fine in deflecting Reiner’s sword but your ankle immediately ached after shifting your body, leaning back to avoid the sharp edge of the knight’s weapon. You let out a huff as you dropped on the ground, jolting when Reiner called for you to stay alert. Seeing the glint of his sword, you rolled away and the pain on your ankle flared, even more, traveling through your calf. It also didn’t help that you received a cut on the side of your bandaged arm. You picked yourself up despite the throbbing pain on your ankle and arm, now being on the defensive as Reiner continuously struck you with his sword. He then circled his weapon around yours, throwing your sword on the side and pushing you to the ground with the tip of his weapon. That was the time where your ankle finally twisted into a sprain.

“Ah!”

“Princess?” Reiner’s tone became alarmed, dropping to your level and taking off your boots in an instant. His hands ghosted around your swollen ankle, not knowing what to do. “Gods, Annie’s going to kill me!”

“Annie?” You asked between pants. “What does this have to do with her?”

He only shook his head, carrying you in his arms and into the palace. His steps were hurried and the maids gasped at the sight of your red ankle. “Please prepare a bucket of ice and bring it to Princess [Name]’s private chambers.” He turned to you. “Hang on for a moment, Your Highness, we’re nearing your room. Just a little bit more.” Reiner entered your room and gently placed you on your bed. “I’m going to be taking off your other shoe, Your Highness.”

“Reiner, I think I’ll take it from here.”

Reiner stiffened, slowly turning his head to the entrance of your private chambers. Annie was impatiently standing with a bucket of ice in both hands, eyes glacially set on the blonde man kneeling on the floor in front of your confused form. She didn’t care if Reiner trembled in front of her. She vividly remembered telling the knight to never hurt you (she didn’t see the cut you had last training session because Annie was in another court meeting involving the incoming tax collection of various villages). Annie glanced at your ankle, barely grimacing at the state of it before gesturing for Reiner to get out of the room. The large blonde man took his leave, bowing at the two of your hastily and closing the doors with finality.

Annie mimicked Reiner’s position, kneeling in one knee to place your injured foot on her thigh. She didn’t wear any dresses for the day and it made her look dashing. The image implanted itself in your brain. Her hands are gentle against your skin, your cheeks flaring at the contact. Her features were contorted in a downturned one that showed how bothered she was.

“How did this happen?”

Your eyes settled on the top drawer of your nightstand. “I dodged Reiner’s blow and I twisted my ankle in the process.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Annie scoffed. “That’s clearly obvious.” She said nothing more while dipping your foot in the ice bath. She lifted her head too fast when you winced at the coldness of the water. “Deal with it. We wouldn’t want this to be worse than it already is.”

“Thanks for the concern,” you dryly mentioned.

“What makes you think that my being worried is all fake?” You’re silent, Annie choosing the moment to continue the words she didn’t have any control over. “When the maids prepared this bucket of ice in the kitchens, I was out of the council meeting. When I saw then bringing this up to your chambers, I was alarmed and my mind was a mess of thoughts concerning what happened to you.” At each word, her face held a multitude of emotions that you never saw on her. Her lips became pursed whilst you wordlessly stared at her. “I am not pretending to care for you. How could I pretend when I’m already feeling foreign emotions when it comes to you? It’s my first time feeling this way so I don’t know if I can categorize this as falling in love. But it feels like it. So, for the love of the gods, can’t you see that I’m rambling because of you?”

You didn’t reply, instead, you reached out to the drawer where you kept that ring.

“What are you doing? You should be still right now.”

You pulled out the jewelry box and flipped it open, showing the blonde the ring fashioned in a vine, the centerpiece being a group of small gladiolus flowers with diamonds in their centers.

Annie’s cheeks reddened, flustered at the pretty jewelry. “What?”

Words never came out of you as you took Annie’s left hand. The ring looked pretty on her, the two of you admiring it after you slid the engagement jewelry in her ring finger.

“I now accept you as my fiancé, my future lover, and holder of my heart. Annie Leonhart, may our eternal spring bloom for centuries, and may your god of the winds bless us with his idyllic ballads.” Annie’s eyes were wide and you can see your reflection on them, along with constellations that lit up her irises. You placed your forehead against hers, looking straight into her flushed face. “They were right, this is the birth of a romance.”

And as you two kissed for the first time, the gods were rejoicing in their thrones, each of your prayers answered — your love finally etched in a whimsical melody.

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