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scorch62msc · 1 year

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Chapter 2: Rage

Ryoichi just sat there in silence; completely dumbstruck by what the man said. He had to be joking…right? There was no reason for the Gotei 13 to attack his family…was there? While Ryoichi was thinking about this Haruki remained silent, as he watched the young Katsumata boy try to digest this in.

Then finally the lieutenant got up from his seat, and went to leave the room. However, Haruki spoke up, “Oh Ryoichi,” he said to try and get his attention. “I have something for you.”

Ryoichi turned to see that he had a plain, folded up piece of paper in his hand, which he put on the table. “What the hell is it?” Ryoichi asked with some anger in his voice.

“I do not know,” Haruki answered, “I was merely given it and told to give it to you if I could.”

Ryoichi did nothing at first, as he just stood there and looked at the piece of paper. He then angrily grabbed it from the table and hastily left the room; slamming the door behind him.

He wasn’t even close to done though; as he stormed over to where Akio and Kenshin had listened in and watched, and before either captain could say anything Ryoichi asked with a sort of calmed rage, “Is it true?”

Akio was the one who answered, “Ryoichi...please calm down-”

“No!” He yelled, seeming to snap; despite usually having good control of his anger. “With all due respect Sir this is my family we’re talking about. Now I may not give a damn about my parents, but unless you’ve forgotten I have siblings as well and THEY are who I’m worried about and THEY should not be involved in this at all.” He took a few breaths to calm himself down then with, in a softer voice, “So I NEED to know if what he said is true.”

The two captains looked at each other, and then to Ryoichi. Akio couldn’t help but smile; it seemed like Ichiro was starting to rub off a little on the lieutenant. “Absolutely not Ryoichi,” the commander answered calmly. “We’ve never had any intentions to attack the Katsumata house. Quite the opposite actually; Central 46 just recently told me they’ve thought about opening a hand to your parents and working with them. Plus, If I’m going to be honest with you; it’s because of you coming here.”

That last part seemed to have calmed down Ryoichi, as his facial expressions changed. He went from angry and livid, to his usual shy self, as he was blushing a little, and had a finger pointed at himself, “M-me?”

Akio nodded with a smile, “Yes, but that’s a story for another time. Now if you don’t mind, can you give me what Haruki gave you?”

Ryoichi did not object, as he handed the piece of paper to the commander without even looking at it himself. He gently took it from the lieutenant and opened it up, raising an eyebrow as he looked it over. He then handed it to Kenshin, who had a puzzled look as well. “It’s just a bunch of random words,” Kenshin said as he gave it to Ryoichi.

Ryoichi looked it over, and sure enough there were just random words written down, that to the naked eye wouldn’t make any sense. The lieutenant knew what it was though, and without thinking about what he was saying said, “It’s a code.” Akio and Kenshin raised an eyebrow and Ryoichi explained, “My twin brother Hiraku and I, we came up with our own sort of handwritten code when growing up; so that we could write stuff without anyone else knowing what we were talking about.”

He looked at the captains, “I-I could look it over…but it would take some time; it’s been a while since I did anything with it.”

The two captains looked at Ryoichi, and Akio was the first to respond, “Thank you Ryoichi; you’ve been a tremendous help. Go ahead, take your time looking it over; it could definitely help. You may leave now,” Ryoichi put the piece of paper away and bowed to the captains, and then left.

When he was far enough away Kenshin asked, “You sure you can trust him with that?”

Akio nodded, “Absolutely; I don’t think Ryoichi would suddenly betray the Gotei 13.”

“What makes you so sure?” The commander’s best friend also asked.

The Commander smirked, “Because he knew if he did; he’d have to deal with my very, angry son. Now then, I’m going to take off; make sure Haruki safely leaves the Seireitei AND gets his weapon back as well.”

Kenshin nodded and took off, getting some people together for the job. Something still tugged at Akio though; what kind of informant would give the Katsumatas that kind of information? Well, if there was one place that had made that kind of decision, it would be Central 46. So, Akio moved with haste to their chamber; and hoped that what he told Ryoichi was still true.

Ichiro and Niara walked out of the Squad Seven barracks, hand in hand together. Niara’s serious side melted away as she then rested her head on his shoulder. The commander’s son simply smiled as she felt her do that, “So…wanna take a walk together for a little while?” Ichiro asked, seeing as they were suddenly freed up again.

“I’d love to,” she answered. So, with no destination in mind, the pair took a simple stroll throughout the Seireitei. They resumed some conversations they had back on the Squad One rooftop, just without Ryoichi.

Ryoichi…why on earth would his dad need him for something? He didn’t voice his concern about it at all to Niara, not wanting to ruin this moment with her. Still…it was slightly concerning to him that his father would need Ryoichi for something.

His thoughts were broken up a little as he felt lips press against his cheek. The kiss from Niara made Ichiro shake off the thoughts for now, as he looked over to her and smiled, giving Niara a kiss directly on the lips.

“Hey there lovebirds,” a female voice said. The two turned their heads to see a woman who was shorter than both of them. Captain Kana Kondo was the youngest of all the captains, not even a hundred years old, and was very different compared to the rest of them as well; not so much with what she wore but more so with alterations to herself. She had natural slate grey hair, which matched with her eyes, but the tips of her hair were dyed neon blue.

She had some piercings on her body; a nose ring on the left side, a nose stud on the right side, a lip ring on the left side of her lower lip, and some that were concealed by her clothes. The young captain also had some tattoos; though the majority of them were covered by her clothes the ones that were visible are a blue lightning bolt going horizontally above her chest, and on her lower left arm was the words, “Music is life.”

Kana did have some alterations to her outfit as well; her kisode’s sleeves went down to her elbows, her waist strap was dark blue, and her Captain’s haori was sleeveless and only went down to her waist. Lastly, what really set her apart from the other Captains, was her pair of headphones, black in color and wireless, which for the moment rested around her neck, and Ichiro and Niara could hear her usual music blasting from them.

“Hey Kana,” Niara said with a wave and smile. She then noticed that the young Captain seemed a little troubled, “Is something the matter?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Kana answered. “Do you guys know where Ryoichi is? He isn’t answering my calls at all, and he told me he would be with you two…but apparently not.”

Ichiro and Niara looked at each other and raised an eyebrow, and as they both turned back to Kana Ichiro was the one who answered. “He’s in the Squad Seven barracks at the moment, my dad and Captain Igura needed him for something.”

Kana had a look of confusion on her face and was quiet for a little while, “Uhhh…okay then,” she said. “Thanks, you two; see you later; and Ichiro, when you see your dad next, please tell him if he’s going to take my lieutenant for something…that he gives me a heads up about it.” The young Captain said, obviously being a little agitated. She put her headphones back on her head and walked off.

Ichiro and Niara just looked at each other and shrugged, once more holding hands and walking together. They spent a few minutes together, walking and talking, until Niara’s phone suddenly started to ring. She used her free hand to pull it out of her haori, looking at who was calling, and answered, “Hey Kiara.”

The co-captain suddenly stopped walking as she listened to her twin sister on the other side. “Well…can’t you just do it yourself?” Niara asked. A little while later Niara once more had a question, “What do you mean they need both of us for it; Central 46 has always-” She was cut off by her sister and Niara sighed, “Alright, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Niara hung up and put the phone away, then turned to Ichiro, “I’m sorry…but this needs my attention.”

“What?” Ichiro asked in disbelief, “But we haven’t even been able to spend the amount of time we agreed on.”

“I know…trust me I know,” Niara said, keeping calm. “And I wish this was something I could ignore…I really do. Unfortunately, I can’t,” she then kissed Ichiro on the cheek, “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Ichiro didn’t want her to leave though; wanted her to be with him a little while longer. Well…it wouldn’t hurt if he tagged along, right? He was just about to suggest it, his mouth agape, but Niara put a finger on his lips to stop him, “No, you can’t come with me for this work; It’s official captain's work and there can’t be just random people.” She kissed him once more, “I love you.”

A sigh escaped Ichiro as he kissed her back, “Love you too.” He then watched Niara as she disappeared, using flash steps to get to her squad barracks. Then the realization hit him; he had nothing to do. His girlfriend just left to deal with work, and he still had no idea if his best friend was freed up from his dad and Kenshin. However, even if he was his captain was looking for him, and they probably had work to talk over.

The boy sighed as he realized his predicament; unsure of where to go or what to do. He stood there for a while; head tilted upwards thinking of what he could do. Ichiro then just shrugged as he suddenly started to walk off.

Kana made her way to the Squad Seven barracks, music blaring in her ears as always. It didn’t take her long to get there, and her timing was perfect as she saw Ryoichi coming out of the main doors. She walked up a flight of stairs and waved at her lieutenant, “Hey there Ryoichi.”

Her lieutenant seemed to be a little distracted by something, so was surprised when he heard his captain call his name. He raised his hand, and greeted her, “Hey captain.”

“I’ve been calling you,” Kana said, not wasting any time. “Ichiro said the commander and Kenshin needed you for something; what was it?”

Ryoichi didn’t answer, instead sort of looked away from her. Was he able to tell her about this? He didn’t want to take the risk and answered, “I’m sorry but…I can’t say.”

Kana seemed to frown a bit at his answer, as she put a closed fist on her hip, “Can’t…or don’t want to?”

Ryoichi stayed quiet at first then said, “I…don’t want to, because I don’t know if I can or not.”

Kana heard her lieutenant’s answer and sighed, as she then went up to him and a hand on his shoulder, “Come on…I may have only been Captain for just a year so far…but you’ve known me longer than that. You know that what you tell me stays between us.” The captain then put her arms across her chest, “Besides; a captain has to look out for her subordinates.”

The lieutenant looked at his captain, and sighed; she was right. They had known each other since Kana first joined the Squad eight years ago, and even though Ryoichi was still nervous and shy around her back then, she joined the Squad pretty well and eventually was able to slowly get Ryoichi to open up. “Alright…but, can we go somewhere private?”

His captain smiled, “Absolutely; let’s go to my office.”

Ichiro had walked around for what seemed like forever but looking at his phone it was only about ten minutes. He sighed, as he put his phone away; God he was bored, and honestly hoped something would happen. He hadn’t really noticed but he was around the Squad Eleven barracks; a Squad fully devoted to combat.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw three guys talking with each other, but he paid them no mind as kept on walking. One of the guys spotted Ichiro walking by and alerted his friends, giving him a little nudge and pointing out the commander’s son. So, the man, who was sort of the leader of the trio, walked out into the open, with arms crossed together. “Well look who it is; if it isn’t the ‘Prince’ himself.”

Ichiro heard him called that nickname, which he terribly hated, and sighed as he just turned his head to see who called him that. There were three guys standing there, all of them being fairly taller than Ichiro, and much more muscular than him. That didn’t intimidate Ichiro at all, as he just looked blankly at them and asked, “What the hell do you want?”

The man had a smug smile on his face, seeming confident in himself. “I’m sure you remember me Prince; we fought against each other o-”

“Nope,” Ichiro said, which interrupted the man. He fully turned himself around to look at this guy, and his friends. The commander’s son tried to think back and remember if he knew these guys or not. His head was tilted upwards, and he crossed his arms; as he stood there for a while. Ichiro then finally turned his attention back to the trio, as he shrugged, “Sorry…uhh, what’s your name?”

The man seemed to be very agitated at Ichiro for not knowing him. “Y-you prick bastard,” he said in anger. “My name is Itsuki Suzuki; you embarrassed me in front of my whole squad and you’re gonna pay for it!”

Itsuki then pulled out his Zanpakuto, infuriated as ever as he rushed at Ichiro. Ichiro just simply sighed, as he grabbed his Zanpakuto from his back, and stood ready for the man. He attacked Ichiro with a downward swing, both hands on his Zanpakuto. Ichiro merely held his Zanpakuto in just his left hand and raised it up to block the predictable attack. Their blades collided and a giant gust of wind blew outward from the two; their Reiatsus collided together as well.

Well this certainly ended the boredom Ichiro thought to himself. But…don’t want to accidentally hurt the guy, So Ichiro tried to deter him from a fight the only way he knew how to. His body was all of a sudden surrounded by a dark red energy; as a forceful feeling suddenly washed over Itsuki and his two friends. It felt like they had extra gravity pushing down on them, and they could barely move.

“If you know me; then you know how much Reiatsu I have…and how hard it can be for me to control it at times,” Ichiro explained to his attacker. He then looked at Itsuki dead in the eye, with what could only be described as a death stare. Ichiro’s eyes were also glowing from releasing so much Reiatsu. “So, if you know what’s good for you…you’ll stop this and leave me be.”

Itsuki stayed silent for a while, as he seemed to be in disbelief at Ichiro having this much reiatsu. “You bastard….h-how are you so lucky to have this much Reiatsu?”

Something inside Ichiro just snapped then as he heard the word ‘lucky.’ With incredible ease, and still holding his Zanpakuto with just one hand, Ichiro batted aside Itsuki’s Zanpakuto. He quickly followed it up by charging at the large man, right hand closed in a fist. Ichiro was too fast for Itsuki to stop him, and so the closed fist connected square in the jaw of Itsuki; who stumbled backwards a few steps from the blow.

In the split second before Ichiro’s fist connected, Itsuki saw on Ichiro’s face a look of pure rage. He tried to ignore that for now and tried to get his bearings together; that punch had thrown him off quite a bit. Unfortunately for him, Ichiro did not let up, as he followed the punch with another, as he quickly brought his Zanpakuto into his right hand, and now having his left hand clenched. The punch connected, making the large Shinigami stagger backwards once more.

At this time Itsuki’s two friends decided to intervene, charging at Ichiro with their Zanpakuto’s drawn. “You little bastard; you’ll pay,” one of them yelled before attacking Ichiro with a downward swing of his Zanpakuto. The attack was incredibly slow and reckless; therefore, Ichiro was able to avoid the blow with ease. He merely took a few steps to his left and the man’s blade hit the ground.

It had enough force that it broke up the concrete, smoke and debris rose in the air. Ichiro retaliated by quickly bringing his Zanpakuto back into his dominant left hand and stepped onto the dull side of the weapon and reversed the grip on his Zanpakuto. He then slammed the pommel of his Zanpakuto into the man’s jaw, sending the man reeling back; stunning him for a while.

The other man charged at Ichiro ready to swipe horizontally at him. Ichiro brought up his weapon with one hand and easily blocked the attack; the force behind it not bothering Ichiro at all. The man did not relent, as he brought his Zanpakuto back and ready for another attack; this time swinging down vertically.

Ichiro made one step to his left and then made himself lean even more to his left; which made the attack miss. However, he wasn’t down, as he brought his Zanpakuto hand over to his left side and slashed at Ichiro horizontally once more; this time from left to right. Ichiro pivoted his body and brought two hands to his Zanpakuto; then brought it up to block the attack.

When their blades connected Ichiro pivoted once more, bringing his Zanpakuto, as well as his opponent’s Zanpakuto, over his head and to the other side of his body. Ichiro then freed up one of his hands, launched an elbow at his opponent. It connected, hitting him square in the jaw, and made him reel back. He followed it up, and finished, with a small jump and bringing a closed fist to the side of his face; which connected squarely.

At this time Itsuki regained his composure, and saw that Ichiro was holding his own against his friends. How…how is that spoiled brat so strong? Itsuki thought to himself. We bust our asses off every damn day and can’t even come close to his Reiatsu. He then shouted in anger, “Why the hell is some brat like you so damn strong? I don’t give a damn how strong your parents are! It’s bullshit that-”

He regretted saying those words almost instantly as he was cut off…Ichiro appeared in front of him out of nowhere. Once more Itsuki saw that look of pure rage on Ichiro’s face; and now it finally bothered him…scared him even. Ichiro, whether he was thinking about it or not, had dropped his Zanpakuto, and then grabbed Itsuki’s shirt with both hands. Itsuki hadn’t noticed it, but Ichiro had his head tilted back, and with a surprising amount of force delivered a headbutt to Itsuki’s nose.

Itsuki would have staggered back from the blow if Ichiro wasn’t holding onto him; but his grip was firm and Ichiro reeled him back in for another headbutt, and then another…and then another. The four STRONG headbutts in a row broke Itsuki’s nose; the Shinigami now bleeding profusely from the break. At this time, both of Itsuki’s friends tried to attack Ichiro at the same time; Zanpakutos in hand swinging down at him.

And once more…Ichiro made them realize what exactly they were dealing with. In the flash of an eye Ichiro punched one of them right in the gut; with enough force to make the man crumple to his knees while holding his stomach. Before the other one could react, Ichiro dealt with him as well as he let loose a right cross. Except Ichiro forgot to hold back with it and it sent the man into a nearby wall.

With the two friends dealt with, Itsuki almost paralyzed in fear at what just happened; Ichiro took this moment to catch a little breather. He got quite the workout from that and he needed his breath back for what he was going to do next. When he was ready Ichiro walked up to Itsuki; a look of pure anger on Ichiro’s face as he gave him that same blank, filled rage stare again. Itsuki instinctively tried to crawl away from Ichiro; though ended up against a wall with nowhere to go.

Ichiro got right into Itsuki’s face, “YOU THINK I’M FUCKING LUCKY, DO YOU?!” Ichiro asked with anger; screaming at Itsuki. “YOU THINK THAT JUST BECAUSE BOTH OF MY PARENTS ARE CAPTAINS AND I HAVE A LOT OF REIATSU THAT THAT SOMEHOW AUTOMATICALLY MAKES ME LUCKY?” Ichiro was screaming his head off all while right in Itsuki’s face, but calmed himself a little; and while Ichiro stopped yelling there was no denying the anger still present in his voice. “Well, the truth is that is FAR from the reality asshole.”

Ichiro grabbed the black glove on his left hand and with a look of grimace and pain on his face he slowly took it off. When it was fully off and revealed his hand, Itsuki had to do his best not to vomit. The hand was incredibly black, like it looked like charcoal, and there were bits of skin missing here and there; which were a pinkish-red in color.

“This is how lucky I am,” Ichiro said; still, plenty of anger in his voice. “As soon as I learned my Shikai my Zanpakuto decided to burn my hand so badly that it’s constantly in pain and I can’t even use or move it without this glove. If you actually do know me you would have known that…which is why I don’t remember you. So, if that’s what your definition of ‘lucky’ is…then yeah…I guess I am.”

Itsuki stayed silent for a while, as Ichiro then put his glove back on, once more showing pain on his face. The lower seated Shinigami was about to say something but instead there was someone else who said something. “What is the meaning of this?” A deep voice boomed. Ichiro looked to see a man who stood much taller than he did; and seemed to be an intimidating figure. He had long brunette hair, which was kept in a ponytail, and almost matched his dark brown eyes. The man was a Captain, as was signified by his haori, with sleeves that only went down to his elbows. His shihakusho was left unmodified, but he wore red shoulder guards over his uniform.

Captain Daichi Takahashi recognized Ichiro, as well as the other three men. “Ichiro; what happened?” He may not be able to discipline the young boy, but he would certainly discipline the others if need be. Of course, Daichi knew Ichiro wouldn’t be one to attack someone without a purpose; being that the boy was his second cousin.

“Well,” Ichiro started as backed away from Itsuki and went to grab his Zanpakuto, and then put it away on his back. “I was just walking by minding my own business; when these three a-” Ichiro stopped himself, as he knew Daichi did not enjoy people swearing when giving official reports. “These…guys wanted to start a fight with me. I did my best to ignore them but…they attacked me first….as well as instigated me.”

Daichi listened to Ichiro’s explanation, and when he was done the captain simply nodded. “Thank you, Ichiro, I will deal with these men and will discipline them as needed. I’ll take them to Squad Four first, you should join us as well…you have blood on your forehead.”

“I feel fine thou-” Ichiro stopped himself as he put a hand to his forehead and felt the blood. He looked at his hand, confirming what he felt then added, “Might be his.”

“Still…it’s best you probably come along,” Daichi suggested. Ichiro didn’t want to; he was going to get one hell of an earful from his mother…but it would probably be even worse if he didn’t go. He let out a large sigh as Daichi ordered Itsuki and the others to get up and head to Squad Four.

It took a while for all of them to finally move at all; though for Itsuki it was because he was still paralyzed by fear. Eventually, he and his friends pulled themselves together and the three men groaned as they grabbed and put away their Zanpakutos. They did as their Captain said and Daichi couldn’t help but shake his head a little, “You couldn’t hold back at all Ichiro?” He asked.

“Sorry,” Ichiro said with a sigh as he and Daichi walked side by side, “It’s just…they pissed me off.”

Daichi gave a nod, not needing to hear anything else. For a while they didn’t say anything else to each other, but then Ichiro also asked, “Hey uh…Daichi?”

Normally Daichi did not like being called by his first name by someone of lower rank, but Ichiro was a rare exception. Not because he was specifically the commander’s son, but because they were family. Daichi’s and Akio’s mothers were sisters; meaning that the two captains were in fact cousins, and in that extension, Ichiro was his family. Daichi only let family and other captains call him by his first name.

“Yes Ichiro; what is it?” Daichi asked.

“H-how are your burn scars?” Ichiro asked, who seemed to be a little scared to ask about it.

Daichi simply smiled, “They are gone now, as well as the pain…but I appreciate the concern.” The captain put a hand on his shoulder as they were still walking, “And before you say anything else; there is no need to apologize nor should you beat yourself up about it. I knew full well the risk that came with sparring with you and I understand that you don’t have full control of your Bankai yet. If anything, the fault is mine; I thought my Bankai was restored enough with my sister’s Zanpakuto and that it was ready.”

It didn’t exactly make Ichiro feel any better, “Except…I almost killed you.” Ichiro bluntly said. “Moretsu flared up at such a bad moment-”

“Stop it Ichiro,” Daichi interrupted Ichiro. The original captain still had a smile on his face, “There is no fault on your part…and that is the end of it.”

Ichiro showed a faint smile and just left it at that as they walked to Squad Four together. A little while later Ichiro then also asked, “Oh! Random question…did I ever spar with that guy at all?” He then pointed at Itsuki, “The whole reason he attacked me is he said I embarrassed him but…I don’t remember him at all.”

Daichi raised an eyebrow at Ichiro's question, “You truly don’t remember that day?” Ichiro shook his head for an answer, “Huh…that is interesting…though I suppose HE isn’t the biggest point of what happened that day.”

Ichiro tilted his head in confusion, “Which was?”

“You learned your Shikai,” Daichi answered flatly.

...Fuck you tumblr for making me add spaces after my paragraphs *makes audible disgusted noises*

#bleach #original character #oc #fanfiction #literature

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cloud-of-roses · 4 years

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I’m not the only dame in Gotham looking for emancipation

#i keep thinking about this line #cause its like im also breaking free from who hurt me and getting rid of those habits and ‘rules’ i followed and actually following #what i want and who i am #roseposts #if i sense anyone having or trying to get control over me i get livid #because im not going through that again #ive been doing a lot of healing from being used and how i would even submit to people #so i really love this quote and ive been saying it to myself a lot

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neonlights92 · 3 years

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Night Changes: PART TWO

Jeon Jungkook has spent the last twenty years alone. Single. Solo.

And that’s just the way he likes it. That is, until he meets the supposed love of his life. Suddenly he’s falling over himself at the chance of a real relationship with someone.

The only thing getting in his way? You.

genre: fuckboy!jungkookie, college!jungkookie, romcom, e2l (kinda)

AN: I am so fuckin soft for college Kook you wouldn’t even belieeeeeve

Within days of their ‘truce’, Jungkook realises what a huge dickhead he truly is for not remembering Y/N’s name.

She shares his timetable almost entirely.

“I’m the worst.” He bemoans after a particularly stressful lecture on American poetry, “You weren’t kidding when you said you were in all my classes.”

“Almost all your classes.” She laughs a little at the look on his face and shrugs, “I did tell you.”

“It makes perfect sense now why you hate me.”

Y/N nudges him playfully and shakes her head, “I don’t hate you.” “Yes you do.” He sniffles dramatically, “And you should. I’m an asshole.”

She pulls a face, “Now what am I meant to do here? Tell you that you’re not an asshole? That would be lying.” Jungkook reaches for his heart theatrically and frowns.

“I deserve that.”

She scoffs playfully, “Shut up, Jungkook.”

It’s been exactly four days since Jungkook and Y/N began to hatch their plan to try and get their respective soulmates to fall in love with them.

And though Y/N’s original idea was to host some kind of movie night at her apartment Jungkook has been slowly persuading her into throwing a full blown party. Park Jimin is an absolute animal, Jungkook promises her (that’s a huge stretch, but what college student doesn’t like alcohol and loud music?) and throwing a party is a surefire way to get him to agree to coming.

But Y/N isn’t so easily swayed.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Jungkook tells her confidently, “I’m going to make sure that you and Jimin get together, and then when you have beautiful babies together you’ll be thanking me. And we’ll forget all about the incredibly unfortunate way we met each other.” Y/N’s smile is soft, but Jungkook sees it.

“I know you will,” She says, “I have faith in your matchmaking abilities, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Which reminds me….Did you think about what I said, Y/N?”

Jungkook has to admit - he really likes having her around. Try as he might at first to have seen the worst in her, he has to admit Y/N’s not half bad.

“About the party?”

He winks, “Bingo!”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Oh my god-”

“No, because I’m such a wallflower,” She insists, shaking her head firmly, “Jimin will just think I’m boring.”

“I’ll help you come out of your shell. I’ve told you that already. It will be like a life lesson for you - a chance to shine in the spotlight.”

“I don’t shine,” Y/N is whining now, “It’s stupid to even try.”

“No it’s not,” Jungkook insists, “Everybody shines. In their own way. Everybody.” He feels kind of awful for her.

How can she even think that way about herself?

“You don’t - it’s not. C’mon Jungkook I can’t-”

“What about the night we met?” Jungkook interrupts, as the two round the corner of Jungkook’s street, “You were partying then, weren’t you? You were shining then?” She flushes, “That’s different.”

“How?” She shuts her eyes for a moment. Jungkook worries he might have pushed her too far. He slips his bottom lip between his teeth and just as he opens his mouth to apologise she sighs heavily.

“It’s stupid.”

He brushes a hand over her shoulder, “It’s not.”

Her eyes open and he’s taken aback by the softness there.

He wants to reach out and maybe pat her cheek but he decides against it. Fuckboy or not, Jungkook is not the kind of guy to do that. Is he? No. He isn’t.

Besides. Soomi.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll throw the damn party. But you’re helping me with everything, okay?”

Jungkook feels something like electricity shoot up his ass. (He won’t ever tell anyone else he thought that.)

“Yes! This is going to be perfect Y/N I swear. Jimin will love it. So will you,” He grins like he’s hit the jackpot, “It’s the last day of semester in three weeks time. We’ll use that as a reason okay? And we’ll plan everything together. It will be amazing.” Y/N’s eyes dart across Jungkook’s face nervously.

She seems to be looking for something - what he’s not sure - but after a moment she nods.

“Fine. Okay. End of semester,” Her lips fall into a small smile, “Do you think this will work?”

They stop at the entrance of Jungkook’s building.

“It’s perfect Y/N. I swear. Just perfect.”

When her smile widens Jungkook thinks he’s never seen her look better.

“I’m trusting you Jungkook.” She narrows her eyes playfully, “Don’t fuck it up.”

He crosses his index finger across his chest and nods determinedly.

“Trust me, Y/N. We’ll have Park Jimin eating out of your hand before you know it.”

And he really believes it, too.

The next day Jungkook runs into Y/N at lunchtime. He hasn’t seen her in any of his classes today and when he texts her to tell her this, she reminds him that Friday is the only day they don’t share a timetable.

He has to admit he’s kind of bummed.

So when he finds himself wandering into the campus garden with Hoseok trailing less than enthusiastically behind him, his eyes zero in on her immediately.

She’s eating some kind of burrito - probably extra spicy as she’s told him that’s the only way to eat Mexican food - and reading a book. Of course she’s reading a book.

Nerd.

“Hey Hobi let’s go sit over there.” He points her out to his friend and Hoseok raises a brow.

“Who’s that?” “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” His brow raises even higher if possible, “Y/N as in the girl you slept with who’s name you can’t remember and who’s roommate you are in love with? And who you’ve promised to help set up with Park Jimin? That Y/N.” Jungkook frowns, “Well when you say it like that…” He rolls his eyes, “Shut up. Let’s just go.” Hoseok shrugs and follows his friend - what good will it do him to argue anyway? - and when Jungkook reaches his destination he clears his throat noisily. Y/N looks up and Jungkook notices she’s wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses. He has to admit… She looks kind of adorable in them.

The moment recognition dawns on her face, Y/N’s lips lift.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s smile widens when she grins up at him.

“Hi.” She shifts slightly, “What are you uh - doing here?” “Stalking you obviously,” Jungkook takes a seat beside her on the blanket she’s set up to eat on, and gestures for Hoseok to do the same, “This is my friend Hoseok. The one I said dances with your boyfriend.” She wrinkles her nose and flushes, “Jungkook! He’s not my boyfriend.” She turns to Hoseok and smiles softly, “Hi.”

Hoseok - to his credit - doesn’t seem to mind the Jimin comment. He smiles back at her.

“Hi Y/N.”

Jungkook unwraps the dismal lunch he’s made himself - a sweetcorn and tuna salad - and gestures to the book sitting in Y/N’s lap.

“What’s that?”

She looks down and then up, “Oh. It’s uh - god. It’s stupid.” Jungkook quirks a brow, “C’mon tell me. What is it.” She hesitates for a second and then rolls her eyes, seemingly accepting her fate.

Jungkook almost wants to remind her that they’re friends - she shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of him - but he stays quiet.

She lifts the book to show him the cover.

“It’s a book on gaining confidence.” Her shoulders shrug, “I thought it might help. Y’know… With the whole…” Her eyes flit over to Hoseok briefly, “Jimin thing.”

Hoseok chuckles and it catches Jungkook off guard.

He’d almost forgotten his friend was there.

“That’s adorable,” Hoseok comments, “Man if a girl did that for me I’d be beyond flattered.” Y/N’s cheeks flush and she shakes her head, “No - I mean. I don’t know. It’s not just for him…”

“Still.” She bites her bottom lip and shrugs, “I mean I guess. Yeah. He should be flattered.” Hoseok laughs again and Jungkook has a sneaking suspicion his friend might be flirting.

He doesn’t like that.

Y/N is not for Hoseok. Not at all.

“Well she’s not reading the book for you,” Jungkook tells him, trying to control his anger, “She’s reading it for Jimin.” Hoseok raises a brow. He takes a moment and then smiles again.

“I gathered.”

Jungkook spends the rest of the lunch break trying to stop whatever weird energy Hoseok and Y/N have going on.

There is absolutely no way in hell that Jung Hoseok thinks he can just swoop in and ruin all his plans, right? Y/N needs to fall in love with Jimin. Park Jimin needs to be the one laughing with her and smiling at her and flirting with her.

He’s absolutely livid by the time Y/N scurries off to class.

“What the fuck was that?” Hoseok pulls a face, “What?”

“That. That… Flirting. What was that?” Jungkook has barely even touched his lunch (and it’s got nothing to do with the absolute miserable state of it, he swears.)

Hoseok seems confused for only a moment later. Then his face opens up.

“Oh, right.” He shakes his head, “I wasn’t flirting, Jungkook.” Jungkook hates the look on his friend’s face. Like he knows something Jungkook doesn’t.

“What’s that look for Hoseok?” Hobi chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing Jungkook. Absolutely nothing.” Jungkook spends the rest of the day thinking about that godforsaken look.

Jungkook wakes up the next morning (which thank god happens to be a Saturday,) to a text message from Y/N. He’s been trying to convince her to use more emojis - but she refuses.

Secretly, he finds her texting kind of cute.

But he’ll never tell her that.

Y/N: Are you free today?

Jungkook: as a bird. what did you have in mind?? :)

Y/N: It’s my birthday. Soomi is taking me out bowling. Wanna come?

Jungkook feels his heart swim all the way up to his throat.

Soomi? And wait what - it’s Y/N’s birthday? He’s sort of offended she only brought it up now.

Jungkook: uhhh… what?? happy fuckin birthday y/n!!! ur naughty!!! birthday ??? why didnt you tell me yesterday???

Y/N: You’re an English Lit student. Use proper vocabulary and grammar please. And I don’t know I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Jungkook: u cant change me boo… u just text like a granny. its your birthday stupid ofc its a big deal. mind if i invite some of my friends??

It’s a few minutes before Y/N finally replies.

Y/N: Yeah. Sure. Meet us at Blue Pins in an hour?

Jungkook: c u there… birthday girl!!!!!

Y/N: Ugh.

Jungkook smiles at the way she still acts like she hates him even though he knows she doesn’t really.

It really is the start of a beautiful friendship.

An hour later Jungkook finds himself sat in a booth with Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon, nervously tapping his fingers against the surface of the table.

Hoseok clicks his tongue loudly and grabs his friend's hand from across the booth. His eyes are narrowed a little.

“Will you calm down?” “Are you kidding?” Jungkook’s eyes are as wide as a pair of saucers, “I’m about to meet the woman I’m going to marry.”

Hoseok scoffs at that and Taehyung scrolls through his phone, bored as always.

After a moment, Taehyung clears his throat, “He said yes.”

Jungkook feels like his heart has just fallen out of his asshole.

“What?”

“Jimin said yes,” Taehyung rolls his eyes, almost as if he’s annoyed at this spectacular outcome, “He’ll come to Y/N’s party at the end of the semester..”

“Oh fuck YES!” Jungkook fist pumps the air in joy as Hoseok chuckles in delight.

“You’re overreacting,” Namjoon tells his friend seriously, “Jimin coming does not equal Jimin falling in love with Y/N.”

“It gets me one step closer though,” Jungkook feels lighter already, “And one step closer to that means one step closer to Soomi falling in love with me.”

Namjoon snorts out a laugh, “Stop it.”

“What?” Jungkook takes a swig from the cappuccino he insisted on ordering as soon as they arrived, “It’s true.”

“You’re not seriously thinking you’re in love with this girl Jungkook?” Hoseok’s eyes dance with mirth, “I know you man.”

“What do you mean?”

Hoseok raises a dubious brow, “You’re the ultimate fuckboy.”

“I am not.”

“Yes. You are.” Taehyung tacks on helpfully, “Notoriously so, actually.”

“Shut up.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it but he knows his friends are kind of right. Sue him - he’s young and handsome and he’s in college. Everybody fucks around in college.

“And anyway I don’t actively pursue girls unless I have the intention of taking it somewhere.” Jungkook crosses his arms, “A fuckboy I may be, but a dickhead I am not.”

“Says the guy who forgot Y/N’s name after a vigorous night of lovemaking.” Namjoon grins like the cat who got the cream and Jungkook wants to smack him.

“You can thank your dear friend Kim Taehyung for that.” Jungkook replies sharply, narrowing his eyes at his so-called childhood best friend.

Taehyung gasps like he can’t believe what Jungkook’s just said.

“Seven tequilas on an empty stomach is never a good idea Tae,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “You kept insisting.”

Taehyung answers with a flippant wave of his hand, eyes finally moving away from his phone, “Whatever. You’re an adult, right? You could’ve said no.”

“Not when free alcohol is involved.” “Anyway Kookie, the point is you can’t be in love.” Hoseok leans back like he’s just discovered the meaning to life. Always so smug.

Jungkook can’t help but find it a little annoying.

“And how, oh wise one, are you coming to this conclusion?” Jungkook’s tone is dripping with sarcasm. He raises a brow at his friend and gives him the most pointed look he can manage.

It’s still Hoseok and Jungkook has to admit he respects his opinion the most.

“Because you’re you. And you barely know this girl.” Hoseok rolls his eyes, “That’s how.”

“I find that offensive,” Jungkook retorts, “People are allowed to change and grow. Now I’ve met Soomi I’m different.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “There’s no point, Hobi. We all tried, believe me. But he’s decided that he’s in love with her. Just get on board with it.”

Jungkook sends Hoseok a toothy grin once he swallows the last of the cappuccino and nods emphatically.

He knows what his friends think of him.

That he’s slutty and careless. That commitment scares the shit out of him. That he’s incapable of monogamy. A combination of all of the above.

But Jungkook knows the truth. He didn’t want a girlfriend before this because he hadn’t met someone that made sense to him.

And what’s the point of being with someone unless you’re all in?

“Anyway when you’re guests at our wedding it’ll all make sense,” Jungkook pushes his empty coffee cup to the side, “We’re meant to be.”

Taehyung laughs at this - despite himself - and Hoseok and Namjoon chuckle too.

“Jungkook?” The sound of someone calling his name causes him to turn quickly, eyes widening when he sees who it is. Y/N. She’s smiling at him of course - but that’s not what causes Jungkook to almost go into cardiac arrest.

No. Of course not.

It’s the beautiful angel standing beside Y/N that causes him to almost forget how to breathe.

“Hi,” He squeezes out despite himself, eyes riveted to Soomi’s beautiful face, “Hi.”

Soomi smiles and Jungkook is immediately breathless.

“Jungkook right? Y/N’s… Friend.” The suggestive tone annoys Jungkook - he can’t have Soomi thinking he belongs to anyone else but her - and he nods.

“Yeah.” “But just a friend now,” Y/N pipes up helpfully, “We… Uh… Worked through our differences. And now we’re friends. Just friends. Totally platonic.” Jungkook thinks she’s kind of overkilling the whole thing but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he smiles at Soomi and watches as her face puts two and two together.

Yes. Yes.

Jungkook wants her - no he needs her to know that he’s single.

Really single.

Totally single and available and hers.

Namjoon clears his throat somewhere from Jungkook’s left. He turns to his friends and nods quickly.

“Right. Yes of course. My friends - these are my friends. Taehyung and Namjoon, and Y/N you’ve already met Hoseok.” The two share a small wave. Jungkook ignores the stab of annoyance that sends to his gut.

“Hi,” Soomi smiles in a way Jungkook is sure is almost too heavenly to be real, “I’m Soomi.” God. He really is a goner.

Jungkook doesn’t want to brag, but he is pretty good at bowling.

Okay. Who’s he kidding?

He totally wants to brag.

The moment Y/N splits them up into two teams - Soomi, Jungkook and her versus Namjoon, Hoseok and Taehyung - he’s determined to win.

He has to win.

He has to show Soomi one of his many, many, many talents.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Soomi remarks as he throws his first strike, “Or is that just beginner’s luck?”

Jungkook shakes his head and shrugs, “I’d say I’m pretty good.”

Her giggle is music to his ears.

“That’s impressive. What kind of girl doesn’t want a man who can throw a strike?”

Jungkook smirks, “That’s what I always say.” Her eyes crinkle at the side when she smiles and though it's not quite as adorable as Y/N’s - he’ll never admit this out loud - she still looks so sweet his heart constricts almost painfully in his chest. He forgets for a moment where he is, laying on the charm thick.

“Is that how you seduce poor unsuspecting women then? With your bowling skills?”

He winks in that way that usually works and his smirk widens, “You know it!”

Soomi giggles again and Jungkook is surprised at how smoothly this all seems to be going - when the sound of somebody throwing a gutter grabs his attention.

His eyes lift - thinking it has to be the other team - and he furrows his brow when he sees Y/N standing at the very top of the bowling lane, staring at the full set of pins in front of her.

Holy shit.

Jungkook momentarily forgets about Soomi - his competitive nature kicked into overdrive - as he shoots up from his seat and rushes towards Y/N.

“Oh my god,” He’s right beside her in an instant, “Was that you?”

Y/N looks up at him - cheeks flushed - and nods, “Yeah. I’m terrible at bowling.”

“So why would you choose to come here? On your birthday?”

Jungkook is somewhere between disbelief and pure horror. But he has to admit, the look on her face is sort of funny. She’s mortified.

“Soomi suggested it. She said it might be fun,” She looks away for a moment, “For her maybe.”

The sound of someone scoring a strike blares to Jungkook’s left and when he sees Taehyung performing some kind of ridiculous victory dance, he decides enough is enough.

“No. No.” Jungkook sets his jaw, “I’m going to help you.”

Y/N’s brow lifts, “What?” “I’m going to help you. You’re going to score a strike.”

She snorts out a laugh.

“I don’t think you realise how truly terrible I am at this.”

“And I don’t think you realise how truly competitive I am,” He gestures to the balls, “Grab the lime green. That’s the lightest.”

Y/N watches him for a moment longer. She looks behind him and moves her hand in the general direction of Soomi.

“What about Soomi?” He flares his nostrils, “She’ll still be there after I finish helping you.”

Y/N stares at him, and when Jungkook cocks his head towards the row of balls lining the back of the bowling alley, she shrugs and follows his command.

Jungkook takes this as a moment to teach Y/N how to shine.

After all, what better way to fell good about yourself than being good at something you always thought you sucked at?

When Y/N comes back with the lime green ball, he grabs her free arm and positions her to stand with her back to his chest, wordlessly.

“Woah.” Y/N breathes, “What are you doing?”

Jungkook’s mouth is right beside her ear, “Just follow me okay? I’m helping you, I swear.”

He slides his hand down to the ball and grips her fingers carefully.

“Don’t hold too much tension in your wrist,” He tells her sternly, “You’re too tense. You’re always too tense. Relax.” Something strange passes between them. Y/N takes a long, deep breath, and Jungkook tries to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Now slowly, slowly, bring the ball back,” Y/N follows Jungkook’s movements, “And… Release.”

He helps her flick it onto the lane, and they watch in suspense as the ball spins towards the pins. There is almost a moment where everything is suspended in time - before the ball crashes with the pins and nine of them fall down.

Y/N squeals in happiness and turns around sharply, throwing her arm around Jungkook’s neck and pressing herself against him in a hug.

“Thank you Jungkook!” She is smiling so widely, his heart turns, “You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome.” Jungkook finds he’s grinning too, “You deserve it. Happy birthday Y/N.” He pushes some hair out of her face - practical purposes of course, it was getting in her eyes - and she seems to catch her breath at the gesture. They stare at each other for a moment, before someone clears their throat from behind them and they break apart. Soomi is standing between them, holding a bubble gum pink bowling ball.

Jungkook wonders almost flippantly if she only picked it up for it’s colour.

“It’s my turn, right?” She turns her smile on Jungkook and he melts.

God.

She’s beautiful.

“Right.” Jungkook smiles back, “Your turn.”

When he turns to move back to their booth he notices Y/N watching their interaction carefully. Her eyes flit away the moment she’s caught, but Jungkook knows what he saw.

Strange.

Very strange indeed.

Later on that evening, after they’ve all shared a pizza, and Jungkook has spent the rest of the night watching Soomi with hearts in his eyes, Hoseok clears his throat with purpose.

They’re sat in their living room - Hoseok has decided to crash over because, why not? - and playing a midnight mario kart match, when Jungkook’s friend seems to have something to say.

Jungkook pauses the game. He turns to Hoseok.

“Yes?” There is a brief moment of silence. Taehyung is forever scrolling through his phone, and Namjoon has long ago gone to bed. Hoseok clicks his tongue.

“Are you sure you like Soomi?”

The question completely throws Jungkook off.

He raises a questioning brow, “What?”

“I’m just - asking. I’m just…” Hoseok turns to Taehyung for support. When his friend doesn’t notice, he smacks him across the shoulder, “Tae.”

“What?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, “Have you guys talked about this?” Taehyung seems to realise where the conversation has just come from. He actually locks his phone and sets it to one side.

“Yeah.” Taehyung answers honestly, “We have.” “I’ve told you guys a million times. I know I barely know her but -” “That’s not it.” Hoseok licks his bottom lip, “I mean it’s crazy you think you fell in love at first sight but… Stranger things have happened.” Jungkook scoffs, “So? Why have you asked then?” Another beat.

Taehyung sighed heavily, “Because we think you like Y/N.”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook snorts out a laugh because really - what else can he do?, “Why the fuck would you think that?” His friends share another look and Jungkook hates that.

He hates that they think they know him better than he knows himself.

Hoseok shakes his head, “Just a feeling.” “A feeling that’s wrong.” Jungkook states firmly, “Dead wrong.” Taehyung nods and picks up his phone, “Fine. Alright. We’re wrong then.” Hoseok seems like he wants to say more but he doesn’t opting instead for something that sounds sort of like a grunt.

Jungkook watches his friends for a moment longer.

“Yeah. So wrong.”

That night, when Jungkook’s just about to go to bed he receives a text message. He opens his phone, expecting Y/N and finding, instead, an unrecognised number staring back at him.

Soomi: hiiiii jungkook :) it's soomi… y/n gave me ur number. hope u dont mind.

Jungkook pushes his friends’s ridiculous theory to the back of his head, and focuses instead on the fact that Soomi has just texted him. His thumbs move to answer her but he pauses, moving instead to open Y/N’s chat history.

Jungkook: hey. happy bday again champ. u da bomb!! also thanks for giving soomi my number. u a real one for that, chief!!! :) :) :)

Y/N’s reply comes only a few minutes later.

Y/N: Thank you Jungkook. I appreciate it. And no worries… She seemed to really be into you after tonight. So well done, yeah? :)

Jungkook smiles at the emoji that he imagines Y/N forced herself to add, and almost misses the part when she says Soomi was into him.

Right. Yeah. Perfect.

He opens up Soomi’s chat and starts to write out a reply.

This is exactly what he wanted.

TAGLIST: @cuddleboo @veronawrites @minluvly @severetimetravelnerd @moonchild1 @bunnyjeonjk @multicolourunicorn @somewhereinthestarss @jwlmnbt @jojo-suga @zera10 @ggukkieland @thesugatoyourtae @dxlbts @wxndi

#bts #college!jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook #fanfic #fanfiction #bangtan #jeon jungkook #smut #angst #romcom #imagine

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myhumanweakness · 3 years

Text

I don’t want to be a huge asshole, but...

There are a lot of people trying to find a modicum of positivity in the finale. It’s not about this Destiel-Bibro war that’s happened over the years, it’s not about Cas, it’s not about any of the superficial drama. This finale was the weirdest mixture of OOC and in character writing I have ever seen.

Things that are in character:

The brothers put each other first. They are each other’s safe place and stability. Up until the very end. Sam respected Dean’s wishes, stayed with him in his last moments, and let him go gracefully. Sam even went on and had a full life so Dean’s sacrifices weren’t in vain.

For Dean, Heaven wasn’t perfect without Sam there. And he had this huge sense of relief and happiness when Sam arrived.

Jack deconstructed the walls of Heaven so that it was a vast place where everyone could be together. They weren’t living out their “best memories” anymore. They were creating new memories eternally with each other. And Bobby recognizing that Jack is like Dean’s son by saying, “That boy of yours...”

Cas helped build the Heaven that he always dreamed of. Cas always had such a high standard for Heaven, and it always fell short. He helped Jack build a home that was warm and comforting and beautiful and open and loving and true. Everything Cas stood for.

Bobby, the man Dean adopted as his father, was there to share a beer with him (just like Dean shared with his dad in his childhood). And Bobby was happy and confirmed that Dean is in a Heaven he deserves.

Sam mourning Dean’s death for the rest of his life, but also living his life to honor Dean. Classic Sam.

Dean using his last moments to tell Sam how much he loves him and how proud he is. Sam deserved to hear that because we all know Sam looked at Dean as a parental figure.

Things that are OOC:

Sam not marrying Eileen. The show created this HUGE story arc around Sam and Eileen and their real love and connection. And then they shoot this finale and couldn’t even get an actress that looked like Eileen to stand it the blurry background. Like, I don’t care what you say, it’s NOT open to interpretation. Sam did not end up with Eileen. All of you people who are Sam stans, who say you want your character to be happy and live a full life should be livid. Sam ending up with Eileen wouldn’t have canceled out the fact that Dean was/is his number one person. Dean gave his blessing for Eileen, and he loved her and welcomed her into their lives because he knew Sam loved her and had a genuine connection with her. Having them together would not have ruined the ending in any way. Sam still could have ended up with Dean on that bridge.

That woman with the blonde/light brown hair is NOT Eileen. They couldn’t even get an actress with dark brown hair to keep hope alive that they ended up together. Absolutely awful.

Dean just accepting Cas’ death and not even talking about it, other than to say, “Yeah I think about em’ too.” I don’t care if you don’t believe in Destiel or that the love was reciprocated. Dean EXCLUSIVELY said multiple times that Cas is a member of their family and a brother to the boys. He said the words, “YOU”RE MY BEST FRIEND.” I’m not saying Dean should have scarified himself to go pull Cas out of the Empty (because we had 40 minutes to wrap up 15 years). But the fact that Dean was like: I’m gonna eat some pie and just not acknowledge any feelings or thoughts and act like nothing ever happened is SO OOC. If your best friend died tragically, you’d have something to say about it or act like you had something to say about it. And that’s not to say I wanted Dean to be miserable and hurting. I’m happy he got a dog and found some normalcy. But they lost SO many people, and he’s just walking around cool as a cucumber? When every other season/episode where they lost someone important to Dean he was a mess. And I’m not just talking about Cas- we all obviously know how Dean behaved when Cas died/was missing/Lucifer was controlling him. But even when Jo and Ellen died. Even when Mary died. Even when Bobby died. Even when John died. Even when Crowley died. Even when Jack died, Dean was shown hurting. Suddenly everything is cool and normal there’s no pain or anything? The fuck? A brief moment of acknowledgement. That’s all it needed.

I will never forgive the writers for ending Dean’s story that way. A rusty nail impaling him (probably in his pulmonary arteries/aorta based on the angle) on some random hunt after he finally exhaled the episode before and said, “We’re finally free.” He sacrificed his ENTIRE childhood and life for his brother and the world and so many other people, and he didn't even get to enjoy being a human on the Earth and living a life for more than a week. What! Dean was always a character filled with tragedy, and yeah, maybe he did have to die. You can make that argument. But like that?! AND. AND! Sam held a funeral for Dean and DIDN’T INVITE ANYONE! What!!! No one was there to toast to Dean and share their memories and give him the send-off he deserved. Sam just burned his body alone. Never. That would have NEVER happened. Sam loved Dean SO much and looked up to him and thought the world of him. Dean was his big brother who was fearless and strong and the best hunter on this Earth (and probably every other planet), and he didn’t celebrate his life in the end?

Cas not showing up in Heaven is absolutely insane. INSANE. It doesn’t matter what you think of their relationship, the show has proven that Cas is important to Dean (even if you think Cas is way at the bottom of the list, he’s on it!). Dean’s ideal retirement/endgame was him, Sam, and Cas on a beach, drinking cocktails, with hula girls. That was the future Dean wanted for him and his family. And you’re telling me that Cas helped Jack build the best version of Heaven possible, and the minute Dean Winchester arrived Cas wasn’t there to greet him. Even just to say “Hello, Dean.” Even call Dean’s phone and say, “Welcome home.” Cas would have been the one greeting Dean in Heaven, with Bobby. Requited or not, it’s canon that Cas is in love with Dean. You don’t just ignore the opportunity to see the person you’re in love with. And... and! Even if Cas didn’t greet Dean in Heaven immediately, he would have appeared in the Impala during the drive. He would have met the brothers on the bridge to welcome them both home. Cas loved Sam too. He would have been there. The three boys together again. Team Free Will!

I love Cas, and I know a lot of Cas stans feel buried and betrayed and hurt over the show doing a “is he there or isn’t he?” thing. And that is completely valid. I can’t even express to you how sorry I am that so many of us in the fandom are hurting. But I know this show. And this show has always made it clear that it was/is always about two brothers. Fine. But Dean Winchester, the most caring and loving human in the entire universe, deserved better. I am so sick to my stomach that Dean’s whole life was him convinced that there was only one way for his story to end and it was him dying tragically. For years he never let himself even entertain the thought of living a life because he 1) didn’t think he deserved that or was worth it 2) it just wasn’t in the cards. We watched Dean grow so much, SO MUCH, that we finally saw him talking about the future and having hope for the future. And yeah, maybe he wouldn’t get the future he talked about with the retirement on the beach, but he would have lived long enough to experience life outside of just “playing whack-a-mole” and being God’s favorite story and puppet. Dean didn’t even get to enjoy his freedom and humanity. They took a character that they purposefully pushed through so many stages of character development to attain hope and faith and self-worth and promise, and killed him.

What the fuck!

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 3 years

Text

Just the Two of Us (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello everyone! I am so excited for you to read this part. I hope you enjoy!

Songs used are "Open Arms" by Journey (1982) and "Just the Two of Us" by Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr. (1980).

Summary: The situation in Westview is slowly beginning to unravel. Will Wanda be able to fix it before everything falls apart? With some surprise guests.

The family was all gathered in the living room as Billy demonstrated tricks he and Charlie had spent the afternoon teaching Sparky. The moment was perfect. Well… almost perfect. Even though Wanda was grateful that the twins were happy, she couldn’t help the longing that was burning in her chest. There was a limit to the happiness that she was capable of feeling when the most important piece was missing.

You.

Wanda could see that you were becoming skeptical and that skepticism was causing you turmoil. That was the last thing she wanted. Which is why she made the decision to send you to work as a distraction. As much as it wasn’t what she wanted, she could handle being separated from you temporarily if it meant that your skepticism wouldn’t grow into resentment.

Wanda knew that she had to smile through the hurt. Even if the smile didn’t match the way she felt inside. She was determined to protect the twins from seeing anything other than a happy image - she couldn’t bear the idea of hurting them as well.

“That was amazing, Billy!” Wanda praised excitedly as she leaned over and scratched between Sparky’s ears. “And you weren’t so bad either, Sparky.”

Charlie rushed over to her brother, nearly bouncing with excitement. “That was so cool! Where’s Momma? We have to go show Momma!”

The way the twins immediately wanted to include you in the moment tugged harshly at Wanda’s heartstrings. “Oh, she-she’s at work!” Wanda stuttered out nervously just as the twins were getting ready to run into the other room.

It was clear that her words puzzled the two when Wanda was met with matching looks of confusion. “It’s Saturday…” Billy said wearily.

“No, it’s not. It’s Monday.” Wanda countered quickly in hopes that they would drop the subject.

Charlie shared a look with her brother. “But, Mom, this morning it was Saturday.”

For a moment Wanda cursed herself for having such intuitive children. “There was an emergency at the office and your mother had to go in. End of story.” The twins exchanged worried looks. She sighed. Maybe it was time to try honesty. “Don’t worry, you two. She just… She needed a distraction.”

“From what?” Charlie questioned, her eyes beginning to shimmer with disappointment.

Billy looked at his sister for a moment before turning dejectedly to Wanda. “From us?”

For a moment Wanda was sure she could hear the sound of her heart breaking as she watched the way Billy and Charlie’s faces crumpled with hurt. She swiftly rushed over to gather the twins in her arms. “No! No way! She loves you both so much.” She reassured them as she rubbed their backs. “She needed a little break from me, not you. I promise.

Wanda gently led them over to the couch and took a seat between them. “Sometimes your mother and I aren’t on the same page, but that’s okay. I know it’s just temporary because at the end of the day we will always love each other. Love isn’t always perfect, but it’s always there through every up and down. It’s there even when we fight.”

Wanda wrapped around each of the twins. “Like you two may sometimes fight over toys, but you will always love each other because he is always going to be your brother.” She affectionately stroked Charlie’s hair before turning to Billy and doing the same. “And she is always going to be your sister… Because family is forever.”

Billy and Charlie leaned into Wanda’s side, seemingly content with her explanation. Wanda breathed a sigh of relief that she was able to ease their minds. “Do you and Momma have siblings?”

The question was unexpected and as much as she tried to control it, Wanda couldn’t help the lump that built in her throat. “We do. I have a brother and Momma has a little sister. They’re far away from here.” She closed her eyes for a moment to control the tears that welled in her eyes. “And that makes me sad sometimes. I know it makes Momma sad too.”

The somber moment was interrupted by the sound of Sparky barking at the front door which distracted the twins. Wanda took advantage of the distraction to collect herself. “Sparky, what’s up, boy?” Billy called after the dog.

“Something’s scaring him.” Charlie worriedly leaned over the back of the couch to watch Sparky and Billy replicated the action.

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly with a realization that she kept to herself. “Stay here.” She instructed the twins as she rushed to the door, accidentally letting Sparky out.

The twins rushed up when they noticed the dog run outside. “Sparky!” They called as they followed after Wanda who hadn’t realized that they had followed her out until it was too late.

When she noticed the drone hovering above her, Wanda stepped forward in hopes of keeping it away from Billy and Charlie. “Wanda, this is Captain Monica Rambeau. Can you hear me? I just want to talk. That’s it.”

All Wanda could think of in that moment was protecting her family. That need grew when she faintly heard a voice she loathed float distantly over the sound of the machine. “Disregard. Take the shot.”

______

Anger wasn’t an emotion Wanda felt often, but in that moment the anger circulated so intensely through her body that she was almost certain it would consume her. When threats were made against her she could live with them.

When the threats were made against you or the twins, there would be no forgiveness from her.

The anger only made it easier to open the wall of energy she had created as she marched forward determinedly, not even flinching when she realized there were various weapons aimed directly at her.

When Wanda was close enough she threw the mangled machine at the feet of the man she despised. “Is this yours?” A small sense of satisfaction filled her as she watched the man take an involuntary step back.

“The missile was just a precaution. You can hardly blame us, Wanda.” Hayward said calmly, though his eyes flickered with irritation.

Wanda flexed her hands slightly as she fought to maintain control of her emotions. “Oh, I think I can. This will be your only warning. Stay out of my home.” Came her steely reply as she stared unflinchingly at Hayward. “You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.”

Hayward’s hands clenched at his sides. “It’s not that simple, Wanda. You’ve kidnapped Y/n Y/ln’s body and have been manipulating her to do your bidding. Y/n’s wishes were-”

Wanda’s jaw clenched. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”

“-to remain under our care. Y/n is a weapon and a danger under your manipulation. She needs to be back under our supervision. To pass away peacefully like she should have when you took her.” Hayward pushed on, his tone condescending. Hoping to push Wanda to the point of reaction.

Again, Wanda flexed her fingers, her willpower fading quickly. “Don’t talk about her like she’s an object. Don’t talk about her at all.” She gritted out. Her eyes gave away the fact that Hayward had gotten to her as they watered ever so slightly. Hayward smirked in satisfaction.

He held up his hands as he feigned innocence. This was only after seeing the way the other agents began to look at him. Hayward was supposed to be most worried about the citizens of Westview not you. “You’ve also taken an entire town hostage.”

“I’m not the one with the guns, director.” Wanda retorted sharply.

Monica stepping forward caught Wanda’s attention. “But you are the one in control.”

“You’re still here.” On reflex, red wisps began floating around Wanda’s fingers. Her patience hanging by a thread.

It was clear that Hayward was livid as Monica took control of the situation. “Wanda, I didn’t know those drones were armed, but you know that… Don’t you?” She continued forward cautiously. “A town full of civilians and you, a telepath, brought a S.W.O.R.D. agent into your home. You trusted me to help deliver your babies. You allowed me to create a bond with Y/n. On some level you know I am an ally. I want to help you.”

Wanda couldn’t help but falter slightly, though the red energy that danced under her fingertips flashed menacingly. “How? What could you possibly have to offer me?” Her voice was quieter, the accent even more pronounced than it was moments before.

Monica took another cautious step forward. “What do you want?”

The moment was broken the second the question was asked. She knew what she wanted. Nothing would replace that. “I have everything I want… And no one will ever take it from me again.” Wanda’s gaze shifted to Hayward, her stare unwavering. Challenging.

With a flick of her wrist all the weapons that were directed at her shifted to Hayward. Wanda walked away with contentment as she listened to Hayward’s panicked shouts to stand down.

The only thing that slowed her down was the sound of heavy footsteps rushing in her direction. “Wanda!” The surprise of hearing the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

As soon as she turned she met the eyes of Steve Rogers. He stood a few feet away from her, his hands raised slightly as though were approaching a wounded animal. “Wanda, you have to stop.” Wanda’s eyes glistened with contained emotion. “Let’s talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? Y/n is safe here.” She tilted her head a small frown on her lips. “Don’t you want that for her?”

Steve’s eyes flashed with indecision. Wanda knew he understood the desire to protect you more than anyone. “Not like this.”

There was a subtle shift in her posture as she began shutting down once again. The willingness for conversation ending. “This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.” Steve said determinedly. “Let everyone go. Let her go.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words. The conversation was over.

Wordlessly she raised her hands, so they hovered before the barrier. “I’ll never let her go. Not again.” Before Steve could utter another would she opened the barrier and stepped through. When he rushed forward to follow after her, he was forcefully thrown back.

As he was standing, Natasha ran over. “What the hell just happened?”

Steve winced as he held his aching side, his eyes never leaving the place Wanda just walked through. “She didn’t listen. When I tried to follow her, she stopped me.”

Natasha stared up at the flickering red wall before her. “Let’s hope we get another chance.”

_______________

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Not that I can even remember how long the walk was before today, you thought to yourself in frustration.

Even though your heart had stopped racing, your thoughts were a disaster. The terror that you saw in Ellie’s eyes kept looping in your mind, leaving behind a residual fear that coursed through your veins. Nothing you did could shake the image as you felt your chest begin tightening in a panic and your palms begin sweating.

In a bid of desperation, you began tugging at the collar of your shirt as it became increasingly more difficult to take in air.

The unexpected sight of the twins and their heartbroken expression quickly grounded you as you managed to take in a few deep breathes. Your worries didn’t matter if one of your loved ones was in distress. “Bring him back, Mom.” You heard Charlie beg Wanda who was kneeled in front of them with a troubled expression.

Your brows furrowed as you came to a stop beside them. “Bring who back?” The twins rushed forward and hugged you as soon as they saw you. Wanda stood up, taking a shaky breath.

The question was answered when you looked over at a teary-eyed Agnes and a small bundle wrapped in her arms. Your heart ached at the sight. You kneeled down and held the twins as you attempted to push back your own tears.

Glancing up briefly, you couldn’t help but noticed Wanda’s pained expression. Her eyes were conflicted. Almost as if she wasn’t sure if she could join in the embrace with her family. The fear that was still racing in your mind froze the words of comfort on your lips.

Instead you dropped your gaze to the floor and pulled the twins in closer.

______________

It wasn’t until hours later that you were finally able to get a moment alone with your wife. You found her organizing as you made your way into the kitchen. “How are the twins?” She asked worriedly.

You pushed a weary hand through your hair as you contemplated your answer. “Well, heartbroken. That’s to be expected since they lost Sparky in such a tragic way… but they’ll be okay.” A tired sigh fell from your lips. “If I’m being honest, I’m a bit shaken up about it too. We only had him for a day, Wanda. How does that even happen?”

Wanda stepped closer to you as her hand hovered over your shoulder, hating the tension that lingered in the air. Hating the fact that she even felt hesitant to comfort you. She dropped her hand to her side. “I- Are you okay, Y/n?”

You leaned back against the counter as you finally lifted your eyes to meet her gaze. You ignored the question. “Something happened with Ellie today.” You could feel pressure begin building in your temples. “Something happened with the computer and-and I saw her.”

Wanda turned and busied herself with organizing the basket of toys. “Well, I’d hope so. She is technically your boss.” She said in a joking tone. Nothing about her posture indicated there was anything light-hearted about how she was feeling.

“No, I saw her. In my mind, not in Westview.” You paused slightly, and you noticed Wanda falter as well.

When Wanda turned to face you, there was confusion clouding her eyes. “Wait, how did you see her if-”

Her words didn’t register as you continued on. “Her personality had completely changed, Wanda. She said someone is in her mind - she was in pain.... Please, tell me you’re not doing this.”

A forced chuckle fell from her lips. “Y/n...” She walked over to you and gingerly took your hand. “Listen, can we just-”

“Share a kiss and move on to the next day?” You interjected with a quirked eyebrow. The frown on your face caused Wanda’s own smile to falter as she turned away from you again and moved out of the kitchen. “Turn in for the night so you can reset our world again?” You pressed as you followed after her.

Wanda spun around to face you, her eyes wide with disbelief. You continued before she could utter a sound. “You can’t control me like you control them, Wanda.”

Her eyes remained locked on yours and you watched her eyes flash challengingly. “Can’t I?”

Just then the sound of music filled the room around you. Wanda began walking away and your head fell as the lyrics floated from the radio. You braced yourself for what you could only imagine was to come next.

“Now that you've come back, turned night into day, I need you to stay.”

The soft music playing in the background lulled you into a trance. The safety you had created in this moment on the roof of the compound prevented the outside world from existing. On this roof all your worries faded away. All that existed was the music and-

“If you could have been anything, what would you have chosen?”

It was a surprise to hear her speak. Most of the time Wanda would just sit next to you without saying a word - always keeping you at arms distance. “I don’t know. This? Saving the world is a pretty sweet gig.” You mumbled distractedly in a playful manner as you watched the clouds move through the sky above you.

Wanda pushed your shoulder lightly in annoyance. You struggled to ignore the way your skin burned under her touch. “I’m being serious, Y/n.”

You smirked, eyes still locked skyward. “So am I.”

From the corner of your eye you could see her frown slightly. Guilt overcame you when you realized she was finally trying and you were shutting her down. “A writer.”

“What?”

“If I was normal and could have lived a normal life, I would have been a writer.” You explained, sitting up and crossing your legs. Wanda mirrored your position. “It would have been interesting to be a novelist with an editor and dealing with signing with publishers, you know? Or a news writer who creates interesting articles.”

Wanda played with her fingers. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”

With a short shake of your head, you answered, “I wouldn’t say I am. Remember this is all hypothetical. The life I’d have if I was capable of living a normal life.” You finished with a light laugh.

While she didn’t laugh along with you, a small smile spread across Wanda’s features. The rare sight took your breath away. “It’s a shame we’re so far from normal.”

Your eyes stayed locked on hers as she tugged at her sleeves, her lips still quirked up faintly. You smiled at the sight. “I don’t know. It’s not too bad.”

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You shouted, the music abruptly shutting off and filling the room with static. “That’s- I don’t know what any of that is! It’s not mine!” You shouted, pressing your palms into your temples. Wanda’s eyes glimmered with an emotion you didn’t recognize

Another song began playing.

“Good things might come to those who wait, not for those who wait too late. We gotta go for all we know-”

“-just the two of-” Your singing was brought to an abrupt end when you saw flames coming from one of the pots on the stove. “No, no, no!”

A loud curse fell from your lips as the fire advanced even further from your attempts of salvaging the dish. “Y/n! What-” Hurried footsteps rushed into the kitchen of the compound. Wanda’s eyes widened when she took in the sight before her. Without a word she ran back out of the room.

“Thanks for all the help, babe!” You shouted sarcastically as you hurriedly began filling a bucket with water.

Before you could finish filling the bucket, Wanda ran back in with a fire extinguisher and doused the fire in seconds. “You were saying?” She turned to you with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk.

Sheepishly you rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks.” You mumbled.

“When we get our own house, you’re not allowed to cook.” Wanda said with a laugh.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Our house?”

A deep pink hue spread across Wanda’s cheeks. “Well… yeah. Someday. If that’s what you want.”

Her words made your heart flutter. “I mean, we’ve only been dating half a year, but yeah... I see it too.” You smiled at her adoringly. “What else can you tell me about our future house?”

Wanda’s gaze bashfully fell to the floor, you found the action endearing. “It would be in a nice little neighborhood with friendly neighbors.”

The fact that she had thought of spending her future with you only made you fall all the more in love. “With plenty of space for our children to play.” You added.

Her cheeks flushed even more with your words and the smile that lit up her entire being was blinding.

You’d be glad if that was the last sight you ever saw.

“You picture having children with me?” She asked shyly. You nodded, and her smile grew even more. “How many do you imagine?”

“Two.” You replied easily. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of your future with Wanda as well.

She stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “That sounds perfect.”

“Enough!” You roared, pressing into your temples even more as you desperately took ragged breathes to calm yourself. The moments that were attached to these songs all flashing in your mind at once. You still didn’t recognize any of them.

The radio crumpled in on itself in your frustration.

Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, it was clear that you were teetering dangerously on the edge of something she couldn’t control. “Y/n. I think you should get some rest. I’m going to go to bed. Come up when you’re ready.”

The racing of your mind worsened as you watched Wanda turn away. “No, Wanda, we’re not done here! What are all these things I’m seeing?”

Wanda’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “What things?”

You wearily approached your wife, feeling your palms begin sweating anxiously. You dug your nails into your palm to distract yourself from the fact. “I want to believe that this…” You gestured vaguely around the room. “Was all subconscious and you weren’t aware of what was happening.”

“Aware of what?” Wanda said in annoyance as she turned away.

Again, you followed after her. “What are all these moments? What does Ellie have to do with them? Ellie is a real person, Wanda, and she’s scared! Scared because you are controlling her!” Your chest tightened. “Why did I see her in my mind when I’ve never seen her before Westview?”

Wanda spun around to face you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She shouted back, matching your tone. Her frustration boiling over.

“Stop lying to me!” You screamed as the tightening in your chest became almost unbearable. The floor beneath you began to splinter and your hands tensed slightly.

The familiar red wisps began flowing from Wanda’s hands. “Y/n. This, all of this, is for us. For you. So, please, let me handle it.” She gritted out through clenched teeth as the frustration became more and more evident on her features.

“What are they, Wanda? Why can’t I remember anything before Westview? What even exists outside of Westview?” You demanded as the floor began to splinter even more.

The quiver of Wanda’s lips was subtle, but you caught it. “You don’t want to know, I promise you.”

Your hands flexed in frustration. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Wanda!”

Pain flooded Wanda’s eyes as she turned away from you. The fight in her fading. “You’ve never talked to me like this before.”

The breathes you were taking became more ragged. “Before what? I can’t remember my life outside of Westview! I don’t even know who I am!” You clutched desperately at your chest. In that moment you were sure that your heart was about to burst through your chest. “I’m scared, Wanda.”

Seeing the obvious distress you were in grounded Wanda as she cautiously made her way over to you, gently pulling your clenched hands away from your chest. “You are my wife. You are Billy and Charlie’s mother. Isn’t that enough?” She pleaded as she smoothed her thumbs over the back of your hands.

For a moment your heart rate slowed. You couldn’t tear your mind away from your troubled thoughts though. “If Ellie is under some trance does that mean others are as well?” You questioned in a more subdued tone.

Wanda tore her hands away from yours in disbelief as she stormed away from you. “Do you really think I am controlling everything?” Your brows furrowed as she pushed forward. “That I am somehow in charge of everybody in Westview? Walking their dogs? Taking out the trash? Getting them to work on time?”

An exasperated laugh fell from her lips as she pushed a hand through her hair. You worriedly watched the way tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know how any of this started in the first place.” Wanda insisted, almost as though she was pleading with you to believe her.

All you wanted to do was comfort her when you realized the turmoil and anxiety that she also seemed to be feeling.

You hesitantly kneeled before Wanda and placed a gentle hand on her leg. “Wanda, what you’re doing here is wrong.” She buried her face in her hands and your heart ached at the sight. “It’s wrong, but we can make it right.”

Before she could answer the doorbell sounded. Your hands fell away from her. “I didn’t do that.” You set your lips in a line but didn’t respond. “You don’t believe me.”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips. “Wanda, I want to, but… the timing of the interruption seems a little too perfect. Just like everything else.”

The doorbell sounded again, and you were sure you felt your heart break when you saw her blink back tears.

Without a word, she stood to answer the door. When you saw Wanda was frozen at the door, you cautiously stood and began making your way over to her. “Wanda, who-” you stopped short when you saw an unfamiliar man in the doorway.

“Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin’ sis to death or what?” The unfamiliar man asked playfully.

Wanda stared at him as if she was seeing a ghost. “Pietro?” You watched apprehensively as the two shared a hug.

When Pietro pulled away, he lightly nudged Wanda. “You caught a babe, sis. I’m impressed.” Wanda seemed to still be in too much shock to react as he leaned out the door, “Hey, kid! Come out! I think there might be someone you want to see here.”

A moment later a young girl wandered into the entry way. “Y/nn.” The girl quietly whispered and while you couldn’t seem to remember anything outside of Westview you knew there was only one person who called you that.

“Anna…” You breathed out through a choked gasp. Suddenly it felt like your legs stopped working as you fell to one knee and then the other. Wanda rushed over to you.

A soft gasp filled the quiet room. “She re-cast Pietro and brought back Anna.” Darcy said in shock as she watched the scene unfold on the small screen before her. “What a twist.”

“That’s not Anna.” Steve said as crossed his arms. “Anna was only six when Hydra took her from Y/n. This girl is a teenager. I helped Y/n bury her sister. I don’t know who this is.”

Natasha shook her head. “It looks like everything just got a lot more complicated.”

With a cough, Darcy nodded overzealously. “Right. This is a terrible situation.” She turned away from the two Avengers slightly. “Even if it makes good TV.” She added under her breath.

Both Steve and Natasha gave Darcy a disbelieving look as the credits rolled on the small screen before them.

And we have concluded with the 80s! A lot happened here but I'm actually really happy with how it turned out since I feel like it's beginning to take it's own shape. Chaos has ensued!

Annnnyyway... I hope you all enjoyed this part and are seeing the little depths of reasoning behind a lot of what Wanda is doing. As always, thoughts and comments always welcome! Reading your responses is always the highlight of my day. :)

P.s. if anyone wants to be on the taglist for "As it Was" let me know!

Taglist:

@theofficialzivadavid @tquick99 @wandamaximoffpuppy

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu wandavision #wandavision

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bluebellhairpin · 3 years

Text

Little Helper

Sam Wilson X Tech!Reader

A/N: I’m back on the Marvel bandwagon. They can’t keep me away apparently. - Nemo

Warnings: Spoilers (TFATWS). Violence. Reader got blipped.

Summary: Many know The Falcon. Less know his drone, Redwing. And even fewer know about Redwing’s other pilot, You.

Listening to: ‘Trouble Man’ by Marvin Gaye - ‘I come up hard, but that's ok cause trouble man don't get in my way.’

Masterlist

You’d been working with Sam Wilson for a long time.

A very long time.

However most people would never have guessed it, considering you worked out of the spare room in your apartment, and Sam himself didn’t speak of you to anyone else. But the role you played was important.

After all, Sam couldn’t always fight and control Redwing at the same time.

More often than not, he had bigger fish to fry, and with his hands tied it was more out of convenience that you took over the reins of his little drone friend until he could take them back again.

Even if no one else would know, it still felt nice to help out the Avengers every so often.

So when you thought you fell asleep in the chair in your ‘work’ room - sleep was almost a foreign word to you anyway - and then woke up again, you were confused.

You thought you were in the middle of helping in Wakanda, why would you have fallen asleep?

But not only did the clock say 11 am - when last you checked it was 2 in the afternoon - but five years had passed too. You scrambled to fish your phone off your desk, and called Sam faster than you could say ‘Stark Industries’. You started speaking as soon as he picked up.

“Sam! What’s happened -” you stopped yourself, “- What’s that noise?”

“Could you,” he grunted, kicking something maybe? “Hop on Redwing please?”

“Copy that.” You said, booting up your computer, frowning at the dust on it. You took a look around the room. There was dust on everything.

You opened up the little application for Redwing, and pulled the joystick over, making sure it was plugged in, before grabbing your headset and putting it on too.

“All set and ready to go. Waiting for your call Falcon.”

“Give ‘em hell Redwing.”

You pressed the release button on your keyboard, and Redwing’s camera immediately booted up, giving you a perfect view of a seeming ground zero. The land was leveled, and people were fighting everywhere. You recognized some faces - more like flashes of uniforms - Iron Man’s blasters, lightning off in the distance, a giant red and blue frisbee.

“I’m guessing I go for -” you maneuvered Redwing out of a clawed hand’s grasp “- the alien-looking ones again.”

“Yes, the alien-looking ones!”

“Okay okay, sheesh.” you tutted, choosing the drone’s laser over it’s machine guns. “What’d you say about talking during fights anyways? That poor kid we fought in Germany will think you’re a hypocrite.”

It turned out to be a big fight. Not everyone won, not even those on your side.

Six months later, Sam and yourself were still as strong of a team as ever, and still no one was any wiser about your involvement in working with him.

Just as well too, you had more than enough struggles of your own.

Your apartment was one of the lucky ones, since apparently your landlord didn’t want to sort through your boxes of ‘kindling’ - files - and your ‘gizmos’ - machine parts - to get rid of it so he could rent the place to someone else. Not many wanted to rent in your building anyway, and he said he thought he ‘needed a memorial for those who disappeared’.

So even if no one had emptied the fridge for five years, you still had your place. Unlike many other people.

Your employers, however, no longer had a job for you. They were focusing on helping relocate the displaced, and apparently you couldn’t help with it. So even if you had your apartment now, you might not for much longer.

At least you still had Sam. And his weird ‘not-friend’ friend Bucky.

You’d heard about him, for sure, but only met once. That was the same time Sam told you to steal his phone number so you could keep in touch. Something about not knowing when an ex-assassin cyborg in your contact list would come in handy.

There was something happening between those two, you couldn’t pick what, but it was akin to tension. And you picked up on that from just one meeting.

Sam had mentioned nothing about you and Redwing, only that you worked together. Apparently it was open for Bucky to interpret however he liked, but you were thankful that he made no connection to the drone.

After his comment about Redwing’s lateness at the airport - with you at the helm - you weren’t too keen on him knowing anyway.

They’d broken Redwing.

You were a little livid about it, all things considered. Your track-record thus-far had been great, but you’d just been bested by who? Some people stealing medicine? That looks a lot worse than if it happened while fighting Thanos.

Just your luck.

So when your intercom buzzed and Sam’s fuzzy voice came through into your kitchen you almost wanted to leave him downstairs. Then he started apologizing - on the sidewalk like it was some romcom - and said he had an old man with him that needed to start walking up the stairs as soon as possible so that he’d be able to make it back down by the time you kicked him out. So you buzzed him and his ‘old man’ in and waited for them in the hallway.

Soon thereafter, voices started drifting up the stairwell.

“I still don’t know what you’re apologizing for, it’s not like you cheated on them.”

“I told you, they’re not my -” Sam looked up at you as he turned into your hallway. Meeting your furrowed brow and crossed arms with a sheepish smile. “- Hey, (y/n). How’re you going?”

You just pointed for him to go inside your apartment. When both him and Bucky were inside - what was Bucky doing here anyway? - you told him how you were going.

“I’m really angry right now Sam. You can’t tell, but I am.”

“I completely understand that.” he said, “I’m annoyed too, considering.”

“Considering what Sam? That you got Redwing split in two?”

“How do you know about Redwing?” Bucky frowned.

“How did I do that when you were the one piloting her huh?”

“Me? This is not my fault!” you said, “You were supposed to be watching my six, just like I do for you!”

“That girl came at you head-on, I couldn’t have told you more about it if I painted her bright yellow and covered her in Christmas lights.”

“You turned my coms off.” you hissed, tapping a pointed finger on his chest, “You said it’d be better since then Bucky wouldn’t know it wasn’t you piloting, and that even though I couldn’t hear anything I could still see plenty. Well I can’t exactly see that these people were super soldiers now, could I!”

“Oh. Right.”

“You were piloting Redwing?” You looked over a Bucky, seeing him shake his head with his hands on his hips. “Makes sense, by all means, but now I have to not like you as much as before.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves me.” you smiled at him, and he quirked his lips up in an almost smile back at you. Then you turned back to Sam. “So is this all you came for?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

“Yeah,” he said, acting a little too coy for your liking, “We might need your help in the not-too-distant future.”

“You always do that thing, you stay something to get me interested, and then you think if I’m interested I want to do it.”

You stared over at him, daring him to speak again.

“You don’t wanna do things you're interested in?”

“Depends what you’re trying to get me interested in.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson one shot #the falcon x reader #the falcon one shot #sam wilson x you #the falcon x you #the falcon and the winter soldier x reader #marvel x reader #marvel one shot

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ilove-cedricdiggory · 3 years

Text

Collide

George x Hufflepuff Reader

Summary - You and George have a few years difference, but have been dating sense your second year at Hogwarts. But, after he leaves during his 7th year without telling you and his letters stop coming, you assume a break up. After the war, you collide.

Trigger Warnings - Angst to fluff, cussing, panic attack.

Your hand burned with pain, drops of blood still seeping past your bandage and onto the floor as you sat in the Great Hall. You were sitting at your house table, not being allowed to sit with your boyfriend now that Umbridge was around. Not that you wanted to right now anyway. George was the absolute love of your life, your relationship two years strong now. The only problem is that George is overly protective of you.

It never bothered you, you actually loved it. He would make sure the stuck up students in the houses didn't pick on you, that you are properly, and, just recently, you didn't have to endure a punishment with the toad. He couldn't control this one though, seeing as how you had passed out some of your homemade cookies and she assumed they were Weasley products, meaning you broke one of the many new school rules.

You had tried to explain to her that they were normal, warm, homemade snickerdoodles, but you found yourself sitting at her desk writing 'I will not break rules' until it "sunk in". You knew George would just about hate himself if he was an extension of why you were punished - seeing as how she wouldn't have assumed they were prank cookies if you weren't dating George, but you didn't care either way. You loved him, more than anyone or anything (don't tell that to your muggle succulent sitting next to your bed).

George had been eyeing you all throughout dinner, getting Fred and Lee to trying to get your attention. Your hand was hidden under the table, and you waited until the three turned to discuss your mood to jump out of your seat and leave for the common room. You assumed they heard the door open, because right as the door began to close, you heard your boyfriend yell out for you, "Y/N!"

Your speed picked up, moving to the hufflepuff entrance, but his feet were more determined and his hand gripped your wrist, only, the bandaged on.

You hissed out in pain, pulling your hand from his as you eyed him. "When? When did she get you?" His questions were quick and to the point. "Right after you left to rush to potions. I was handing Laurence his batch of cookies and she thought they were..." you trailed off, not wanting to direct tell your boyfriend why you got punished. "She thought they were Weasley products. Shit, y/n, I'm so sorry."

You shrugged it off, not wanting to make it a bigger deal. "It's fine, love. It was bound to happen sooner or later." you reached up to kiss his cheek, but he took a step back. "Bub, it's really okay. Lindsey has some healing potion left over from when she brewed it last and she told me at dinner she's more than happy to give me some. I'll be all fixed up before bed." You reached for his hand, but he brought it to his pockets, nodding.

"Okay, well, get inside and get all fixed up please. I told Fred I'd let him know exactly what was going on with you, and he'll be worried if I don't go tell him." your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You usually wait until tomorrow to tell him, what's going on?" You were offended he wasn't going to come in and help you apply the potion, having done the same for him quite a few times.

"I really should get going. I'll talk to you soon." he left a very quick kiss on your hairline, moving to step back. "Okay? I love you." you stated firmly, but watched as he turned around and left you standing next to the entrance to Hufflepuff.

The next day, you found yourself running into the hallway with Ginny, watching as Fred and George tossed their fireworks up in the air and fly around the loose papers, laughing brightly. Fred's eyes met yours momentarily, but looked away quite quickly and moving with George to leave hogwarts in their dust, flying far away from you and all their classmates.

"What. The. Hell?" you turned to Ginny, your best friend, feeling your heart begin to rip. "Y/n, I have no idea. I don't know what just happened." Your breath was shakey as you nodded, moving to your room quickly to send him an owl.

Weeks past and you heard nothing from your boyfriend. Owls upon owls were sent his way, but nothing ever returned from him. You received one letter from Fred, but didn't open it. You didn't want to hear his version of his brothers excuse, you wanted it straight from your love. You wrote to Molly in confusion, but got a letter back with her own. She had no idea you and George had ended, confused with her son's actions.

During that summer, you still got nothing from him. You come to accept that the two of you were over, not even heading to the Burrow until the last week of summer, but your heart broke even more every time one of them looked at you with their sensitive eyes.

You found yourself fighting alongside everyone during the war, having seen their flashes of red hair once or twice. The only moment you had that was noteworthy, was the moment you stood behind the rubble, hearing Fred cry out, and quickly levitating the rubble off of him, conforming he was okay. As soon as you saw people coming to his assistance, you fled the scene, not wanting to speak with George about it.

You watched from across the room as the Weasley's hugged his body, crying tears of joy. Fred was still your brother, no matter if you talked to him or not. The last thing you would ever want was for the world to be without him. After the war was officially over, Voldemort long gone, you found yourself lost again. You wouldn't go to the Weasley's, you didn't know if Fred saw you help him and didn't want to speak to George about it.

You didn't go home, not wanting to try to explain to your muggle parents exactly what happened. Your feet lead you to the hufflepuff room, smiling as you entered it, feeling the warmth still seeping through it's walls.

You stayed behind, helping to rebuild the school. You still had a year left of schooling and you wanted to get as much time in Hogwarts as you could. But, sooner than you expected, you were officially graduated from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your grades immaculate and you quickly found a job in Herbology.

Your office was in Diagon Alley, working in one of the shops. Your job description being to assist students in their search for specific ingredients for potions, but also keeping the ones in the store to their best condition. After about a month, you were surprised that you still hadn't run into either of the Weasley twins, but you weren't complaining about it.

You had met with Ginny a few times for lunch, loving seeing her more than anything. You both were out, catching up on your week with each other. Listening to her go on and on about her love with Harry filled your heart. You were never upset with her for finding her true love when yours slipped through your fingers.

"Were thinking about getting a place of our own, y/n. Harry has been staying with us for the most part, having done it so often before we were together. Now, we might as well." You smiled widely at your best friend, loving how happy she was.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" Your heart squeezed in your chest, hearing his voice. "Fred?" Ginny looked behind you at her older brother, smiling and standing to hug him. "I'm eating lunch with-" she cut herself off, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. She was the only one who knew about what you did for Fred and how you still felt about George, but never pushed you about it. She had been livid with her brother for leaving you the way he did.

"Uh, with me." You stood, turning to look at Fred. He had a few scars from the rubble that fell on him, but looked just like himself. "Y/N." he breathed out, his face lighting up with happiness. "Holy shit! I've missed you!" His arms wrapped around you quickly, pulling you to him and kissing your head. "Thank you." he whispered in your ear, holding you tighter.

You were confused at his thanks, but sharply exhaled when you realized. "You saw." you whispered back, feeling him nod. "Yeah, I looked for you for a year and a half to thank you sooner, but I couldn't find you. Ginny here wouldn't tell me where you were." You nodded, moving yourself from his arms.

"Yeah, I couldn't really bare to be around, you know." you whispered, looking at your feet. "Y/N, that's beside the point. You saved my life. You did. Even after what we did, even after how we both treated you without telling you, you saved me." This caused you to look up at the twin, who looked so much like George. You were always able to tell the difference, from the moment you met them. You didn't know how, but you could.

"Fred, you're my family. I would save you no matter what, just like you would me." You reached to brush some hair from his eyes, smiling.

"You did what?" It was now George's voice that filled your ears, causing you to turn around and look into his own eyes. "Nope, nope, nope, not doing this. Not ready." You felt your breath quicken, moving to grab your purse and kiss Ginny on her cheeks. "I'll owl you about next time. Bye." You put a few coins down for your lunch, seeing as it was your turn to pay, then moved past Fred quickly.

"Y/N!" All three of them called out for you, but you raced through the streets of Diagon Alley. You weren't immediately going back to work, not wanting them to know where it was. Your feet carried you past a building and into it's alleyway, your eyes clutching closed. This time, you outran him.

"Y/N." he whispered, standing in front of you. Or not.

"No, George. No. No, no, no." Your hands went to grip your hair, squeezing it. You had panic attacks before the war, George knew that, but they increased considerably after it. It had been a few days sense your last, but this one was coming on quickly.

"Hey, hey love, it's all right. I'm right here." He slipped your hands from your hair, moving them to your sides then hugged you tightly. One of the things he learned during your relationship was, holding you as tightly as he could, letting your senses fill with him, helped incredibly. While you wished they wouldn't this time, your body found itself calming down like it did each time in school.

"Hey, it's okay. Come on." He grasped your hand softly, knowing how tired panic attacks left you. Your body was still shaking softly, and you knew if you spoke, you'd be a stuttering mess. He lead you back around and into the shop, causing you to laugh at your own misfortune. Of course you'd try to hide behind his own building. He guided you into the foreign store, you not having stepped foot into it once. Before you had time to register the absolute wonder of it all, he had you upstairs into the flat and sitting on their couch. "Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, I know we have some."

He had left you to walk into the kitchen, searching for their normal candy, not wanting to make you puke or cause your hair to turn orange. "Ah." he quickly moved next to you, protecting you like he used to as kids.

"George." you whispered after you calmed, keeping your eyes from his. "No, let me, please." He took your hand with one of his, the other guiding your head to look into his. "I was so, so, so idiotic. When you told me about your detention, I thought it was my fault. If you weren't dating me, she wouldn't have ever thought you were handing out products. Fred and I had already planned to leave, but I told him to move it up. I don't know how many times I wrote to you, but tore it up before I sent it. Then, during the war, I don't know how I didn't just walk up to you and keep you protected in my arms. It killed me to know something could happen to you and I wouldn't protect you from it. Now, I'm hearing you saved Fred. You protected yourself and him at the same time. I was an idiot to ever think that you couldn't protect yourself. I was an absolute git for leaving you like I did." you had hardly breathed while he spoke, your tears falling just as freely as his.

You nodded, kissed his cheek, stood up, and apparated home without a single word.

You sat in your own living room, breathing treatment done, your hair pulled up in a ridiculous bun, and your face mask sitting on your face. You had cried your eyes out for hours when you arrived home, but you couldn't let yourself be hurt by George Weasley again. You had your legs pulled up, a book in your hand, as you tried not to cry yet again. The whistle of your tea kettle brought you out of your own world. Setting your book down, you moved to your kitchen. After taking it off the heat, a owl flew into your kitchen, looking at you.

"Y/N, come to the burrow quick, it's Ginny." The words were scribbled in the handwriting of Harry, and you immediately apparated into the living room you spent so long in. Only, the lights were dim, the candles lit, and it just about silent. You heard a muggle record playing, and looked around the room.

"Ginny? Harry? Molly?" you called out, moving to the kitchen. Only, you were met with your ex boyfriend, standing there himself. "I don't know. I got a letter from Ginny saying mom was unwell." He spoke, looking around the kitchen. "I got one from Harry about Ginny." you said, but let out a screech of fear as the doors slammed shut.

"You're not getting out until you make up and promise me I get to be the maid of honor at your wedding." Ginny's voice filled the air, causing both of your eyes to widen. "I'm best man!" you heard Fred call out, causing you to let out a light laugh.

"Guys, let us out." George said, moving to the door. "No, make up, make out, make babies." Fred said, a smirk heard through his words.

George turned to you, looking into your eyes. "I know, were stuck." you said, laughing softly. You felt confused with yourself. While you were absolutely heartbroken with the man before you, you felt as comfortable with him as you did before. "I'm sorry I left you like that. You didn't deserve it." You spoke first, looking at him.

"I kinda did." he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, you did." you said, looking into his eyes. "I'm so sorry love." He said, moving closer to you.

"George Weasley, I am beyond mad at you. I am beyond hurt with you. You broke me into tiny pieces. You were my protector, my best friend, and the love of my life, and you left me. Without a second look, you left me." You said, looking at him, letting your feeling spill from your lips. "You protected me from the one thing you thought I needed protecting from most, yourself. While you are a complete and utter git for it, I understand." you finally voiced your true thoughts to him, biting the inside of your cheek.

"While I will be so absolutely terrified you'll leave me again without a second look, incredibly insecure of myself every single day, the only thing I want more than anything is for you to kiss me again. And while I can't promise you marriage or kids like your family wants right now, I'm giving you a chance. But George, if you break me again, I will hex you so hard." You spoke, looking at the man.

He didn't speak a single word, but wrapped his arms around your face like he did oh so many times, and kissed you like his entire life depended on it. Collided your faces together, your bodies together, just like your souls did so many years ago.

You collided.

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folkloreguk · 3 years

Text

Gold Rush (optional bias)

A/N: I honestly don’t know a lot about the middle ages, so if anyone is a history genius, pls bare with me if I write something that doesn’t make sense asfghjk PS: feedback is greatly appreciated!!

genre: optional bias (male), thief!au, strangers to enemies to lovers, medieval!au, suggestive content, reader is always ready to fight lmao, a tiny bit of angst

summary: As thieves, you both try to steal from the same royal carriage. Only it doesn’t go as planned for either of you. Will you get away before the king sentences you both to death?

words: 8.9 k

You had been tailing the royal carriages for an entire day now. You were sure your horse was getting exhausted, but the sun was setting and you knew what that meant. Soon, the transport would come to a halt. They would find a clearing somewhere, with trees as shelter from all sides. Then, they would set up their camp for the night, only to pack up everything in the morning and travel another two or three days, until they reached their destination: the castle. Only instead of delivering the full carriages, with gold, silver, pearls and gems, a few handfuls would be missing. It would be almost nothing to them, you suspected. They might not even notice it disappeared.

To you, however, it meant existing. You had to admit, being a thief hadn’t been your first choice when it came to choosing an occupation for the rest of your life. You had tried to integrate into different businesses. You were going to learn to be a baker, a glover and even tried to keep a job helping out on a farm. But none of these professions were for you. You were tired of being commanded around by men who tried to make you their little maid or worse – ask you for your hand in marriage. The judgement was tedious. “Aren’t you too old to be unwed?” “Where is your husband?” “How many children do you have?”

You wished you could talk back. “No, I’m just fine, he doesn’t exist and none – is it any of your business, by the way?” But you had learned that arguing with elders would only get you in trouble, and perhaps your decision to refrain from living the typical life was exactly what made it impossible for you to keep a job. That was, until you discovered your talent – a sleight of hand that was invincible. Some would call it avaricious; you would prefer to describe it as a passion. It wasn’t evil, just a thrill you enjoyed chasing. The beginnings had been humble. A few coins out of someone’s pocket here and there, some food from an unsuspecting marketer; you had to keep yourself afloat somehow, right?

But the seasons went by, and you became more audacious and greedier for your beloved adrenaline. Plus, you realized that stealing from the rich had something weirdly rewarding. Maybe it was the anger you felt at the king for hoarding the wealth of the land whilst letting his people starve in the streets. Either way, stealing from those who had power made you feel a sense of benevolence. You gave away some of your stolen goods to those who actually needed them, instead of letting all the money and jewelry rot away in someone’s bag and around someone’s neck. Sometimes you hid in the shadows after your theft had been settled, only to see the reactions of your victims. It might have sounded obsessive, but it gave you assurance, when they moved on after only minutes of complaint, because you knew those few coins were miniscule to all of them.

And currently, you were on to one of your most reckless thefts. You were well aware this could get you killed. Yet you couldn’t help it, the glimmer of the jewels and the gold was hypnotizing. Finally, the carriages had come to a halt. From a safe distance, you observed how they unloaded their tents and checked especially carefully where they kept the most desired goods. The wares would stay in the carriages, probably guarded all night long. You would need to wait for the right moment.

“Good job today, my dearest Dorato,” you whispered to your horse as you tied the reins to a tree. Gently, you pat his nose. He pushed his head closer to you, demanding more affection, but your eyes were already on your objective. For at least an hour you stood, hidden in the thicket, waiting for the sun to set completely and some of the men to lay to sleep. With a hawk’s gaze you counted the men and made sure you knew each of their whereabouts. One of the wagons stood with its back opening facing you – which was perfect. It was like they were presenting the goods to you on a silver plate. To the left of the wagon, some of the men had lit a bonfire and were seated around it. Judging by their laughter and lively conversations, you doubted they would go to sleep soon. One of them was sitting on the edge of the carriage, meant to guard the inside. He, who should have been paying the most attention, however, was fast asleep. And that was your chance.

“Wish me luck, Dorato,” you whispered to your horse, running your hand over his warm neck. Then, you slowly moved towards the carriage. Outside the shielding cover of the trees, you felt you needed to act quickly. The gales of laughter were helping against your vulnerability in reminding you that the men around the fire were trusting their sleeping guard to have everything under his control. Sly as a fox, you kept your distance and approached the opening of the wagon only when the bonfire was out of sight. You pulled the fabric to the side and with a swift jump, you landed on the edge of the carriage right next to the dozed off man. It only took one maneuver and you had opened the wooden chest nearest to you.

You grinned in triumph at the jackpot in front of you. With eyes sparkling just as much as the diamonds and gems, you grabbed handfuls and transported them into your bag.

“Henry, change of shift!” someone suddenly shouted. Their voice sounded scarily close to you, and then you heard footsteps approaching. Even though you had wanted to be greedier and steal some more, this was definitely your cue to get out of there. If they saw you inside the wagon, you’d be done for. So, without second thought, you yanked the cover away and leaped off the edge.

“Thief!” the surprised man howled as you passed him. Luckily, this wasn’t the first quick escape you had ever had to make. Your feet carried you rapidly, over the grass and into the trees where your horse stood. One quick pull and the reins had come off the tree trunk.

“Over there!” a hoarse man growled. Now more voices were heard, curses and angry shouts directed your way.

“Let’s go, boy,” you said and hauled yourself into the saddle. You pushed your legs against his belly, quickly signaled your horse the way and he knew the drill already. He took off sprinting, out of the forest cover. The wind in your face momentarily forced your eyes to tear up a little and you squinted against the cool night air. But just as you thought you were getting onto the gravel road, one of the guards jumped out in front of you. The fire from the torch he was holding danced aggressively in the wind. As he pointed it high, it was a blaze against the darkness of the night sky, and Dorato whinnied in terror. He jumped and reared up, and you lost balance.

“Seize her!” a man shouted at your disoriented figure on the ground. You wanted nothing more than to get back on your feet and flee. But it was no use. You were surrounded by a number of gravely livid men, and should you try anything stupid now, it would cost you your life, probably. Somebody grabbed your shoulders and pulled you up.

“Take the horse,” one of them ordered and your eyes widened. If they hurt your best friend it was the last thing they would do, you swore in silence. But to your dismay, as the men dragged you over to the wagon, they ripped your quiver and your bow from your back. You sat still as they tied your hands and feet and hurled you into the very wagon you had just stolen from.

“There you have your gemstones,” a guard spoke. “Look at them as much as you want, because soon you won’t be looking at anything anymore.”

Giving him a gaze so spiteful it should have hurt him physically, you spit right into his face. Lucky for you, he wasn’t up for a fight. It wasn’t on him to convict you for anything just yet. A complacent smile spread on your face as he walked away, wiping your saliva out of his eyes. At least now you had a guaranteed roof over your head for the night.

You were in slight trouble, you had to admit that. In two days, you would arrive at the castle. Depending on what the king decided, your punishment could be as severe as death. But until then, it would be a while. There was still plenty of time to escape, you assured yourself.

All night long, no matter how much you forced your eyes shut, you didn’t catch a minute of sleep. The men’s chatter was simply too loud and maybe you were concerned for your safety, after all – even if you would have never confessed it to someone other than yourself. The heavy chests of luxurious items sat across and next to you, as if they were mocking you for your foolish actions. For hours you sat staring at them, cursing your greed. Only in the morning, when the carriages continued their journey, the rocking of the wagon lulled you into a slumber.

You awoke later that day. Judging by the dim light falling into the carriage, it must have been the early evening. Curious, you scooted to the edge, lifted the fabric that was covering your sight and checked. Your assumptions had been right. The golden sunlight of the last hour of daytime shone into your face. The wagon you were in was the last of them, behind you only the bright gravel and trees left and right. For a while you daydreamed the boredom away. You went into another world, in which you didn’t have to steal to survive. In your real life, you were either born into luxury or you had to toil each day for the rest of your existence. There was no hard work that could have transported you out of your peasant-state and into something more carefree.

Suddenly, shouts ripped you right out of your dreamworld. The wagon had halted, but when you looked out the back, nothing was there. Trying to learn what the commotion was all about, you concentrated on the chaos of voices. Had they all gotten into an argument? The men were all talking at the same time, so there was really no use but to wait and see.

“You will be delighted to have some company until you receive your sentence from the king,” a man said. Footsteps drew nearer. Someone pulled away the fabric at the end of the wagon. Before you knew it, a figure was pushed inside. It was a young man but clearly not one of the guards, as he was dressed like a peasant. With a groan, he was bracing himself up across from you.

“Enjoying the ride?” the guard outside the wagon taunted you with a sneering grin. You spat in his face. Again.

“You little-“ he snarled.

“Let’s go! We can’t lose any more time!” someone yelled and unknowingly saved you from more trouble. The man disappeared and the carriages began to move again.

You welcomed the newest addition to your wagon by staring him down like he was about to take all the gold and diamonds clearly reserved for you. When he had sat up and checked his surroundings, he noticed your look.

“Is there a problem or something on my face?” he asked.

“Were you trying to steal from them?” you asked back. “Didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“Were you not?” he replied. “My highness, we’re in the same situation, so don’t you try to aggravate me out of tediousness.”

“Don’t you mock me, or you’ll receive the same response as the guard did,” you threatened. “And you are very wrong. You are going to be brought to the castle and thrown into a prison. I will escape.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “I see you’re making great progress with getting out of these ropes. You better hurry, or I’ll get away before you do. I can carry a lot in my pockets.”

You huffed.

“The diamonds are mine,” you stated, matter-of-fact.

“Whoever gets out first will have them,” he replied. “I’m betting on myself.”

“God…could you not have chosen a different day to steal from the royals?” you asked, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was your highness’ turn today,” he said, and his smile was taunting and cocky at the same time.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” you hissed, one second from collecting your saliva in your mouth.

“What do you prefer then?” he asked. His smirk made you wonder whether he was contemplating to suggest some more stupid pet names for you. He better not, you thought.

“I don’t know…what about my name?” you said. “It’s Y/N.”

“All right, Y/N,” he said. “And would you consider sitting on death row one of the more entertaining parts of your job? Are you used to it?”

If only looks could kill, he’d be torn to shreds.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been caught,” you said. “But judging by how lightly you’re taking this, you must spend more time in jail than outside of it.”

“What can I say? The guards love me,” he said. “But didn’t they teach you to be honest? I don’t believe you. Or maybe you were a coward for so long and this is your first time actually trying to steal. What’s the truth, sweetheart?”

There was nothing you despised like people who underestimated you. And with that, you spat in his face and turned away from him. Know-it-alls weren’t going to be granted a second of your attention.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said. “We’ll be here for another while, so we might as well become friends.”

“Missed your chance,” you said. And it was the last thing you said to him for a long time. Even when he tried so hard to lure you back into a conversation. You knew if you gave in, he’d never learn.

“My name is H/N, by the way. Oh, that’s right. You don’t care. I forgot,” he said. And he was right.

Having to rot away by yourself in the back of a carriage was already exhilarating enough. But rotting away in the back of a carriage while an irritating young man filled your head with stupid stories you could care less about? It made hell sound inviting. Even when the guards had set up their camp for the night, he occasionally tried to get you back into conversation. Because you had slept throughout the day, you knew you’d be awake until the early morning hours, a fact that only made your situation more unbearable.

Your ears picked up the crackling of the wood as the bonfire fed on it next to the wagon. Suddenly, a guard pulled aside the curtain. Without a word, he slid a plate with a piece of bread and a bowl with some water inside and left.

“This is going to be hard to eat with my hands on my back!” the young thief in front of you shouted, but the guard only laughed.

“Nice try,” you said, eyeing the food.

“Oh, she speaks after all,” he said. “And at least one of us is trying.”

“If I had one coin for every time you’ve provoked me since we met, I could buy my freedom,” you said. And again, he was in the wrong. Obviously, you had tried hard to figure out a way to get out of the restraints digging into your skin. If only you had a sharp object or –

“Are you gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing his head at the bread. He was willing to share, at least.

“I’ll bite off half and you get the other side,” you announced and bent your head down to the plate.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, shoving you out of the way so you tumbled onto your side with a huff of surprise.

“What the fuck is your issue?” you asked, regaining you posture.

“I’m taking the first bite,” he said. “I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“I’ll show you where my mouth is,” you snapped. The next moment you tackled him, teeth digging into his shoulder. He groaned in pain, ferociously pushing you off him. His foot hit your thigh and you realized if you had any chance of getting away, an injured leg wouldn’t make it easier. So, you trudged away slightly.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you just really fucking bite me?” he growled.

“Go ahead, eat your damned bread,” you snarled. With a sulky sigh, you leaned back against the chest behind you, shut your eyes and tried to keep your fury in check.

You sat that way for an hour, maybe a few. With time, the roaring laughter from outside had died down. It must have been the middle of the night when you opened your eyes again. The silence let you conclude that your fellow captive had fallen asleep. Finally, you bent down to where you suspected the water bowl to be and took a few gulps. Only now you realized just how empty your stomach was. But your nose picked up something. Bread. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the half of the piece he had left for you. His humble act redacted your opinion of him from 100 to 98% dickhead. Like a starved animal, you gobbled the food. When you took your place against the chest once more, even you managed to snooze off into a much needed rest.

When the carriage steered through a pothole it shook you out of your slumber. Surprisingly, it was completely bright outside.

“You’re just on time,” the young thief across from you announced. “We’re about to arrive at the castle.”

He hadn’t woken you up. Maybe he had earned a few more sympathy points – with emphasis on a few. Only twenty minutes later, you were lead trough the cold halls of some dark part of the castle, down into the dungeon. While the guards dragged you around, even your loudmouth shut. This was new territory and made you slightly nervous. Were you going to make it out of here? So far, nothing was decided. You dearly prayed the king would be in a fantastic mood when he convicted you.

Your whole body was sore from the hours of sitting in the same position on the hard wood of the wagon, so you almost welcomed being shoved through the uninviting halls. One of the guards cut the remaining ropes from your hands, before pushing you into a cell. Much to your dismay, your fellow wagon inmate would also join you in this prison.

“The king will tend to you lowlives when he has time,” the guard said. The loud metallic clash of the prison bars closing and the lock sliding in place sounded like your demise. Your eyes followed the guard’s figure helplessly, until he had disappeared down the dark hallway. A slam of a door indicated that he was gone. Like a nervous animal, you paced from one wall to the other over and over. Your arms were crossed in front of your body and you were trying hard not to have a nervous breakdown. You needed your brain for more vital things right now – like contriving a plan to escape this hellhole before you could be sentenced to death.

“Would you sit down, goddammit!” the young man remarked. He was leaning against the back wall of the cell, eyeing you closely. “I need to think!”

“Do you think I don’t?” you replied. The moment of panic in your voice was short-lived, but he probably noticed it either way.

“I can’t focus if you’re losing it in front of me,” he said. “If you’re already processing your inevitable death, that’s cool with me. But I’m still planning on getting out of here, so please try to process in silence.”

Your nostrils flared in anger and you clenched your hands to fists by your sides.

“You idiot!” you said. “If you hadn’t done everything in your power to make me despise you right when we met, we could have tried to flee together.”

“Last time I checked, you were the one biting me for having a sense of personal hygiene,” he fired back. “We’re stuck in here. But get it together, we’re not on death row yet.”

In disbelief you stared at him, your irritation almost drowning out the restless pounding inside your head. He held his chin high as if to challenge you. And you could have gone for it. Down here in this cold, forlorn dungeon no one would hinder you from fighting each other. No, you knew for a fact that not a single soul in this castle gave one last damn about whether you lived or died. But you were completely drained. After all the sleep you had gotten, you should have been wide awake, and maybe your body was – but your mind was in the middle of shutting down. So, even though it hurt your pride, you stopped your uneasy walking and mirrored his behavior on another wall. Arms crossed and eyebrows furrowing, you kept your eyes on the ground. Maybe he was right. Giving up wasn’t characteristic for you, so why was your head spinning from dread?

In desperate search of some sort of hope, you caught glimpse of his rather relaxed stance. If he could keep up a calm front, maybe you could too. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at you, and not noticing how you drew strength from his so simple but enheartening behavior.

Three days into your stay in the dungeon, you had found a daily rhythm. Your mornings consisted of pretending to be asleep for as long as you possibly could, then holding yourself back from attacking your beloved cellmate because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. By midday your arguments had usually turned into playful bickering, because you couldn’t cope with being angry all the time. And frankly, you were bored. Even though standing his endless interrogations about your life was exhilarating, it was still better than losing sense of time and in the process also losing your sanity. Late, when darkness had fallen upon the land, a guard delivered a small ration of food for both of you. This was the part where your bickering morphed back into serious conflicts. If you were going to live on tiny amounts of food, you wouldn’t settle for the smaller ration of the two.

The fourth day was different. When you first reached consciousness, you heard nothing. Usually, he was already awake, noticing like a stalker when you awoke, only to tease you from the moment you woke up. But that day, you opened your eyes to a seemingly empty cell. Until you spotted him in the corner. His body was shaking, and his tiny, husky cough concerned you further.

“H/N?” you asked quietly. Considering the amount of loathing you’d thought you held for him, you sure worried an unnormal amount. But it wasn’t the mere thought of him being ill that concerned you most. It was the idea of having to suffer in the dark, murky dungeon all alone, day to day, until you’d have to face the king, who likely wanted you dead for your crimes. An ice-cold fear crept over you. You didn’t want to – no, you couldn’t – die lonely. Even if he was the last person you could have wished to be thrown into prison with, he was still company. This loathsome cell, the horrors of the near future, the neverending progression of time and the uncertainty that came with it – it all terrified you to the bone. Only now you realized just how much comfort he gave you, all by existing in the same space as you.

Carefully, you approached him. He wasn’t answering you, and he never not answered you. It was a heartbreaking sight. He was curled up in a fetal position, hands clenched to fists on his chest. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. Whether he liked it or not, you sat down with him. Gently, you reached for his forehead. A second was enough to determine he was burning up.

“Get off me,” he said, slapping your hand away. His voice was so frail.

“Hush. Let me help you,” you insisted. He huffed in annoyance.

“Are you a doctor when you’re not a thief?” he asked.

“No. But improving your mentality will help your body recover faster,” you said. “And you seem to be in a very negative headspace right now.”

His mouth opened to speak, but then a shiver rippled through his body and he wrapped his arms around his knees tightly. All this time, he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“We need to keep you cool,” you said. “Take off your jacket.”

“This isn’t the time to ask me to take off my clothes,” he said, almost whispered.

“Will you just do as I say so you can get better? Do you want to die in here?” you said, brushing off his words. Something flashed across his face. Fear? Disappointment? Aware that it could invade his comfort zone, you very carefully took his hands. Lucky for you, he let you. When his jacket came off, you noticed the sweat stains that had formed on his thin shirt.

“You can lie down on this, it’ll be more comfortable,” you advised. Without arguing, he followed your instructions and allowed you to spread out the jacket underneath him. This behavior was new, you thought. But you could surely get used it. You knew it must have been serious, if he didn’t give you a silly remark for everything you said.

“I’ll get you more water,” you said, as you retrieved the almost empty water bowl from the center of the stone floor. Set on not spilling a drop, you lifted it to his lips and watched as he swallowed the last few sips. You used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe his wet hair out of his face, as he sunk back down onto the hard ground.

“Sleep now,” you said. You didn’t need to tell him twice. He had been almost unable to keep his eyelids open, so without hesitation, he drifted off into dreamland. For hours, you sat, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes on his anguished figure. Just as you had thought you could deal with the scary ordeal of being held captive in a castle dungeon, this had to happen. Stricken with sorrow, you waited for time to pass. If only you could have slept too, it would have made all the anxious thoughts go away. But someone had to look after him, and you weren’t tired.

His slumber must had been a hag-ridden one. Sometimes, he made small sounds, like whimpers, other times his brows furrowed, and his muscles flexed from whichever terror it was that haunted him in his head.

“Shh, you’re going to be okay,” you assured him, and maybe also yourself. But his tireless stirring only became worse, his body twisting and turning on the uneven ground. He groaned in agony, and your heart clenched like a million little daggers had slashed it.

“I’m here to keep you safe,” you whispered, bending down to his level. With utmost care, you lifted his head and let him rest in your lap. You weren’t really planning what was happening, but your hands found his hands. Softly, you stroked them, waiting for him to calm down and relax his tight fists. His mumbles and quiet moans of distress continued, until you realized. He was trying to tell you something.

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“You’re not go-“ you started.

“No! My- parents need- me,” he stuttered. By now he was grasping your hands desperately. You sighed and his eyes opened ever so slightly. The anger he had held for you was vanished. You almost teared up at the delicateness of his gaze.

“I need to help them... they’re old and sick and can’t be alone,” he added in a small voice.

“We will get out of here,” you said. You had no idea when there had first been a ‘we’, but now there apparently was. “You have to be strong now, do you hear? Then you can meet your parents again.”

He was looking almost through you. His eyes were so dark, it was like staring right into the deepest part of the ocean. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, whilst trying hard to keep a hopeful gaze. For him, you had to appear strong. Or else, how else was he supposed to be?

“I’m sorry- I was such an asshole to you,” he suddenly confessed. “I thought you would steal away the gold before I could. And now look where that brought us.”

“This isn’t your fault. We were both being reckless,” you said. “I’m sorry I bit you. And threatened to spit on your face. And then spat on your face.”

The tiniest smile spread on his face. Success. Any sort of positive emotion could help him now.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he whispered. “I’ll think about whether I can forgive you. You must know, I’m very vindictive.”

His grin was playful, and his eyes were closed, as if he was on the brink of falling back to sleep.

“Forgiveness hurts less than holding a grudge for the rest of your life,” you said. Who knew? Maybe even the king could show remission. All you knew was that you would crumble, would you have to encounter the king alone. Your brain had set on the need for H/N. For years, you hadn’t formed any meaningful relationships – not counting your bond with your ardently loved horse. Now, with his head on your lap and your fingers intertwined with his, you ached for more. Was it really him you wanted? Or had you denied yourself of any affection for such a long time, the smallest contact with anyone appeased your yearning? Would you have felt the same, if it had been somebody else in his place?

At night, the metal noise of the door at the far end of the hallway outside your cell made you lift your head. Gently, so that H/N wouldn’t be awoken, you lifted his head to lay on the jacket instead of your thigh. In impatience, your foot tapped on the ground while you stood in the middle of the cell.

“Sir,” you called the guard with a fake-soft voice. “Will it be possible to receive another cup with water? My fellow inmate has fallen sick.”

The grumpy guard unlocked the metal bars, entering with the usual small ration of food and drink.

“What does it matter if he dies now or by command of the king? Do you think I care?” he growled, not sparing you a glance. You had been almost convinced this would have happened. So, you’d have to resort to different measures.

“Please-“ you begged, suddenly stepping towards the guard, who was on his way out of the cell. Without second thought, you threw yourself onto him, making sure to look extra-devastated and helpless. What could a weak, little young woman do to a guard, other than fall on her knees, right?

“Touch me once more and you’re dead, too, bitch!” he barked. One quick move of your skilled fingers and you eagerly backed off, hands hiding behind your back.

“Sorry, sir!” you said, lowering your head in false shame and guilt. “Please consider my request.”

All he gave you was a grunt of disapproval and he stomped out of the cell, the lock falling into place in a loud crash. Feigning inferiority and intimidation, you didn’t dare move until he was out of the dungeon. Then, you spun to the young man behind you on the ground.

“Open up,” you commanded, suspecting the shouting could not have kept him asleep. Finally, you could pull the flask you had stolen from the guard from behind your back. It seemed to be almost filled to the brim, too. Perfect. He did as he was told, and you let some of the water spill into his mouth.

“I take back what I said in the carriage,” he confessed. “Only full-time thieves have a sleight of hand like yours.”

“It was my pleasure proving you wrong,” you said. “Now, drink up.”

That night, you let him have the full ration of food. For at least ten minutes, he refused to have all of it. But you were stubborn and even though he hadn’t known you for long, he knew that much about you. If you wanted to escape with him, he would need to be fit to run. You had deemed your chances small to begin with, but in his state, you estimated them close to zero. After you had emptied the guard’s flask, you reached through the prison bars and tossed the item as far away from the cell as you could. He should never assume you’d had anything to do with its disappearance. The next day, a different guard would find it there, and bring it back to him under the assumption that he had carelessly dropped it.

Two days passed by. In the first night of the two, you had to comfort him through another few nightmares. During the day, he was sleepy, but had enough energy to have a little conversation with you now and then – something you read as a good sign. The second night, you were able to sleep all the way through, and when you checked his forehead in the morning, it had cooled down a little. On the second day, he had regained his strength enough to be able to sit, leaning against your shoulder.

“Will you stop moving? My head’s pounding,” he said.

“Your complaints make me wonder if you’re doing well now,” you asked, smirking.

“Like I said…my head’s killing me,” he repeated.

“Drink the rest of the water,” you suggested. “I think it’s almost evening. The guard will bring a new bowl soon.”

“It’s your turn to eat tonight,” he stated.

“We’re sharing,” you said. Lucky for him, he didn’t fight back. You wouldn’t have cooperated, either way.

“It’s time to make a plan now, if we want to get out of here. What do you say?” you asked. When he lifted his head, you looked over at him. The color was back in his face, the beads of sweat nonexistent and his cheeky smile bright as ever.

“I wonder…about what your little magic hands did to that guard’s flask…could they do the same with his keys?” he suggested. The way you mirrored his mischievous grin, he knew you agreed. But it would be trickier, this time. From days worth of observation, you had learned that the guards behaved differently. Some adamantly made sure the keys remained in their clenched fists – an instance you couldn’t work with at all – while others preferred to leave them in the lock by the door. You knew you’d never get close enough to even attempt to steal them from there. What you needed was the careless type of guard. The one who snuck the keys into their pockets or left them hanging on their clothes by the keyring. All it took now was to wait and hope the king would keep you locked away for long enough to give you a chance to flee.

That night, luck wasn’t on your side. The guard kept his hands on his keys as if they were his most precious possession.

“Do we really have to go over this again? I told you your pacing is driving me insane,” he said. It was midday of the following day, and you were deep in thought – or you had been – until he had to interrupt you.

“What do you expect me to do? We’re jailed like animals,” you countered. “I can’t stand around like you all day.”

When you saw him open his mouth, you read in his expression what he was about to do. It was his bickering face.

“If there’s one thing I’m not in the mood for currently, it’s getting lectured by you over nothing. Come up with a topic of conversation, please,” you said before he could speak. His smirk concerned you.

“What are you in the mood for, then?” he asked with raised eyebrows. Your death glare said more than a thousand words. “Fine, here’s a conversation topic…let me think…why are you not married?”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you said in the most impassive tone you could muster.

“Oh, alright, if that’s not good enough, I’ll go back to flirting,” he said. The steps he was taking towards you made your brain activate fight mode.

“I’ve never met a man good enough for marriage,” you said.

“And what qualifies a man to be good enough for you?”

“Hm…where do I begin? I’m not a good cook, nor do I enjoy being a maid, nor do I know how to take care of children. Most men want those things in a woman.”

“You took pretty good care of me, didn’t you? But why waste your thieving talent on running a household?” he said.

“That’s where the issue lays. Men don’t favor women who sneak around the village at night and make their own money from being a criminal.”

“Nothing wrong with being a criminal,” he went on.

You laughed out loud.

“You know what? I like it this way. Why settle for staying with one man who might turn out to be a monster, when I can have them all for a night?” you said.

“Well, right now you’re not having anyone.”

“Seems like that’s bothering you more than it bothers me,” you replied in a feisty tone. If you didn’t call him out for the flirting, who would? Although you had to admit, you greatly preferred being courted to his unnerving teasing.

“Why would that bother me?” he asked. “You hate me, don’t you?”

He was right in front of you now, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that made you consider biting him again. And at the same time, something in your body – not your head – wanted to close the small distance between you two.

“If I hated you, I would have let you die,” you said.

“I assumed you kept me alive because you need me to get out of here.”

Now you had another reason to get up in his face. You gripped him by the collar, looking into his eyes.

“Excuse me? You think I wouldn’t be able to escape by myself? If you’re only trying to rile me up, you better let me know, because I already told you I can’t stand to be underestimated,” you said.

“Alright,” he rose his arms in defeat. “After your little stunt with the guard I’m actually pretty glad I have you in here with me. Honestly, I don’t think I’d get out without you.”

“Was that so hard to spit out?” you said, self-accomplished.

“No. But you only come close to me when you’re mad or worried,” he said. By now, his eye contact was captivating in the most confusing way possible. His eyes occasionally skipped to your lips. “And since I’m not sick anymore, I had to opt for the former.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. Unbelievably handsome, your brain added. And yes, maybe he was. Perhaps it wasn’t so much his beautiful face, but the way he spoke, understanding, even encouraging your lifestyle. You had just forced him to be honest with you. So, maybe it was time to stop holding back the truth from yourself, too.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. It’s time to give in, you told yourself. Therefore, rather than telling him, you showed him. With a sudden rush of hunger, your lips crashed against his. Momentarily, he seemed taken aback and let out a surprised groan. But within seconds he caught himself, hands grabbing your sides desperately. You thought addictions needed more time to develop, but the feeling of his mellow lips on yours already seemed like one to you.

You had never kissed anyone who had truly made you feel things. Now, your knees were weak in an instant when his tongue grazed yours only for a moment. After so much arguing, it was hard to believe your hands clasping the fabric of his shirt couldn’t be a product of you cursing him but derived from mere want. The way he claimed your mouth silenced even your most invasive thoughts. It was a serenity you had wished for ever since you had gotten caught a few days ago. A moment to breathe freely, make whichever noises you desired and be as close to him as you could.

You pulled him along, stumbling backwards until you hit the cold stone behind you. Being trapped in a dungeon was horrific – but being trapped between his body and the wall left you feeling safer than you had felt in a long, long time.

But the peace didn’t last long. You suddenly heard the all too familiar metal noise from the distance. Alarmed, you sprung apart. As the unexpecting guard walked down the dark hallway, you smoothed out your clothing hastily.

“Congratulations! Your time in here will be over. Tomorrow the king will see you,” the guard announced. You shot your fellow inmate an alerted gaze, which he returned. Silently, he nodded at you. It was time to do something. The guard was now opening the door, bringing inside your food. His key was in his hands – this was going to be an issue. He set the plate down in the front of the room, and was in the process of spinning around, when H/N spoke.

“Sir, may I attract you to a magic trick?” he asked the guard. “I have been practicing it for so long, and it would be a shame if I had to die before I could ever present it.”

“Go to hell,” the guard said.

“I have a coin here,” H/N added. The guard raised his head. “If you win, you get to keep it.”

“Give it to me,” the annoyed man said.

“That’s not how it works. First, I will need both of your hands,” H/N explained. You smiled slightly when the guard sighed. He complied, letting his keys disappear into his oversized pocket. Retrieving them would be child’s play for you.

“Stick up your hands ahead of you. And keep your eyes locked on the coin. Be quick, or you’ll lose it,” H/N said in his dramatic voice. As he lifted his own hand with the coin in it, the guard followed and looked upwards. This was your time. Like a cat, you tip-toed around the guard’s back, not even paying attention to what H/N was doing anymore. Ever so swiftly, your hand slid into his pocket, fingers closing around the chill metal. As quickly as you had approached him, you stepped away, the key sliding into your sleeve and out of sight.

“Incorrect!” H/N called. “But you know what? I will grant you the coin either way. By tomorrow, I might not need it any longer.”

The guard even went so far as to laugh – even if it was a gloating sort of laughter. The only thing left to do now was hope he wouldn’t discover his missing key. But luck was on your side. Without another word, the man stepped out of the cell, shut the door, and walked off. The tune he whistled became smaller and smaller, until it faded out completely.

“Guess who’s getting out of here?” you asked, triumphantly revealing the key.

“You did it!” he exclaimed. You weren’t sure whether it was a spur of the moment decision, or maybe he was just too ecstatic to stop himself, but he flung his arms around your frame and squeezed you tightly.

“Hey, hey, you can’t crush me so close to my escape,” you laughed.

“Our escape,” he smiled. “We need to act fast. He could notice the missing key any second.”

Nodding eagerly, you grabbed half of the bread and downed half of the water bowl. You weren’t going to leave that behind. After all, you never knew when your next meal would be.

“If we make it to the stables, we can get a horse,” he announced. “I saw them on our way here. They’re to the west. The sun should be setting now, if my sense of time is still correct. Let’s hurry, or else we’ll be out of directions.”

“Dorato!” you exclaimed. “They took my horse!”

“The black horse that was tied to the carriage when we came here? I saw him,” he noted. You nodded, swearing you would leave here without Dorato only over your dead body.

Ten minutes later you had successfully exited the cell and approached the door at the end of the hallway.

“Out there it’s on both of us to keep running, okay?” you whispered.

He only nodded. “Towards the setting sun.”

The second you had slipped past the door you were spotted by a maid.

“Prisoners!” she yelled. Your plan to slip away unnoticed had gone down the drain quickly. With one last glance at the young man next to you, you both took off. The way out of the castle was still burned into your brain from when you had been brought inside. Back then, you had already planned to get out, so you had payed an extra amount of attention. When you reached a turn, you barely had time to think about the right way. By now, two guards were after you and you were forced to trust your intuition. H/N was a little ahead of you. The sudden exercise after being refined to a tiny cell for so long made your chest burn in exhaustion after only such a short while. But the adrenaline drowned it all out easily.

You knew you had to be close to the outside, it was a feeling. But then, all of a sudden, a guard cut off your path in front of you. H/N was racing far ahead, so that he could get away. You, on the other hand, had no time to overthink your actions. Before the guard could catch you, you had ducked under his outstretched arms. Now, sprinting down an unfamiliar corridor over the marble flooring, your sense of direction was gone, but your will to survive vigorous as ever.

For minutes you ran, collecting a horde of guards behind you the longer you kept going. When you turned a corner, you were greeted by another long corridor. Only this time, it was a dead end. Nevertheless, you kept up the speed. What else could you have done? By now, your calves felt like they were on fire, breath coming in short gasps. You suddenly took notice of the precious paintings and statues that adorned the hallway. Maybe this was the answer.

Without slowing down, you took hold of a stone vase. Just for a moment, you gathered all your might. Then, you dashed it forward, against the window at the very end of the corridor. Your body followed shortly after, but it was enough time for the glass to shatter before you. In a protective manner, you folded your arms over your chest and shut your eyes tightly as your figure flew through the opening.

When you had passed the window, your eyes opened, and you ducked. Soft grass caught your body as you rolled onto the ground. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs momentarily. But within seconds you were back on your feet. Aggressive shouts from behind you only motivated you to keep going. Faster. Just a little longer. Dawn had broken in, but the sky was still a bright blue to your left. That’s where you were headed. A market place close by acted as the perfect cover for a while. You barely had time to watch out, crashing into people’s shoulders and knocking over bowls and baskets. An enraged shout followed you, but you were already far gone.

And he had been right. Your nose picked up the scent of hay and animals. You had to be close. What if he wasn’t there? What if they caught you again? A short panic bubbled up inside of you. Stealing might could have been forgiven, but for your current deeds no king would let you live. The wooden stables were in sight by now.

You could barely breathe anymore, but something inside of you kept you up and going nonetheless. Every breath burned as you entered, stalls of horses and other animals to your left and right. But no sight of H/N. Nor of your horse. Did he leave without you? Had he assumed you had been caught and tried to save his own life, at least? Your head spun as you scanned the animals one last time. Then, the men’s deep shouts caught up with you. You needed to get out, or else this stable would turn into a trap.

When your feet hit the cobblestone outside, you spotted the mob of angered men and women coming at you. They were holding spears, torches and pitchforks and were livid.

“Y/N!” someone suddenly yelled from your right. The sound of his voice had never sounded better to you. He was on your horse, careering towards you. One last look at the furious crowd of peasants and guards, and then you only focused on him. Only a little more strength, and you could get out of here.

The second he was close enough to you, you started running again. Like you had done so many times, you hauled yourself onto Dorato behind him. Your hands caught his shirt and you pulled your body flush against him. You needed no words. Now, you only needed to trust your horse to get you out of here. Just for a moment, you closed your eyes in exhaustion and took a few, consciously deep breaths. In lightning speed, you raced across the grass and towards the archway out of the courtyard.

And you made it. He shouted in a boisterous tone, and while at first you laughed, you couldn’t help but join his happiness loudly.

~2 months later~

The rough bark of the tree was digging into your back, but you couldn’t have cared less. Not when he was all over you. Not when his scent was so intoxicating, and his busy hands made you forget about any other sensation on your skin. It took no time. You had escaped together, thinking it was your time to part ways after what you had gone through with him. Now, each day you hung on his every word and couldn’t even bear to be away from him for minutes at a time.

Not far from you, your two horses stood, grazing on the grass by their feet. Meanwhile, the two of you, supposed to be on the lookout for your next target, had found another occupation in the cover of the trees. The market close by wasn’t exactly your goal – it was the nobles who would arrive in their carriages like every weekend to spend time by the beautiful lake. While they had their picnics and gossiped about each other, there was enough time for you two check for some gifts to retrieve from their carriages.

You sighed happily as he kissed your neck ever so softly. In him, you hadn’t just found a partner in crime. He was your muse, your comfort and your home. His family was your new family and finally, you had someone to tell all your most unbridles stories and dreams to – someone who could actually reply, with no offense to your horse. Going out stealing was as exciting as hiding between the sheets with him. In such a short time, he had learned to read your face and knew every curve of your body like it was a part of himself, and you had no problem with that.

Suddenly, he pulled away. He looked over your shoulder, gaze changing from tranquil to fierce.

“There they come,” he announced. That moment, you heard the sounds too. Hooves and the crunch of gravel under wheels. Smiling in excitement, you turned to check the situation as well. But you had to be honest, he was much more entertaining to look at. Like in so many cases, you found yourself tied to his gorgeous features and the way his jaw clenched when he was plotting.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart,” he said, not peeling his look from the carriages.

“Don’t you know, I’ve already won the best prize there is in the world?” you asked, hearts in your eyes and a cheeky smile on your face.

203 notes · View notes

stripper-patrick · 3 years

Text

I like the barbies💓, but I want the Bratz😈Steve Rogers

Warnings: language, fluff, smut, dom!Steve, choking, degradation, oral (m), angst, angry!Steve, fingering, fluff, crying, slight sub!Steve

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou @eclecticblkgirl

Relationship: Steve Rogers x black plus sized reader

Steve called a mandatory meeting but I’m not sure for what and I’m interested to see what he’s gonna say.

“Y/N” Scott calls and I turn around meeting him.

“Hey Scott”

“You look beautiful today” I can tell he likes me but usually I don’t pay attention because I’m so busy with work. See I work as a nurse but strictly for the avengers team. I interned for Stark and he hired me after a month seeing how good I work under pressure. Then that’s when I met Steve. They brought him to me when he was fresh out of the ice to which I took care of him as well as catching him up on the 66 years of history he had missed. He took a liking towards me and soon we started our best friendship which turned into a sexual relationship. I’d enjoy more but I don’t wanna ruin what we have so l handle this for now.

Me and Scott walk and talk together to the conference room where he opens the door for me “oh my god I’m so tired of wearing scrubs really I’d prefer to be in a big t-shirt and nothing else” I laugh. I notice I’ve caught Steve’s attention by that sentence. His blue eyes study my features of a short t-shirt dress and my silk-pressed ashy brown hair flowing gloriously on my shoulders with each step I take.

“Well I’m sure a lot of male patients would be very aroused by how good you’d look in either attire I know I would” I blush laughing and I catch a Steve’s eyes. The once ice blue orbs now turned into electric with what looks like lust and anger. Steve always was possessive but seeing as we aren’t together you’d think he’d let little things like this slide. But we’re both wrong.

Everyone piles in at once and we all sit down waiting for what Steve has to say. “For starters I’d like to thank everyone for coming to the meeting and as we know there’s a special event tonight the ultimate Christmas party Tony famously hosts every year but we don’t want it to be like the last time where we we’re attacked by robots which is something I never thought I’d said in my 99 years of life” he chuckles “let’s remember to have fun but keep the compound secure and safe as well”

“That was all you called us for?” Scott asks. He had a tendency to get under Steve’s skin often bringing up his past and on one occasion he even mentioned our extraordinary 74 year ago gap and Steve nearly put him in a full Nelson.

“It is is there a problem?” I can see Steve is boiling but I don’t know why

“No problem at all captain” he chuckles

“Good everyone’s dismissed” he calls “except for Y/N” my heart starts beating faster and I watch everyone leave. I avoid eye contact with Steve but the second I catch him (gif), I feel my wetness start to collect between my thighs. The door is shut and I stand up walking towards him. I do a half sit on the table as he strides towards me placing his hands on either sides of my hips coming about eye level to me. The smell of his mint toothpaste and Armani cologne is breathtaking.

“I don’t like how he talks to you or even looks at you”

“Who Scott? We’re just friends”

“He wants you Y/N and I’m sure he has a sense that something is going on between us so if he could he’d taste you right in front of me” Steve parts my legs stepping between them

“Nonsense Steve it’s not even like that. You’re just being over-protective and jealous. For what? I don’t know”

“Because you’re mine” his hand slides between my thighs as his calloused finger rubs my wet clit before sliding between my folds. My upper body slouches down as I push my hands behind me on the table to keep my balance. My eyes shut and I bite my lip holding back a moan.

“How can that be the case yet we’re not together?” I ask

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t mine” he says sliding a finger in. My body opens up to him. I’m feeling so many different emotions. Mad, sexually frustrated, horny, appalled. I don’t know what to do. He continues pumping slowly to torture me. My body shakes and he holds up my chin forcing me to look into his eyes. Steve curls his fingers making my body jolt. He moves his hand in a quick all-of-a-sudden pace slamming on my g-spot. My body rocks and my moans get louder. Steve covers my mouth “be a good girl for me and cum on my hand princess” my legs shake and next thing I know I’m convulsing against him trying to press my thighs together. My back arches as he pumps me dry. Once I come to my sense I watch Steve lick his fingers with a smirk.

“If you want me to officially” I stand up slowly watching him take a step back “you know what to do” I walk out going straight to my room. I take a deep breath as my wobbly legs force me to sit on the nearby chair. I’ve gotta start getting ready for this party. I bring myself together walking to the shower turning it on hot.

.....

I’m all dressed and ready for the party and I hear a bunch of people downstairs and the slow jazz music awaiting. I take one last look on the mirror at my outfit which is white mid rise bell bottoms, a double breasted blazer and a lace white bra that exposes the breast tattoo Steve likes so much. I grab my bedazzled clear heels sliding them on before heading downstairs. I stand at the top of the steps just grabbing some alone time before I merge with the crowd. A body slides next to me and I think it’s Steve until I meet eyes with someone else. Scott.

“Oh my god Y/N you look incredible” I smile thanking him keeping my eyes on the crowd “Jesus if I were Steve I wouldn’t let you walk out like that” I chuckle

“Scott I do what I want relationship or not”

“Speaking of what’s going between you and the crypt keeper” he takes a sip of his drink and I feel eyes burning into me. I look down seeing Steve staring right back at me. Sharon is staring at him like she hasn’t eaten in days and I feel my blood boil. He excuses himself and I watch him walk towards the steps.

“Nothing we’re just friends and coworkers”

“Hmm” he hums in disapproval. Steve meets us at the top with a fake smile on his face.

“Excuse me Scott I’d like to borrow Y/N for a minute” he grabs my arm whisking me away without even allowing Scott to comply.

Steve takes me to a dimly lit hallway and I yank my arm away “have you lost your damn mind” by this point I’m pissed. I get that Steve has attachment issues but that doesn’t mean he can control who I talk to let alone get mad that another guy is giving me attention when all he does is work and fuck me.

“Maybe. What the hell are you doing after I told you Scott is trying to get what’s mine”

“Steven how the fuck can I be yours and we’re not dating. And you know why we aren’t dating because you’re still strung up on Sharon who just so happened to be undressing you mentally”

“She was not” he scoffs. I squint my eyes in anger “It’s obvious Scott only wants to fuck you”

“And what the fuck do you actually get to do. Fuck me that’s it. You don’t know how bad I actually wanna be with you but the only thing we can do is fuck so don’t say shit about anyone else’s place when you’re actually participating in the act just using the same mindset” I storm away from him and walk downstairs mixing myself in the crowd.

“Y/N you look great” Pepper says “woah what’s wrong”

“Nothing I’m fine” I say. She knows me better than anyone else and she grabs my hand. She excuses herself from Tony and we head to the bathroom.

“Talk to me” a tear slips and I wipe it careful not to mess up my makeup. I explain to her what happened and she shakes her head

“Men are so stupid” she hugs me making me laugh. She helps me fix my makeup and it doesn’t look too bad. Pepper walks out with me our locked together and we go straight to the bar “4 vodka shots please”

The bartender grabs the Smirnoff bottle pouring the liquor into the small glasses setting them in front of us. She hands me 2 and I grab one glass tipping my head back letting the liquid glide down my throat leaving a fiery trail. My face scrunches up and the DJ spins the record stopping the smooth jazz.

I watch as Tony gets on the mic “I feel like we need to amp this party up some more” the crowd agrees as the DJ turns the music up putting on Meg Thee Stallion’s song Freak Nasty.

I take my second shot grabbing a lime to chase the liquor and replace the fiery taste in my mouth. My chest burns as the liquid courage smoothes down singeing my sternum.

I feel myself migrate to the dance floor rocking to the beat of the music. I bend over shaking my ass and I feel a body slide behind me. I’m not sure who it is but the guys hands slide around my waist keeping me close. “Damn baby can I take you home” before I’m able to pull whoever this is off of me Steve grabs him.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl” I watch Steve pull the guy away and he grabs my arm pulling me upstairs to his bedroom. I can tell he’s livid.

“Y/N what the fuck”

“I didn’t even know it wasn’t you” I say nonchalantly standing up “and again I don’t see why you’re mad we aren’t even-“ he cuts me off with a kiss and a hand pressed to my throat. Steve is quick to lay me on the bed still holding me in his powerful kiss. Steve pulls off my jacket moving his lips to my neck and breasts. I bite my lip holding back a moan. His hands slip into my pants undoing them and my legs fall open for him. I feel his erection against my thigh as he rubs my wet swollen clit begging for attention.

“Don’t stop” instead Steve does the opposite and stands up. I pull off my pants and soaked black thong. Steve undresses his bottom half and grabs my legs pulling me to the end of the bed. He taps his dick on my clit making me writhed before he finally pushes himself in me.

I grab his arm as he continues his assault breathing heavily near my ear. His moans are guttural and low as he nips at my ear. “Just like that please Steve” he pushed my thighs back on the bed stroking me down harder. My jaw drops and I lift my arms above my head gripping the sheets behind me.

“You look so fucking good doll” I whimper holding him close to me. The thought of Sharon taking him away from me overwhelms me and a tear slips. Or it could be from just how good he’s pounding out my pussy.

“Look at you. A beautiful fucking mess. My beautiful fucking slut” he bites my collarbone quick to put my legs on his shoulders.

“Steve please”

“What do you want? Use your words” I can’t even think. I’m not sure what I want so I let my heart do the talking

“Don’t leave me”

“I won’t baby girl. Fuck you look so pretty taking my dick like that”

“Steve” I moan. His strokes increase as he wraps his hand tighter around my throat

“Nobody is allowed between my pretty little sluts thighs but me” my release is on the brink as he keeps talking to me like this “and if they try... I’ll kill them”

“I’m cumming” my legs shake uncontrollably as my hips buck upward.

“Cum for me please” he whimpers. I muster up the strength and flip us over riding him. I grind hard on Steve as he coats my walls in his juices whimpering my name.

I keep bucking my hips watching him squirm. I slow down and collapse on his chest feeling his dick pulse inside of me.

“You’re mine” he rasps

“I’m yours” I smile

“We’re going on a date tomorrow to solidify it but for right now will you be my girlfriend?” He smiles

“Of course” I laugh as he kisses my head.

#smut #fluff #chris evans smut #chris evans #dom!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x black reader #poc #chris evans x woc reader #captain america imagine #captain america smut #captain america #steve rogers smut

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hongism · 3 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 32

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 8.7k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part seven

“Captain won’t hurt him.”

You don’t need to turn to see who has just stepped in, but you do nonetheless at least for the smallest semblance of confirmation. It doesn’t make it any easier to see who stands at the edge of the tunnel, bright light cascading around his tall form and casting crude shadows across the floor as he walks closer to the group. You swallow around nothing in anticipation although nothing could prepare you for what Mingi says next.

“Because I’m the one going in there, not Jongho.”

“Absolutely not!” Yunho blurts without a breath of hesitation, hand jerking down by his side in a fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles go white.

“Mingi, how did you get here?” Seonghwa adds. This must not be according to plan for him to sound so bewildered, unless Hongjoong has truly kept him out of the loop but again that wouldn’t make an ounce of sense since Hongjoong spoke so adamantly about Jongho being the one to go in with him. So the only reasonable conclusion is that —

“I left the bunker.”

The only reasonable conclusion is, in fact, that Mingi has come to the arena by his own choice and volition.

“How the hell did you get out?” San interjects, pushing closer to Mingi with a hand stretched towards the man’s arm. Mingi merely blinks back at the shorter man without seeming surprised in the slightest.

“I knocked on the door and they let me out. How else would I have gotten out?”

“Why?” Seonghwa’s tone is nothing short of livid, and for a moment, you fear that his rage will affect Mingi in turn, but the Berserker manages to keep his steady expression with little effort.

“That’s my captain in there. That’s my captain who is about to fight, and that’s my crewmate who is taking the place that should be mine. Lieutenant, you said yourself that if he let you, you would take Captain’s place in a heartbeat. I feel the same way about Jongho.”

Feel. Mingi feels the same way about Jongho. It shouldn’t have as much impact as it does, but your heart clenches painfully in your chest and you blink at Mingi’s expression of determination with a certain sense of disbelief. The anger on Seonghwa’s features melts away, replaced by some other emotion you can’t quite place upon first glance.

“I was there when they prepared this plan yesterday,” Mingi continues. “I heard Jongho and Captain discussing what would happen as a last resort. Captain had wanted to talk Vladimir down and make him see reason. But in the event that he was not able to do that–”

“He would put himself on the line,” Seonghwa finishes, gaze falling to the dusty cobblestone. His jaw shifts as he mulls over his next words, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.”

“Exactly. But Jongho doubted that Vladimir would take Captain up on the offer, didn’t think he would allow Captain to select his own opponent.” Seonghwa hums, a sound that is noncommittal and meant to fill the small lapse in conversation when Mingi finishes speaking.

“Vlad only accepted because he has something else in mind. He can’t trust Jongho not to go easy on Hongjoong or anything like that.”

“But… he can trust the Brute of Kebos to do his job. What that man wants is more than blood. He wants the Brute of Kebos in his arena because that’s what he can trust. And so, I must deliver it.”

“No,” Yunho mutters, head shaking from side to side almost violently. “No! This could ruin everything. Don’t you see that? All the years of progress, everything I’ve done, all of it–”

“It won’t though.” Mingi sounds far too confident. There is a sense of finality to his words, and even Yunho is forced to stop speaking and focus on what Mingi has to say for himself. “The second Vladimir sees me in the arena, the tide will shift. His plan will go out the window because everyone here heard what he said. He craves to control the beast. The way he exercises that power is through his hand. It’s just like my father. I have seen it time and time again, lived it time and time again. Vladimir wants to see Captain dead, and he will want me to deliver the killing blow. But when he puts that thumb down and tells me to kill Captain… I won’t do it.”

“You were — Mingi, there is no guarantee that the beast won’t take over the second you set foot in there. I am not attempting to doubt you, but the mere mention of this planet sent you into a frenzy not too long ago. You cannot possibly think that this will end differently or that you won’t be able to hold back!”

Perhaps it’s all on account of a ridiculous effort on Mingi’s part, but still, his expression shows no cracks. No faltering, no flashing in his red eyes – just the very same neutral visage that reminds you of a statue.

“You know better than anyone what I’m capable of, Healer. And I am capable of disobeying orders because I have done so once before. Have at least a sliver of faith in my abilities to protect my captain.” Yunho snaps his lips together, forming a thin line that nearly disappears into white, but he does not say anything else. Seonghwa glances between the pair in a similar state of silence for several moments.

“If…” He trails off before he can finish the thought, lashes fluttering as he looks upwards now. “If this is truly what you want to do, we obviously can’t stop you. Though this is – it’s a hard agreement to make.”

“Have I ever hurt him before?” Mingi asks. The question is not truly inquisitive, moreso rhetorical, but it causes Seonghwa is sputter and struggle to come up with a response anyway.

“I – n-no, not that I can recall.”

“In six years, I have not once laid a finger on Captain. Not in all those years of episodes and relapse after relapse. I know the circumstances are different, and I know you have no reason to take me for my word, yet I would still ask you to trust me.”

Seonghwa extends a hand all of the sudden, eyes coming down to meet Mingi’s with a flare of determination. Mingi seems just as taken aback as the rest of you but he is quicker to understand the intention behind the gesture, hesitantly stretching his own hand out to latch around Seonghwa’s forearm. The lieutenant squeezes hard at his skin as though putting all his emotions into that one hold.

“Then Mingi, I beg of you — please bring him back to me alive.”

“Understood,” Mingi murmurs through a small nod. Then his hand falls away from Seonghwa’s, and the latter man releases a shaky exhale, watching Mingi step around him and move down the same tunnel that Hongjoong and Jongho descended into not too long ago. Yunho must be too stunned to say or do anything in that very moment because it takes at least two minutes for him to even react in the slightest to what just transpired before him.

“Tell me you have simply lost your mind and you don’t actually trust him.”

Seonghwa reels at those words, and he isn’t the only one to be shocked either because they elicit a broken gasp from Wooyoung’s lips that is followed up by the sound of skin slapping skin, no doubt the man trying to cover the sound a bit too late.

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t trust him.”

“Because the last time he disobeyed orders, it was when his fucking father was in my clinic recovering from a near-fatal injury and Mingi murdered him! There is no guarantee that this won’t affect Mingi badly and no guarantee that the second Mingi sets foot in the arena, things won’t go to hell! The moment he gets the chance, he will kill Hongjoong regardless of whether he is Mingi’s captain or not.”

“That is my captain down there as well, Yunho,” Seonghwa seethes through gritted teeth. “You are a fool if you think I am not even the slightest bit worried as well, but I trust my crew.”

“You act like you’re the only one who gets to call him that. He’s my fucking captain too – fuck that, he’s captain to every single one of us.”

“Yet I would not sit here and watch him die in that arena. I would never do that willingly, and as such, that’s not what I am doing now. I am putting my faith and trust in Hongjoong’s word and in Mingi’s word.”

“You aren’t a fucking savior to him!” Yunho pushes forward and slams both palms against Seonghwa’s chest, knocking the man back several feet. He doesn’t fight back though; he just stands as still as ever and glares forward at Yunho with enough heat to make you shift uncomfortably from where you stand. Out the corner of your eye, you can see San taking a few hesitant steps towards them, hand outstretched towards Yunho’s arm. Just before he can stop the healer from doing anything more, Seonghwa lifts a hand – a stopping motion directed at San and San only. “You blindly throw trust in his face and for what? To turn around and spit at his feet when he actually needs you?”

“What can I do, Yunho? What would you have me do? Go in there and take Hongjoong’s place? Speak the word and I’ll do it!”

“Stop fucking around and be serious.”

“Stand down, Yunho.” The enunciation of the words sends chills down your spine. There’s too much evenness to his tone, too much steadiness even though his rage billows off him in waves. Seonghwa’s anger is far more terrifying than you could have imagined it to be, a cold and harsh knife that deepens in your chest. In that moment, Yunho seems to shrink despite being taller and larger than the lieutenant, and his size could not possibly hold a candle to the absolute power and control in Seonghwa’s disposition. “That is an order, not from your lieutenant, but from your acting captain. This is me being serious, and I will not have you endanger my crew because of a reckless and distorted sense of pride and narcissism.”

Yunho’s face is overtaken by a stark pallor as Seonghwa takes a step in his direction. A finger jabs into Yunho’s chest, and even though it’s only one, Yunho reacts in such a way that it seems like he’s been hit by some incredible force.

“You will learn your place because whether you like it or not, I am your lieutenant and in Hongjoong’s absence, I am your captain. You listen to what I say, you follow my orders, you do as told without complaint. And if you feel differently, then you should have jumped ship during the mutiny.”

Silence comes in response to Seonghwa’s cold words. All Yunho can do is manage a shaky nod before dropping his gaze to the ground.

“Now if that’s the end of your whining, listen to me. All of you. San, Wooyoung, Yunho, Y/N — you four will stay down here during the fight. Once Hongjoong and Mingi go through, the guards will close the gates. You will be allowed to stand by the gate and watch that way, but be wary. The guards typically don’t question it when crowd members come down because they assume it to be for a closer view of the fighting. On the off chance that they do ask questions, just say that: you want a closer view. Yeosang and I will remain with you all until Jongho returns so I can inform him of the plan, then us two will head back up the left-wing. Should anything happen, use the comms channel.”

“I… I need to be on standby for when Mingi takes the hyacinth but — well, I ideally need someone to go into the market and find me some supplies.” Yunho’s shoulders loosen a bit as he speaks, all the anger in his tone dropping to a state of calm once more. Seonghwa’s lips part to respond, but Yunho cuts him short and continues speaking. “If you truly want everyone to come out of there alive, I have to have supplies. I truly will not be able to help Mingi without at least something to help him throw up to get the root out of his system.”

“I’ll get it.” You turn to the source of the voice only to find Wooyoung stepping forward, hand still clasped tight around Yeosang’s, and through the panic on his features, you can see a bit of determination in his eyes. “I can’t watch the fight, and I-I would rather not even be present for it. Maybe I’m weak but I don’t have the stomach to watch that.”

“I’ll go with then,” Yeosang adds without missing a beat.

“No, Yeosang, you can’t.” Seonghwa shakes his head, causing a few strands of black hair to fall loosely over his forehead. “Vladimir is expecting the two of us to be watching. He will have his men ready to watch us and look for us. If he only sees me, or if he sees me with anyone other than you, it will be problematic at best. He expects Hongjoong to try something, but that doesn’t mean we should give him the opportunity to confirm that thought.”

“I can go with him.” You hardly realize that the words have come out of your mouth until all eyes turn to yours. A large part of you would much rather stay and witness the fight between Hongjoong and Mingi – just out of a sense of curiosity and fascination at what might happen – but you know that there are bigger things at play here which matter far more than your personal agendas. Even if you think solely out of logic, this is the best course of action. Yeosang wouldn’t trust San to go with Wooyoung, Yunho can’t go, and Jongho isn’t even back yet for some reason that you can only boil down to him and Hongjoong talking with Mingi. And thus that leaves you.

“Me too.” It’s San who speaks this time, although Seonghwa’s immediate response is a sharp shake of his head.

“You have to stay with Yunho and Jongho. Y/N can… she can go with Wooyoung. There’s no telling how long this fight will last, but knowing Hongjoong, he will try to drag it out as much as possible out of pride and to make seem believable. We can only hope that it’s enough time for the two of you to get what Yunho needs and hurry back.”

Your initial reaction is just to nod and turn towards Wooyoung, not bothering to face Yunho when he decides to speak again.

“I’ll tell you what I need once you two get further into the city. There’s an old supply shop not far from here, at least there used to be — if you can’t find it, let me know and I’ll try to figure something else out.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung says before pulling his hand free of Yeosang’s. For the briefest of moments, Yeosang chases after his retreating hand, but he pulls away before Yeosang can close his fingers around Wooyoung’s again. You glance away from the pair as the creeping feeling that you’re watching something you shouldn’t be sneaks up on you. Then a hand closes around your arm, burning the skin in a tight grip, and you jerk from the suddenness of the touch. It’s none other than Yeosang who stares forward at you when you turn to face the culprit, eyes wide and pleading. For once, you find no scathing hatred in them.

“Make sure he comes back unharmed.” There is something so raw and unadulterated about the way he utters the words, and it’s that very emotion in them that causes your throat to constrict a bit. He carries the same desperation that Seonghwa did when he asked Mingi to bring Hongjoong back alive, a desperation that runs deeper than love or adoration. You can’t quite explain it – it’s hard to even imagine something being stronger and deeper than love – yet you can feel it at that moment. More than that though, it pushes a new thought into your mind that you’ve never had before, one that nearly shatters you into a million pieces.

“We went to a fortune teller once – just the two of us before we even joined the crew or knew anything about pirates. To see my future, not Yeosang’s, but… when the woman looked into my future, Yeosang wasn’t in the picture. She said that we were not meant to be in each other’s lives. Our meeting was a mistake, and it was not what fate had planned for us. And as such, any attempts we made to stay close to each other would inevitably end in flames. All because the stars didn’t align for us.”

How can one still fight so vehemently that even fate is against? What drives a person to be that desperate? To bear a desperation that would drive you to do absolutely anything to save the person you care about more than anything else? Was it that very desperation that drove Hyunwoo to take your place and kneel before the king prior to his death?

There won’t be hell to pay if Wooyoung gets hurt or put in danger; it’s what comes after that, what Yeosang might do in turn, what he might sacrifice to guarantee Wooyoung’s safety. That kind of devotion and commitment terrifies you — to love someone so much that you would lay down your life without a second thought to protect them.

“You have my word,” you whisper. And it’s not merely because he asked you to because frankly you don’t have many fond feelings surrounding Yeosang and the both of you know that you owe him no favors, yet here he stands, hand on your arm, pleading for you to do the job he cannot. You aren’t entirely sure why you agree with sure vehemence, but something compels you to, and the melting away of Yeosang’s panic adds to that stirring sensation in your gut.

“I don’t care for fate or destiny. I would rather it not exist, but I can’t deny the feeling that I get in my chest in those moments of intimacy. In a perfect world, I would get to call him mine without worrying about what fate has planned for us. But this? This is far from a perfect world.”

They are doing nothing more than the rest of every last sorry soul in the universe: trying to create what would be their perfect world. Fate has deprived them of enough. Who are you to take more from them?

When you pull away from Yeosang, the tightness in your throat has strengthened, and when you come alongside Wooyoung, you don’t miss the way he glances back at the Elitist. You cannot see the emotion in his eyes or his features, but you don’t need to to understand the hesitation in his movements. It is the same emotion you recognize in Seonghwa when it comes to Hongjoong. Back on Echidna when he pleaded for you to make sure that Hongjoong stayed safe, just now with Mingi, the haughty Lieutenant of Death begging for his captain to come back unharmed because he could not go in there to do the job for him. You can hardly imagine it — fearing for someone else’s life so much so that every time you part from them you have to treat it as though it could be the last. Well, you can imagine it because it’s a feeling you have always run from; one you ran from when it came to Jisung, and one you ran from when it came to San the moment it started blossoming. And with Seonghwa, you don’t feel that, you don’t fear for his life or what might happen if you are not around, and perhaps that is why you find yourself so drawn to him.

“Come on,” Wooyoung mutters. “The sooner we do this, the better.”

Merely seeing the way Wooyoung and Yeosang interact makes you want to run away, yet you find yourself turning just like Wooyoung did. Except when your gaze finds someone, it isn’t Seonghwa that you look towards. It’s San. San, the bright-eyed man with the cat-like smile who grinned at you on a military ship. The gentle man whose eyes seem to hold all the stars in the universe when he looks your way, the one who said he couldn’t bear the thought of you forgetting about him, who couldn’t dream of losing you before he told you he truly feels about you. The same man who looked you in the eye and said he would rather suffer pain to have you in his life than live a day without you. Gentle, kind, loving, oh so loving, San. As his eyes trail over your features, brows knitted together with concern washing over those deep brown eyes, you are overcome by a stark pang of fear in your chest.

You turn back to Wooyoung, struggling to push your legs into action and follow him out of the arena’s tunnel because each step feels heavier than the last. Walking away from San seems too much like a goodbye, even though you’re confident that you and Wooyoung will both be fine. The one thing you failed to take into account was that in your efforts to keep that flower of worry from blossoming, you forget it had already taken root, and now that you can so clearly see it reflected in the people around you, you feel its roots stretching deeper into your chest.

“How do you do it?” You murmur once the two of you are further away from the rest of the crew. Tall buildings rise up around the two of you, filling the void of the arena’s cobbles with its colored brick houses and buildings. It brings you back to when Yunho brought you here along with Wooyoung and Yeosang, with the glittering lights against the sunset sky and snow falling around your heads. The scenery now is far from that sense of peace — hard, bright rays of sunlight bearing down on you with a cold in the air so brittle that it bites at your skin.

“Hm?”

“How do you keep fighting so hard for Yeosang? When even fate is supposedly against you?” Wooyoung inhales sharply at the question, and you think you’ve crossed an invisible line for a moment. Life goes on around you, people bustling over the same streets that you walk with Wooyoung and minding their own business without a care in the world. He doesn’t respond right away, in fact, it takes quite some time for him to muster up even a few words.

“Because love is… I-I know I can’t, but sometimes I feel like I can outrun fate. And Yeosang – he makes me feel that way. I was a slave for as long as I could remember, that was my fate, they told me it was. They said I was destined to be nothing more than a slave, just someone to be used and tossed around until I died. Everyone in my life said that even the people who raised me. B-But a dumb little blond prince came in and… and h-he shot my chains and set me free. Yeosang changed my fate for me, and he did so without any hesitation. If he could do that for me — me, who was a complete stranger back then — then why would I not try to do the same for him now when we are so much more than strangers? Fate can do a lot of things, but it could never keep me from loving him.”

Despite the stutters and hesitation in his tone, Wooyoung sounds more confident about his words than anything else. You have never heard him speak with such conviction. You thought you had seen the extent of his resolve when he cut his hand open and told Yeosang that the man could not protect him from himself, but he proves you wrong now.

“And how do you find it in you to walk away in times like this?” Perhaps you are just searching to hear what he would do so that you know how you should cope yourself. What he says instead hurts far more than it helps, and you cannot even begin to think about having that same mindset yourself.

“Because I know that even if I were to die apart from him, we would find our ways back to each other in whatever comes after this life. I know that I have loved him better than I have loved anyone in my life, and despite all his faults and missteps, he has done the same for me. I can never be at peace with the thought of him dying before I do, and I’m confident that he would say the same about me, but I can be at peace with the thought of resting eternally in the knowledge that I gave him my all through thick and thin. That’s how I can walk away.”

“I…”

What can you say in response to something like that? You understand Yeosang’s desperation now because even if Wooyoung would be okay with it, he could never forgive himself for not being there in those moments. That makes your drive heighten, the desire to protect Wooyoung from if only to keep Yeosang from suffering a pain worse than death.

“Hey, you two there?” Yunho’s crackling voice breaks through the silence and tension hanging between you and Wooyoung.

“Yep, we’re almost to the trade district.”

“Okay, start looking for the supply shop. It’ll be somewhere on your left, The Quiet Peony, let me know if you can’t find it.” Yunho’s voice dissipates into nothingness once more, leaving you and Wooyoung to blink at each other without saying a word for several passing moments. Then the dark-haired man reaches down and catches hold of your hand, yanking you closer to his body. The action startles you, and you hardly realize why he is so urgent in his movements until you hear a loud clatter of metal resounding from behind you. A whoosh of air hits the back of your neck, one that feels a bit too much like the point of a spear for your liking. Wooyoung prevents you from turning around to examine your surroundings. All you can do is beg for answers in the form of a hushed whisper.

“What’s going on?”

“Guards. Look like Vladimir’s men,” Wooyoung mutters back, hand clinging to yours with more force now. “I think they’re just passing through to get to the arena.”

“Why is he bringing more men in? Could he already know about Mingi?”

“Seonghwa would tell us, wouldn’t he? Is it – no, no, they can’t have even started the fight yet.” Wooyoung glances past your shoulder as the rattling of metal continues. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips once, twice, three times. Then he brings his other arm up, lips pressing against the thin band around his wrist. “Hey, would you – could one of you please tell us when the fight starts?”

“Of course.” It’s Seonghwa who speaks this time, voice as cool and steady as ever, and his words confirm the suspicion that the fight has in fact not started quite yet. Wooyoung exhales a sigh of relief, then the rumbling steps behind you fade into the din of the city. He releases your arm after that and steps away from you, a bit of the worry creasing his features dissipating more with each passing second.

“Let’s just hope that it’s unrelated to the mission. Come on, I think I see what might be a supply shop over there,” you urge as you stretch a hand back out towards Wooyoung. He offers a quick series of nods. His hand slots against yours as he takes it, letting you guide the way through the lines of people. As you push closer to the row of buildings, the small hanging nameplates outside them come into view, and sure enough, one of those very nameplates reads in small uppercase letters The Quiet Peony.

“Yunho, we’re here, it’s here,” Wooyoung says into his wristband, and there’s more optimism to his tone now that you’ve found what you were looking for with little issue.

“Thank goodness,” Yunho sighs. Behind his voice, you can hear a clamoring of noise: loud cheers and shouts, applause that rings in your ears, a booming but unintelligible voice somewhere off in the distance. “Vladimir is announcing the fight and the rules. He—” Yunho’s voice drops at least an octave, if not more, as he hushes his tone “—he doesn’t know about Mingi yet.”

“What do you need us to get?” You press the question, urgent to get this done and over with so that you can return to witness the fight.

“Um, violet stems, cardamom seeds, two vials of pure lily essence, and a bit of pink peppercorn. Just things to help him vomit the hyacinth mixture. I’ve got some purified water in my emergency bag so I won’t be needing any.”

“And you’ve got a mortar and pestle?” Wooyoung inquires, obviously knowing far more about whatever Yunho is on about than you do.

“Yep, brought the backup.”

“Alright, we’ll – we’ll head in now.” Wooyoung hesitates though and refuses to budge from his spot outside the door. You think he’s waiting for you to make a move, but after a second you realize what it is that has him caught up. “Yeosang?”

“I’m here.”

Except it isn’t merely a confirmation of his presence on the line or in the arena. Wooyoung breathes out again, lashes fluttering as he shuts his eyes, and he almost seems to bask in the sound of Yeosang’s voice while he can. It rubs you the wrong way. Something about Wooyoung’s disposition is off, even if he isn’t showing the same signs of anxiety and worry that he was showing earlier. Still, you keep your lips pressed tightly together as he pushes into the shop, and you follow hot on his heels. There’s nothing for you to do once in the shop; Wooyoung takes the initiative of speaking to the shop over and requesting all the materials that Yunho listed off for the two of you. You just stand back by the door, wringing your hands together endlessly with a growing disturbance in your gut. Enough is enough when Wooyoung bows at the waist and pulls away from the man behind the counter. The second he faces you, you level him with a firm stare.

His throat bobs behind the metal collar clinging to his neck. Slowly but surely, he walks towards you, eyes not leaving yours for a second, then he motions towards the door.

“We should go.”

“Wooyoung,” you utter. A bit of a tremor slips into your voice.

“Y/N, we need to go. Now.” This isn’t the same man that you met in the med bay, the same man who was so desperate to follow orders with a high-pitched and panicked tone. This Wooyoung is far different — he doesn’t waver under the heat of your glare, and he bears a firm resolution to him. It feels entirely wrong. When he grabs hold of your arm this time, it’s to pull you out of the shop and back into the streets. The din resumes louder than before, and now you find it accompanied by your heart thrumming in your ears.

“The fight is starting now,” Seonghwa announces. The adrenaline pumping through your veins seems to reach impossible heights. “They announced him as Jongho, but it won’t take long for Vlad to realize who is truly down there in the arena with Hongjoong.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens on you. You try to pull free of his grasp, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor, but he’s holding you with a newfound force that you can’t get out of.

“Wooyoung, what the fuck is going on?” You hiss as you give up on your attempts to get out. He barely shifts to look back at you over his shoulder.

“I-I can’t explain. You won’t – it won’t m-make any sense. You just have to trust me on this, Y/N. We need to get back there as quickly as possible.”

“Wooyoung, you’re hurting me.” The words are only half true – mostly an attempt to get him to loosen his grip, but it backfires because he only clings to you tighter.

“I had a dream about this last night, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s chest heaves in an unsteady pattern. “I had a dream about the mission and everything that would happen on it. And everything I dreamt of is happening, it’s all coming to life. I dreamt that Hongjoong would offer himself up and that Mingi would be his opponent, and I dreamt that Hongjoong dies in there. I saw him die, but it wasn’t Mingi who killed him. Vladimir killed him – both of them – then he killed Jongho, Yunho, San a-and Yeosang. And after that? He captured Seonghwa and you and m-me, and he used that same squadron of guards who passed us in the streets not long ago to do it. I dreamt that we would pass them, that one would hit your shoulder and knock you to the ground, and t-that’s why I was able to stop them from doing that today. Call me crazy, but there are far too many coincidences happening right now for me not to think that that dream is coming true.”

Under any other circumstances, you would yank your arm away from Wooyoung’s and call him batshit insane. Now, however? The blaring sirens of panic and warning rampaging in your head are enough for you to take Wooyoung’s word for it. It may only be superstition, but you know that you never would have guessed that Mingi would come to the arena or that Hongjoong would offer himself to go down to fight. Yet Wooyoung seems to have dreamt both into reality. You don’t fight him anymore, not with your body or your words; instead, you let the man tug you back towards the arena with an increased sense of urgency to your movements.

A panic settles into your bones the closer you draw to the rising walls of the arena. It’s one that you have felt before — when you were scaling the walls of the palace grounds on Eros to stop the king from killing Hyunwoo. His form swirls to life at the forefront of your mind, the black silk hood cinched around his neck and covering his face even in his last moments. Again when you and Hongjoong were racing through Echidna in attempts to catch up with San before he did something reckless. Wooyoung’s mention of Vladimir killing San in his dream is not the only reason why his face replaces Hyunwoo’s in your head.

In all your time in the military, you never had to fear for Jisung’s life. You didn’t have to fear for any of your team’s lives, not until the end when Hyunwoo’s was on the line. Even when you were in jail for your crimes, you did not fear for them because they were your crimes and not theirs. The pain you felt when you learned that Hyunwoo was scheduled to die is the same pain you feel radiating through your whole body now. You aren’t there. If anything happens to him now, you can’t be there. You are too far away to get to San in time. Logic tells you that he can protect himself and keep himself safe, but sheer panic screams louder in the din of your thoughts.

Something stops you in your tracks. Wooyoung comes to a halt beside you, a startled and broken cry ripping from his lips. Everything happens in slow motion.

An explosion first. It’s so loud that your ears ring and your head throbs from the pressure of it. The both of you are staring directly at the source of the explosion, just through the tunnel leading to the main fighting ground of the arena and just past that gate that separates Hongjoong and Mingi from the rest of the crew. It starts and ends there, a cloud of sandy, pale dust billowing up so quickly that you have to duck your head to keep from choking on it.

Wooyoung tears forward. His hand drops yours without second thought. Someone is screaming through the earpiece, you can at least feel the vibrations of their voice, but your ears are still ringing too much for you to actually process what’s being said. Your legs work on their own accord and thrust your after Wooyoung.

Hongjoong. Mingi. Both in the arena.

How bad was the explosion? Everything happened too quickly for you to recall the extent of the blast, but it could be that the dust made it seem much worse than it was in actuality.

Jongho?

He would have been close to the gate with the others. With Yunho. You are angry with the healer, yes, but you wouldn’t go so far as to wish death on him.

Seonghwa.

He said he would be in the left wing with Yeosang. That would be far enough away from the blast, no? Surely it would be. Unless Vladimir’s guards reached the two of them first. Yet you can’t imagine that either one would go down easily.

San.

He was to remain with Yunho and Jongho. That’s far too close for comfort.

Please. You’ve never been one to pray, but if that’s what it takes for San to be okay, then you will do whatever you have to. Please be okay. You don’t care what kind of monster you have to become in order to keep him safe. It scared you before — back when you turned into a person you did not recognize in that warehouse on Echidna — but now you cannot find it in your body to care in the slightest.

As you burst into the tunnel, a body slams hard against yours. You are so clouded with panic and too focused on staring forward that you thrash against the grip on your shoulders.

“Y/N!” It isn’t San’s voice calling out your name, you know that much.

“San!” You scream out nonetheless, fingers ripping and tearing at the arms caging you in to no avail.

“Y/N, listen – listen, it’s me! Y/N!” You stop thrashing long enough to bring your gaze to the face of the man holding you. Blond hair fills your vision, panicked eyes wide and your throat nearly closes in on itself when you recognize it to be Yeosang. But —

Wooyoung was just in front of you. He is nowhere to be found now, not anywhere near Yeosang which is where he should be, and Seonghwa isn’t anywhere in sight either despite him being with Yeosang earlier.

“Se-Seonghwa?” You stammer through a few heavy breaths.

“He went straight to the source of the explosion.”

“Hongjoong and Mingi?”

“Hongjoong and Mingi,” Yeosang confirms through a shaky nod.

“Wooyoung. He – he went ahead of me. Did you s-see him?”

“No, I just came down the stairs. Seonghwa jumped straight down into the arena, but I got caught up in the crowds of people trying to rush out.” You couldn’t even focus on the people rushing around you and Yeosang until he mentions it, still high on the adrenaline pumping through your veins and leaving you dizzy.

“San,” you exhale. Your gaze falls over Yeosang’s shoulder again and stares deeper into the tunnel ahead.

“There’ll be guards ahead. Vladimir probably launched an emergency attack when he realized Mingi was down there.”

“And? We can’t leave them there.”

“No, I’m not saying we should. Just – just that we need to be careful.” Yeosang pulls back to hold you at arm’s length now, but his gaze isn’t focused on you. No, it’s shift to look back over his shoulder and down the tunnel that remains clouded with dust. There is far too much screaming from the crowds trying to rush out of the arena for either of you to hear anyone further down. Yeosang maintains a steady grip on your bicep as he pulls his gun free of its holster. You fumble to do the same albeit with much more of a struggle because your hands are shaking so badly.

Yeosang leads the way down the tunnel despite not being able to see far in front of him, and you stay close behind him, leaning to the side just enough to glance past his shoulder. The whole situation is horrifying enough but the whole concept of not being able to see or hear your crewmates makes it far worse than it already is. The two of you are only about halfway into the tunnel when a gunshot resounds. It ricochets and echoes throughout the length of the cylinder. Your steps come to a halt as Yeosang darts a hand out in front of your body. The barest outlines of bodies come into sight, dust beginning to disperse enough to expose the people inside the cloud. You can’t make out any faces, but certainly, some have to be your fellow crewmates.

“Move!” One voice rises above the others, and it’s one you recognize in a heartbeat. San. San, who sounds tired and out of breath and strained but still okay. Alive. More noises begin to resound as you and Yeosang push closer. The clattering of metal against metal for the most part – very sparse gunshots – along with a few shouts that are foreign compared to the voices of the crew. You can only hear Wooyoung and San in the mess, but there’s certainly more fighting than that going on, so you can only hope that Jongho and Yunho will be there as well when you finally push through the dust cloud.

And it’s with a sigh of relief that they do come into view, Yunho sprawled out of the ground with a gun in hand, and Wooyoung and San standing back to back both with spears in hand. They must have taken them from some of the guards because the guard standing across from Wooyoung holds the same weapon in his own hands, swinging the weapon in Wooyoung’s direction. Yeosang reacts before the dark-haired man can; his gun whips up and places a bullet in the guard’s helmet before he can come close to touching Wooyoung.

“Yeosang!”

Wooyoung nearly drops his weapon in favor of rushing towards the Elitist, but another metal-clad guard comes down on his left. Yeosang doesn’t have time to react this time. San does though, hand stretching behind him to snag the shaft of the spear before the point can sink through Wooyoung’s skin. He twists and slams the tip of his own weapon deep into the gut of the attacker. A grunt leaves his snarled lips as he shoves the guard back and plants a foot on the base of the spear. You and Yeosang came just in time to see the end of the fighting it seems; no other guards stand in the tunnel, just San and Wooyoung surrounded by a myriad of bodies with Yunho not far away. One person isn’t in sight though. Jongho.

San wipes at the base of his nose with his sleeve before turning to face you. Sweat paints his brow, dripping down the sides of his face, but as far as you can tell, there are no injuries or blood on him. Wooyoung and Yunho are in similar conditions, which is reassuring at best, but the lack of information surrounding the rest of the crew doesn’t let you rest easy.

“Seonghwa and Jongho went in for Captain and Mingi,” San heaves, mouth continuing to hang agape even after he speaks. “Seonghwa told us to wait here for them, but a squadron came in. Most likely will send backups too.”

“We’ll just have to be ready for a fight then,” Yeosang answers. He doesn’t push his gun back into its holster, but he does lower it to his side as Wooyoung rushes over to join him where he stands. You don’t have time to glance away before you catch the sight of their lips slotting together fervently, Wooyoung’s hands clasped desperately around the back of Yeosang’s neck. San moves towards Yunho’s reclining form, and he extends a hand to the healer before helping the man get to his feet.

“What happened?” You inquire, trying not to let your gaze linger on the carnage strewn over the cobbles.

“It took longer than we thought it would for Vladimir to react to Mingi being in the arena, but… everything happened really quickly after that. The fight didn’t last more than ten minutes at best. The explosion came from under the arena, no doubt a failsafe for Vlad to use in emergencies, but it wasn’t a true bomb. An electrostatic pulse meant to incapacitate. He has nodes lining the walls of the actual circle, and my guess is that they can conduct the pulses through them and send it throughout the whole arena. Still, any bomb of that size causes a big impact, and that’s why there was a sudden dust storm and so much chaos.” San brings a hand to his hair and combs through his sweat-slick locks. “No doubt that’s what is taking Seonghwa and Jongho so long. And a unit was probably dispatched to take care of them too.”

“Then shouldn’t we go in there and help out?” You offer, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s best to guard this entrance from further intruders.” Yeosang is the one to answer you. You peek over in his direction. Wooyoung clings to him like a vice and refuses to let his arms pull away from the blond for even a fraction of a second, and frankly, you cannot blame him at this point.

“Then we should—”

You cut your thought short out of the blue. Expectant eyes turn to you, waiting for you to continue what you were saying, but your mind goes elsewhere. A chill runs down your spine. A freezing cold sensation blossoms in your fingertips, spreading and spreading until you feel it down to your toes. Jerking your head, you glance back over your shoulder only to find nothing there except for the retreating backs of civilians who are still trying to get out of the building.

“Y/N? What’s goi—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, not caring to process whoever the voice belongs to. Nothing. Not the barest hint of a sound. A ruckus coming from both ends of the tunnel, but the air is completely still under the tension hanging about you in this part. Too still. You bring your chin forward once more only to test a theory. It proves useful because the second you face San again, a clink of metal resounds. Something rolls by your left foot. A small, round silver ball. Etchings all over the sphere. Two carefully carved initials into the side of the metal. Technology you’ve only seen from one person before.

You’re too late to kick it out of the way, and a gust of freezing cold smoke hisses around your body, filling the air with a new kind of dust that blinds you in seconds. All you can hear are the sounds of the others coughing near you. You think back to the letters that rolled across your vision.

Smoke bomb. Not just any smoke bomb — one specially crafted and made for reconnaissance and assassination missions. You would know exactly what their original purpose was supposed to be because there is only one person you know of in the entire universe who would sign his name off on a bomb.

Your body careens to the floor before you can think about it further, a force slamming so hard into your back that almost every ounce of air leaves your lungs.

“Jisung,” you exhale with the last few huffs of air in your body. The pressure on your back alleviates in less than a second.

Han Jisung.

Assassin, Spectre, reconnaissance specialist.

Talents: crafting special grade weaponry for missions.

Trademark: carving his initials into every single weapon he creates.

Han Jisung.

Jisung is gone.

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

Gone.

“Promise me that you won’t.”

Here.

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

Jisung is here.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?”

That’s the last thing you hear before something sharp digs into the back of your neck, and a strange warmth fills your veins. You don’t have time to think about what it could be because it sends you into a deep and intense state of unconsciousness within mere seconds.

…

The air around you is stiff and unmoving, cold as ice yet you don't feel goosebumps rising across your skin. A dark night sky looms above you with its scattering of bright stars. Near the center of the indigo sea lies a brilliant red moon; bright in its blinding color. Something about the scene is familiar, the clearness of the sky reminds you of something from your past. No clouds, no breeze, no sounds of nightlife.

It's a sense of complete and utter peace. Something damp seeps through your clothing, touching your skin and leaving you cold. You sit up and press your palms to the ground below you. Instead of meeting solid ground, however, you're met by water. It splashes against your legs, and you withdraw your hands from the surface in an instant.

Water?

You bring your chin up, glancing across your surroundings. It's a lake, a shallow one yes, considering that your legs aren't fully submerged and you seem to be placed in the middle of it. A chill runs down your spine. You know exactly where you are. The water beneath you runs black, and the enormous moon hanging in the sky is only present on one planet. It's only then, when you discern where you are, that you realize you're in a dream and not reality. You push yourself to your feet, nearly slipping on the slick mud beneath the layer of black water. A man sits at the edge of the lake, undisturbed and unbothered by your presence.

You wade through the water in the direction of the man. As you get closer, his features become more clear under the vibrant red moonlight. A familiar face to go along with the familiar scenery. He prods at the pebbles along the shore of the lake with a crooked stick, paying you no attention even as you splash water across the rocks with your steps.

“It's been a while since I've seen you, old man,” you greet, soft tone carrying through the air with ease in the absence of a breeze. The rugged form before you doesn't move. He continues to prod at the stones near your feet and pushes black water against your ankles. You wait a moment in the hopes that he'll look up at you and respond, but he still acts as though you don't exist.

“Daichi,” you try again in an attempt to garner his attention. It works this time.

His chin snaps up, a wrinkled face becoming clear before you, and blue eyes stare into yours. Piercing and cold, just as you remember from your last encounter with the aged man.

“Ah, Tsukio. There you are.”

✧✧✧ a/n: ignore that i haven’t fixed the banner yet that is a later problem right now it’s all about sURPRISE CHAPTER 32!!! WHATS GOOD?! jk um please dont yell at me LMAO yall about to be mad mad after this so save your anger for the next one WHOOPS!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side

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long-cosmos-overhead · 4 years

Note

How is your mood? I really hope that everything is fine with you! I would like to ask you to write something for me. How will Jack Sparrow, Cutler Beckett, James Norrington, Armando Salazar and Davey Jones react to the fact that the girl is very kind and someone uses this kindness. Thank you☺️

Of course it’s been too long since I had a potc request

(I do not own PoTC or it’s characters/ gifs not mine)

Jack Sparrow

To get one thing clear Jack loves that despite living in such a horrific world you are incredibly kind it’s part of the reason he fell for you you are the jewel among stones in his eyes

So when you come to him near tears over someone walking all over you and misusing your kindness he is angry beyond belief

In all actuality Jack would probably know the person was not good and would end up pulling something before they did anything and would try his best to keep you away from them by means of kisses, pretending to be hurt or straight up picking you up and pulling you away

But you being you were endlessly kind and patient towards them

All you have to do is mutter what happened and Jack will take you to his cabin to make you feel better he hates seeing you cry and as much as he’s angry he’d rather you were okay

He fetches two bottles of rum and returns to you his plan is to go after them when you’re asleep that way he doesn’t stress you out even more but he does do a much better job than anyone would know at making you feel better

He can have you laughing within an hour, he often pulls you up to dance and drink or if you’re in a solemn mood he’ll take off his shoes and drag you to his chest to lay down and cuddle for a while or he’ll take you up on deck to watch the stars and he will give you his captains coat to make you feel warm

Jack doesn’t care if it takes him a minute or a year the people that hurt you will pay even if it means getting the whole crew involved you’re the one person he’ll protect to no end

Cutler Beckett

He’s livid almost more livid than Jack it’s actually rather scary there’s a dangerous fire in his eyes and despite being so upset you wonder if him knowing would upset him too much

However Beckett found sympathy and care for you a long time ago you seem to be the one person he cares about to no end which in a way makes the punishment for those that hurt you far more severe

He orders everyone out leading you to the nearest seat or his bed before ordering his men to capture and imprison those that took advantage of your kindness

The chances that Beckett knows who they are are high, he has eyes and ears all over the place and in a world so corrupt he likes to have an eye on you - not in a suffocating or creepy way but he likes to know you’re safe and with the right people

He makes you tea or pours some wine and asks you tell him what happened that way he decides how severely they should be punished

Typically Beckett is not affectionate or touchy in the slightest but you bring out a softer side to him and he’s more afraid of touch as he perceives it as weakness but he’ll hold you or let you talk and vent for as long as you need

Honestly it’s best if you also have a say in how the person or people go about being punished since Beckett can and will get too ruthless when it comes to you - you balance each other out and that way will come to a reasonable solution

James Norrington

Like Jack and Beckett he is furious to see you so upset from the doing of someone you trusted and took pity upon to share your kindness with

But all his rage and resent is pushed aside when he sees your eyes swimming with tears and your overall mood deflated and solemn you will always be James’ main concern and top priority

James is a huge softie deep down and he is the most affectionate in general should it come to this he loves and adores you and will stop at nothing to make sure you’re eyes sparkle with happiness

James is almost as upset as you are let him pick you up and hold you as close as he can, he’ll sit upright on the bed with you in his lap both arms tight around your waist

If you decide to rant James will listen in silence in his eyes it’s best to get it out of your system rather than bottle it up if you cry his grip will tighten and cease to falter and he’ll place kisses on your forehead whilst slowly rubbing circles in your back or arms

James gets most concerned if you go completely silent and just lay there he’ll try talking to you, make you your favourite food or drink, read you a chapter from a book you love he’ll get rather desperate to see you happy

Despite being an absolute softie and cuddly person towards you he can be the worst nightmare for anyone of the recieving end of his anger

He doesn’t get you involved with what he does to the person that hurt you but he’ll make sure they won’t do much as look at you wrong again before returning straight home to cuddle with you

Salazar

Anyone that hurt you will wish and pray they didn’t you may be kind and merciful however Salazar is not and you also know that, the best option is probably to hide what happened if you want them to live

Chances are Salazar would find out a littler sooner than you would’ve liked he can sense you’re upset, your body language is off and you’ve withdrawn

Despite his fearsome reputation he really does love you he may not be the best at it but he does try and keep his anger under control to comfort you even if it means letting you relax into his embrace

Just be weary, the second he leaves you and steps on deck he’s shouting orders to find and bring the ones that wronged you to him and they’re found pretty quickly too

God forbid it’s a member of his crew he’ll make them fear every inch of the world and get revenge it the most horrific ways possible just note when Salazar wants revenge he’s hell bent on it you’re such a rareness in the world and Salazar will not back down in defending you

If it’s someone you know and they’ve taken a serious emotional toll on you they’re practically already dead Salazar will hunt them down and in the meantime spend every waking hour with you

It scares Salazar how your emotional breakdowns somehow seep into him and he genuinely feels upset to some degree he’s really not one for emotions or affection but he is a warm hugger and if you ask eventually he’ll crack and hold you

Davy Jones

He’s a lot like Salazar in the sense that he can be and most often is merciless if someone has crossed him or even not crossed him

You can try and hide what happened all you like but Davy will always be able to read you, you could be the most convincing liar he’s met but if your sad he senses it, if you lie he senses it and lying or holding secrets will most likely drive a wedge in your relationship

However once he loves you, he loves you forever and if you’ve managed to break through his exterior and maintain a relationship with him he will treat you like the most precious thing in the world

When he walks in and sees you crying or senses somethings wrong it’s only soft touches and a few sweet words to get you to tell him at least what’s going on

Davy is better with actions rather than words and that works to your advantage since after hearing what happened he says nothing only caresses your skin wiping away a stray tear and muttering that he’ll be back later

For the time being you entertain yourself and take your mind off what happened as best you can it’s not too hard - there’s plenty of books and things you can do but you’d rather do all of that with Davy

Davy returns a few hours later he feels bad for having left you but your problem was eliminated and Davy was all yours, he’d do anything you wanted, he’d teach or play you piano, cuddle and fall asleep, read to you or over your shoulder as long as you’re with Davy everything’s that bit better

#jack sparrow x reader #jack sparrow headcannon #salazar x reader #salazar headcannon #davy jones x reader #dave jones headcannon #cutler beckett x reader #cutler beckett imagines #james norrington headcannon #james norrington x reader #pirates of the caribbean #angst #fluff #request #ask

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

Text

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter five || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You and Din struggle with your hurt in the wake of his decision.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff | Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader

A/N: Drumroll please..... it’s the long-awaited angst! Which I have never claimed as my forte, but I think it works for our Struggling™ pair of idiots. They just love each other but they’re so mad at each other, god bless.

You were relieved to see the Crest’s familiar shape emerge through the haze and broken trees. Your feet hurt from walking, your baby was heavy in your arms, and you’d worked yourself into total hopelessness. The sight of your home was welcome and comforting, and you felt yourself breathe easier as you came closer to it.

You lowered the ramp with the remote control on the bracelet Din made you when you first came to live on the Crest, a pretty little thing that he’d modified to control the ship and, later, the baby’s bassinet. You wished you still had that bassinet; it made travelling easier, and there was always a safe place to put Grogu if you and Din had your hands full. You wondered if you’d need two cribs once your new baby came, or if your husband would have already shipped Grogu off by then.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” you said to yourself, nearly tasting your bitterness. You tucked Grogu into his hammock with intentional gentleness and closed the bunk hatch, wishing you could curl up and sleep too.

You heard the ramp close again over the sound of the refresher tap; the cold water felt good on your skin, and you buried your face in a towel afterwards, hiding from everything for a moment. When you finally looked up, you saw Din in the mirror; you knew him well enough to know he was studying your face in the reflection.

“Cyare,” he said, his tone soft through the modulator.

You whirled around.

“Don’t cyare me, Din,” you snapped. “I’m not in the mood for it.”

You waited for the flare of frustration and annoyance in his body language; when it didn’t come, you felt a little off-kilter.

“I know you’re angry,” he finally said.

Oh, that did it. Maybe he wasn’t frustrated or annoyed with you, but you were livid with him.

“Angry?” you repeated. You marched over to him, an accusing finger pointed at his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, Din. Angry doesn’t begin to cover how I feel about this. About you.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I’m sorry. But I — ”

“I don’t care,” you said, cutting him off, totally unwilling to listen to his explanation. You were finally, properly angry, and he was going to listen.

“I’m not sending our son to train with her or with any other Jedi, alright?” you said. “You can make as many deals as you like and come up with a million macho rescue missions to risk your life on. But he’s my son too, and I’m not letting him go with her.”

You realized you were practically yelling at him; while you weren’t concerned about how it would affect him - Din Djarin was made of sterner stuff, and could handle your temper - you didn’t want to risk waking the baby.

“Come up to the cockpit with me,” you said.

His helm gave a questioning tilt. “Why?”

You started up the ladder. “Because I’m not finished yelling at you.”

He followed you up, giving you as much space as he could in the somewhat cramped cockpit. Despite fully intending to keep up your tirade, he was suddenly big, imposing; for the first time in many, many years, you felt intimidated by all that beskar.

“Din,” you said softly.

He reacted immediately to your change in tone, opening his posture towards you. “What is it?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this angry with him, and you certainly couldn’t remember the last time you’d been even the tiniest bit scared of him. All of a sudden, you realized you wanted your husband, not the unreadable Mandalorian standing in front of you.

You worried the hem of your shirt. “Can you please take off your helmet?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, moving to comply without hesitation. He removed his helmet and set it on the dashboard; his face was lined with worry and hurt. “Sorry, cyare.”

His expression crinkled in a wince as he remembered you’d asked him not to call you that. “I mean — sorry. Just — sorry.”

You felt your anger lessen by degrees — not enough to let it go, by any means, but enough that you were more willing to listen to him. Really, you wanted to know why he’d made such a decision; you wanted him to explain it to you, to show you that it really was in your son’s best interest, to convince you that your husband wasn’t suddenly a completely different person.

“It’s ok,” you said tiredly. “I’m not — I just don’t want you sweet talking me, ok? You need to talk to me. Really talk to me, right now.”

He nodded. “I am. I will. You have my full attention, and I will hear you out completely.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “But you’re not going to change your decision.”

His expression was pained. “No, cyare. I won’t. But I think you know that I can’t. We can’t.”

“We?” you repeated. “I didn’t make this decision, Din. You did, by yourself, and you completely ignored me while you did. Since when do you make decisions about our family by yourself?”

“I didn’t want to,” he said, and it frustrated you how sincere it was. “You have to know that. And I apologize for ignoring you — that’s not the way I wanted this to go, believe me.”

He ran a hand over his face, his remorse clear as day in his expression. “I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. She was going to leave, and we were going to lose the only Jedi we’ve managed to find.”

You wanted to say that it would have been a good thing, but despite your intentions of bringing him up here to yell at him, you made yourself hold your tongue.

He looked at you with a surprising gentleness.

“It’s not forever,” he said. “It’s only training. Mandalorian children leave for training, too.”

“He’s not going for Mandalorian training, though,” you said. You understood that he was trying to comfort you, but the length of time Grogu would be gone was only a small concern next to the kinds of people he’d be with.

“Didn’t you hear what she said?” you pressed. “I can’t think of anything more different from the Way than — than thinking loving your family is wrong.”

"She didn't say that," he corrected. "She said attachment makes you vulnerable, which is true."

You tried to reconcile his justification with what you knew him to believe, with what he'd lived out since the day you'd met him.

"Vulnerability isn't bad," you said. "You taught me that. And if our son goes trains with the Jedi, he'll be taught that it is. Doesn't that bother you?"

His expression, always so easily readable, flickered with uncertainty.

“It does bother you,” you said, and with the realization came a surprising wave of relief. To know you were at least agreed on that, even if he wouldn’t admit it, was reassuring to you.

His posture stiffened with agitation, and you knew you’d hit a sore spot. You knew he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t room for it; he drummed his fingers on the top of his helmet instead.

“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.

You balked. “How can it not matter, Din? You’re his father. Of course it matters.”

He shook his head. “What matters is that I honor the vow I made to him. That we honor that vow.”

He looked up at you, his expression starting to show the frustration you felt.

“Has that crossed your mind at all?” he asked. “That you made a vow to him? In front of me, in front of the armorer?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Of course it has. It’s why I don’t want him to go with Ahsoka.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he snapped. “Our vow was to return him to the Jedi.”

“Our vow was to be his parents,” you corrected. “And I think that overrides the promise to return him to the Jedi. What kind of parents would we be if we watched him grow up thinking that attachment and love were dangerous?”

“We’re not going to watch him grow up at all,” he shot back, bitterness and anger pouring from his tone. “Don’t you get it? He’s older than both of us. Once we’re gone, he’ll be completely alone.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “The Tribe — it’s completely gone, cyare. If there’s anyone left, they’re scattered. I don’t even know where the armorer is. Grogu needs to be raised in a clan, or raised by his own kind. We were never going to be able to keep him forever.”

You knew what he said was true. His rate of aging wasn’t a problem now, when you and Din were both relatively young, but Grogu would live to be much older than either of you. Din was right. If you were a part of a bigger clan, Grogu could be raised as a Mandalorian — it might take a few generations, but he would never be on his own.

“Let’s find another covert, then,” you said. “Or try to find Paz, or the armorer, or anybody from the Tribe who might have survived.”

Din shook his head. “No. There’s no telling where they are, and the covert on Nevarro is the only one I ever knew of. Besides, we have a Jedi right here he can go with. We’re not going to have this kind of chance again.”

“I don’t want him to go with the Jedi,” you said, for what felt like the millionth time. “Are you even listening to me? I don’t want him trained like that.”

“It’s not our choice how to train him,” he argued. “We didn’t vow to return him to the Jedi unless we didn’t like what they teach, and then, hey, I guess we can just do whatever we feel like doing.”

You frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to make it clear that our opinions on Jedi training have nothing to do with the decision we need to make.”

“The decision you already made, you mean.”

He scowled. “Yes, and it’s a good thing I did, because you would have let her walk away.”

“Yes, I would have,” you shot back. “And I never would have dreamed you’d do anything different.”

“Then you’re not able to look at this objectively,” he snapped, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Do you think I like the fact that he'll grow up learning the exact opposite of what I was taught? That I like sending him off to the people I grew up knowing only as the enemy? My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew. But I’m doing this because it’s what’s best for our son. I’m doing it because it’s what I vowed to do.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Then you care more about the Way than you do about your son’s well-being.”

Din flushed with anger.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “You knew I was bound to the Way when you met me, and you agreed to live by the Way when you married me. I'm not asking you to do anything you didn't already agree to.”

“I didn’t agree to abandon our son.”

“We’re not abandoning him,” he said, and you could tell he was quickly reaching the end of his patience. “You knew when we adopted him we had to return him to the Jedi. It wasn't like the traditional adoption vow. He's supposed to go back to his people, and we're going to honor that vow.”

“What if I won’t?” you said. Your last attempt, your last recourse. “What will you do then?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, stunned, and your challenge hung in the air between you. You’d never refused to go with him on something before, and he’d never had to answer such a question.

“Cyare,” he said, quiet and numb. The furious, sparking anger was all but gone, replaced by a stony determination and a bone-deep weariness.

“Djarins honor their vows,” he said finally. “As long as you bear my name, you’ll bear that vow.”

You sucked in a breath. “Din — ”

He closed the space between you, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow. “I have to go.”

“Din,” you said again. You put your hand on his arm and held tightly. “Don’t leave.” Not like this.

He gently pried your hand from him. “We need all the daylight we can get, cyare.” He was still for a moment, then drew your hand up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, without hesitation. “Please don’t go. It’s not your fight.”

The shadow of a rueful smile crossed his face. “I made a vow to help her. I won’t back out on it.”

He held your hand for a moment longer before he let you go. He took his helmet from the dash and put it back on again, masking himself in that armor that had never felt so distant, so unreachable.

“Din,” you said as he opened the cockpit doors. He turned and tilted his head, and the beskar was familiar to you again, just for a moment.

“Come back to me,” you said.

He nodded once, solemn.

“I’ll always come back to you, cyare. You know that.”

And then he was gone, leaving to risk his life in someone else’s fight, and it took everything in you not to run out and beg him to stay.

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013, @willowtheewisp, @lori-tovar, @sarybennett ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet, @marvelous-glims ♡

please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#thoughts on how i handled the angst are always appreciated #i'm always looking for ways to improve!!#i hope y'all like it <3 #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #aay'han mar'eyce #jate'kara series #maddie writes stuff!#usercaty #clan dinui

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years

Text

The Personal Trash

Okay, I needed the catharsis of writing this out, but I am throwing it under a read more because I honestly don’t expect anyone to read this. Family shit below

I feel like before I start I have to say first I love my husband very much and am continually excited by the life we are and have been building together, and the only goddamn constant in these circumstances is that he is my best friend always.

The second part of this before I jump in is that his mother, my mother-in-law lives with us, and there are parts of this story I can’t tell because it’s her story and I am not that kind of person. One of the things I love about him is his loyalty to family. I am the same way. Living with elders does not make me bat an eyelid - they’ve taken care of us, it feels comforting that we can take care of them.

But I need to share the context of our home - it’s a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom townhouse with the three of us, three dogs, with almost every space shared. One kitchen, one living room. It’s a small place. My husband purchased the house in September 2014, and it was around when we started dating. One of our first outings was his housewarming. It was, and still is, a starter home.

So since he’s had the home, I’ve been around - starting with a weekends, back and forth, and finally a moved in in 2017, married in 2019, and now we are here. Four years later.

We’ve talked upsizing, getting an in law place if we can. But the housing market is a sellers market at the moment, and things have been good. For four years.

For four years, the family unit has been the three of us. We’ve all contributed in different ways, and in that time, MIL has retired, husband has switched jobs a few times, and mine has been constant. And I *adore* my job. But it keeps me incredibly busy, overwhelmed often. Work-life balance is a bit of a joke for sure. Like anywhere there are days that I’ve gotten off work and cried. Or, checked out mentally that I couldn’t engage in other things. It’s can be intense, but its rewarding. And there was a period through the past few years where I was the source of income keeping our heads above water. And we were - we were fine. But it put a lot of stress on me.

In the meantime there have been some health issues - which I will gloss over. Not my story. But MIL has had few different things, on top of us worrying about COVID. We’ve taken her to some different appointments and such.

We had one such scare two weekends ago, and it kind was a catalyst to a bunch of other stuff that I’ve been dealing with behind the scenes lately. So on Sunday, husband and I went to the grocery store (she was supposed to go on a trip for four days or so) so we were going to use the opportunity to cook a few things together, and we needed to replenish. We were about to grab lunch, and called to see if she wanted anything, and she told him then she wanted to be taken to the hospital. She told us a few days earlier she was having some problems, but only mentioned to my husband that she was worried this might happen. But to me this forewarning was not mentioned, and I was only told because he advised her that she needed to be upfront of what was going on. (For the record, she still was vague).

This ^ will be a theme.

So we skipped lunch, came back home, I unloaded the food and started putting stuff away because he and I agreed that’s what we do and I told him to keep me updated, and she left without saying anything to me or vice versa. Husband comes home because COVID means you can’t stay with anyone. Also no beds, so it took awhile (F*CKING GET VACCINATED PEOPLE SO PEOPLE WHO DO EVERYTHING RIGHT AREN’T LAID UP FOR YOUR STUPIDITY -alsoyesiknowthereareotherreasonspeopleareinthehospitalforcovidjustgivemethisimfrustrated)

11:30 PM that night we picked her back up. It was late, I was tired. A few days later she tells us that she had a lot of time to think while at the hospital, and tells us she is going to move out.

First - you know what we did while she was in the hospital? We freaking worried. Okay - so all of that is facts, details, and I’ve gotten you caught up to the this-happened-then-this-happened. The rest of this is feelings so buckle the fuck up

Husband - immediately lashes out because he doesn’t like the reasons (still doesn’t) and I find out that there was a conversation the day before between the two of them I wasn’t a part of - and he felt because she was not being honest with me, he was forced to have to lie to me, his wife, and didn’t like that feeling.

Me - feeling confused, a little like this is out of left field, and only not completely surprised because this has happened before with husband telling me, and then it never happening, we misunderstanding. and more times than not it never made it from her mouth to my ears. Also it was never for *this* reason. See how this escalates more below.

Husband- “I had to learn to live with strangers, and you just can’t stand not being in control” Me - so wait I am a stranger now?

Husband - do you even like my wife...

and so on. So apparently everything I thought I knew about our home changed in the course of this conversation. What I was able to get out of the cacophony of chaos is that I am insensitive because I don’t interact with her the way she expects me to? And she feels like she’s intruding all the time, despite us assuring her she’s not, inviting her to game nights, and in general sharing in the things that you do as a family like vacations and dinners. And the more we argued, the more little things came out and little clues. She’s mentioned leaving before, almost on a 6 month cycle, and the last time was this one -

So like... when we got Della, and three days in she was like “If they don’t get along I’m going to take Dino and my own place” and so like... hold up, you can’t just throw away a comment like that. They’ve barely gotten a chance to know each other. (they are fine by the way. Della is a puppy and gets in his face a bit, but she’s still learning. They play, sleep together fine, and we are constantly taking care of the fur kids).

And from what I get from the comments to leave - because shit there’s still so many pieces to this I feel like I am missing -she will rationalize other reasons like the dog example above.

So when this happens it sends my husband in a spiral, he tells me because she won’t say anything, and the one time we did try to have a conversation about it, she shut down and made it sounds like he misunderstood and made him out to be the asshole. Then in the same breath tell him its not his job to fix everything as a stab at me, but like continue to talk only to him when it involves everyone.

I don’t know if that makes sense. A lot happens without me involved.

So then - those clues - the hints that all of this is really about me:

health - i stopped asking because she stopped telling me things, so how am I supposed to know what she can and can’t do. but im at fault for like... not asking. but she’s not telling.

home - apparently my understanding and my husbands understanding about the stuff she does around the house - some cleaning, groceries (we pay for) and loading dishwasher, cooking sometimes,. We thought she liked doing them to help around the house, and she’s never told us differently. EDIT- no, she’s told us she likes to help. Cue - you can stop right there, I am an adult and I never asked you to clean up after me.

I feel like whatever feelings she has for me started a long time ago, and she continued to let them harbor instead of talking to me about it, until it got to the point where it couldn’t really be solved.

I mean, I am not lacking the self-awareness to recognize that, yeah, I can be messy, and yeah, I can be single minded. There are days where my husband is talking me and I just space answering him because I can’t or or I just mentally lose it in processing.

I am seeing this mirror reflected back at me of like - I have all these expectations for you, and you are a problem and, but like.... it kind of goes both ways? And I feel like you’ve made these circumstances yourself? And if you want to leave that’s fine, but its not from our doing?

And so in the end *I* feel like I am the one under scrutiny for everything I do or say and how I interact in my home. And it feels like selfishness, and self-victimizing behavior that I’ve seen time and time again, and I don’t really see a way out.

So husband just wants to keep the family together, he’s taking this to heart - its his mom, and there are feelings there about how they’ve provided for each other. He would feel differently if they got the house and she moved in with him under the notion that she was going to save, get her own place. But it wasn’t, and so he has this weight on his shoulders for it, for failing in some way.

And I - well. I didn’t really realize the family unit we had wasn’t working... at least to that extent and that it stemmed from me and I’m really hurt by it. Aside from the stuff above, I am really easy going - I try to give everyone space, and make everyone happy. I shut down if I am processing something. I’ve never intentionally tried to make her feel unwelcome. I’ve invited her to my family vacations, we’ve all equally enjoyed dinner’s out.

And though I’d be willing to try to do better, i am absolutely livid that this conversation waited until it was at its worst. So now I don’t really want to try to do better because I am mad and hurt, and don’t feel like my sacrifices or contributions are being acknowledged, nor do I think she will do the same thing to be self-reflective and recognize her own part of all this. And above all things, I truly hate to be misunderstood. And I will completely shut down under that kind of self-victimizing behavior and thoughtlessness to other people. I don’t want to lose myself over this, in my own home.

So neither path is really an easy or right solution. She moves out, husband loses a bit of respect in her and the relationship they have.. She stays, recognizing your own part in lack of communication is a long term thing, and I have to feel this awkward limbo for that whole process.. if it even gets there.

I feel like I am walking on eggshells constantly.

I should never have to question if a “Hello” will be taken the right way and that’s how i fucking feel.

#personal trash #cursing

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fallingoverharrypotter · 3 years

Text

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one.

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt. Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #ron weasley #hermione granger #harry potter fanfic #god what have i done this is too long #love the idea that ron gets rich by capitalizing on the idiocy of the regular consumer e.g. like Supreme #drarrymicrofic #prompt: pretend #emotionally stunted golden trio #emotionally mature draco malfoy #very sexy dynamic #harry potter fanart #my fanart #my fic

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Come Undone

Author’s note: Well, I know I said it was coming this weekend but I decided to break it apart and post this part first. It’s another roller coaster but I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Thank you to everyone who messages me and supports me and loves this story. I am so thankful for you. Enjoy my babies :) Thanks for the photo @prodmina, (I’ll use the other thing later in the story too) you are a doll and as always thank you @ewolfwitchwisegirl for this beautiful header!

p.s Crazy fun fact I had no idea what Seojun’s mom’s name was so I put random initials thinking I’ll check later and fix it. Only to guess completely right! I am so proud of myself LOL

She stands dumbfounded in his arms, unable to process the words that have left his lips. She couldn’t have heard him right, why on Earth would someone like him who had girls fighting to be his girlfriend want anything to do with her? Did he pity her that much? Was this the premise of a high school drama and he’d taken some sort of bet to befriend her? Somehow all of those options seem more feasible than him having genuine feelings for her.

But it’s her first real confession, she’s always seen others receive this and never experienced it herself. There had been some grandiose ones at school but she secretly tells herself she prefers this, just them two without an audience. it feels more intimate and authentic, as if he couldn’t wait another minute and his feelings for her overwhelmed him. Her heart is beating rapidly despite her deep calming breaths, he’s effectively turned her world upside down with just those small three words.

I like you.

She can’t control the way her heart flutters, but surely it would react that way to anyone? It wasn’t connected to the confession-er, she was merely affected because someone liked her that was human nature. It didn’t matter that it was Han Seojun, they were nothing to each other. Pity was surely clouding his emotions and she wanted no part in being there when he realized that and abandoned her, it was best not to get attached at all she argues with her traitorous heart.

Her phone brings her back to reality, suddenly she remembers where she’s meant to be right now and her father’s enraged face appears in her mind. He’d told her not to embarrass him, which meant she had to go on this date and paint on a happy face and pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. All for a man who treated her no better than scum under his shoes.

Pulling out the phone, Obligation flashes on her phone screen that’s all he was after all she’d already forgotten his name, it was of no importance to her. She doesn’t know if she should answer, still confused about her next step and while she’s ruminating a hand suddenly fills her vision and snatches the object from her hand. Twisting out of his hug she stares in shock before trying to grab the phone back, “Are you insane? Give it back!” But he steps back, putting more space between them as he holds the stolen object just out of her reach tauntingly using his looming height.

“Is this your date? Obligation.” He reads the name from the phone, venom in his voice and she’s taken back by his tone he’s hardly ever serious or cold with her. She’s seeing many different facets to his personality today.

“Han Seojun, give it back!” She demands, stomping her feet before lunging for the item, putting a hand on his shoulder for more leverage. But she miscalculates and her face smashes into his jaw making him cry out in pain and sending her flying forward her body crashing into his painfully, he steadies her with an arm around her waist bringing her dangerously close to him. Their eyes connect as if they are magnetized, just like that day in front of her house.

“Is this your answer, princess? You sure know how to hurt a guy.” She peers at him in bewilderment before searching his face, there’s not even a fraction of a smile on his lip and he refuses to meet her eyes. Gazing off into the distance although he’s speaking to her. He seems…hurt and he’s not doing a good job of hiding it at all, it’s written all over his face and she wonders vaguely what kind of world he must live in to be able to so freely reveal his feelings? She yearns to grab his lips and literally turn his frown upside down, smiles look much better on him.

“You mean it.” She whispers in awe, the ice around her heart defrosting as his palpable pain washes over her. He’d thought she was rejecting him for her “date”. He clearly wasn’t a great listener, she had no feelings for that guy it was just another part of her world that she had no control over. For some reason she wants to explain that to him, make him understand that in another universe maybe things would be different, maybe she would be allowed to want and she would explore this but this isn’t her reality, things are not that simple. Love isn’t an option for her.

“I told you. About my world, I can’t–”

“That’s just an excuse. You have a choice Sujin.” He states his word are cold as ice, he looks livid as he puffs out an exasperated breath of air and frantically runs his fingers through his hair.

Shoving him hard she sneers up at him before shouting in his face, “What choice do I have? I have control over nothing in my life, my first date is being stolen from me. I’ll probably have to kiss him too so that will also be stolen! I can’t control anything I didn’t even choose this outfit. None of this is my choice.” It’s not his fault, and he’s the one person that’s been there for her and that makes her even angrier, why isn’t she allowed to have this? Go on a date with a boy who might care for her, why is life cruel enough that this is being presented but she can’t grab onto it with both hands?

For the first time ever, he doesn’t deflate or back off like he usually does when they get to these moments, he’s usually her safety pin pulling her back from the edge of detonation so she’s not ready for him to scream back at her, “Then choose me! Fuck all of that, fuck your father.” He lifts up her phone which has started to ring again, “Fuck this guy! Just choose me, let me be your first.” They both stand still, staring at each other the jingle of her iPhone not enough to cut the thick coiling tension and then she watches in gaped surprise as he angrily slides her phone open. “Stop fucking calling, she’s not coming. She’s with her boyfriend.” Then he slides the phone close, finally handing it back to her looking at her with those hard glistening eyes. She looks at the phone and then back at him, eyes wide as the moon.

Stupefied and flustered she stutters out, “You’re n-n-ot my boyfriend. What are you doing?”

“Let me take you on a date. Pick me Sujin.”

They stand at an impasse, neither talking following the outburst but their eyes are locked having a conversation all their own. He looks impossibly young standing there asking to be chosen, he was always so shameless with his emotions uncaring about letting them ooze out of his pores. Although he was no longer saying anything, his face was screaming at her, his eyes were kneeling before her on bended knees.

When the phone vibrates again, she's so entranced that she doesn't make any move to check it so when the cab driver calls out her name from his window, she jumps in surprise at the sudden interruption.

"Ms. Kang Sujin?" He eyes them both, glancing back and forth as if he too can feel the tension laying heavy in the air between them.

After a moments pause she finally relays the message to her mouth to speak, answering quietly, "Yes. That's me."

Seojun watches her unwaveringly, never breaking eye contact to look at the driver. He's standing unnaturally straight, all of his usual swagger drained from his body as he watches to see what she'll do.

Turning to the cab, she reaches out a hand to grab the handle, the cool metal smooth in her grasp.

Pulling it open she turns to look at him one last time before making her decision, with an expressionless face she ultimately slides into the passenger seat. The leather squeaking over her naked thighs, primly she places the little white bag in her lap. When she finally focuses back on Seojun, the hurt on his face is almost too much to witness instead of hiding it like she would he lays it all at her feet, lips twisted in a broken snarl and his fingers clenched tightly by his side.

She waits for some kind of retaliation, for the switch to flick and for him to erupt on her for refusing to listen to his plea. Almost salivates at the idea of him showing her that this was all an act, he didn't truly like her once she rejected him he would lash out and whatever this was would be obliterated. No one was that good, she didn't deserve goodness.

"Text me later then. Let me know when you get home."

His voice is devoid of any anger, calm and smooth but tinged with resignation, gracefully accepting defeat and still concerned about her well-being. Surely he was created in a test tube, there's no reasonable explanation for the way he never reacts the way she expects- the way anyone would in his situation. A sad little smile spreads across his lips and it's the most despairing thing she's ever seen, she never wants to see it again not on his face. As he moves to slam the door shut, somehow still a gentleman even in this predicament, spontaneously she grabs his hand.

"Get in."

She can't believe the words that have left her mouth but she's also buzzing, why isn't she allowed to be selfish and take something that she wants? She can't promise him forever still, her life hasn't changed that drastically but she can give him today, give herself a real first date with someone who doesn't make her skin crawl.

He looks rightfully confused, she knows that she's not making any sense. Playing hot and cold. But her heart is telling her that she's allowed this, she has a choice and today she's joining herself. She's never done that before it's terrifying but maybe it'll be easier with him, maybe he can teach her how.

"Fuck that guy. Take me on a date." She whispers astonished repeating his own words , staring up at him for his response and the answering smile that spreads across his handsome face is enough to power a whole city. She almost beams back his happiness is that contagious.

He squeezes her gloved hand, sliding into the cab beside her their legs pressed closely together. She looks away, moving over discretely but he simply follows her boyish grin on his face, no one has ever smiled like that because of her; it's honestly mesmerizing.

Sounding thoroughly amused, the driver confirms her destination and she realizes she hadn't thought that far and she has no idea where they should go. Placing a burning hot hand on her knee, Seojun easily gets her attention.

"Do you trust me princess?"

She stares back at him, blooding pumping from his soulful tone and his skin on her skin. She's making a horrible mistake, she's sure of but she'll have regrets tomorrow. Boldly returning his look she nods mutely, forced to look away when he laughs so beautifully it makes her stomach drop. Today she does.

"No we have a new destination."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She looks quizzically at said destination.

"A mall?" She scrunches her nose climbing out of the cab, brushing past him as he holds the door open for her. She tries to ignore the flapping in her stomach, his constant chivalry is a welcome surprise.

"Already doubting me princess? This isn't our date, I wouldn't bring you to a mall on our first date." He sounds affronted but in a teasing way and she wasn't prepared to hear him call this a date even though she'd said those same words herself minutes ago.

"Then why are we here?"

He opens the entrance door letting her go first, she's not sure she'll ever get used to this. He hasn't let her open one door since he chased her out of the coffee, using those long limbs every time to beat her to the door.

"You don't need to keep doing this?"

Now it's his turn to look quizzical, "Do what?"

They're walking side by side now, she notices that he's adjusted his steps to match hers. She hardly wears heels and walking in them is not her expertise, she'd only worn them because her father insisted claiming women should wear them on a date. It made them more appealing to men. She ha cringed in disgust at the comment.

"Open every door we encounter. I can open them too."

Suddenly he grabs her hand stopping her in the middle of the mall, she tries to tug her hand away no longer covered by her gloves but he tightens his hold preventing her from pulling away.

"You told me to take you on date. This is me on a date, I want to open all your doors. You picked me so just enjoy it, this is all for you." She stares at his small content smile embarrassed by his undivided focus on her. Her cheeks burning up without her permission she races away before he can see.

"Let's go."

But he's too quick, running ahead of her and walking backwards eyes scanning her face.

"Are you blushing? Was I too charming princess, did you heart flutter?" He teases her reaching out a hand to squeeze her cheeks, she smacks his hand away glaring at him.

"Shut up before I leave."

He winks in response nonplussed by her empty threat walking purposely before stopping in front of a retail store. Looking through the window she can see trendy clothes, definitely Seojun's style.

She gazes over at him unimpressed, "Did you bring me here to watch you shop?" He looks at her equally unimpressed before raising an eyebrow, "Come on princess. You have a lot to learn about me."

Still with this damn nickname and now because she hadn't reprimanded him enough it seemed it was here to stay.

Seojun walks over to a rack immediately, pulling out shirts and putting over her figure. Nodding his head before putting the article back and moving onto another rack.

I didn't even choose the outfit. Her own voice rings in her mind remembering their heated discussion on the sidewalk and suddenly it all makes sense they're here to get an outfit for her, something chosen by her.

"Do you like this?" He holds up another shirt, light blue with a cute picture of a puppy on the front. She sneers at him pushing the offending object away.

"I'm not five, why would I wear that?"

He shrugs at her putting the shirt in front of himself now, "What? I think it's cute. Wouldn't I look cute in it?"

He does, the idiot. His lips pushed out into a perfect pout matching the puppy on the shirt but before she can lie through her teeth and tell him no, another high pitched voice interrupts them.

"Oh! You are so handsome, I'm sure anything would look just delicious on you."

When she turns around she's greeted by a chipper store clerk, she doesn't look much older than them and she only has eyes for Seojun, not once looking in her direction despite being right next to her.

"Is it your first time here? Do you need help? What are you looking for?" The girl rapid fires out questions and she doesn't like the way her chest tightens watching the girl blatantly flirt with him. Clutching her fists she stalks off to a random rack not wanting to look bothered by the invasion, he's allowed to talk to whoever he wants. He's not hers nor she his.

She idly lifts a white T-shirt, it's plain besides a small upside triangle design on the pocket. She knows the brand, they're part of a nonprofit company that gives all their proceeds to children homes. She searches for her size resisting the urge to see what Seojun's doing. He startles her when he peeks over her shoulder his chin almost landing on her collar.

"You like that?" He croons into her ears appearing out of nowhere.

She twists around hoping to put some space between them only to lose her breath at the sight of him, he's removed his bomber jacket standing in a black T-shirt but that's not what catches her attention, it's the dark winding dragon weaving intricately down his bicep. The swirls of black and dark blues of the creature's body are captivating as gray smoke curls out of the dragon's mouth. "It's new." He flexes the arm, bringing it closer to her until it's close enough for her to touch. So she does. Trailing a finger from the dragon's head almost on his wrist and meandering up his arm, stopping at the edge of his shirt sleeve where the tattoo disappears. Realizing what exactly she's doing she snatches her hand away, putting the wayward appendage behind her back.

His eyes are dark when she glances up but neither of them fill the silence, she shuffles going back to the rack and absently pulling out a pair of black jeans.

"I've always liked dragons. They're larger than life and nobody messes with them."

It sounds like he's describing himself, or the persona she's seen at school. The school heart-throb with girls fawning over him and boys wanting to be him, his motorcycle, piercings and now tattoos only adding to his allure. On paper he was the quintessential bad boy but she knew now that wasn't entirely accurate. She'd seen how protective he was of his sister and how doting he was of family, he loved his family and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. And then there was the way he treated her, he was something more than what everyone saw.

Lamely she only replies, "I didn't know you had tattoos."

Thrusting his other hand into her face he shows his wrist, small letters are branded there. Initials.

GW. MH

"GW....Go-woon."

He nods agreeing, "Yeah these were my first tattoos, my mom and sister’s initials. After my father passed away I had to step up, I wanted a reminder that I had people worth living for."

She freezes at his admission, unprepared for the personal and revealing turn this conversation has taken. His face is blank but those eyes, they never lie they are brimming with emotions. She has to fight the urge to hug him, instead patting him on the shoulder.

"Your family loves you. They're lucky to have you."

They aren't the only ones but that's too much for today. She has already reached her mistake quota.

He leans into her touch, resting his head on her shoulder for only a moment before straightening up and smiling.

"Didn't know you were capable of giving compliments princess, I feel special."

She lets him break the tension knowing that he probably didn't intend to open up that much, his cheeks are dusted in red confirming her inkling.

"Don't get used to it. You hardly do anything worth complimenting."

They slip back into their usual banter, as she searches for a dressing room thankfully there's no line and she goes in. After changing she looks at herself in the full sized mirror, she tucks the edge of the shirt into her pants. It's simple but it's more her, the real her. Her father insists that they wear the most expensive clothes and she owns many different brands but most days she'd rather just dress like this and not feel like she's on an imaginary runway. Pulling the door open, she almost collides with Seojun not prepared from him to be waiting right outside her door.

He changed too, and she blinks at him.

"We're not wearing matching outfits. Go change." She states blankly.

He chuckles softly, straightening the already perfect shirt on his body. He added a silver chain and black boots to his outfit and she groans internally because she'd also planned on pairing her outfit with black boots.

"It just happened. I guess our style is compatible." He winks at her going to model in front of the mirror.

"Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be in the men's dressing room?" She hisses at him as he preens in the glass.

She gets her answer in the form of a familiar high pitched tone.

"Oh it looks great on you! You have to get it, it really shows off your arms." Then she watches in dismay as the other girl actually reaches out to touch his arm, Seojun smoothly moves out of her reach but the girl is adamant and places a hand on his back instead standing next to him by the mirror.

Her eyes squint in annoyance, he might not be hers but the outfits should have made it obvious that they were something to each other but the girl was choosing to turn a blind eye. She stops holding back. This is all leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Interjecting easily, she moves the proprietary hand on Seojun's back with a flick of her wrist.

"Do you accost all your customers like this?" She deadpans at the other girl, watching her eyes widen before her face morphs into a tense smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I didn't notice you there. Is she your sister?" The store clerk defers back to Seojun as if dismissing her completely and in the corner of her eyes she sees the hard glint of his jawline, he doesn't look pleased. That gives her the courage for her next action.

"Do you usually buy matching outfits with your siblings? We're on a date. We don't need your help as you can see, we already have what we need." She motions between them and their matching outfits, watching the other girl who looks ready to scream before turning to Seojun with beguiling eyes, as if begging him to deny her words.

He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing their sides tightly together. The other girl looks at them in disbelief before he answers in his deep voice, "You heard my girl. I'm off limits."

She tells her heart to calm down, this is all a show after all. It was about the principle of the matter, she didn't appreciate this complete stranger ruining her first date. It wasn't about Seojun in particular. He wasn't hers, she knew that. They both watch as she stomps off, angry blush on her face and retort under her breath. Sujin's tempted to follow her and hear what she's saying under her breath, but she collects herself. Turning to Seojun she complains, "This is how you act on a date? Flirting with other girls?"

He gasps at the accusation pressing a hand against his heart, "I never flirted. I told her I wasn't interested when you left the first time. I didn't think you'd be the jealous type though. "

She opens her mouth to deny that claim despite all the evidence proving otherwise but he beats her to it.

"I like it." He ruffles her hair before walking off. She stands there in gaped mouth surprise, how dare he? After picking her jaw up off the ground, they finally join the line, clothes folded in their arms. Deciding to change back into them after ringing up the order.

They get ringed up by another store clerk, when she tries to pull out her credit card Seojun looks at her like she's personally offended him.

"I'm paying. Don't bother arguing, this is me on a date."

"You two are so cute! I love your matching outfits." The cashier coos at them missing the cold glare from her co-worker in the distance.

As they leave the store she waves snidely at the other girl, even allowing Seojun to rest his arm on her shoulder to put on a even more convincing show.

She knows she's being petty but the other girl started it, she's just finishing it. Maybe next time she wouldn't flirt with boys who were with other girls, she was teaching her a life long lesson.

"You're something else princess."

As soon as they get outside, the store clerk no longer in sight she pushes his hand away. They need to redraw the line in the sand he's getting too comfortable touching her and calling her that nickname. And she might be getting too comfortable hearing it.

"That's enough. Stop calling me that." She expects him to be annoyed or hurt by her switch in attitude but instead he's nodding his head fondly with his hands held high, "I make no promises about that P. But I think it's time to get this date started."

She groans staring at this back, she'd completely forgotten to make him change and now everyone was staring at them in their matching outfits. That stupid flirtatious clerk had derailed her thinking.

"Hey! Seojun, let's go to another store. You need to change!" she yells chasing after him. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He groans as the sensor sounds out, loud noise blaring in his ears signaling that she's hit him again, he only catches a glimpse of her before she's barrel rolling behind a pillar and out of sight.

She'd totally played him, adamant that she'd never done laser tag before. He should have known when she came after changing looking far too comfortable with the gigantic imitation gun in her hand, her hair scooped into a high ponytail. It was admittedly distracting, bringing attention to the long regal line of her neck. He noticed how the instructor paused mid sentence upon seeing her, his eyes lingering a little too long for his liking. Easily he moved between them, dwarfing her with his larger frame staring the guy down until he snapped back looking away while rubbing his neck.

She hadn't noticed the interaction too busy aiming her weapon and asking questions, he had second guessed bringing her here wondering if this was too childish. It was there first date after all and he wanted there to be others, was this thoughtful enough? But watching her roll and dive for cover he knew that he'd made the right choice, even if she was currently destroying his ego.

He had immediately fell for her tricks, running to her aid when she tripped and fell whimpering in pain on the ground. His heart had stopped as he raced over to her, her name on his tongue but before he could utter the word she rolled over, smirk on her face as she aimed perfectly in the middle of his chest, gaining the most point value. She stuck her tongue out before hopping up and disappearing into the darkness. He had stood there shocked clutching at his chest.

"Do you really have time to day dream? I don't know if you've noticed but you're losing. Badly."

She calls from somewhere and he shakes his head at her mocking comment, the trash talking has been steadily increasing with each shot she landed. He should have expected this, for her to be competitive. He's seen it at school sometimes that grimace on her face when she saw that she was second again, glaring at Suho before shoving the ranking away.

He wishes he could say that he's been taking it easy on her but he hasn't, he's been trying his damn hardest to no avail, every time he spots her she dodges him easily, before reappearing behind her and making his sensors go off. He's not the most competitive person but losing this badly is simply embarrassing, a small part of him wants to impress her.

Okay, a large part. Shoot him.

He groans when just that happens, she shoots him and that's it. Game over.

Winner flashes across the front of her camo vest. But when a radiant smile spreads across her flushed face he wonders who is truly the winner.

Cocking an eyebrow he whistles, "You sure you've never done this before?"

She tries to hide a smile but fails epically before admitting the truth. "I might have done this before, once or twice."

"You're a game shark. Taking advantage of poor innocent souls. Is this anyway to treat your date?" He feigns hurt pouting dramatically, bottom lip wobbling. She rolls her eyes at him, ponytail swishing as she skips away before calling over a shoulder, "Even if I told you, you would have still lost. I'm just better than you. Did you even hit me once?" She taunts, looking far too attractive with that snotty look on her face. He must be going crazy.

"You're such a brat. " He concedes enjoying this version of Sujin too much to take any real offense to her insults.

"Rematch?" She purses her lips before aiming right at his head, with one eye closed.

"You're on." She accepts his challenge before running over the counter to purchase more time, he trails after her knowing that he's lost much more than this laser tag game. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She kicks his ass a second time, he does manage to land one shot on her but it only makes her even more competitive and it's a flurry after that, his censor ringing off every few seconds. It's a short rematch, her notices how other guys seem mesmerized by the beautiful girl with the near precise aim. She starts attracting quite the audience and he decides they've been here long enough. This isn't the end of their date after all, he doesn't want to waste this time.

"Alright, you win ninja remind me never to do this with you ever again."

She stands triumphantly before wondering off to change.

The ponytail is down when she comes back out, thick dark curtain over her shoulder. His fingers itch with desire but he controls the urge, he's seen what she's capable of. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ She shakes her head as he pulls out her chair but he sends her a charming smile, he wasn't joking when he told her this was how he acted on dates. Maybe it's because he only has his mother and sister but he has always respected woman immensely, doing these little acts makes him feel like he's cherishing them. His mother has never opened a door in his presence so this feels natural to him.

They're in a quaint diner with dim lighting and cushy oversized chairs, she looks around curiously taking in the minimalist artwork and splashes of color on the wall.

"Do you bring all your dates here?" She asks all nonchalance as she thumbs through the menu, surprising him when she immediately goes to the dessert section eying the different cakes. He sits in disbelief that she has a sweet tooth, she's just full of surprises today.

"Sujin." He puts iron into his voice grabbing her attention, when their eyes are connected he speaks again, "I think you know me better than that. Don't make this cheap."

It's obvious what she's been trying to do since they left the laser tag center, put as much distance between them as possible. Every once in a while her phone vibrates and he can see her tense up before declining the call. The reality of what she's done has set in and now she's putting back up her fortress. Brushing off his compliments and implying that everything he's been doing is all part of some first date playbook, he's trying not to be offended but it's hard to wrangle in his emotions.

It always is with her.

They stare at each other until a server comes to take their order. She orders a chocolate mousse cake that sounds like something his sister would love- cloyingly sweet and diabetes inducing- and he orders another slice to bring home to her, maybe he can use that to bribe her and hear more about how Sujin saved her. For himself he gets an egg sandwich with avocado and bacon, starving now after his long day. He'd gone to work straight from school and fatigue is catching up with him.

"I'll be right back." He announced abruptly, the chair screeching as he excuses himself from the table.

He splashes cold water on his face, waking himself up and clearing his mind. What will they do after this? It's clear that she's dreading what comes next. Nothing has changed, she still has to go home and he knows they'll be repercussions to today. He can't let her face that alone but getting her to agree to him being there is going to be near impossible. The trust between them is still thin, like the first layer of ice that covers a frozen lake and he's terrified to rupture it.

What is he supposed to do?

Trepidation grips his mind as he makes his way back to their table and as he draws closer, he notices that she's completely distracted, arms balanced on the armrests as she stares out the glass, lost in thought and a million miles away. She looks beautiful, if he was a poet he would write sonnets about it. He has no idea how this day is going to end, feels dread swirling in his stomach as well and he pulls out his phone angling it as he stands in front of her. Wanting to capture this moment, tattoo this image in his mind.

Click!

The loud notification of his camera breaks her reprieve and anxiously he starts to staff the traitorous device in his pocket but not before she spots him.

"Did you just take a picture of me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He answers innocently, sitting down and taking a huge bite of the sandwich that was delivered while he was away. Her chocolate cake is still perfect, thick and sweet the aroma wafting across the table. She was waiting for him.

Grabbing her fork, he stabs a huge piece of the decadent treat lifting it to her mouth.

"What are you doing?" She retreats attempting to steal her fork back but he weaves out of reach, laughing at her grumpy face.

"Open up princess." He tries to feed her again but she turns her head away, he has to catch himself before he smashes it on her cheek. He gets the feeling that wouldn't have ended well if he didn't have fast reflexes.

"Seojun."

"Princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Open up."

"No!"

She's fully glaring at him now, arms folded across her chest and he stares back impishly before formulating a plan.

"Fine. Suit yourself."

She looks surprised at his quick acceptance of defeat before he starts to bring the cake to his own mouth, exaggeratedly opening his mouth wide to consume the delicacy and instantly she lunges across the table looking ferocious, her mouth open wide in anger and finding an opening he twists the fork and pops the cake into her mouth.

Her face is thunderous, anger filling every line before the flavor explodes on her tongue and she freezes mid lunge looking like a chipmunk with her full cheeks and wide eyes. She slowly chews savoring the bite before finally swallowing. He waits for her reaction with bated breath.

"How was it?" He laughs at her dark stare, passing the fork back over the table. Almost too eagerly she grabs the utensil, shoveling more of the sweet treat into her mouth. Silently answering his inquiry, in minutes her plate is empty only a smear of icing remaining.

He chews his own sandwich deliberately.

When his phone starts to vibrate he doesn't detect it at first, too lost in the puzzle that is Kang Sujin; laser tag extraordinaire with a sweet tooth the size of Seoul. A gentle smile washes over his face when he sees the caller ID and he makes a rash decision that may or may not get him in more trouble. Declining the call, he goes into the contact and chooses FaceTime instead waiting patiently until a face pops up.

"Seojun, where are you? Your sister said she saw you at work earlier and you were on your way home. Did something happen?" His mother’s concerned voice rings out from the speakers.

Glancing subtly over at Sujin he sees her freeze before realization lights up her eyes and he knows she's going to bolt. Not giving her a chance to flee, he reaches around the table grabbing her chair and tugging her over until they're side by side. Both of their faces sit in the small square on his phone and his mother gasps at the sudden addition to your conversation.

"Oh! Who's this? Are you out with friends?"

"Mom, this is Kang Sujin. The girl I like." He states proudly, smiling brightly at the screen.

His mom's eyes become comically wide, glancing back and forth between the two of them before she waves back excitedly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you my dear. I hope my son is treating you well." His mother has that look on her face that she always gets before she scolds him, clearly seeing the other girl’s discomfort. Sujin is unmoving next to him, a pregnant moment passes before she blinks twice and realizes that she's being spoken to.

"He is. It's nice to meet you too." Her voice is tinier than he's ever heard it.

Worlds different from the person who looked ready to stab him over chocolate cake.

His mother's eye immediately soften at her quiet voice.

"Well I won't keep you. Make sure she gets home safely and don't come back too late. It's supposed to rain later." She warns them both waving softly before ending the call and the screen goes dark.

"What are you doing?"

She's furious. He can hear in the cadence of her voice, she's vibrating with it.

"Why would you do that?”

"Why are you so angry?" He rises to her bait, knowing this was the inevitable end to their near perfect date.

"You had no right to do that. I don't need to be anymore involved with your life."

A slap across his face. That stings and he can't control his reaction, recoiling like he's been hit.

"What was supposed to happen after today? Why did you agree to this? Was this supposed to get you out of my system?" He barks at her. He’s so annoyed this is happening in the middle of a diner, like those couples you always see and judge praying that they'll take this somewhere else.

"It was supposed to get you out of my system!" She screams back.

There's the truth, the ugly truth. It's not different from anything she's ever said to him but hearing that now after confessing to her feels like salt being poured into his wounds. Or acid behind injected into his veins.

"What about my feelings? I like you."

Harshly she stands snatching her purse and throwing down a few bills on the table, with a tone filled with venom she looks him dead in the eyes, unwavering. "Don't." ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ It wasn't supposed to end like this, his heartbroken face is frozen in her mind.

Don't.

She was selfish, a horrible selfish bitch and she used his feelings for her. That's what he would think and that was best, he needed to face the reality that one stolen moment didn't make her life brand new, she was still the broken mess he'd stumbled upon in the rain. No matter how vehemently he tried there was no mending her she was beyond repair.

But it had felt nice. Being with him, feeling like a normal teenager on a date. For a minute she'd forgotten her reality, when he called his mother it was the wake up call she needed. She wasn't the girl you brought home to your mother, at least not for him. The woman looked so much like him and she could feel their affection for each other through the phones, her own mother has never looked at her with such devotion. Jealousy crawls at her insides, she'd forgotten she was a monster until she saw them. She couldn't drag another person into her storm.

He doesn't call. She thought he would, expected him to chase after her and demand more. She stares through the window of the bus watching the raindrops slide down the glass, his mother had been right. Taking out her phone she types a message.

I'm sorry.

Staring at it, there's so much she's sorry for but mostly crashing into his life. If only he'd ignored her like everyone else this could have all been avoided, he would have been spared. She leans back in her seat with a deep sigh, message unsent.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She's drenched standing outside her house, pacing back and forth pulling at the skin between her fingers. Her father has to know by now, but he hasn't contacted her once. It feels like the calm before the storm despite the torrential pour of rain around her.

The click of the front door opening makes a shiver race down her spine. Her father stands ominously in the doorway, face set in stone.

"Where have you been!" He screams, booming voice cutting through the fall of rain.

She instinctively takes a step back but he grabs her by her soaking shirt collar and slams her into the brick wall, she cries out as pain surges through her body. "You little bitch, I told you not to embarrass me." He hisses into her face, spit landing on her chin.

"Honey, stop! You're outside somebody will see!" She hears her mother crying from the doorway and she almost laughs at the reasoning, it's okay to beat her to pulp as long as it's inside where no one will see. It was all about upholding appearances.

"You shut your mouth! This wouldn't have happened if you raised her better!" He turns to sneer at her mother and she capitalizes on his momentary distraction, twisting out of his hold and running down the sidewalk. For a moment she thinks she's free but then a sharp pain shoots through her head and she's painfully yanked backwards by her hair. She shouts at the burst of intense pain, hot tears streaming down her face.

He drags her by her hair before shoving her into the wall, her skull bounces off the hard surface and white starburst explode behind her eyelids.

Squinting through her tears and the water soaking her face she sees her father with his fist drawn back. She waits for the blow, clenching her eyes shut. If she's lucky this will be it, it'll all be over.

But the moment drags on and the punch never lands and then she suddenly hears a voice she never expected.

"Get your fucking hands off her!"

She's barely able to lift her hand and watch as her father is shoved powerfully, falling to his knees from the impact. Rubbing at her tender scalp she peers up at her savior only to see the furious face of Seojun, his hair is matted to his scalp and he looks murderous.

"You came." That's all she can get out before her world goes pitch dark, he was here. He was truly here even after everything she said. Why? Why was he always there?

Her last cognitive image is him running frantically towards her with his arms outreached, his lips are moving and she wishes she knew what he was saying but there's no sound and then there's nothing.

Darkness.

#true beauty #true beauty kdrama #junjin #han seojun #kang sujin #the couple that should have been #early posting #I come bearing gifts

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